I cried a little as I met and hugged the people who have loved and cared for her tirelessly since she was two days old. I was surprised I didn't dissolve into a sobbing puddle. That would be typical Megan. But my mind and body knew something major was happening and pulled through to hold me together.
She stretched and rubbed her eyes as she began to wake up. Dede gently lifted her from her crib and carried her straight to me. I stared and stared at the sweet little face whose pictures had been dancing through my dreams for weeks. She was real! She smelled so sweet and felt so soft as she cuddled her little head straight into my shoulder, still half asleep.
We spent four days with Dede and Gene, once "Mom and Dad", now "Nanny and Pops." The first two nights we slept in their home, they cooked us meals, poured us wine, and we watched as they effortlessly cared for their little angel. Everything was so slick and smooth. Routine. I was in awe. She slept in our guest room in a Pack 'N' Play, and she woke in the middle of the night, just at the time they said she would. As I lifted her up in the 1 a.m. darkness, I couldn't see her smile, but I could feel it against my shoulder. She knew it was time for a snack. She knew she would be sung to and cuddled. It's probably her favorite time of day.
After two nights we moved out of their house into a hotel with little Elizabeth. We began eating meals on our own, having "outings" on our own, and visiting Nanny and Pops for long stretches of the day. When we were alone with her, we began to call her Libby, just a little bit. She was used to "Lizzy." They knew we were changing the nickname, but I didn't want to use the new one in front of them. It felt strange and even a little ungrateful. I heard Dede use it a couple times when playing with her later in the week. It meant the world to me and broke my heart, all at the same time.
Saying goodbye to them was simply awful. We had the most wonderful last night - we ordered pizza and talked and laughed as if we'd known each other for years. We already had "inside jokes." But we all knew what was going to happen, and we didn't want the night to end. Gene wouldn't see her again. Dede would come by our hotel in the morning before we left town. My heart was broken. I loved this baby girl so much already, but I knew that they loved her more. And I was taking her away from them. She felt like "theirs."
We packed up the car Friday morning with the gear and the sweet baby who was now "ours." We were free to come home to Minnesota, but we weren't ready. Our flight home would be a monstrous undertaking between all the luggage, carry-ons, carseat and stroller, and little Elizabeth. We needed a couple days to rest, recover, and get to know one another as an independent family.
We traveled from the coast to the desert and met up with dear friends from college. She was not used to the heat. She was not used to the sounds of other children. She was not used to the smells and sounds of our strange little condo. She was a little more subdued. She slept more. Smiles had to be coaxed out of her. And Saturday morning, when we changed her from pajamas to a baptismal gown and then to a swimsuit within half an hour, she screamed bloody murder (several times) like I'd never heard before.
After swimming and a nice, long nap, I dressed her in clothes that I had bought her for the first time, rather than one of the seven thousand outfits Dede had given us :) It still felt a little "wrong." We took a little walk outside in the desert heat and settled in the cool grass under a shady tree for some pictures. We cuddled and played and she perked up a bit.
Sunday we flew home. LAX with a baby was, surprisingly, rather pleasant and painless. She was a champ on the plane. After landing, we went to Starbucks with our friends who had kept our car in their garage. Then we went to pick up the dogs and showed her off there, too. She was quiet but very alert, just taking it all in. We got home about 7:00 and the nursery, once neat, clean and "waiting," erupted with clothes and blankets and cute little girl things. What a beautiful mess.
Home at last with my own furniture, changed into clean clothes and reunited with my doggies, it felt bizarre as I went through the unfamiliar motions of diapering and feeding and clothing a baby. Although the sting was still real and powerful, it no longer felt like she "belonged" to Dede and Gene. But it still didn't feel like she belonged to me. Especially when every trace of her former "routine" vanished for our first six days at home and I became a walking, worrying zombie. It felt surreal, temporary - almost as if I was baby-sitting someone else's child in my home while they were on vacation.
I started finding places to unpack all her treasures. The three big boxes of the rest of her goodies arrrived from California on Wednesday. I washed dishes and folded laundry and baked cookies and worked on the computer while she napped. I tried trick after trick in the middle of the night to get her back to sleep after that 1 a.m. wake-up call. She refused. I was (am) far more exhausted than I would admit. Grandma came on Wednesday, followed closely by Grandpa on Thursday. Just in time for Little Girl to get miserable for all of Thursday and most of Friday. She's got a couple of upper teeth taking their sweet time cutting through, and it's driving her crazy.
She would cry and cry and her nose would drip and her eyes would water and she drooled more than I think it snowed all last winter. She didn't want to eat. She wanted to sleep all. day. long. And then not a wink at night. She had JUST been starting to take comfort from me, and now there was nothing I could do to soothe her. I felt awful. It seemed everything I did would make her cry. Thank God my mom is around. She's the one who keeps remembering how much Libby loves the bath, and how it calms her. She's the one who remembers to take her temp. She's the one who put her foot down and told me to get my butt back to bed NOW for a nap. I was feeling exhausted, worried, and guilty. I wasn't spending enough time in the Word of God. And so I felt awful. She was starting to feel like mine, but I felt like I didn't deserve her.
Last night God worked a little miracle in our house and she slept straight through until 5:30, except for a little half hour snack at 12:30. I woke up refreshed, clear-headed and grateful. I felt like myself. I woke to happy little cooing and giggling sounds, not crying. Well, not until I removed seven hours' worth of nose crusties. Then she screamed her head off. When the nose was clear, I wrapped her in my arms and held her close and nested into the rocker, the early morning sun sparkling on her tear-stained cheeks.
As I cuddled her and began to softly sing, she started to smile and my heart just melted. She stopped crying just as I started to. In that moment I felt it for the first time. It was fierce and powerful and brought me to tears. She's mine. "It's you and me, kid," I told her. "Well, and Daddy, too." Later in the morning we were having rice cereal for breakfast and I tried a new noise and had her laughing hysterically, like she never has for me. That settled it. It's true. She's mine.
Adjusting to a new baby is tough for anyone. Bringing that baby home through adoption adds special challenges. And when she's seven months old and you've just uprooted her from the most loving, wonderful people and SHE KNOWS IT... it's pretty tough. I'm not kidding myself into thinking those feelings of guilt and inadequacy are done.
But after this morning, I know what it's "supposed" to feel like. It was a truly precious moment. And when the bad days come again, I'll think of her sweet little face, laughing so hard she spit her cereal in my face.
