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| Daddy's favorite shirt |
“How old is she now?” she sweetly asked. She’s a grandma and I could see the wheels turning as she tried to guess, no doubt comparing her height and hair length with that of her own granddaughters.
“She’s sixteen months already. It’s going so fast!”
“So I suppose she’s running, not walking, right?” she knowingly asked, winking at me.
Ugh. That question again. It’s sweet and curious and well-intentioned every time it’s asked of me. It’s a routine, small-talk question that people ask simply to establish common ground and let you know they understand, they feel for you. They know you’re physically and mentally exhausted from chasing around a curious toddler all. day. long. Panicking when they’re out of your sight line and you suddenly realize all is eerily quiet. Every mom they’ve ever known with a child of this age has nodded and smiled and laughed. And maybe yawned. They expect me to do the same.
But I’m different. I pause every time. If she’s with me, like she was that day, I look at her sweet face and give her a little kiss as I quickly decide how I’m going to handle it this time. I don’t have a canned answer because every situation is different. Some days the question brings me to tears; not often, but some days. Sometimes I know the person asking really doesn’t care, and I’ll never see them again to face awkward questions if, for today, I choose not to go into detail. And sometimes, with some people, I just get a feeling. I want to share. Or I really want to run away.
“Actually, she’s not quite crawling yet,” I answered that day. I looked at Libby again instead of the grandma as I answered her. I didn’t want to see the look in her eyes. The Look is always a mix of shock, judgment, and curiosity. The eyes always seem to say, “Go on, tell me more, why on EARTH is your 16-month-old with twelve teeth not CRAWLING?!?!?”
“She’s having a little trouble picking it up,” I continued, “but we’re working hard at it and she’ll be running all over the place before we know it. For now we’re just saving up our energy until that day!” I shot the grandma a quick smile, gave her the same knowing wink she had given me. “Dr. Bob will be right in for you,” I told her. “Libby, say bye-bye!” Libby waved and I helped her blow an adorable kiss and the grandma said “awwwwww” and all was well.
Whew. We survived another one.
There were times, not long ago, when I didn’t put so much thought into answering a simple question. I gave a simple question a simple answer. That was especially easy when we first brought Libby home in June. Up until about six, seven months, she was hitting her developmental milestones beautifully. When people asked me questions with sweet, knowing smiles, I could give sweet, honest, developmentally-appropriate answers. Exactly the answers they were expecting.
But it didn’t take long for things to get tougher. Right about the time we brought her home is right about the time most babies get seriously interested in movement. But for Libby, mobility was, and still is, the farthest thing from her mind. She just really doesn’t care. She is so strong and she moves around a LOT but is completely lacking that visual motivation to get somewhere or stick a finger into something or find someone. She doesn’t feed herself. She’s learning to guide a spoon to her mouth but is really weirded out by touching food. She’s SUPER sensitive in noisy environments. And not “noisy” like you and I perceive noisy. Noisy for her can simply mean two distinct sounds competing for her attention, a strange voice that confuses her, or a sudden, startling noise. She clams up and buries her face in my shoulder and I feel I have to pry her off and force a smile out of her just to reassure people that she truly is a happy, well-adjusted baby. When we’re home. And it’s quiet and comfortable for her.
So answering simple questions is no longer simple for us. We can choose 1) to keep things simple and give the expected answer and end the conversation, but that answer is usually a lie. We can 2) give just enough information to be honest but still try to keep the conversation light and appropriate, but it bothers me to leave people with lingering questions. It’s like that vague, annoying facebook status that you see posted, just begging for someone to ask details. We can 3) answer completely honestly with the Hard Truth, which usually results in inappropriate oversharing, and I leave feeling I haven’t protected my daughter’s privacy enough.
So far this has felt more like a rant than a post. Like I’m telling all of you that I’m sick of questions and just stop asking and caring! But the point that I’m finally reaching is just the opposite. You, trusted friends and loved ones, are different. When you ask the questions, it’s not small talk. You know you’re getting a complicated answer, and you care enough to ask anyway. You know you’re not just opening the “Parenting” can of worms. You’re asking about adoption issues and serious medical issues, too. You truly want to know how she’s doing, and how we’re doing, and even how our dogs are doing. I know that your prayers are with us and your concern is more than mere curiosity. And so I LOVE to answer your questions and share much more than I would share with a grandma at my office or the grocery store.
I’m learning, slowly but surely, how much about Libby and her story is appropriate to share. Perhaps I may have been guilty in the past of oversharing, but there’s no magic formula, and just like every other aspect of parenting, you learn as you go. Believe me when I say that I am grateful for questions and opportunities to share. It’s a tremendous release for me to tell Libby’s story and vent my own emotions and know that people care. It’s a blessing that other people who are suffering in some way can benefit from the lessons we have learned, and still are learning. We were completely overwhelmed and humbled throughout our adoption process (now officially OVER!!!) as we continued to be supported, as our support even GREW, with each milestone that we reached.
So thank you, a million times over, for caring. We live in a world that is losing the ability to communicate, empathize, and show compassion. Small talk is no longer genuine kindness between strangers; it’s often skepticism and guarded answers and “turn the cart the other way, that lady looks like she wants to talk to me.” What a joy to know I can go home and write 1300 words and tell the Hard Truth about my precious girl… and hundreds of people will read every word and love us and support us and pray for us.
