Questions. A little child is full of them. One right after the other, sometimes, all day long. Some questions are easy. Some questions are a little tougher. Some questions, i have no idea what the answers are. For the most part, though, i had this question stuff under control. Yeah, yeah, yeah....sometimes i do make up answers to questions because i have no idea why "did Gwod make moles wiff no eyes, Mama?" or why "don't i haffa twail, Mama?". I always seem to have an answer that fits these kinda moments so i have been mostly proud of myself.
Moles don't have eyes because God was all out of eyes the afternoon that He made the moles so he gave Moles super-duper sensitive noses and ears; i'll do the evolution version later. Little girls don't have tails because God thought that puppies and kitties looked much cuter with tails.
Yeah. I know, i'm really good at answering questions, aren't i? I stun myself sometimes with the amazing answers i come up with! I just get more and MORE awesome with each answer, eh?!?!
Some of the questions that i've never worried about have been questions about Emma's adoption and her first family in Guatemala. Ever since coming home at 4 1/2 months, i've told her the story about how we came to be a family. I have mentioned her older brother and told her about the beauty of Guatemala. I've spoken about her first mother and her foster mother...as the years have gone by and Emma has grown up into a little girl, she really has not seemed very interested in hearing about this, instead preferring to hear about dinosaurs, elephants, lions and bugs. I often wondered if she just wasn't interested yet or if she was even really listening to me. Perhaps i started telling her of "her" story too early, i remember thinking to myself. But i wanted her to know of "her" story; it was important to me.
I remember hearing this somewhere: If you don't know where you came from, how can you ever really know who you are? I wanted this little one to know about her first mother, i wanted to tell her what i knew. Some facts will come later, as she's older, but i want her to know. Knowledge is power, and it's so important to know where you came from so you know not only who you are, but where you want to go.
Don't get me wrong, the first few times of telling her the "story of her", i was nervous. What made it easy, though, was Emma was a baby, a just a mere 4/5 months old when i started talking to her about this. I wanted to tell her about her so that when she did ask questions, i would be ready with the answers to those questions. No made up answers or funny answers had any place with this: the answers needed to be truth only.
I was ready. I had practiced all of the answers to the questions that i thought she would ask. I had this covered.
Yep, you see where this is going, right?
Last Saturday as Emma and i were eating breakfast together, it happened. She was busy eating Fruit Loops and i was munching on strawberries when she looked up at me and said:
"How come my bwrother lwives in Guatemala, Mommy?"
What?
I didn't practice for THAT question!
How could i forget THAT particular question?!?! Of course Emma would want to know the answer to that question! How did i miss practicing the answer to that question?
I swallowed my strawberry and looked at my little daughter in her footy-elephant pjs, hair still tosseled from last night's sleep. She's growing up into a beautiful little girl, full of spunk and laughter....how quickly little ones grow up.
I smiled at her and said "Emme, your older brother lives in Guatemala with your first mother, your birth mother. He is a little older than you, almost 4 years older. His home is in Guatemala because he lives with your birth mother."
Emma smiles at me and says "Otay, Mama. Can i eat your strawbarries?"
I made it a point to sit there with Emma at the breakfast table for a long while after that, to see if she would ask anything eles. Finally, i asked her, "Emma, is there anything else you want to to or ask me?"
Emma, in all seriousness, looks at me and asks, "I wouud wlike to know if dere is more strawbaries, Mama!"
I had to smile. She is a Stawberry Monster some days, eating every single strawberry we have. No more questions, though....until much later that night at bedtime.
"I wuff you, Mama. You're my Mama, aren't you, Mama?" she asks as she lets out a big yawn after we finished her prayers. Emma is barely awake as she asks me this...
What an odd question, i thought for a moment....then i realized where/why this question came from.
"Yes, sweet girl, I'm your Mama...." i said as i gently move her hair from her face with my fingertips. "But you have a first mother, your birth mother in Guatemala, too...."
"Otay, Mama....otay. Night. Dwon't let da bed bugs....." Emme doesn't finish her sentence as she slips off to sleep.
I stay there, on Emma's bed, watching her little chest rise and fall as she sleeps. Pachi is in her arms and her night time music cd plays in the background softly as i watch her. I pray over her, asking God to come into her little heart, to watch over her and guide her as she grows up and to help me be the best Mama i can be to her. I know that the door has now been cracked and there will be more questions, more serious questions about her, her birth mother, and her adoption for her to ask.
I pray that she always asks me or Robert what it is she wants to know....and i hope that she knows that nothing is off limits to ask. I need to be sure that she knows that and i need to be sure to give her space if she needs it. Emma sometimes needs space, and i need to remember that and be respectful of it.
Growing up and questions....those two things come together, don't they?
