Regrets

Is this a prequel or sequel to Bliss? Even I don't know.

As I rocked Evie to sleep tonight, I had that wonderfully sweaty baby head on my arm. She cooed and babbled and petted and patted me. She was dressed in the jammies her aunt and uncle sent, wrapped in a quilt that her Nana made and passed from grandchild to grandchild. She clutched the bunny that her big sister gave her from her own stash of stuffed animals. We rocked in the chair that her daddy bought us, in the room that he painted for her. I laid her to sleep in the crib her grandparents brought.

It strikes me that this child is wanted. I wanted her and prayed for her and longed for her long before I met her. She will grow up with family and friends who wanted and prayed for her, too. We waited so long for her to come into our lives ~ but I guess we were just waiting for her, waiting for her to be born, to be ready for us, for us to be ready for her. This was meant to be.

I believe that her birth family wanted her too, but that they just couldn't keep her. I know that she will grow up and have questions about them, about herself. Why couldn't they keep her? Why didn't they want her? Is there something wrong with her? I regret the pain that this will cause her, but I hope that she will have enough support from us, her new family, that she will be able to move past this pain.

I regret that she wasn't born to us. Really, I wouldn't change it if I could ~ her story is part of who she is, and I would never change anything about her. But I regret those months that we will never get back. Seeing her on her first day in this world, her first smile, laugh, words, steps. That "new-baby" smell. The bonding that we missed out on. I regret that I wasn't able to nurse Evie like I did Emily, and have that special relationship with her that only nursing mothers can understand. I see all sorts of what-ifs. Would she still be cleft-affected if she was born to us? I was always careful of nutrition and potential dangers when I was pregnant with Emily. I know she wouldn't have the ant bite scars. I worry for her sake that we don't have a family medical history for her.

I worry about what the future holds for Evie ~ surgeries, therapy, etc. We had our first meeting with her surgeon today, and I regret the pain she will have to go through in the future. Don't get me wrong, I have faith in this doctor, and I know that she needs to have this treatment. But all mommies would take on their children's pain for them if they could. I worry, hearing about the hospital stay, and the liquid diet via syringe (no more of the beloved bottle!) and of the "no-no's" that will prevent her from bending her arms enough to hurt her newly repaired mouth, but will also prevent her from sucking her thumb, one of the only comforts she had for a long time.

I worry that she will be teased for being different. She is adopted. She looks different than the rest of her family. She has scars that will never go away, and some obvious differences than the other children.

I am a mom. I worry.