Eight Months - A New Normal

Today marks eight months since we went from being a family of three to a family of four.

When I woke up this morning, I thought back to our first night with Lana, eight months ago tonight, in a room in the Elegant Hotel in DaNang, and being, if I recall correctly, more than a little bit terrified. And freaked out. And not sure if I we would make it.

I'm sure that I wasn't thinking about what our lives would be like NOW. At the time, I was concentrating, very hard, on getting through each day...of getting through the trip, of getting home...of getting to know Lana...of getting to know how to instantly mother a four-year-old daughter. It was all so overwhelming, eight months ago.

For a long time after we came home, I wondered when I feel "normal" again. The first month was especially hard. (I wrote about how hard it was here: http://adventuresoflawmommy.blogspot.com/2007/01/hello-darkness-my-old-friend.html ).

I sit here in a flurry of self-reflection - some self-indulgent naval-gazing, if you will. Back when I wrote that "darkness" post, I asked if I would feel better in six months or in eight months. And on this anniversary, I can certainly say that I don't feel that darkness today. My life is not "normal" in the way it was before we brought Lana home. But, I believe we have achieved a new normal. It's no longer shocking to me to realize I have two children. The words "my daughter" roll off my tongue without the slightest hesitation. She is my daughter. I am her mother. Not the only mother she remembers - but, the mother who will be here to hold her hand when she wants to know more about the other mothers. The ones who came before me.

And I hope that she understands that no other mothers will come after me. I don't know that she does...probably not yet.

I will tell you honestly that I do not understand Lana the way I understand Gabriel. There are times when I look at Gabriel and I feel like I can the hear the wheels of his brain working. When I feel, instrinsically, precisely, what is happening in his head. I don't ALWAYS feel this way (although I find him most frustrating when I don't feel that way), but I don't know that this means I have a stronger bond to him than I do to Lana. I know other mothers who, when laced with enough tequila, will admit that they understand one of their children more than the other(s). I would venture a guess, that if you asked my own mother, she would tell you that she has almost always understood the motivations of my brother J~ and I, but that the motivations of her other children remain a mystery much of the time. But I won't pretend to think that this means she loves J~ and I more than the other four. Only, probably, that of her six children, J~ and I are the most LIKE HER. And Gabriel's personality is more like me than Lana's - and I don't have the energy to dwell on whether this is nature or nurture, biology or proximity. And it's not really the point.

The point is that, sometime between January 29 (when I wrote the Darkness post) and today, sometime, some day that I cannot pinpoint, this new normal began.

Lana woke up this morning and asked me for "Faffles". She scampered into my bedroom and said, "mama! I want faffles and choc-o-lat" (she pronounces chocolate very carefully - she takes her chocolate very seriously, just like her mom.)

I went downstairs and made her waffles and spread Nutella on them. (Which, by the way, is pretty much sinfully, decadently delicious, but, not the kind of thing you want to indulge in on a regular basis unless you are a 35 pound girl who has only gained 3/4 of a pound in six months.)

We sat at the breakfast table together. She ate her waffles and said, "Mama. I love this. I love this faffle. I love faffles, mama." After a while, she looked at me, with my morning bed head, and said, "mommy, your hair is....[look of deep thought on her face]... messy. My hair is not." (This was wholly untrue - her hair was as much a mess as mine was, if not more.) Her face was screwed up like she was thinking so VERY hard. "No mommy, not messy...not messy...your hair is..." she made a motion in the air, with her index finger, rolling and spinning her hand, while she said, "your hair is like this".

"Curly?" I offered her.

"Yes! Curly! Mommy! Your hair is curly." She thought for a minute. "My hair is not curly."

That's true. My hair is curly. Her hair is not. Somewhere on the other side of the planet, I wonder if the straight haired woman who gave birth to this fascinating creature is thinking about her today. I hope that she knows, that here, on this side of the planet, this curly haired woman loves this little girl, whose life is being shaped by pieces of both of us, very much.

LM