I think, boiled down to its simplest form, the answer is nothing. Everything. Parenting is hard. I worry about things that other parents do not. But, then again, parents of shy children worry about things that I don't worry about. Parents of autistic children have worries that have never crossed my mind. Parents of children with severe allergies, parents of premature children. My closest friends worry about issues that don't make my top ten list and vice versa. In the end, every single child and parent relationship comes with its own set of worries, doesn't it? Struggles that depend on the child and the parent and the timing and the universe at large.
If I wanted to try and put my finger on the sore spots that are unique to my relationship with Saige, as influenced by the fact that we became mother and daughter through adoption, I would tell a story about Kindergarten Mother's Day tea.
My beautiful big kids. They sang "Skidamarinkadink," which never fails to make me cry. There were books that they wrote to me and boxes that they painted for me. At each child's place, a laminated placement lay decorated with a poem that they had written about their mother.
I had to fight not to cry. And no, I don't think that she used my proper name because she doesn't think of me as her mother. She screams mommy and runs to me when I walked into a room. She hugs me tight and tells me she loves me every night. We are bonded; I feel secure in that. I don't think it has anything to do with adoption. My head knows that she is a smart little girl who notices everything, including what my friends and their children call me and what I call them. She knows that calling me Stacey is a special privilege - a social parameter that she understands, in her way, so much more quickly than her brother.
But it still hurt my heart. It still made me uncomfortable. I sat there feeling raw and shocked and vulnerable.
I wouldn't have thought a thing of it if Garrett had used my proper name. My insecurities with him are not so close to the surface.
And I hope, in the last five years and in the next fifteen years and forever after until death do Saige and I part, that I will not lay my insecurities at my daughter's feet. Not at all. That she will know only that I love her, regardless of what she calls me. (Restrictive, life-ruining BITCH, even, though it will be hard to remember it at the time.).
It's really, really hard sometimes. I would type "to be an adoptive parent." But I think the truth is "to be a parent." It's like anything that you open yourself up to all the way. The stakes are so very high when you give 110% effort because there is no safe haven, no "I didn't try" to hide behind.When you love fully, without reservation, without condition, you are vulnerable to hurt and it doesn't matter if it's a friend or a partner, a sister or a spouse, or a child. It's okay. There's no point in standing outside the fire. How is life measured if not by the amount of time you spent in the flames?
I don't think it's wrong to admit that our kids can hurt our feelings. It's how we handle it that matters. I smiled and told her that it was such a beautiful poem and I loved the way she used my name to make it special because I love my name. It starts with the same letter as hers.
And then, later, I turn to my husband and my friends and my writing and I say, that hurt a little, but only because I love her all the way.
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