Two whole years ago I wrote about your very first days with us. Do you remember them? How new everything was then – for you and for us. I look back in awe of those early moments and days. Every interaction was a veiled question – who are these people? Will they meet my needs? Will they be loving or harsh? What kind of food will they feed me? Do I have to sleep in that dark room? How will they discipline me? Should I be scared? Can I trust them? And for me, every interaction was an attempt to figure you out – Is she scared? Does she feel safe? Does she like peanut butter? Will she want to eat her veggies? Does she understand what I’m explaining? Is she missing her family? Are the boys being gentle enough? Is she frightened in her room by herself? Does she want me to hold her?
We were both so young, weren’t we? From the moment I saw you, my lovely, I had big dreams for you. I had big dreams of adoption, of healing, of health, and of fierce love. But you want to know the dream I remember most clearly? I had the simple dream of you running into my outstretched arms, squealing, “Mommy!”
Two years later, and you have our last name. When I sign papers for you, I can sign the “parent” line, instead of the “guardian” line. Two years later I can tell you – almost every day – that I’m so grateful that I get to be your Mommy forever, that I will never stop loving you. Two years later, and you run into my arms, squealing, “Mommy!” more times than I can count. It’ll never get old, I will never take it for granted.
My daughter, you are a treasure to our family. A treasure that we prayed for, worked for, fought for, and are overwhelmed with gratitude about. God has big plans for you, my sweet brown eyes. And you can bet I’ll be with you every step of the way. You have my heart, Tatum.
I love you,