"Mommy, where's Oma's glasses?"
"Layla, that's mommy's eyeglass case not Oma's."
"Oh," she paused, holding the blue case. "Mommy, watch me. I show you."
I turned to look at her as she opened the eyeglass case.
"I big girl," she stated, extremely proud of her accomplishment.
"Yes, you are a big girl."
"Mommy, I show you. I open it," she said, as she closed the case.
"Watch, Mommy, me close it," she commanded as she opened the case, smiling gleefully.
"Baby, you opened it, not closed it. Can I have my case back?"
"Mine."
"No, it's not yours. It's mine. Hand it to, Mommy."
"Mine," she declared, holding the case next to her body.
Thus began gotcha day year two. Who knew as she crawled around our bed in Saigon and later in Hanoi that it would lead to all of this.
Two years ago, she was a tiny eleven-month-old fitting into some three to six month clothing. She sat up, but not as well as someone her age should. And now she's an on-target two-year-old who runs, jumps off counters and sofas, and thinks the world revolves around her.
Two years ago, Layla was a baby who couldn't dress herself. Though the more I think about it, the more I think I was being conned. How is it that you're dressed for the first eleven months of your life, yet when you get with your mommy you don't even know how to raise your arms to take onesies and shirts off? Really?! But we won't go there.
She couldn't dress herself or help me dress her and now, now I hear.
"I do it myself." As she puts her undershirt on backwards.
"No, I do it myself," she shouts as she tries to pull her socks up and turn them down, like she sees her big sister do.
Two years ago, I received Layla's schedule. Once again, I think someone was pulling a fast one on me. Eleven months on the same schedule, yet within less than 24 hours of togetherness Layls was like schedule (pronounced the Canadian way)? What's a schedule? Schedules are for babies. I'm staying up all night with my mommy.
At the bottom of her schedule was a note and it mentioned she was naughty. For the longest time, I didn't know what that meant. Someone suggested that the Vietnamese definition of naughtiness might differ from ours. I liked that answer because my baby wasn't naughty. Two years later, my baby still isn't naughty. Strong-willed, bossy, into everything, doesn't recognize her name, sometimes has a hearing problem, and can't follow simple instructions like, "Put the tape back." Or "Close the drawer." but never naughty.
I never thought I would be saying to a two-year-old, "Get that look off your face." "Don't give me that look." If she knew how to roll her eyes, she'd be doing it.
"Layla, pick up your doll."
"No."
"Excuse me?"
Sometimes I find myself asking, can two-year-olds smoke crack? Because my baby can be something else.
Two years ago, I was chewing my baby's food since she had no teeth and now...
"Some?" Layla's short hand for "May I have some of your food, please."
"No." You got the wrong woman, I am not Oma.
"Share."
"We can't share because it's mine."
"Mommy, we share."
Funny how she only wants to share, when it's not her food.
Two years ago in Old Town, I carried my baby and declared my love for her. Or declared my love for her sister. I guess it depends on how you see it. But I was declaring my love for my baby, while getting her use to being called by her sister's name. Had I been thinking, I would have repeated my sentence using her brother's name so she could get use to being called by their names. Either way the woman who made that declaration didn't love that baby nearly as much as I love my brown haired, brown eyed girl. And the woman I am today doesn't love my baby as much as the woman I will be five years from now will. As I learn more about her, I love her more. To know her is to love her.
You know what's so incredibly amazing is the mercy, grace, and strength God granted one eleven-month-old baby two years ago. A baby, who lost the only home she knew, the only family she knew, was introduced to a new language, new smells, new clothes, new formula, new foods, new beds, was given a mother who believed in for a penny, in for a pound, first car rides, first walking tours of Vietnam, first plane rides, first restaurant experiences, flew for endless hours with a double ear infection barely making a fuss, met Oma, her brother, her sister, her new home still having the infection for another two days until her mommy took her to the doctor, handled it all like it was an every day occurance. Doesn't everyone meet a chick for like an hour one night, then the next morning become legally bound to the woman and spend the rest of your life with the chick? It happens all the time in Vegas. I am in awe of that amazing baby. I am in awe of how God prepared her. How He gave me this baby who still to this day rolls with the punches and is down for whatever.
When we went to the office to introduce everyone to the terrific trio, my friend, Joe, told me later that he could see with us only being together a few weeks that Layla was bonded to me. To hear him say those words made my heart rejoice. I couldn't see it myself, I think I was in the haze of having twins and three kids. Now it's hard to believe it took me twelve hours to coax my first smile out of her, particularly when I hear,
"Mommy!" shouted.
"Mommy," stated.
"Mommy," cried.
"Mommy," giggled.
"Mommy," whined.
"Layla, no whining."
"Mommy, I not whining," she whines.
"Mommy," smiled.
In two years, one thing hasn't changed. She's still my human lojac. Still keyed into me. Still knows when not to push it like last year at Disneyland.
As she finished barfing in the flowers as we waited to get on Dumbo, I gave her a look which she rightly interpreted to mean Mommy has spent way too much money for you to get sick. So either get better or I'm calling Aunt Dee Dee to come pick you up while your brother, sister, and I "enjoy" the anti-christ in amusement park form. She miraculously got better though I did have to carry her around the park for the rest of the day. I knew I should have brought the Baby Bjorn.
Two years went by in the blink of an eye. Layla, I love you. I adore you. And the seemingly endless years I waited for Vietnam to reopen their doors so I could adopt you, were all worth the wait and were necessary for us to be together. For you to call me, "Mommy," and for me to call you, "Baby." And for you to have "your Oma," "
your Jory," and "your Roro."
Baby, I could have never have prayed for a baby as wonderful, smart, loving, and as beautiful as you. To quote the greatest group ever, our God is always working.
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