Once a year Amal stand up in church and says, “God is awesome!” and then says, “Six years and one day ago I met my wife for the first time. Six years ago today, I married her.” Amal and his wife were brought together in an arranged marriage that is still going strong and now includes two sons. When I hear him say that, I think of you, Baby. We had our own arranged relationship.
One mid-August evening, I said, yes, I would accept the referral of a healthy baby girl. Right before Labor Day, I accepted the referral of you. There was a little switch done in those two weeks bye-bye mid-June Layla, hello winter born Layla. I looked at the photos that Cheryl and Dick sent, looked at the photos that Lina’s aunt kindly took about two weeks before we met for the first time; so I knew what you looked like, but you had no idea I was coming or even who I was.
I remember leaving the airport and heading directly to your orphanage, no stopping by the hotel to drop our luggage off. I remember how happy and smiley James and Ben seemed, while you had no expression and then finally started crying being held by a woman who smelled different, looked different, sounded different, and felt different than anyone you had ever known.
“Nancy, Layla can walk,” I said in amazement on seeing you for the second time.
“Yash, that’s not Layla,” she replied.
Oh snap! Your new mommy didn’t recognize you. I’m so sorry about that though in my defense if someone had put eight brown baby boys in front of me an hour after Jory came home or eight biracial girls after the hour I first spend with Rowan, I wouldn’t have recognized either of them. If eight newborn brown girls were placed in front of your Oma, as she lay in her hospital bed at St. John’s, after her drugs wore off, she wouldn’t have been able to pick me out either. So see it’s not so horrible I couldn’t tell the difference between you and the walking girl. Recognization comes with spending time together and bonding. That wouldn’t happen now I could recognize your cry in a room full of kids. And you of course would definitely make it clear to all that I was and am your mommy.
When they handed you to me that December 30th morning and we got in the van, I had no idea what the future had in store. I had no idea what it would really mean to be the mommy of three kids, two of whom were Irish twins.
One February night, on a California King sized bed two bawling one-year-olds fresh out of the bathe. The eldest of the twins crying because she was sick and just wanted to be held by mommy. The younger of the twins crying because sometimes that’s just what one-year-olds do. I tried to calm them, comfort them, while working as quickly as possible to get them dressed and ready for bed. Nothing was working. I was about to lose my mind. Who do I try to talk to, the one-year-old or the one-year-old? Who would understand the words that were coming out of my mouth? I decided to go with the oldest of the two; I figured the oldest had been hearing the English language for the last year of her life while the younger had only been hearing it for the last four weeks.
“I know you don’t feel good, big girl. Let me get Layla dressed and put her to bed, then mommy can hold you, okay?” I asked, begged, pleaded. It was then and there that I knew three was the loveliest number of children to have ever. Good-bye Jack, it was nice imagining having you, but the reality was three kids had a lovely ring to it, four sounded CRAZY.
I quickly put the baby to bed, then held and cradled my big girl. Twinland was no walk in the park.
That story seems so long ago, yet it was merely three years ago. We’ve come a long way since then. Images of Jack have popped back up. A smart woman by the name of Jamie said that if you’re thinking of another that means you are finding or have a comfortable routine with the kids you already have. I think she’s on to something.
Snoop once said, “The game is to be sold, not to be told.” Baby, if you sold your game, I’d have no problem purchasing five tickets on the 120 day around the world cruise. The family suite with a balcony at that, with plenty of spending money and money left over.
You were christened “Baby” by your brother and it caught on. And oh boy, do you live up to that title. This game you run, you know the one where the neurons stop firing 60% of the time you are outdoors and like 99.9% of the time when you are at a mall or a store and there’s no basket or stroller for you. The neurons stop firing and you know longer no how to walk or use your arms and hands. Sometimes you have a bit of firing power to allow you to walk backwards, impeding my steps and for you to reach your arms upward while crying, “Mommy! Mommy!”
You are seemingly able to make your brain to stop sending messages to other parts of your body for minutes, even hours at a time, it’s insane. They stop firing and to keep it really real, you nonchalantly turn around in the bathroom for me to clean you because your arms and hands aren’t working. On most occasions messages get from your brain to your mouth so you say, you’re finished eating, yet there is still a bunch of food on your plate. So I offer you another bite and you take it, and the one after that, and the one after that, and so I’m feeding you because once again your arms don’t work, but your mouth does. I do wonder how we got to this point.
Your brother, sister, Oma, and I have all contributed to get us here. And I will give you your due, you play your game well, but you know when to back off, like when we went to the place where the anti-Christ lives called Disneyland. My first birthday spent with you and us together as a great foursome, you threw up in the poinsettias while we were standing in the Dumbo line. After making sure you were okay and seeing you recover just fine and dandy, I gave you a look which translated to: Mommy, did not wake up everyone early on her birthday and day off, drive to the other side of the moon, to come to this place that she vows to come to once a decade for you to get sick. I will call Aunt Dee Dee right now and ask her or one of the girls to come get you and babysit you until we meet up for dinner at Islands. You looked back at me and agreed with your own stipulation that you couldn’t walk or sit in the stroller for the rest of the day.
We have come along way in the past four years. Actually it’s been longer than that; it’s been since 2002 when I started my journey for you. Who knew back then it would take nearly seven years for you to come or that your nine month adoption would take twenty-one months? But all things in God’s perfect timing. He knew you weren’t meant to be the oldest. If you had come first, there would have been a strong chance you would have been the only. You were meant to be my precious baby. My darling baby girl, who can at times be smarter than her own good, is lovable, kissable, huggable, and the greatest baby any mommy could ever ask for.
At the wonderful Concordia, I was working on some religion or philosophy paper and I was talking to Auntie Heather about all the things God was. And she said, you should say He’s Omni Omni. That He is Omni-present, Omni-potent, omniscient. Even though I am a sinner, I’m weak, I come from dirt and to dirt I will one day return, He sent His only Son to die on the cross for my sins. He loved me enough to do that. He graciously saved me and gave me you. If I had a thousand tongues that thanked Him every second of every day it would never be enough.
On December 29, 2008, I wrote the lyrics to an Anointed song:
Every good thing I have done
Everything that I’ve become
Everything that’s turned out right
Is because You’re in my life
And if I ever teach a child the way
Ever learn myself to change
Ever become who I want to be
It’s not the I but the You in me
How those words still ring true back then, for now, and forever. God has been so loving, gracious, and merciful to allow me to be your mommy, to parent you, to spoil you. You might be the most spoilt baby I’ve ever met, though Auntie Mona might still disagree and say it was Sasha, but you’re a good kid even on those days, those moments when I see my mother in you. There are times that you act exactly as I imagined your Oma acted when she was a child. It’s eerie and scary. You leave me speechless at times.
“Layla, are you being nice?”
“No,” you cry with tears streaming down your face, which is nice to see because you have perfected the heart wrenching tearless cry.
“What did Jesus say? To love your neighbor as yourself, right? And what does that mean? That you treat people the way you want to be treated?”
“Yes,” you cry.
“So are you going to be nice now?”
“No.”
And I’m speechless. Uh, that’s not how this is supposed to go. That’s not the right answer. So Oma. So Layla.
You and your siblings have made my parenthood journey thus far better than I ever could have imagined. I couldn’t have begun to ask for the terrific trio I’ve received. I know I should hug you more, kiss you more, say “I love you” more, point you to Christ more, yell less, threaten less, but there are moments when you make me want rip my hair out and send me running to the hills. But there are no other three people that I would want to experience every moment of my days with. You guys take my breath away.
I love you, Miss Layla! And thank you for not screaming your head off through the adoption ceremony cause I know you wanted to, you wanted to be anywhere but with me; and for finally smiling twelve hours after I got you, even it was to Lisa and not me. Thank you for being the best baby a woman could dream of.
Wouldn't last a single day
I'd probably just fade away
Without you I'd lose my mind
Before you ever came along
Life was not complete
The smartest thing I ever did was make you all mine
Crazy girl, don't you know that I love you?
I wouldn't dream of going nowhere
Silly woman, come here let me hold you
Have I told you lately I love you like crazy, girl?
Like crazy, girl
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