Reality 
 
During the next few months, I existed as force to reckoned with, determined that the mother bear in me would prevail and we would soon break through the barriers to find the soul of our youngest daughter. I spent my days feeding Princess, bathing her, reading to her, holding her and trying to teach her very basic social skills and concepts like who Mommy is and what she does, that we don’t hug everyone, we don’t unbuckle our seat-belts and open the car door, EVER, and we certainly don’t ask the man sitting near us at the restaurant for a bite of his sandwich. Did she think I was playing around, just joking with her? Why did she always wear that satisfied smirk on her face like she was possessed?? Most of the time, any correction of her behavior or discipline was met with her insane laughter and a further attempt to do what she wanted. She laughed in my face incessantly. I found it difficult to like her but I thought that I would like her more and love her when we finally got to where we were supposed to be with her, so I kept plugging away. I thought that her proper development from here on out was a reflection of my capabilities and my love for her and the never-ending patience that I seemed to be getting short on. When she didn’t produce, I was confused and annoyed. Things that she had learned yesterday fell out of her brain as she slept. Lessons she picked up and new ways of interacting were only absorbed for a time, then back to “Orphan Annie” behavior. Just when I thought she finally “got” it, she didn’t. It was taking too long, I was running out of steam. Her behavior had only mildly progressed and was beyond anything I had ever seen before, beyond what I had expected. Honestly, I didn’t like the way she touched me, engaged with me, her dad or her sisters.

 

The simple treasures we used to have as a family were no longer enjoyable. Supper was interrupted by Princess shoving food down her throat when we weren’t watching. A trip to the ice cream store ended quickly when she pretended to faint on the floor (still wearing the smirk). Going to the beach proved too much stimulation for her, she didn’t even notice that she had cut her feet on the shells. We had to sneak hugs and snuggle time with the other girls, Princess didn’t like it. No family time at home was enjoyed unless she was in bed. She had no internal safety device, so even though she could swing really high on the backyard play-set we bought especially for her, she would let go to fix her ponytail. Once she tried to drown right in front of me, pushing me away even as I kept saving her, yelling “I do it” as she gagged and choked on the water. I was scared to drive alone in the car with her, that she might unbuckle and jump out the door. She often “shopped” for new parents at the park, putting herself on display and charming them silly. She didn’t need me at all. Months went by and still I felt no connection with her. She was someone else’s kid that I had invited into my home (and supposedly my heart). She drained the life out of me. 

 

It wished I been able to close the curtains and never leave the house, but realistically, we had two other children who needed us too, so off we would go to basketball, soccer, softball, hockey, the beach, family barbeque’s, etc. In public, it was only worse. One day, at our daughter’s basketball game after someone gave her a quarter, she helped herself to the pockets of the next three people down the line of spectators before I noticed that she had escaped my ever-present grasp on some part of her. I snatched her hand away and firmly set her on my lap where she wailed above the noise of the game. Then, a sweet mother offered her a treat to make her stop crying. After all, she was a dear little orphan who should now be among the ranks of over-indulgent children that we, here in North America, spoil unnecessarily. This type of over-stepping of my parenting only added to my frustration, causing me to either lash out or hide in the safety of my own home.

 

One day, after a lady at the grocery store reminded her to sit down in the cart or she might fall, Princess pointed to the woman an inch from her face and with a vacant, eyes crossed, mouth agape expression, muttered “Momma?” The lady stepped back strangely and offended, eying me up like I was a criminal who either stole someone else’s child or didn’t properly teach this child who her momma is. It was a familiar look, one that I had seen almost every time she interacted with new-to-her people. I often tried to explain her behavior to “caring” people because after meeting her, which everyone had waited for their opportunity to do, (small town, small place) you know, because they thought of us and prayed for us throughout our process, they would usually have that look like “is there something wrong with her?” on their faces. I tried explaining that she has difficulty with the very basic things that we teach our kids from birth. The reply was usually a patronizing “it’s ok, she’ll get there”.  Aside from people parenting my parenting, I had heard every opinion in the world. “It’ll come, you’ll see”, or “Well, she’s been through a lot” or “She probably has never had her emotional needs met” or “What did you expect?” People must have thought we were really stupid since obviously they thought these things hadn’t occurred to us by now. I also think that people are of the opinion that they have some right and responsibility to the well-being of an adopted child, that he/she is an “everybody’s” child because she’s “not really” mine. I wanted to scream at them, “NO, she won’t just “get there”! Not without the loving guidance of a family who will help her, this won’t just go away like a cold, she has really serious issues that you can’t possibly imagine, and I have no idea how to help her!” I mistakenly thought that most of them would understand or sympathize when I would begin to pour out my heart, but they would just dilute and deny my concern with excuses for her behavior (again, we, her parents, know that she’s “been through a lot”). Others wanted to know how it was “really going” under the false pretenses of prayer for us, and when we would unleash a series of truths, they instead questioned our decision to adopt in the first place. Once we were even asked “what? so you regret getting her?!” What kind of question is that?! How does that help us? There was only black and white, good or bad. No one offered to help in a tangible way.

 

Often, I was left to question myself, why did we adopt? what is wrong with her? are we kidding ourselves here? There were no answers, just more questions and more hostility as I re-lived ignorant comments and pathetic excuses for her behavior. I hated people and their stupidity and I hated myself for not being bold enough to stand up and say “This is HARD, OK!! now shut up, you don’t know S**T!” But I wasn’t, I was too nice, and behind my pleasant smile I was seething, exhausted or frustrated to no end because of some event that had occurred moments before that I was now trying to hide because it was easier to hide than to explain that we had been working on (fill in the blank) with Princess for weeks and you just undid it with your self-indulgent attempt to interact with her! (Why do people hug/touch/give stuff to/offer food to/talk in high-pitched voices to/make excuses for/etc…our new kids???). It was simple, we were alone in this. There was just us and the hell that had become our lives.

In the coming days the remaining portions of this raw story will be published.