For a moment, she was a baby.
Having just climbed out of the bathtub, she was warm in her pink hooded towel. In a sweet, soft voice she whispered “I want you to cuddle me.” Those few words were all it took for me to stop my world of selfish business and look at this sweet sister of mine who was craving physical touch. I wrapped her tightly in that pink towel, picked her up, and placed her on my lap.
She nestled her head close to my body, and I held her like a baby, rocking gently back-and-forth. Her big, blue eyes locked with mine, much like that of an infant, and for a moment, I forgot I was holding a four-year-old.
I kissed her forehead and rubbed her still-soft babylike skin. The usually rambunctious child sat in silence, giving my mind opportunity to wander.
For a moment, she was a baby.
I thought of her first Christmas, one that was spent with a foster family who got to hold and cuddle her. I thought of the months that followed, the homes that followed, the people that bounced in and out of her life. I thought of her first birthday and her first steps. Who were the people cheering her on, encouraging her, advocating for her?
For a moment, she was a baby.
And I missed it.
And sometimes my heart hurts for those precious moments of my little sisters baby-hood that I will never know.
Selfishly, I wish I had been the one feeding her bottles, rocking her to sleep at night, watching her take her first steps, spending her first Christmas with her, and taking pictures of her smashing into her first cake.
I will never know all that went on for the first 34 months of Sunshine’s life, and the first 5 years of Princess’ life. I grieve for that precious time lost with them, but even more, I grieve for them and the many losses they experienced.
I see it on their minds a lot these days. Princess is asking questions and seeking answers. Just yesterday, while walking hand-in-hand with my mom, she asked “so were the boys adopted too?”
“Yes, they were.”
“So they were in somebody else’s tummy?, she pressed.
“Yes” my mom answered, “Kylee was the last baby in my tummy, but that doesn’t make you any less my daughter.”
“I know”, she confidently replied.
As family traditions are pulled out, relatives come in and out for visits, and memories are talked about and laughed over this holiday season, I am continually reminded that for kids from hard places, this is a challenging time of the year. My little sisters hurts and insecurities seem to be spotlighted this time of the year, and as I watch them hurt, my love and respect for them continues to grow deeper.
As Sunshine sat there on my lap, breathing steadily against my chest, I noticed a sense of peacefulness about her, a peacefulness that comes with security and belonging. Those moments, those precious, precious moments from her babyhood, they are gone. But we have moments like these, moments when she initiates cuddling after bath time, in which I see tremendous amounts of growth in her; growth which reminds me that her heavenly Daddy has journeyed with her through every event of her life and has ordained each moment in a beautiful, perfect way.
For a moment, she was a baby.
She got to be a baby in my arms, allowing herself to be soothed by someone who cares and loves for her more than I might ever be able to express to her.
She was a baby, resting safely in the arms of her big sister.
Safe in my arms.
Fastened tightly by His love.
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Kylee is a college student who is passionately pursuing a degree in Social Work while simultaneously learning what it means to be a big sister to kids from “hard places”. Her parents jumped into the crazy world of foster care just days before her 8th birthday for numerous infants and toddlers over a ten year time span; four of those children became permanent family members through adoption. Kylee loves sharing about foster care and adoption and is passionate about advocating on behalf of vulnerable children on her blog Learning to Abandon.