There’s so much that other parents don’t tell the newbie parents. So much you guys keep to yourselves, but I realize you can’t ever really explain the parenthood road. For me this journey of just four-and-a-half years has been full of things I never imagined. Things I never could have dreamed about.
When I was a child playing house with Ekua, Alexis, Liz, maybe Rebecca, in front of the old seventh grade classroom, I had my life mapped out. In May of my 21st year, I would graduate from college. In June of my 21st year, I would get married. And by June of my 22nd year, I would either be newly pregnant, heavily pregnant, or have a newborn because nothing says happy anniversary like a baby. (Yes, I’m talking to you, Ekua Walker!) When we played house, the first child was always a boy. I imagined my son would be the protector of his younger siblings. Of course when I started the adoption journey, I had switched from boy to girl. I was surrounded by boys; my brother-in-law decided I needed not one but two nephews in a 20 ½ month period. For a while, I resented him a little. I mean couldn’t he have made the second one a girl, but the resentment didn’t last long because Tigger was just the greatest baby. Then my brother had a boy. Three boys, the family cried out for a girl. But upon hearing the wait for a girl, nine – eighteen months, I realized the family was just crying out for a healthy baby, whether girl or boy. Even though I said I was open to either a boy or a girl, I was still secretly praying for a girl. Didn’t God want me to stop buying shirts with trucks, dogs, balls, and cars on them?
Thankfully God gave me not what I wanted, but what I needed. And what I needed was a bouncing, gorgeous baby boy. Jory proudly fills the role of big brother protector that I had long ago imagined.
A few weeks ago, Jory and Rowan were running down the hallway. Multiple times they had been told stop, but they did not heed the warning and then crash. Rowan was sobbing and Jory was following closely behind trying to comfort her. Then 37 pound Jory picked up 27 pound Rowan from behind and carried her over to the bed, where he gently placed (dropped) his little sister on the bed, while saying, “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay, baby. Do you want me to kiss it so you’ll feel better?” Rowan nodded, then Jory kissed her upper ear and asked her, “Do you feel better now?” Rowan nodded again. Ah, my baby. The greatest big brother ever.
When I played house, I would give my kids names and how many years apart they were, but I never imagined who they would be or what they would be like. When Layla was placed in my arms, it was a surreal experience and it didn’t truly register that I would actually have to parent her. Yes, I knew I would feed her, dress her, take care of her, but I didn’t think about a 14-month-old who would crawl around the house, open up the bathroom cabinet and empty out all the soap, toothbrushes, and toothpaste. Something her siblings never did. I didn’t imagine a baby that wouldn’t start walking until nine days before she turned the big one-and-a-half . I didn’t imagine my baby would learn to make kissing noises when she kissed from her big sister. Nor did I imagine that the Layla, who I use to say, “Give me a kiss,” would stop giving me kisses. Though when I say, “Give the pretty baby a kiss,” Layla leans against the mirror and gives herself two kisses. Houston , we have a problem here. Mommy can’t get kisses when she asks, but mirror Layla gets kisses. Narcissism is not a pretty thing, except for when John Larroquette played this narcissist murderer on “The Practice” but that’s a whole other story though he did win two Emmys for that role.
As we rode in the van to make Layla mine legally, I never imagined that one day I would have to discipline her or utter the word “no” to her. I still vividly remember when Jory was about six or seven-months-old, we were walking down the hallway and I noticed him trying to put something in his mouth. I took a closer look and saw he had gotten a piece of paper and was trying to eat it. I reached for the paper and he snatched his hand back. I reached for the paper again and he reared back away from me. I was shocked. I had no idea the disciplining started so early. Was he really not going to give me the paper? Was he really moving away from me to keep something he knows he’s not supposed to have? Yes, he was. I had no idea the road of discipline started so early or that there would be days when I feel all I did was say, “Stop that!”, “Don’t touch that!”, “Put that back!”, “Sit down,” “Stop whining!”, “Stop crying, you aren’t really hurt.”, “Don’t hit your sister!”, “Leave your brother alone!”, and “Leave it alone.” And of course, my standards, “Are we about to fall out?” and “Let’s not and say we did” That there are some days when everyone has to go to bed early so I can remain sane.
I never imagined after being home for seven months that I would question whether Layla knew and recognized her own name. We had already been to an ENT to check her hearing shortly after coming home. Aunt Louise suggested Layla didn’t respond to her name because she was still learning English and had a lot of names to respond to. I pondered this theory for a while and almost bought it until I thought about Jory. Yes, babies can hear in utero, but is it English or is some sort of muddled noise or is it a yack yack language a la Charlie Brown’s teacher, they hear? The English the babies hear post birth is definitely different than the “English” they heard pre-birth, which means they have to learn English too. At seven months, Jory definitely knew his name and his nicknames and responded to them. So with that said, Layla definitely should have been answering when her name was called.
Granted, she does have a lot of names, but so did Jory, Sasha, and Rowan. And wasn’t as if all her names were given to her at once, I didn’t even try butchering her Vietnamese name so I started calling her Layla and Katarzyna right away. When we got home, the kids started calling her Baby. I felt she needed a nickname so she got the name Koala Bear. Happy or someone at Happy’s started calling her Mamas, which Rowan sometimes calls her at home, too. She does get Baby Girl thrown at her and when she reaches a new milestone or does something extraordinary she gets called Big Girl. Of course, I have to call her by her full name, Katarzyna McKinley Elphaba Lawrence, because she has to know her full name and when mommy is at the end of her rope. I realize I have to introduce Herrington soon so if we ever separate at the mall during a Polish Eric Clapton convention, I can still find her by calling her name. Also, since she has siblings, she has to learn to answer to Jory, Kaleb, Rowan, and Kailyer because that’s just life.
My mother has on occasion called her Kataz, my heart stopped beating when I heard this. I informed her, when Layla didn’t respond, that my daughter didn’t answer to ugly names. You know because Layla is too hard to say. But I digress, Layla’s Oma shot me this look as if to say, are you really saying that to me when your daughter’s name is Katarzyna. To which I replied with my look, woman who couldn’t come up with a name for her baby in nine months and then named her daughter some pseudo-Japanese name really shouldn’t be talking to me about names. After that heated exchange via looks, we let it rest. I realized Layla did know her names, she was just being a toddler and didn’t respond when she didn’t want to. Toddlers gotta love them.
This seventh month has been interesting because I feel pre-christened Layla was still my baby girl, but post christening she became a toddler. She went from my cute, non-walking, toothless koala bear to this walking, 3 teeth having, don’t pick me up, I want to walk and talk big girl. I might need to get a recording of the service so I can hear verbatim what the pastor prayed. Did he pray that Layla would turn into a big kid, quick fast and in a hurry? Doesn’t Layla understand there is a 95% chance she is my last baby and I have to enjoy every single moment and milk every single moment for as long as humanly possible? Does she really not get that?
I remember being beside myself when Mijo said, “I love you, Auntie!” My heart still melts at that. He said it without me prompting him or repeating after me. Ahh, the beauty of that moment. I can still recall the first time Jory, who was about 5 months at the time, was sitting in his aunt/godmother’s arms, saw me and raised his arms for me to take him. I was his mommy and he wanted me. YIIPPEEE!!!
And what about the time I was so concerned that Jory, a 17-month-old Jory wasn’t calling me mommy and instead calling me Ash? UGH! When he was playing he would say mommy, but when I asked him who I was, he answered Ash. And what could I say? I couldn’t say, no, my name isn’t Yash because it was. So I had to say no, what do you call me, which was always followed by giggles. Oh how he thought that was funny. Why didn’t a BTDT parent just say to me, Yash, don’t worry about him not saying mommy, just appreciate the silence, because once he says it you’ll be hearing it for the rest of your life? You’ll hear it in a happy tone, whining tone, crying tone, annoyed tone, frustrated tone, a screaming tone, a giggling tone, a hysterical tone, you’ll hear it a lot. But no one told me this and finally Jory decided to call me mommy instead of Ash and all was right with the world. I did learn a valuable lesson and definitely didn’t rush either Rowan or Layla to talk or say mommy. Whenever they learned to say it, preferably later than sooner, was all right with me. Not that I didn’t get a thrill to hear each of my girls say it.
Talking is a whole ballpark I never imagined. I never thought I would look at three-and-a-half-year-old Jory and tell him, no talking while you’re getting dress. No talking, no singing, nada. I want to raise a son who can multi-task, but a talking and getting dressed Jory led to a non-dressed Jory, so we’ll see how things are when he’s older. Rowan is on the verge of having this same rule enforced on her.
In the past seven months, Layla has gone from the quiet baby that babbled to the girl who can say, mama (first word, rock on!) and in the last four weeks to saying Aleb (which Oma is convinced is Layla saying Jory’s name. I neither agree nor disagree since when she says it she never points to Jory or even looks in his direction); uh-oh, which I was actually trying to make uh-oh spaghettio a la the wonderful Amaya, but only uh-oh stuck; and tank you. I think she’s trying to say something that vaguely sound like, put me down, but the jury is still out on that phrase.
I never imagined the “s” word would one day stand for stupid. Jory heard it at school and was told it was naughty word, rightly so. But then it became the word, he heard any and every where so it became the “s” word. No need for him to point out we said the “s” word.
The precious baby that wouldn’t allow me to enjoy air conditioning in Saigon hid her other side while we were traveling throughout Vietnam . When Layla felt comfortable and at home, she let the feistiness shine through. Never did I imagine I would ever have a child whose lips would turn blue because she was angry. When Layla gets really angry, she holds her breath. Who knew that ability lurked in the baby who ate shrimp fried rice on our first night together? It’s not an attractive trait. Or her out and out, “DON”T YOU DARE TOUCH ME” routine she does, when she doesn’t want anyone but mommy to hold her? Aunt Heather threw out the theory that last time Layla let a stranger hold her, she ended up on the other side of the world less than two weeks later. While I’ll buy this theory, it doesn’t explain why she wouldn’t let her own Oma hold her at times.
Layla’s feistiness makes her unafraid to slap Rowan upside the head and Rowan hits right back. For now, Rowan wins, but she better watch out because Layla can definitely hold her own and is getting bigger.
On the girls’ christening day, Layla and I had to have a talk about how the world doesn’t revolve around her. Rowan and Jory can sit in my lap. They don’t need “help” off my lap because you don’t think they belong there. You don’t get to cry when I’m holding one of them until I pick you up and put them down. I know it’s hard to imagine the world doesn’t revolve around you because for the last seven months, if you cried you got picked up right away. If you’re crying and Rowan’s crying or Jory’s crying, you’re attended to first 99% of the time because you can’t talk. It’s also hard because you come to mommy’s job and everyone is so excited to see you and make a big brouhaha over you. Uncle Will teaches you how to play poker. Aunt Deedee, Aunt Roxanne, Aunt Lindsay, and Aunt Angela cheer you on for taking a few steps or standing on your own. You point at something on the shelves behind Aunt Connie’s desk and one by one she hands you what she thinks you want to make you happy. You get to see the look of pure fear on Uncle Brett’s face when holds you. Uncle Andrew, Uncle Mason, Uncle Ray make you laugh and giggle, like they are your own personal clowns. All the attention, it’s hard to imagine when you fall asleep the world just doesn’t stop spinning, but alas it’s true. You’re not the center of the universe.
Sometimes you won’t get your way. Sometimes you won’t get picked up because mommy knows you’re just whining and she’s busy. Sometimes your brother and sister need to sit on my lap, while you sit or stand nearby. It sucks that the world isn’t all about you. It stinks the world isn’t a fair place. If you don’t like it, I say get a pen and a paper and write a letter that reads, “Dear Adam, Eve, and snake, THANKS A LOT!” Yes, I know sarcasm is a bit much for a letter from an eighteen-month-old, but you know. And on a side note, if the snake was cursed to slither on the ground that means it had legs before. Is it possible the snake once looked more like what we now call a unicorn?
I never imagined having a child that was obsessed with food. Rowan can wake up in the morning and the first thing out of her mouth can be, “May I have some apple juice?” or “I ready to eat.” Since Layla has come home and they’ve bonded, she now includes Layla in her love for food. “Mommy, I ready to eat. Baby ready to eat.” Aunt Whitney is right, Rowan isn’t into sharing her food so much. Layla has been pushed away more than once from Rowan’s plate. But it is nice to know Rowan has the ability to know the sister she hasn’t even spoken to yet is ready for breakfast, it must be that Irish twin connection.
I never imagined I would be able to look at my kids and sense, know, which one would be the one I would be butting heads with. I look at adorable, sweet, cute, brilliant Rowan and know she and I - - yeah. Did I mention she was incredibly stubborn and strong willed? Her potty training is a complete and total control issue, so I’m just going with the flow. But there are some days Aunt Whitney’s favorite (is that Christian like to have a favorite, Aunt Whit?) drives me completely bananas. I was such an easy going child. Jory and Layla go with the flow, and Rowan wants to go against the flow. Man, I love this little girl, but for some reason I think when I drop her off at some east coast college I might give a sigh of relief when my plane taxis and heads for LA.
Recently some things went on in my life and after talking to some friends, I came to the realization that even though Jory, Rowan, and Layla are growing up in a home where I say, “But as for me and my household, we will serve the LORD.” that might not always be true for them. I pray. I pray every day that I raise my children the way God wants me to, that I raise them in the way they should go so when they are old they will not depart. Yet at the end of the day, the choice is up to them. To believe or not to believe is up to Jory, Rowan, and Layla. It brings tears to my eyes to imagine I could be raising kids who I won’t get to spend eternity with. But in God’s ultimate wisdom, He gave us the gift of free will and so the choice is theirs. I pray my children make the right choices, stay on the right path, follow God’s will. Free will, what a powerful thing. And as much as I love this trio, I ain’t staying any place hot to be with them.
Parenthood isn’t a journey you can prepare for, it’s a journey that is unlike any other. With each child the journey is different. And even though people and experts say you shouldn’t compare kids, you have to compare them because your other kids, your friends’ kids are your frame of reference of where your child should be or could be or how they are a head of the curve. I try not to compare, but I do. Being a mom has made me a bit competitive. You can never explain to someone how much you can love another human being that weighs six pounds or fourteen pounds or fifteen pounds. How you would be willing to die for another human being who can then grow up and not even remember you. Being blessed to be the mother of Jory, Rowan, and Layla has given me a small glimpse of the love God has for me. Just a small glimpse because I don’t think my feeble human brain could even begin to understand it completely. In these past seven months, He has allowed me to watch Layla grow, change, and blossom and I can never thank Him enough for that privilege. I’ve got the three greatest children in the world and they utterly rock me world.
My life will never be the same
'Cause girl, you came and changed
The way I walk
The way I talk
I cannot explain the things I feel for you
But girl, you know it's true
You rocked my world
You know, you did 
The girls enjoying the pool.
The girls chillin' in their chairs.
The threesome enjoying the 4th. This is Jory's second outfit, his original outfit was also red, white, and blue. Are siblings who aren't patriotic together, really siblings?
