Nine Month Gotcha Anniversary

You take sugar and spice
Everything nice
And you got a little girl
You take snakes and snails
Some puppy dog tails
And you got a little boy

That`s what love is made of
That`s what love is made of


Labor Day weekend was the best holiday weekend at the end of the summer ever. Friday, the kids came to visit me at work and got to show off how big they had gotten. Afterwards while Jory continued his Olympic swimming quest, the girls and I went to pick up our car from the shop. Let me tell you nothing beats returning a rent-a-car with two sleeping babies, three carseats and a double stroller to move. Everyone should experience it just once.

After we got the car back and straightened the mess the men made trying to put the double stroller in, we made a quick stop at my aunt’s to refuel. I love living in the same city as my family. I love that we can see family, get some drinks out of the fridge, ask if our favorite aunt is bar-be-queuing for Labor Day, to which she says a resounding “Yes,” and off we go.

Being a daring family, we decided to go to the mall after dinner and Oma said words that touched my heart. As we walked out of the door, she said, “Is the stroller in the car?” (This from the woman who had an attitude when we were putting together the double stroller. “What do you need this for?” “They aren’t going to be little kids always.” Yada, yada, yada. Now after a few trips to the mall, she sees, to quote the genius and beautiful Jen “the children act like escape convicts” when they are at the mall. With two contained, there’s only Jory. And since our Baby Bjorn holds up to 25lbs, a restless Layla can quickly get moved, Jory can take her spot, and all three are contained.) I didn’t gloat or say I told you so, I just answered, “Yes.” And we were on our way.

The shopping trip had unexpected highs, finding “Little Sister” shirts for the girls, and unexpected lows. Hanes doesn’t care a size 5T in t-shirts so I had to buy my baby a size small. A size small in the boys’ section of the store. Did you know a size small is 6 – 8? Why are the evil clothing manufacturers trying to push my sweet, innocent, precious Jory to the next level? Why can’t we stay in the toddler section? He’s still a little boy. Just a little boy.

On Saturday, we ventured out for swimming lessons, errands, but most importantly Rowan left the house in big girl panties. Can I tell you how much I love little girls who don’t have to wear diapers and don’t pee on themselves? I love them. Love them.

On Sunday, we went to Fisherman’s Village or Wharf or whatever it was called in Marina Del Rey and took the waterbus. The waterbus was a boat which took you from one side of the Marina to another side. A bus on water. I thought Jory would be over the moon on this excursion, but instead he was like, why can’t we ride one of the bigger boats. I explained to him why and he seemed to be happy. He enjoyed the boat ride and the stop at Mother’s Park, where he got to splash around in the water with Rowan. Note to self, next year dress the kids in the swimsuits.

Layla had her first experience with sand and wasn’t digging it. But with some time and help from Oma, she took her shoes off and seemed to tolerate the sand. She did much better than Rowan did her first time. Rowan refused to let her feet touch the ground and wouldn’t even sit on the blanket on top of the sand. Luckily Miss Sarah had grapes to entertain her while she watched her brother play in the sand and water.

On Monday, we enjoyed fabulous bbq at my aunt’s. My aunt is the best cook in my family and really someone in my family needs to step up to the plate and become the new family cook. Maybe the new cook will be Mona when she finally moves back home.

Jory and I had to dash out after he ate for a haircut and to buy some shirts for school, which was starting the next day. As I walked out the door, I realized how I’m living the live I dreamed about. The life where my kids grow up knowing their cousins, aunts, and uncles, like I did. A life where I can run a quick errand, which ended up taking an hour because someone had the audacity to get a perm when Jory’s stylist was the only one in the shop, and know my kids are safe, well loved, and hanging with their family. It was a great family filled Labor Day weekend. I think we set the standard pretty high and Layla might think every Labor Day weekend should be as great as her first.

And my Koala Bear had another two firsts.

Crying. Crying. Rustling. Crying.

“What’s wrong Layla?” I ask sleepily.

“Eat. Eat.” (Yes, somewhere along the line Rowan passed on her ability to ask for food and drink as soon as she woke up to her little sister.)

I move the pillow and look over at the clock. 1AM. I pick her up out of her crib and lay her next to me. “Layla, it’s too early for milk. Go back to sleep.”

A minute later the crying stops and she falls back asleep.

Mission accomplished - - Operation get out of crib and into bed with mommy.. Successful.

Crying. Crying. Crying.

“What’s wrong, Layla?”

“Eat. Eat.”

I move the pillow and look over at the clock. 3AM. I lay her across me. She doesn’t like to lay on top of me, but instead enjoys placing her head on my right shoulder and her hip bone touches my hip bone. “Layla, it’s too early for milk. Go back to sleep.”

A minute later the crying stops and she falls back asleep.

Mission accomplished - - Operation laying across mommy. Successful.

Crying. Crying. Crying.

“What’s wrong, Layla?”

“Eat. Eat.”

I move the pillow and look over at the clock. 5AM. “Okay, you can have some milk.”

Layla scoots herself on top of me and puts her arms around my neck, waiting for me, to wrap my arms around her, get up, and carry her to the kitchen to get some milk.

Mission accomplished - - Operation get milk. Successful.

As we walked to the kitchen, I realized if Layla understood me at 1AM and 3AM that it was too early for milk and to go back to sleep, then there really was no reason for her to be up. And it was really, really time to give up the bottle. Saturday, September 4, 2009, Layla had her last bottle.

I woke up on the day after Labor Day with a feeling that something was wrong. Something was off. I racked my brain to think what it was. Then it came to me. It was 6AM and no one had awakened me in the dead of night. SIDS ran through my mind. My baby was dead. I ran to her crib and put my hand on her chest. I couldn’t feel it moving. I put my hand under her nose, but couldn’t feel any breath on my fingers. I tickle her neck and she bats me away. Ah, my baby is fine, she just slept through the night. Look that only took nine months. If only it happened every night.

It’s been an interesting nine months since Layla came home. When I think about it we were like the ultimate blind date. Granted I saw a picture of her, but that was about it. Within the second hour of ever seeing other, we became legally connected for infinity and beyond. We were still feeling each other. All we knew were we connected for life and I was playing the role of mommy and Layla was playing the role of baby. On her first full day in Saigon, I dressed her in a t-shirt which read, “My heart belongs to Mommy.” I thought the red and white outfit was adorable and couldn’t pass it up when I saw in Target, while I was buying matching Christmas PJs for Layla and Rowan. But the words on the shirt were meaningless at the time. She didn’t know me. We had only been together for a little over twenty-four hours, but each subsequent time she wore it. The words started to have meaning. And if Koala Bear could still fit the shirt, without looking like Baby Huey, everyone would agree that there was truth in advertising.

Layla is 100% a mama’s girl. She may not know tons about life, but she’s knows I’m her mama. I’m her mama, those other two people who call me mommy, I think sometimes she’s suspicious of them. And after nine months of being home, she is always delighted to point out to Rowan and Jory to whom I belong.
It’s as if she senses when I’m holding her brother or sister or about to pick them up or let them sit on my lap because out of no where she appears.

On her good days, she’ll ask to be picked up. And the rest of the time, she’ll give a little shove as if her tiny self can push either of her older siblings off my lap. Or she’ll squeeze in whatever space, regardless of size, that exists between Rowan or Jory’s back and my front. Lotioning down Rowan, who is standing in front of me, Layla will dive underneath my arms to sit in my lap. Sometimes I cave and pick her up or make room for her on my lap and sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I tell her, “They are my babies too and I can hold them.” She never likes this response. Tears and sometimes stomping of the feet occur. Sometimes I’ll agree with her and say, “I know. Life stinks.” But seemingly that never makes her feel better. If she could morph into a dog, she would definitely pee around me to mark me hers and hers alone.

Rowan’s outright stubbornness, her penchant for screaming, her tantrums, and the endless tears are like nails on a chalkboard to me. Maybe it’s the overall drama queeness of it all. (Snap! No wonder she’s Aunt Whitney’s favorite, like recognizes like.) But there’s this voice inside me that whispers, “It’s not Rowan who you should be considered about. It’s Layla.” What does that crazy voice know? Although Miss Layla has started to hit her hands against her thighs, would stomp her feet, if she could figure it out, and gibber gabbers angrily when she doesn’t get her way. But how could this adorable, sweet thing ever be anything but perfect?

Since coming home, my baby has gone from being a baby to a full fledge toddler. I’ll be honest I miss some of the babyness, but I’m enjoying who she is. And for the first time, I can enjoy each and every moment. My attention isn’t torn between watching Layla grow and change and planning the next adoption, like I was with Jory and Rowan. I can just indulge in all things Layla because she’s my baby and this is my last go round on the baby train.

When she first came home, she could crawl but would never crawl into another room, unless you walked beside her. Slowly over time, she would venture to another room by herself. And today, she toddles to another room stealthily and you have to search for her. The darkness bothers Rowan, but not Layla. She can happily play in the dark or hide from you.

Layla couldn’t hold a bottle and feeding herself was a goal I wanted her to accomplish in her physical and occupational therapy. Today, she happily sits on her high chair, eats all of her food, tells you when you finished. She can drink from a cup, but I’m not completely comfortable with that so we stick with sippy cups. Rowan once again passed down to her little sister her ability to find food any and everywhere.

Clang!

“What is she doing?” Oma asks.

“Playing with the pots and pans. Layla, put the lids up and close the cabinet,” I yell from the family room into the adjacent kitchen.

Silence greets my command. Is she once again pretending she doesn’t know her name? She’s great at that. (And when you call her on it, suddenly she pretends like she’s playing hide and seek with you. Uh, no, but nice try, kid.) I get up, walk into the kitchen, and my jaw drops.

Layla had pushed Rowan’s chair to the stove, climbed into the chair, taken the lid covering the cornbread off, and was using the butter knife to cut herself a piece of bread.

WHAT IN THE WORLD?!!? Of course part of me is like my child is a GENIUS! And score! How many extra points does she get for knowing to use a butter knife, instead of her hand. But quickly, my mother instincts took over and Layla was redirected and reprimanded. Through it all, my Koala Bear hung on to her cornbread. She is good at keeping me on my toes.

From the baby who choose to sleep rather than look out the window or at me, as we drove away from her orphanage, to the little toddler who places her hands on the side of my face, pulls me towards her, makes a kissing noise, and kisses me on the lips multiple times, I have truly witnessed a transformation in Layla. I have been so blessed to be able to parent this little girl, her brother, and her sister.

All three of my children are so loving, so smart, so kind, and so incredibly beautiful that I borrowed James Blunt’s song and created a version for the kids.


You’re beautiful
You’re beautiful
You’re beautiful
It’s true
I saw your face
When you were eleven-months-old (six-and-a-half-months-old or five-days-old)
And I fell deeply in love
Cause you’re my greatest dream come true


I do not know all the things God created me to do, but I do know for sure one of them was to be a mommy to Layla, Rowan, and Jory. I thought at one time it to be a mommy to Sasha, but that was only for a season. Mel and Johnny were created to be that beautiful girl’s parents.

I look at my dynamic trio and know I should be the best, the strongest believer there is because every day I see three miracles of God. In all my dreams and visions of motherhood, I never imagined loving my children this much. Or enjoying those moments that completely take my breath away. Like when Jory sings the theme song to Psych or the chorus to Monk. Which then makes me think I need to teach him theme songs to all the shows (why have theme songs gone away from shows?) so it could be his thing when he gets older. We’d start with the greatest theme song of all time… Believe it or not, I’m walking on air… Though with our family’s fondness of cruises maybe I should teach him…The Love Boat, soon we’ll be making another round. Or when Rowan, smiling brightly, hands me a speck of dust or a piece of lint that she so proudly found and wants me to put in the trash. (Church daycare workers have been impressed by this gift of hers.) Or when I squat down, call Layla’s name, and watch her turn around, smile brightly at me, stop what she’s doing, walks into my arms, and gives me a kiss.


Said I loved you but I lied
'Cause this is more than love I feel inside
Said I loved you but I was wrong
'Cause love could never ever feel so strong
Said I loved you but I lied



On the water bus




Mother's Beach




And why yes, those two people in the distance are Oma and Layla. Layla wasn't liking her first feel of sand, but as you can see or almost see from the pic Oma got her to walk in it.




The shirt says, "My heart belongs to Oma." Auntie Heather had this one and one that says "My heart belongs to Auntie Heather" made for Jory. I can't believe that's been over four years ago now and that everyone has gotten a chance to wear them.

Layla is doing one of her favorite things: getting on top of the dining room table.








Jory's first day of school and last year of pre-school




The big brother standing next to his little sisters on a school day.




Layla not wanting her picture taken, then finally letting the hunger overtake her. She's eating at the table I once had tea parties on. I love keepsakes.








You know what I love? Absolutely love? ....Having twins. Okay, so technically they aren't twins in these pictures, but in four short months. It'll be on and hoppin'. They are just breathtakingly beautiful.