Hearing her talk about her birthmother nonstop. Nonstop. Nonstop. It's a new phase we seem to be in. No memory of her. Just wants to talk about how she was a baby in her "birth mother's" tummy. All. The. Time. I know it's healthy to process through. But this level of constancy is getting o-l-d.
Likely connected to this phase, has come a period of trial and testing. So much so that we had to hear the hard but honest words from her sister, "I wish we'd never ... " (well, you know). And in that moment, you couldn't blame her. In a day's time she'd had her ipod reset to Chinese, she'd been hit in the back of the head with a book, she'd been grossed out at our girls-only-lunch-date by a half chewed chip being spit into the community bowl of salsa, and she'd had her blankets bitten. Yes, I said her bed blankets were bitten. And slobbered all over. So, who could blame her with the, "I wish we'd never..." comment. But it hurts. I know she doesn't mean it and I know she feels guilty not only for saying it but for thinking it. I know because that's how I've felt when I've thought it...
It's been a hard day. Yes. Harder than most, for sure. But as I put my daughter down to bed, I sang to her (as I always do). I stroked her forehead and sang,
I'll love you foreverAnd I'll like you for alwaysAs long as I'm livingMy baby you'll be
The steadfast Love of the Lord never ceasesHis mercies never come to an endThey are new every morningNew every morningGreat is thy faithfulness O LordGreat is they faithfulness
And I breathed a prayer, that our Good God would hit her and I (and her sister) with a double dose tomorrow morning. Three hours and 52 minutes to go ... (weak grin).