Happy birthday

A very pink birthday cake this year - and one eager birthday girl devouring it. One year ago we were celebrating solemnly as our little girl was waking up on her birthday in an orphanage. Just another day passing her by, no cake, no presents, but more significantly, no adoring brothers singing loudly and no mama and dada cheering her on. 

Or at least she didn't know she had all those things and so much more- extended family, best friends, a home of her own, and a slobbering dog. So much has changed in a year. 

She has learned to eat solid foods, has started speaking a new language. She can ride a balance bike, pick out her favorite cartoon, and has a growing posse of adoring little boys who all think that she loves them best. But the biggest change- home. Family. Forever. She belongs. She is chosen. She is loved. And she knows it now. Happy fourth birthday baby girl!

Things you should know- 9 months home

-I pray every day for God to give me His love for Mila.

-I am faking it and I hate faking.

-I miss how things used to be. But I am so ashamed to say that.

-I see glimmers of hope.  But I am terrified to hope.  Hope leads to being let down and if this is my reality I need to accept it.

-Sometimes the kids all play together and it takes my breath away.

-The physical transformation of our girl is absolutely amazing- yet I rarely let myself marvel at it.  Though this is the thing friends and outsiders see and comment on the most.

-I never doubt that God purposefully placed Mila in our family.

-I do doubt my purpose in all this- as I am completely failing on so many levels.

-I wonder if my existence in Mila's life is adding more trauma to her than healing.

-I see my kids and am so proud to call them mine.

-I love the relationship Mila has with her brothers.

-Every once in awhile I get a taste of that dreamy mother-daughter relationship that is clearly fabricated in my mind but was a driving force in bringing Mila home.  I savor those moments.

-Trauma is everywhere.

-Somedays trauma looks like hateful rages. Ripped off clothes and shoes thrown forcefully in my direction.

-Trauma looks like hours of walking on eggshells around a tiny ticking time bomb that is insistent on fighting.

-Trauma is taking its toll- when I am offered help I don't even know what to ask for.  If I have a free moment, I don't have any idea what to do in order to recharge and refill myself.

-Some days humor is the best medicine.

-Some days my head pounds from the constant teeth clenching I do to prevent myself from doing the wrong thing.

-I know it is getting better.  I want to do everything I can to help her, to give her the tools to communicate and connect.