Giggles

Baby girl’s first birthday is coming up in 4 short weeks. I never could have imagined reaching this milestone with this sweet angel still in my care. As I prep and plan for our “sock-monkey” themed celebration, my heart aches for her parents. I can’t resist feeling that this day belongs to them. They were there the day she was born. This was something beautiful that I wasn’t a part of., A brief part of the baby’s story that is only their special moment to share.

I anticipated feeling a lot of different things when I signed up to be a foster parent. I knew I would be tired. I knew there would be a lot of strangers in my house, evaluating every word that nervously flies out of my mouth. I knew there would be times when I would be forced to step outside of my comfort zone to do the right thing and that this journey would be mine alone. One thing I didn’t expect was to feel this much compassion for the biological parents. I concocted this image in my head about what these parents would look and behave like. Regretfully, my initial mental images were of angry, spiteful, young people whose lives had gone seriously crooked and were beyond earthly repair. I pictured people who were too selfish to be able to see beyond the realm of “this lifestyle feels good.” Not always. I feel a constant push and pull on my heart. My conscious mind is telling me to be selfish, wary and guarded and yet God is pushing me to show them a grace and kindness that is unexpected; to let them see that we’re partners in raising their sweet baby together, guide them with a familiar hand and show them that I trust them to help grow her into a beautiful woman.

Nearly 11 months ago, I received a phone call from a placement worker, asking if I would be interested in taking on a 2 day old infant girl. Being a planner by nature, I was surprised at the ease in which I accepted. Delivered to me that morning (a mere 20 minutes after my phone call) was a tiny bundle wrapped up in a striped hospital blanket with a hand-knitted, pastel, purple bonnet. Her meager squawk sounding like a cat’s gentle meow. My heart leapt with joy. I held her close to me that night and rocked her for an uninterrupted 8 hours trying to memorize her face.  My racing mind, too anxious for sleep. I remember feeling fearful that night that I had made the wrong choice, that there were better, more experienced mothers for her. While I cradled her into the late morning, God had cradled me as well, easing my fears. Tonight during her bath, I put a puff of bubbles on the tip of her nose and she let out a full belly laugh as she looked at it with crossed eyes. Then a wide, toothy grin spread across her face, her cheeks as round as water balloons. I blew her a soft kiss and whispered Momma Amy loves you. With her lips puckered she brought her chubby hand up and pressed it against her tiny mouth and kissed it. For a brief moment, I saw a piece of me in her and my soul smiled. I wish I could bottle that feeling and carry it with me always.