I dreamed you into life

There I was in the hospital room, being handed my first born, a daughter. There she was, the same little girl who presented herself to me in a dream only weeks earlier. I loved her before I saw her. There was a special bond with that little girl. Her name was decided before her gender confirmed. We interacted from the time she had enough strength to create that flutter in my belly. I did everything I could to create communication with that little soul. I rubbed my belly, played music and sang to her. Occasionally turning on a flashlight on my belly or poking or giving a push in response to her kick. Her sleeping times had to correlate with mine, because if too many minutes passed without a kick or turn, I would wake her to make sure she was still there - apparently the huge protrusion of a belly wasn't evidence enough. Before she breathed her first breath of air I loved her the way any mother loves her child, there wasn't something that changed after our eyes met... just, there she was, just the way I dreamed she would be (literally) and it was as if two old friends were coming together, never missing a beat but continuing on in the way they had always known each other.

Two years later I would find myself bonding with another growing belly. More poking, prodding, music and flashlights... anything, anything to be able to communicate with this new soul. I would rub my belly, and responding to every kick with a nudge right back. Encouraging the big sister to fall in love with my belly too. I knew his sleeping patterns and I recognized the hiccups and the play times. And when the blessed day came for my son to breath his first breath and meet his family, I saw him and again, it was if we were reunited as old friends who had been waiting to see each other after a long journey away from home.

I didn't experience those post-pardum blues that I have heard so much about. I didn't have a time that I wished I wasn't a mom, or that I didn't feel that I loved these children totally and completely -more than I had ever loved or wanted anything in my life, before or since.

Adoption, especially adoption of an older child lends itself to issues related to bonding and attachment. I think about meeting this new child and wondering if I will feel the same as I felt when I met my first two children. Would it be as if I were reunited with an old friend, would we both be longing to be with one another?

I imagine our first meeting. I imagine that I will wait patiently for him to come to me. That I will talk with his nannies and try to demonstrate through their trust of me that he too can trust me. Patiently - waiting contentedly, observing him and learning how he responds to his world. And he will watch me and wonder who I am and he will wait until he remembers me, his long lost friend whom he is happy to be reunited with.

I pray that she is not sad or frightened, though I know she will be. These pale strangers who speak another language who will take her from everyone and everything she has known - again. She will miss her birth mother, she will miss her nannies, I can only hope to be that friend who can console her through her sadness. And when she comes out on the other side of the sadness that she will call me "Mother".