My Daughter

Last week, my baby turned eleven.  ELEVEN!!!

How could she have grown up so fast.

How could I be old enough to have

an eleven year old daughter.

Two days before her birthday, she informed me

that when she turned eleven, she would be a "preteen".

She was understandably excited about this milestone.

Me, not so much.

You see, she was almost six when she came to live with us.

She was eight by the time her adoption was finalized.

She, and I, worked very hard to form an attachment

that she desperately needed.

I'm not ready to let her go.

I'm not ready to kiss her early years good-bye.

I'm not ready to go through the process of letting

her separate from me.

Yet, I know I have to.

I have to encourage her to become the young woman

that she will grow into.

I have to be available to love, guide, nurture,

and eventually let go of my baby.

It occurred to me, that no matter how hard I try

to fight it, I can't fight time.

She will grow up.

I can either make it easier for her or harder for her.

I can either fight it or roll with it.

I can either grieve the years that I didn't have her early or

celebrate the years that I have had her in my life.

And so this has become my prayer, that I will be

the mother that she needs, the mother that she deserves.

That I will celebrate, with her, as she grows.

I read once, that children adopted older, often struggle the

most in their teen years.  They worked so hard

to attach, and now they have to work so hard to become individuals.

They are often angrier with their adoptive mothers, because they have

so much anger at their birth mothers.  I don't know if this is true or not.

I imagine it could be.  D. will be my first teenager, and so I pray that the Lord

will give me wisdom, patience, and love.  That she, and I, will

grow closer during these upcoming years. That I will enjoy

these "preteen" years as much as I've enjoyed all of the other years leading up

to this, her eleventh birthday.