I debated whether or not to actually create this post, however, when I started this blog I wanted it to be an honest one. So, that’s what this will be, honest.
Please note that for safety and confidentiality reasons, I will not be posting pictures or even the name of the little girl that is with me. Instead, she will be referred to as “L.”
L came to my home a few days ago after having a disruption in her previous foster placement. When I went to pick her up, I arrived at the same time as her previous foster parents and I sat and waited in the parking lot as I watched her hop out of their car and walk into the building. My heart could have burst right there in the car. Then, I watched as her previous foster parents came back out without her and began unloading her things as I put together a playlist of music for the way home. My heart hurt at the sight of this. However, I made the decision long before this all happened to try my best to not judge others. We all have our baggage, and I’m in no position to believe someone else’s is lighter than mine.
I met L shortly after that in an office. I gave her a gift and then I sat to prepare for a long question and answer session. Then, about eight minutes later she said, “I think I’m ready to go see your house now.” Though a little taken aback, we (her guardian ad litem, therapist, and I) decided that we should take that as our invitation to get this started. As we started to leave, she mentioned that she needed to tell her mom (foster mom) that she was leaving, and we had to explain to her that they had already left but knew that she was safe.
The rest of the first night went quickly. We arrived home, met the dog, toured the home, and I ordered a pizza. L explored her new space and played with her puzzles and legos. I prepared myself, just in case, for a bit of a battle when it came time for bed, but there wasn’t one. We read books together and then she fell asleep on her own.
As we started our second day together, I began to feel as though things were going to be fine. The nerves I had the previous day had gone away. We worked together to make pancakes for breakfast, and I tried my hand at making the requested Mickey Mouse pancake. His ears were as big as his head, and I had to cut them off to flip it. It was more of a DIY pancake in the end. We got ready for the day, and I spent a good ten minutes just trying to get a ponytail that wasn’t a complete disaster. Shortly after getting a decent one, she rolled around on the floor with the dog and it was completely wrecked again. I realized then that it really wouldn’t matter how perfect it was.
Our first full day together went great. L behaved well, listened to instructions, and never once even remotely came close to throwing a fit when being told no (even now). However, that night for dinner, things changed for me. I began to feel trapped. For the past several years I’ve been incredibly independent. I have never been the type of person who didn’t like being alone. In fact, I spent most of my time at home alone and I liked the freedom I had to do what I wanted. I realized that those days were over and that they had ended so quickly. The cost of becoming a parent surfaced that evening, and I panicked and broke down over my plate of chicken nuggets. I had to excuse myself from the table and went to my room just to breathe for a moment. I won’t lie and say that I didn’t regret the decision to foster in those moments. I did. I had become responsible for another person, and I had decided to do it as a single parent. My independence was gone now, and the thought sent me reeling.
I reached out that night to a few parent friends and was quickly reassured that this is completely normal for every new parent. After getting myself back together, we finished dinner and I refocused my actions on creating a routine.
Though it’s only been a few days, there have been dark moments for me, none due to L’s actions and behaviors. She has truly been wonderful through this process, and the people who have already met her have remarked on how well adjusted she seems already. During our second full day together, she began calling me dad early in the day. For a moment, it filled my heart with joy, but I realized later that she was calling me dad because she didn’t remember my name. We are now working on her calling me by my first name because I feel it’s important that she’s able to remember who I am in case of an emergency. She still calls me dad on occasion, but when she does I just ask, “What’s my name?” She still forgets my name sometimes, but we are getting there. In the spirit of honesty, I have to say that not being called dad this early on is a bit of a relief as well.
Our routines together have evolved over the past days. Bedtimes are coming a little earlier each night, we are learning how to respect each other’s space, and things are falling into place.
I knew that this journey would be a roller coaster, but I didn’t realize how quickly it would begin. Today, I feel good about the decision I’ve made. Things have smoothed out a bit, and I’ve found a little bit of myself again. I’m not saying that the flash of regret won’t resurface again, I know that it will, but I at least know now that it’s normal and I know to savor those few quiet moments at night after bedtime. The rest of the day sounds like it does now, as she is laughing and yelling as the dog drags her across the floor while she holds on tightly to one of his toys, ruining the ponytail that I once again tried to pull off.
And that’s ok.