...she's coming in.
V. is coming home this weekend. Anette's loaded up the refrigerator, I managed to put together the new crib last night, and our friends have buried us with clothes and toys and various other infant goods. We're ready to nest.
We're gonna hit her with everything we got: the crazy dancing, the homemade bread from Opa, Babarpapa on DvD (we hear she likes TV), bubblebath, the Eeyore and Pooh pillow, snuggling, juggling, you name it. She's gonna have a great time. Or she'll think Anette, Adinah and I are completely bananas.
Hopefully we'll be able to distract her from the trauma of being separated from her temporary foster mother. She's been living with Mrs. B for almost three months. B. gets paid by the city to act as a transition between the bio-mother and the permanent foster family, and she's a professional--V. is the thirty-third kid that she has taken in to her care. They seem to like each other a lot. In fact, Mrs. B. says she'd like to keep V., but she already has two foster kids and three biological children and their house just isn't big enough for another one. At bedtime, she says she sits the kid in her lap while she watches TV, and V. just looks up and strokes Mrs. B.'s face.
We're expecting a bumpy ride, at least at first. There's a lot of sadness (and some beauty) in V.'s story so far. But we've decided to try and leave that stuff outside our door. Not deny it or cover it up, but just...check it.
I think it's okay if a kid knows the world can be a sad place.
I just don't think anyone should go around thinking it's always a sad place.