Imagine for a moment...

With only a week before we leave to go and meet our precious little Thea...I wanted to share the following article with you.  A friend of mine sent it to me...it is a sobering analogy of how our baby girl might interpret her life's events so far, as well as when we will meet her and she comes home with us.  I know it is long...but worth the read in helping us to be sensitive to Thea's perspective on things.   

Imagine for a moment...

You have met the person you've dreamed about all your life.  You love their touch, smell, the way they look into your eyes...everything about them.  This person understands you in a way that no one else does.  Your heart beats in rhythm with theirs.  Your emotions are intimately tied to their every joy and sorrow.  They have every quality that you desire in a spouse. 

You plan for the wedding...and happily become the spouse of this wonderful person.  You fall asleep that night, exhausted form the day's events, but relaxed and joyful in the knowledge that you are next to the person who loves you more than anyone in the world...the person who will be with you for the rest of your life.

The next morning you wake up, nestled in your partner's arms.  You open your eyes and immediately look for their face.  But it's not them!  You are in the arms of another person.  You recoil in horror.  Who is this?  Where is your beloved?

You ask questions of the new person, but it quickly becomes apparent that they don't understand you.  You search all over, calling and calling for your dear spouse.  The new person follows you around, trying to hug you, pats you on the back...even trying to stroke your arm, acting like everything is okay.  But you know that nothing is okay.  Your beloved is gone.  Where are they?  Will they return?  When?  What has happened to them?

Weeks pass.  You cry and cry over the loss of your beloved.  Sometimes you ache silently, in shock over what has happened.  The new person tries to comfort you.  You appreciate the attempts, but they don't speak your language - either verbally or emotionally.  They don't seem to realize the terrible thing that has happened...that your sweetheart is gone.

You find it difficult to sleep.  The new one tries to comfort you at bedtime with soft words and gently touches, but you avoid them, preferring to sleep alone, away from them and any intimate words or contact.  Months later, you still ache for your beloved, but gradually you are learning to trust this new person.  They've finally learned that you like your coffee black.  Although you still don't understand the bedtime songs, you like the lilt of their voice and take some comfort in it.

More time passes.  One morning, you wake up to find a suitcase sitting next to the front door.  You try to ask about it, but they just take you by the hand and lead you to the car.  You drive and drive and drive.  Nothing is familiar.  Where are you?  Where are they taking you?  You pull up to a large building.  They lead you to an elevator and up to a room filled with people.  Many are crying.  Some are ecstatic with joy.  You are confused.  And worried.

You are led over to a corner.  Another new person opens their arms and sweeps you up into an embrace.  They rub your back and kiss your cheeks, obviously thrilled to see you.  You are anything but thrilled to see them.  Who in the world is this person?  Where is your beloved?  You reach for the one that brought you, but they just smile (although seem to be tearing up, which concerns you), pats you on the back, and puts your hand in the hands of the new person.  The new one picks up your suitcase and leads you to the door.  The familiar face starts openly crying, waving and waving as the elevator doors close on you and the new person.

The new person drives you to an airport and you follow them, not knowing what else to do.  Sometimes you cry, but then the new person tries to make you smile, so you grin back, wanting to 'get along'.  You board a plane.  The flight is long.  You sleep a lot, wanting to mentally escape from the situation.

Hours later, the plane touches down.  The new person is very excited and leads you into the airport where dozens of people are there to greet you.  Light bulbs flash as your photo is taken again and again.  The new person take you to another person who hugs you.  Who is this one?  You smile at them.  Then you are taken to another who pats your back and kisses your cheek.  Then yet another who gives you a big hug and messes your hair.  Finally, someone (which one is this?) pulls you into their arms with the biggest hug you've ever had.  They kiss you all over your cheeks and croon to you in some language you've never heard before.

You are led to a car and driven to another location.  Everything here looks different.  The climate is not what you're used to.  The smells are strange.  Nothing tastes familiar, except for the black coffee.  You wonder if someone told them that you like your coffee black.  You find it nearly impossible to sleep.  Sometimes you lie in bed for hours, staring into the blackness, furious with your spouse for leaving you, yet aching from the loss.  The new person checks on you.  They seem concerned and try to comfort you with soft words and a mug of warm milk.  You turn away, pretending to go to sleep.

People come to the house.  You can feel the anxiety start to bubble over as you look into the faces of all the new people.  You tightly grasp the new one's hand.  They pull you closer.  People smile and nudge one another, marveling at how quickly you've fallen in love.  Strangers reach for you, wanting to be a part of the happiness.  Each time someone hugs you, you wonder if they will be the one to take you away.  Just in case, you keep your suitcase packed and ready.  Although the person at this house is nice and you're hanging on for dear life, you've learned from experience that people come and go, so you just wait in expectation for the next one to come along.

Each morning, the new person hands you a cup of black coffee and looks at you expectantly.  A couple of times the pain and anger for your spouse is so great that you lash out, sending the hot coffee across the room, causing the new one to yelp in pain.  They just look at you, bewildered.  But most of the time you calmly take the cup.  You give them a smile.

And wait. And wait. And wait.

How would we handle all these changes?  How would this impact us for the rest of our lives?

Written by Cynthia Hockman-Chupp
Analogy courtesy of Dr. Kali Miller
From: Realistic Expectations...The First Year Home