I was a total newbie—like, never even had a regular child kind of newbie. I had no clue how to handle kids who had experienced trauma and neglect. After three years of dealing with infertility, I found myself in a training session, eager to welcome a child into my life to love and nurture. One experienced foster mom was sharing her stories, and while some were heartwarming reunions and adoptions, I couldn’t help but notice a shift in her tone when she mentioned the tougher placements. She spoke of a kindergarten-aged girl who had already been moved from multiple homes due to her challenging behavior. The moment she described that little girl, something clicked in me—I wanted to help her, to be a safe space for her. I figured this seasoned foster mom was simply too seasoned for her own good.
Fast forward a bit, and I was thrilled to have a little boy with us for three months. Then, the day finally came: the girl from the training was moving in! As the truck pulled into our driveway, I saw her burst out, her messy blond hair shining in the sunlight. With her big blue eyes staring up at me, she declared, “You are my fifth mom.” My heart melted, but boy, was I in for a ride.
I was stunned when I found the “f-word” carved into the wood of our window sashes. It wasn’t just a one-off; it was a repeated act of defiance. When I confronted her, she calmly said, “I didn’t do it.”
I was terrified to see a charred mark on her bedroom floor—images of our home burning down flooded my mind. When I asked her what was wrong, she simply replied, “Nothing.” I held her tightly, trying to reassure us both.
Then there was the day I ran out of the house to discover that she had knocked a bird’s nest to the ground. “It slipped,” she said as if that explained everything. My heart sank.
I woke up one night to the sound of rustling and found her with cookies stuffed in her cheeks—at three in the morning! “I was hungry,” she said nonchalantly.
I was heartbroken to see baby ducklings floating lifeless in our pool. “They cannot swim underwater,” she explained in a matter-of-fact tone, shocking me further.
When a suspicious old car drove by our house multiple times, I was on high alert. She stayed inside for weeks, living in fear.
The turning point came when she stood on the stairs and exclaimed, “I don’t trust you. You are an adult.” I took that as a sign that we were making progress, even if it was painful.
I was devastated when, during a car ride home from visiting family, she ripped apart a new sweatshirt that had been given to her, declaring it ugly. I felt so ashamed as I carried a screaming child through a store when she knocked over an entire display of books.
But nothing could compare to the day I got to adopt her officially—my little girl was finally mine! Yet, joy was mixed with confusion when, while happily dancing together, her hand accidentally brushed against me in a way that made me uncomfortable.
Tears fell when I learned that her explosive rage during time-outs stemmed from a past where she had been tied to chairs for hours. I had no idea.
I was furious when I discovered the side of our house splattered with blue paint, and even more so when I received a call from a bar with a drunken woman asking about her.
Yet, I was grateful each year as she thrived at school with support and modifications. I felt pure delight watching her sing during her first birthday party, her eyes sparkling with joy.
However, it was crushing to see her behavior alienate her from friends, leading to loneliness. I was exhausted trying to explain to the police why she had stolen a friend’s car. And I felt her pain deeply when I had to tell her that her birth mother had died tragically.
Through all the ups and downs, I remained proud when she graduated high school. Despite the battles she faced, I know her life is brighter than it could have been, and she has taught me invaluable lessons.
I’m no longer that clueless newbie.