Daddy

Laila and I have been practicing for Daddy's arrival.  We have his picture along with others posted on the wall in our bedroom.  Every morning as she is laying on her changing table, she points at the pictures with excitement and babbles.  After a fresh change, I scoop her up and take her to the wall. We go down the line.  Daddy is first.  She has learned to say it.  I know Jason will be pleased at our efforts and more so with the results.  "Dada".  It's one of the few things she says loud and clear.  She has cried "mamamamama" from the day I first met her, but more as a distress call than speaking someone's name.  Since learning Dada, mamamamamama has disappeared from the vocabulary.  But that's OK.  I'm hoping it will return as my name and not in its former distress.  Just "Mama."

Today, as we caught sight of him in the airport terminal, "Daddy" hardly noticed "Mama's" fancy dress, a failed attempt to hold that welcome gaze.  He was immediately drawn to our tiny girl, small and almost hidden in her stroller.  When he bends down to say hello, she welcomes him with a big warm grin and immediately reaches for his burly face.  As Laila has become more adjusted and comfortable with me, her big brother, Steven: "Gege - 哥哥", and our other close friends, it has made her more fearful and unfriendly to strangers.  But this man is not a stranger.  She knows it's her "Dada." 

Jason has supported this fostering endeavor whole-heartedly, knowing we were being led by God to do so.  But in his human nature, he was still nervous and unsure.  Unsure of our abilities to handle a special-needs child.  Unsure of our willingness, even.  It has been a wonderful two weeks' visit watching the hesitance melt away into pure and unconditional love.