It’s been almost two weeks since you came home to us. I was nervous when you came, and that nervousness has not settled down yet. Quite frankly, you have been driving me and R up the wall. Our house is in chaos since you came. I wish you would stop trying to manipulate me and triangulate between R and I. I wish you would stop fighting with A and trying to parent S. I wish you would settle down and be still sometimes, instead bouncing from one ADHD induced thing to the next.
I know you wish things were different, too. I know you wish that you weren’t in foster care at all. You wish you could be with your family, or with the adoptive family that gave up on you. You wish your world would stop spinning perpetually out of your control. I’m sorry I can’t help with those wishes, just like you can’t really help with mine.
I’ll tell you a terrible secret that I would never say to you for real: I am not sure I love you yet. I am not sure that adopting you is right. I have no idea what I am doing, and R and I are scared out of our wits. We are both just trying to trust God, even though it feels sometimes like He allowed you to be dropped on our doorstep by your worker and then abandoned us.
I don’t know what I’m doing, but I promise you, my precious child, I’m going to keep trying. I’m sorry that I am not a perfect, loving, all-knowing Mama. I wish I could be that for you and your sisters. But because I can’t, I promise to keep trying to trust God, trying to love you, and doing my best.