Connecting the Spots

Ava had another quick check-up this week for a weight check and two more shots. 

Ava has only gained about 3/4 of a pound, but she is clearly thriving so the pediatrician told us to keep working on adding foods but that she looks great. She really does. (Photo courtesy of 2 year old Jacob)

The night of her weigh-in was one of the rougher nights we have had in a month. She was happy until it was time to lay down and then she started screaming. And she kept screaming and crying and throwing things and banging her head and rocking until an hour or two later when she finally passed out from exhaustion. 

During her epic meltdown, I sang to her, tried to cuddle her, and rocked her. She screamed, hit, and kicked. I said, "no" but then I would try to comfort her again. I told her "I love you." And in the midst of her screams she returned a shrieky "I looove shzoooo."

She woke up the next morning with a big toothy grin. 

And then we encountered our first clueless observer. 

We ran a few errands and bought some white t-shirts to tie dye. In the checkout line, a woman asked if "someone got into the markers." 

I didn't have to look around to know she was talking about Ava. I knew. I have heard the stories of other parents being asked the exact same question. 

I glanced down to Ava (just in case she actually HAD gotten into the markers) and back at the woman. 

I opened my mouth to educate her, to chastise her, to defend my beautiful little girl. But all I said was, "no" and walked away. 

How could I not SAY SOMETHING to that woman? I screamed inside my head. 

Did I fail my first test as Ava's mom? I hope not. I hope it was the right way to answer a clueless question. 

Then Charleston happened. I'm sure you heard about the white man who entered the historically black church and killed 9 praying people. 

As a white person, it's somewhat easy to believe racism and discrimination are not a problem. It's easy because you blend in and look like everyone else. 

In China, we stood out. People stared at us for being white and people stared at Ava for being spotted. We were treated differently. Everyone was kind and helpful, but it was obvious we didn't belong. 

Everyone will always be able to pick out Ava as our adopted daughter. She won't even be able to blend in with her own family. 

So everyday, I show her my spots and I point to hers and say, "we are the same." And Jacob shouts, "me too! I have a spot!"