Yesterday when I picked Kajal up at the community center where she is in an after school program, several of the children ran up to me and started bombarding me with questions. This has happened there a few times, the children are more laid back and overall have been much more accepting and loving of Kajal than what I've seen in her school. One child asked, what part of India is she from (this child being of Indian heritage herself) another child called me over and said to me "I know why you adopted her" I was so stunned I asked why, just curious what he thought he knew. "her parents were killed in a tornado" That's not true, that's not true at all, I said. Who told you that? "my papa'. He responded. I don't even remember what I said, my heart was beating so loud, I was filled with terror that Kajal would hear something like this and start to become confused about her own story. I said something like, that's not true, she didn't have any family and I adopted her, I'm her mommy now and I love her. I can't help but think often about what lies in Kajal's memory, what is conscious and unconscious... what she knows, what she remembers. Often lately she'll remark on how bad it was, with comments like 'India dangerous' 'India hits, India bad' I try and remind her that there is good there, most importantly that she came from India and she is good. We were talking the other day about my friend who is traveling to India this week to pick up her son, Danny. Kajal said to me, it's good that she go get Danny, India dangerous. For this is what she knows. Everything I've read says that as soon as we can create a Life book together the better. This will be the very clear story of what little facts we do know of her history, the story of her life in India before I came to get her. Although, it's hard to do this yet when the language is still a barrier.

Today, throughout the day I thought. Four months ago today, I held her. She was placed in my arms for the very first time. She was placed in my arms forever. One year ago, today I received the call. We have a child we believe is a match for you, we have your child. I looked at her face for the first time. Four months ago today, one year ago... today. Today felt like a miracle.. a quiet celebration danced in my heart, all day.

When I picked her up from the community center, we walked down the street towards home and she said to me, I have no mommy. I can't even put into words, the sadness I felt for her in that moment. I took her hand in mine and went down on me knee to look her in the eyes. I am your mommy. She looked at me very seriously, and said again sadly, I have no mommy. I told her that I am her mommy and will be her mommy forever. I had no mommy in India. Oh, honey... you had a mommy a long time ago in India but now, I'm your mommy and I always, always will be, no matter what. Do you remember your mommy, in India, I asked her. No... no, mommy. We walked home hand in hand and when we got upstairs, Kajal got very excited. I remember Mommy, I remember, I did have a mommy in India. You did I asked... and she started talking really, really fast about dolls, and doll clothes and dolls shoes. And I knew. She was describing the things I had sent to her at the orphanage that the caretakers were to give her and tell her they were from her Mommy. Let me show you, mommy, let me show you. She ran into her room and came out with the worn out doll she had carried all the way home from India. It was the doll that I'd sent her that they had taken from her (which I fought like crazy for before we left so she'd have something familiar with her on the long flights home). See Mommy, this came from Mommy in India. You're right honey, it did... I sent this to you in India so you would know how much I was thinking of you, how much I was praying for you. She then went on, in her broken English to sadly tell me how the dolls clothes and shoes had been taken from her, how all the nice things I'd sent had been taken from her. It's okay, Kajal, you have other things now... and most importantly, you have me, forever.

Tonight the testing started again. It doesn't happen every night, but I think the upset of earlier in the day (some thoughtless child most likely said something to trigger her comments) when I wouldn't let her stay up really late doing whatever she wanted, she started punching me in the leg. I can hold it together pretty well, excepts when she hits or kicks me on purpose. I picked her up and carried her to the bedroom and told her that was unacceptable. We never hit or hurt each other. My mother was here in the living room and maybe Kajal escalated even a bit more because of the audience. She came out of the bedroom and I told her she could only stay with us if she laid down on the couch which of course she didn't do. She hit me again and I picked her up and carried her to the bedroom. On the way I tripped and with her in my arms fell... all I could think as mad as I was, was to not drop her or let her the floor. I held on tight, protecting her as my knee and hip hit the floor. My mother jumped up to help but I said we were fine, scrambled to my feet, still holding her and headed to the bedroom. I put her on the bed and i'll admit, exhausted and stressed out I yelled at her. We don't hit, period. You don't hit me, you don't kick me, you don't hit grandma... you never hurt someone on purpose! She was so angry she glared at me and then the tears started coming, silently. I got down again to her level and looked her in the eye. Kajal, I love you, now and forever I love you, but I get mad when you hurt me because that is wrong... and it hurts. She shook her head, you're mad mommy. As if being mad and loving could not exist in the same space. I am mad Kajal, but even when I'm mad I love you. I never, never stop loving you, no matter what. I reached out to comfort her and she pushed my hand away angrily. Alright then, you stay here, in the bedroom and think about what you've done. I turned away and walked back to the bedroom A few minutes later, my mother whispered, here she comes again. I didn't react, I breathed deeply and waited. She edged her way step by step into the room. Her eyes huge with silent remorse. She walked over to me... afraid and tentative and I reached out my arms. She crawled in my lap and I held her like a baby, stroking her hair and kissing her forehead. I told her I loved her and just kept stroking her gently, reassuringly. She fell asleep in my arms, tears drying on her face. My mother kissed me goodnight and headed for home and I sat there, holding her. I gazed down at my baby and thought of all the ways that I loved her, that she has become a part of me... that she is the child of my heart and soul.

I whispered to her, again and again... I am your mommy.