I remember when I was born
I try and make our Friday nights special... celebrating the end of my work week and her school week and the fact that we are about to have two whole days together. I pick her up a little early when ever possible and we head out to dinner, whether it's a shared plate of pasta at a little neighborhood Italian restaurant or like tonight, pizza at our favorite old fashioned Pizzeria. Regina's is practically a hundred years old.. pictures of people from the 20's cover the walls, the waitresses barely acknowledge that you are there. It's cozy and crowded. Kajal loves it and so do I. We curled up with her favorite meatball pizza and talk about her day and mine. As we walked home hand in hand Kajal looked at the winding streets, hey Mom, I know this place. You do? Sure... this is where we came to the Fiesta, the Party.
The North End is famous for their summer feasts and the biggest one, the St. Anthony's takes place in the streets that wind around the pizzeria. That's right, Kajal, that was a feast... a celebration, just like a fiesta. We came here last year to enjoy the celebrations and she loved it. As we walked towards home, she turned to me and said... I remember when I was born Mommy. I remember everything we did when I was born.
Wow. When I was born. I realized that's how she looked at those early days (all of 15 months ago) like she had just been born...
I'd heard a story early in my research of older child adoption. A story about a little boy that told a friend he remembered when he had been born. He went on to describe the plane ride home from his birth country with his new family, he had truly come to believe that he had been 'born' on the plane. The experts suggested reading books and educating children about birth to give them a better understanding of their 'true' early beginnings. The months leading up to Kajal's last birthday we spent a lot of time reading books about 'being born' and talking about her birth in India. I did everything the psychologists say to do but here we were at this place and in her mind, being born meant our coming together. Me coming for her and bringing her home.
When I think about it, she makes a lot of sense. I know for me, the moment I held her in my arms...
was like being reborn as well.
The North End is famous for their summer feasts and the biggest one, the St. Anthony's takes place in the streets that wind around the pizzeria. That's right, Kajal, that was a feast... a celebration, just like a fiesta. We came here last year to enjoy the celebrations and she loved it. As we walked towards home, she turned to me and said... I remember when I was born Mommy. I remember everything we did when I was born.
Wow. When I was born. I realized that's how she looked at those early days (all of 15 months ago) like she had just been born...
I'd heard a story early in my research of older child adoption. A story about a little boy that told a friend he remembered when he had been born. He went on to describe the plane ride home from his birth country with his new family, he had truly come to believe that he had been 'born' on the plane. The experts suggested reading books and educating children about birth to give them a better understanding of their 'true' early beginnings. The months leading up to Kajal's last birthday we spent a lot of time reading books about 'being born' and talking about her birth in India. I did everything the psychologists say to do but here we were at this place and in her mind, being born meant our coming together. Me coming for her and bringing her home.
When I think about it, she makes a lot of sense. I know for me, the moment I held her in my arms...
was like being reborn as well.
I always feel more comfortable in chaotic surroundings. I don't know why that is. I think order is dull. There is something about this kind of desire for order, particularly in Anglo Saxon cultures, that drive out this ability for the streets to become a really exotic, amorphous, chaotic, organic place where ideas can, basically, develop.
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