“She’s not a pretty baby”, the social worker told me for the third time. “Are you sure you want to meet her?” I hid my impatience with a calm smile and nodded yes.
We drove just a short distance from the social services office, and the social worker slowed in front of a row of townhouses. They were all the same except for their different colored shutters, making them look like crayons in a Crayola box. The social worker parked her car, got out and headed towards the Raw Sienna townhouse. She knocked on the front door, and Linda, introduced as the foster mother, led us upstairs.
The room in which we stopped was small, very cluttered with furniture, and dark. We all sat down and Linda stepped to a portacrib and lifted a baby out. Although this baby was 18 months old, she seemed more the size of an 8-9 month old. I thought she was incredibly beautiful!
The baby went to the waiting arms of the social worker. I was told this was Ashley, and that Ashley, according to the foster mother, ‘had many needs’ and would have these needs for the rest of her life. She told me Ashley wouldn’t eat and didn’t sleep well. She told me that Ashley was fussy and hadn’t met any developmental milestones. She seemed to be trying to scare me or talk me out of wanting Ashley. It didn’t work. I loved her from the moment I laid eyes on her.
The social worker held Ashley out to me, and I scooped her into my waiting arms. “Hey, Beautiful”, I said.
And everyday since that meeting day 12 years ago, the first words I have spoken to Ashley each morning when I wake her are “Hey, Beautiful.”
Deborah can be found writing here at 5MFSN every Sunday and Wednesday, and can also be found at Pipecleaner Dreams.