Being the One and Only

(Originally posted June 3, 2009, Wisconsin State Journal)

My husband grew up an only child in a small town, where large families could form baseball teams. Not wanting to repeat his lonely "only" experience, we agreed early in our marriage that we would have more than one child. So through the miracle of adoption, we now have two very different children from two countries. These two girls are sisters in every sense of the word: from the clothes they share to the rivalries that flare.


Our first daughter we adopted from China when she was 19 months old. I will call this daughter April (for she is sweet like spring and just as graceful). Our second we adopted from Ethiopia when she was 27 months old. Always scarily quick, she has a habit of rushing down stairs or out of doors. Her dad and I have bruised ourselves plenty in our haste to "save" her. You will understand if I call this four-year-old "Bee," as in "busy as."


When she came to us, Bee was a strong-willed, impetuous 2-year-old, who threw temper tantrums, cried over food and desperately fought for toys and clothes upon threat of removal. This Amharic-speaking, overwrought toddler wrecked havoc on April's emotional world. But just three weeks after bringing Bee home, April reminded us that she was resilient and able to cope. One day, as her sister lay wailing on our kitchen floor, April calmly stepped over her, ignoring her hysterics. It wasn't long after that that the girls' relationship as sisters and friends gained strength.


It was amazing how our kids could play at first without any shared words. One day, they set up an elaborate sleeping arrangement with a Chinese doll and a "baby" sleeping side-by-side. When I showed pictures to a psychologist friend later, she observed, "It looks like they're recreating their orphanage bedrooms." I thought they had just been playing, but I could see what she meant. Whether they were recreating their institutional homes or playing, it was beautiful to watch them do it together.


But they do talk a lot now. And along with speech, their typical sibling rivalry has become more vocal. April, now six, told me the other night -- "Mom, I had a dream last night." "Really, honey? What about?" "You and I go out to play, and Bee goes to jail." "Really!? Jail?" April beams. "Yes. And she stays there." Of course Bee took great offense at this, but the message was clear.


April often asks for "mommy time" -- apart from Bee. Putting Bee in jail was a sure way to get it! The next day she and I went -- alone -- to Noodles and Company, and then we bought bubbles at the Dollar store. For awhile, she got to be an only child again. That focused time reminded me why I cherish April, with her lovely laugh and quirky humor. I needed that time. We all need that time, when we can be the one and "only"--when we can be loved solely and lavishly -- for just a little while.