Daddy is my best.

Celebrating G's adoption day. 

I hear it one hundred times a day.
"When will daddy be home?"

Cutting down our Christmas tree. 

"Will daddy be home for dinner?"
"Daddy is my favorite."
"Daddy is my best."

                                                                                          Halloween.    

"I want to get doughnuts just with daddy."
"I want to go to the store to buy ant killer just with daddy."

Failed Dora costume. 

"I'm making this project for daddy."
"I want daddy to give me my bath."
"I think daddy will like this."
"That's daddy's favorite."

And it goes on.  And on.  And sometimes I feel a little like a third wheel.  Not really.  What I feel is immense gratitude.

Sunday paper. 

That this girl is in love with her daddy.  She wants to marry him and wears a Dora ring that she says is her wedding ring from daddy.  It doesn't matter what Chris is doing, Georgia wants to do it with him.  Edging the lawn, taking out the trash, re-arranging the storage room in the basement, moving the trampoline, reading the paper, going to Lowe's, cleaning up cat puke, or looking at Sports Illustrated--the most mundane of tasks are like a trip to Disney World if daddy is involved.  Meanwhile, I could build a circus tent in our living room, don a ring-masters tuxedo, and ride a tiger.......but if daddy rounds the corner with a broom to sweep the garage that trumps everything......we're sweeping the garage.

                                                Art Prize....downtown Grand Rapids.  

And I know it's not Father's Day--so why am I writing a tribute to Daddy?  Apart from the obvious answer--that I wouldn't want anyone else to be Georgia's daddy and that there is no one I'd rather do life with than Chris--there's a deeper answer in there.  And it starts with the questions that Georgia is starting to ask about herself.  And her adoption.  And what it all really means.  

Driving. 

Georgia and I lay in bed every night and talk and do prayers and act silly and give kisses and I remind her to stop biting her finger-nails.  And sometimes out of the blue she'll drop a really deep question on me.   Like......."If I grew in Tarah's tummy, I'm her little girl too, right?" 

Um.  So we're three and we're going to start these discussions. 

I was quiet for a minute.  I don't think it's bad to be quiet while you think about what to say.  "You know what honey, Tarah was your birth-mom.  There are two kinds of mommies and they are both awesome.  So, if she was your birth mom it means you grew in her tummy just like we always talk about and she picked us to be your mommy and daddy once you were born--she wanted you to be our little girl.  Remember--not all babies grow in their mommy's tummies.  Just because a baby grows in someone's tummy, it doesn't mean they are that baby's mommy forever.  We love Tarah, and she loved you so much--so much.  We're so glad she took such good care of you while you were growing in her tummy.  Aren't you?  So that you could be a strong healthy girl and be our little girl?"

Georgia was quiet for a minute.  "That's okay.  I like being your little girl and I liked growing in Tarah's tummy.  But I really like daddy." 

                                                                                      Larry's Pizza.

And all of that heartfelt conversation and deep emotion flutters away......because daddy is king.  But does it really?  No.  She's thinking.  Hard.  And that's great.  We've created an atmosphere in our home that we can talk about adoption whenever and wherever she brings it up.  It's her choice.  We don't bombard her with it, we don't make it heavy, we don't force her to read the books we have on it, we go weeks without even talking about it.  But if she brings it up--we talk, we joke, we laugh, we're as honest as a three year old can handle, and we celebrate.  Oh do we celebrate.  

And right now, Georgia wants to celebrate that daddy is her daddy.  It's her thing right now.  She said to me today, resurrecting our conversation from the other night and proving that she forgets nothing, "If Tarah didn't pick you to be my mommy, daddy wouldn't be my daddy, right?"  I smiled at her.  I tried not to let her see me wipe away some tears (because if she sees me cry she assumes I have a bad, bad boo boo and need a few band-aids) and I just said, "That's right honey.  And we're so happy that daddy is your daddy aren't we?"

Daddy is your best. 

Santa. Always a little scary. 

Putting together the big girl bed........with daddy. 

Antibiotics.  A way of life for almost a year.....until this week......we're clear!

                                                                              A snowy walk. 

Valentine's Day presents.