New parents, new house, new school and of course, a new doctor.
The girls were thrilled to visit the local pediatric clinic last week. They were thrilled to be told to UNDRESS and wrap themselves up in paper robes. They were thrilled that I was in the room.
Yeah, so they were not thrilled nor happy about any portion of their doctor visit.
The horrified look on KK's face was slightly amusing. Not because her discomfort was funny, but because she didn't realize that I would respect her privacy. I stood with my back to the girls, pressed against the door (keeping it firmly closed against intrusion), eyes closed.
They sat side by side on the exam table, a force to be reckoned with. Serious faces, uncomfortable in their own skin, peeved that adults were forcing them into this uncomfortable examination.
And I laughed.
I joked about paper robes, paper exam table covers, and the temperature of the room. Pretty much anything that would lighten the mood. When KK shifted her position, I mentioned the muscle definition in her leg and my surprise that she had such strong legs. She flexed her muscles and let me just say that little girl is nothing but muscle. Not an ounce of fat on that one! KK made a comment about something (that is completely lost to me now) and I was slapped in the face with a reality check:
She doesn't trust us.
Not. One. Little. Bit.
It's not insulting and it's to be totally expected, but it wears on a person. We've come to the conclusion that the reason it wears on us is because we are use to being trusted, especially by children. Now we have this wild little animal with raging hormones, who sometimes eyes us with a weary expression.
And yet, she wants to be adopted.
Such a contradiction.
She has so many secrets, both from her past and in the present. Will we ever really know who she is? Do we want to know who she is?
KK has made it clear that she does not want us attending her track meets. She says it makes her uncomfortable that we would be watching her. Why? There are strangers and school friends and coaches and teammates watching her. Why are we different?
Is it because we represent adults who have power over her situation? Just like her biological father? Or, is it that she trusts no one and that for the rest of her life she will keep us at arms length?
It's all very tricky and sticky and muddled.
I'm hoping that as the months pass, perhaps her guard will fall a little. Maybe, just maybe, after proving we that we are stable, she will begin to trust us. If we don't abuse her, if we don't lie to her, if we keep our promises, maybe we will one day be a real family.
The naked truth is this; she acts like a guest in our house.