Several weeks ago I experienced the irony of ironies. My daughter, husband, and I were being interviewed by a social worker. For those of you who don’t know me that’s what I do. Our meeting with the social worker was just one of the steps in the process we have been going through as part of the Mr. adopting the Little Miss. In our family’s eyes she is already his child and he is and will forever be her daddy but this pretty much sweetens the deal outlining on paper what we already know to be true in our hearts. Our little one knows who her biological father is. But when she says daddy she isn’t referring to him. Instead, she is referring to the man who kisses her goodnight before she goes to bed, takes out the knots in her shoelaces, and makes the “best tacos, even better than mommy’s”. At the age of 6 she is far beyond her years and yet still a baby in so many ways. She knows that we are going through a process ultimately so she can be what she has dreamed of being since she made the change, on her own, from calling him “Chris” to “daddy” – a Briscoe. With the exception of a new birth certificate and a change in her name in our lives nothing else will really change. Chris will continue to remind me “she’s my kid too”, he will continue to beat me to the parent teacher conferences (so punctual my Mr. is) and he will probably continue to make the “best tacos” ever.
My Mr. and Little Miss have something quite special. They have a bond that I believe was orchestrated by God, a match made in heaven. They have a love that is so pure and so sweet and their transition into father and daughter has been so effortless and so beautiful to see.
I could not ask for a more amazing person to help me care for the gift God gave to me and has allowed me to share with my husband – OUR daughter Jalayla. Our joy.Tweet