While Mozambicans can’t afford a cement courtyard or block house rooms for their family members (let alone a cool city drain to sweep rubbish into), a lot is common between the West Coast and here on the East Coast of Africa.
Water access, everyone pitching in for the family unit, chores and family roles are all important daily realities.
When’s the last time you wondered if there would be enough water for your family to drink today?
When’s the last time you wondered if the pipes would produce water to wash the dishes, flush the toilets (or wash away the waste) or cook with?
It inevitably begins. The continent selection appears not to matter. The crowd is also not important; albeit family, friends or strangers. The intention is fantastic. The investment is strong. And nurturing. And playful as you are danced away to see new faces, learn new smells, snuggle new shoulders. Sometimes it’s on a hip, or turned outward. There’s always much attention. Petting your attempt at hair. Giggling over your adorable cheeks. Jabbering on about your little dress, hair bow or tiny striped pants. You are immediately invited into the group, added to the mix, surrounded by the community.
And then as the distractions settle, the noise calms, and the conversation naturally returns to others, you look about. Studying this new layer of life. Maybe the window catches your interest. Maybe the sunlight dancing on a chair. But just as inevitable as the visit, you begin to feel a little less comfortable.
You make a little probing peep, which usually results in the universal subconscious bounce. The second peep results in the bobble. The sway. The adjusting of your positioning. The conscious acknowledgement of your cause. Most times it comes with a verbal affirmation. Language choice is irrelevant. Tone breathes compassion.
Time adds to your frustration. You are certain now that this is becoming more overwhelming. You announce your desire to return to normalcy. And your supporter knows they are not said normalcy. As the floodgates slowly open, the moment always hits. They instantly stop the conversation mid-sentence and scan the crowd. It is written plainly across their face as we connect eyes, “Where is your mother?“
The walk is never far. The smells and feelings almost instantly return to your normal. Your funny pacifier-muffled grunts find solace in the safety of your spot on my shoulder. I hear you. I understand and I want to understand. Crossing cultures of any kind is best in small steps. Even if the culture is just another loving shoulder. Another pair of soft arms. Another smile of invitation.
We all get better at it. Time often adds to maturity. Security is slowly found in expanding circles. Freedom is just at your fingertips. Soon you will begin experimenting. And studying your sisters. Mimicking their dances with culture. Their frolicking delights. And their reserved closeness alike. Their reading of invitation. And their creation of normalcy. And oh yes you too, like they, will make an occasional judgement blunder. And find a desire for increased proximity to your safety spot, wherever it has evolved to be. Maybe you’ll return on your own. I’ll find your hand holding my skirt. You will search for my eyes. Sharing a story together to reconnect as you recenter a bit.
The walk is never far. I hear you. I see you. I understand and I want to understand. Crossing cultures of any kind is best when we return to small steps sometimes.
Young birds spread their wings better with open air and a challenge before them. You will rise. You will gain the courage. Maybe just the excitement at first that pushes you to do the unthinkable. To open your wings wide and dare make the first solo flight. And we cannot wait to see you soar. Oh sure, that won’t happen first. First it will look all awkward and feel a bit dangerous. Just like when we first took flight. But we know you will gain muscle memory, coordination and speed. Oh sure you’ll still make mistakes. Miscalculations may send you temporarily sputtering. Maybe you’ll even find yourself crashing down to bleeding knees and a tear-stained face. Those around you will then look up from the crowd. It written plainly across their faces as you connect eyes, “Where is your mother?”
The walk is never far. I will sit with you in your solace. Even when your mistake brings their eyes to look for me. Whether you have just embarrassed yourself or also embarrassed me. You can bring forth your deep hurts. I’ll strive to be a place of safety. Daughter, I hear you. I see you. I understand and I want to understand. Crossing cultures of any kind is tricky. And restoration is best when we return to small steps sometimes.
The walk is never too far, ladies. I have been reading you from a distance this whole time. And while I may have nothing more to offer, nothing more to say. Here is my shoulder, my love. Let’s find solace together.
Yes, the walk is really quite short, precious girls.
See? I am already coming.
*As I told you in the letter I wrote you, ladies, I am not your all-in-all, nor am I trying to be. But I am grateful for the honor to get to be a part of the solution, should you choose to give me the privilege of helping.
You turned four months on Easter this year. You’re a lightweight at 12.5lbs (5.6kg) and 27.5 inches (70cm). Thanks to your Daddy’s genes you are in 6 month clothing and off the charts due to your height alone, with much room to expand in your string-bean torso. But thankfully you have those kissable cheeks we all can’t resist.
(One of her last days in “tiny baby” clothing before we couldn’t smash her height into it anymore)
Your laugh, child, is to die for and keeps us all instantly wanting to “do it again” regarding whatever your little sense of humor found to be so entertaining. And yes, you’ve started just laughing when you’re a bit slap happy tired before sleep times, which makes us all giggle too.
(Playing dress-up with her sisters)
You still have gorgeous baby blues that fluctuate between crystal blue, gray and all the shades in between just like your big sister, Abi.
And so far you’ve kept your “Hannah” honey-red hair. Your temperament is 💯% elated joy or 💯% meltdown wrath. And yes, those two extremes can be found within the same 10 second window. 😂
You love books already, instantly stopping what you’re doing to give your full attention to a story and you’re even starting to enjoy looking at the pictures.
Tummy time isn’t instantly bad anymore and you rolled over the day after you turned four months just to prove once again that time flies. You have figured out how to stand when assisted and prefer to be held facing out so you can see all life’s action.
You still love taking naps in our arms and being swaddled, but enjoy yourself a solid nap on mommy and daddy’s bed and also sleep in your bed at night. And while that three to four month sleep regression hit you harder than any of your sisters, you’re beginning to return back to your 6:30p- 2:30/3:30a sleeping stretch, feed and then sleep until 5:30/6a pattern.
(You will fall asleep at 6:30p wherever you are.)
Love you to pieces, Smalls, and I’m so thankful you completed our ladies basketball team. 😉
We arrived home in Mozambique the day before you turned 3 months. Government delays in developing countries always add adventure to our lives, even if we don’t always welcome that kind of adventure. And now we can finally fill out that page in the baby (record) book called, “your first days at home”. 🎉🙌🏼🎉
You absolutely LOVE your hot air balloon mobile. And while excitedly kicking legs and flailing arms prove harder to undress and redress, your delighted coos at the balloon people bouncing along for their daily ride sure melts out hearts.
Finally being in the same country as all our homeschool curriculum has added to increased morning snuggle sessions to the soundtrack of civil war history at the moment. You don’t seem to mind in the least. Nor do you mind being “one of the girls” as you fit right into home life, despite the slight discomfort of the twenty degree jump when we crossed the border back into the tropics.
We even got to take you on your first walk on the beach… well, more like your first napping walk on the beach… hiding under a Muslim blanket for sun protection. … honestly, I’m not even sure if you knew we were ON the beach. 😂
You are THRILLED to now be old enough to face outward in the carrier (given to us by the wonderful friends you have yet to meet in your passport country, though not your birth certificate country). And with outward facing comes an instant teething bar and a whole world of excited “air swimming” amidst cooking, cleaning, and everyday tasks.
You’ve found your hands, your giggle,
And you still adore your bunny lovey (even when Mommy and Daddy accidentally leave him in Maputo and your Uncle Steve graciously drives him all the way up from Maputo, along with a lovely rocking chair).
We love you, Smalls, and are thrilled to have been given the privilege of three months of you.
