Before adopting, I had never thought much about the word “attachment.” Having worked with young children, I tossed the word around when speaking about attachments my wee charges had to lovies or maybe even myself, as one of their caregivers. I truly did not know what it meant.

Then we made the big decision, and the research began. Articles, books, and videos educated and warned us about the fragile mind of a child and the importance of early bonds. Previous to this research, I had never even heard of RAD (Reactive Attachment Disorder). We plunged ahead, despite the fears. This was our path, after all. We both knew that to be true. Something was pulling us toward Russia. Thus, we kept walking down our path, absorbing the knowledge as the journey went on. Slowly we became comfortable, at least in what we knew. There came a point at which I had learned what I could from books and videos, for now. Only experience with my child would continue the education.

I got a taste of what attachment means as our adoption journey was nearing its completion. In the 2 months or so before we were to return to Russia, we decided it would be wise for me to quit my job and dedicate myself to completing our preparations. My last day with “my kids”, a goodbye party was given in my honor. As the day wound down, I bade my goodbyes to each of these little children, many of whom I had taken care of for over 2 years. Most of the children waved and left happily with their parents, not truly understanding that I would not be returning the next morning. One little girl, however, understood. For the first time in our 2 years together, she did not want to leave to go home with her father. I offered to walk them to the car, and she was happy with this. As I put her in her car seat and gave her one last hug and goodbye, she broke down and she began to cry. This was not the usual cry I was accustomed to hearing from this child. This was a heart wrenching cry. I said goodbye again, and began stepping away from the car as she called my name through her sobs. My heart broke. I began to cry with her. Of course I loved these children. I took care of them for so long, how could I not? She had confirmed, though, that she loved me. I was not her parent, yet we had formed this special bond. I could not help but wonder… How long will it take until our daughter will love me? Will she love me? Can she? Was there someone in her life that she loved like that–someone she had attached to?

Fast forward to our first months home with our new 12 month old daughter. In the beginning, armed with all of my information, I was hyper-aware. I could not help but constantly analyze everything our daughter did, comparing it to the things I learned and looking for signs of attachment (or worse–signs of attachment issues). Is this an attachment issue? Is this just toddleritis? There were things there that bothered me. My heart broke each time she put her little arms up to a stranger to be picked up, each time I tried to hold her close and she stiffened her arms to push away, every time I tried to look into those big blue eyes and her gaze averted. At night, as I held her and rocked her before bed, she cried and tried to move away from my body. I cried, too. How could a little baby not want to be snuggled, rocked, sang to? My heart hurt for her, and for me. But still, we rocked. In my weakest moments, during times she fought so hard to get away from me and my love, I pleaded with her in my mind. “Why? Why can’t you love me? Why can’t we have a ‘normal’ relationship? Why can’t you let me in?” These were the hardest days.

Time went on and there were small changes. Finally she resigned herself to the rocking. It became part of the routine. She may have even enjoyed it, most nights, but in the end, it was her pillow she wanted and was attached to. She wanted to return to this soft object before truly falling asleep instead of resting her head on her mama. Though I knew why this was on a logical level, it still hurt me. But we rocked on. She began understanding that it was not okay to ask strangers to pick her up, or maybe that I did not like it. She started to realize that other grown ups were not allowed to feed her (even though it was so hard to make the grown ups understand why and to stop). Mommy and Daddy were the food and the comfort. Slowly she began seeking us if she needed something. These were the first steps.

The transition has been so slow that I could not even tell you what happened when. Over time, she has become attached to her Mommy and Daddy. She looks for us when she is hurt. Hugs and kisses are ours for the taking, on most days–and they will even arrive unannounced on many occasions. She is sad when we go and excited when we return. She took it quite hard when I had to be in the hospital for 9 days before the boys were born. She still reflects on her sadness whenever she hears the word “hospital”.

Of course, things are not perfect. There are times when she is off having fun (especially when we are visiting family) and does not seem to think twice about whether Mom and Dad are nearby. There are even instances when she shuns me, wanting others (grandmas, aunts, friends) to help her instead of me. This does not sit right with me, and I will often step in and help her anyway. In the end, however, so much progress has been made in the past 2 1/2 years (has it possibly been that long?). There may yet be challenges and issues to face, but each time my daughter chooses to snuggle up to me or touch my hair or face softly, I worry a bit less about what our future together holds.

After all is said and done, I know it to be true now. She does love me. I am her Mother.