Dateline March, 2007 – My Imperfectly Perfect Daughter

In my life of almost constant chaos, there are a few bright spots. If anyone ever asked me I’d have to say it isn’t the deafening stillness that comes over the house when all seven kids are outside together (though that ranks right up there). It isn’t when I’m told by the school system that my eldest daughter is so smart that she is being tested for the Talented and Gifted program for next year (just had to throw that one out there), or the fact that my middle son is also a good candidate for the program (despite his struggles with ADHD.) I think I’d have to say, if anyone ever asked (which no one has) that one of the biggest highlights of our chaotic family life is my Korean daughter.

Elizabeth, now eight, was adopted from Seoul, South Korea two years ago. She was an almost seven-year-old hiding out in a baby home, flying under the radar while her caretakers hoped against hope that someone would come forward to adopt her. She had been listed for adoption for European families since she was an infant, with no takers.

It couldn’t have been because she was not a beautiful child – she has dark shiny hair and a complexion to die for. It couldn’t be the fact that she was missing her two front teeth for ever and ever – all kids at one time or another have gapped tooth smiles (although I have a sneaking suspicion her baby teeth were knocked out while learning to walk on cold tile floors at the baby house.)

I think my daughter was aging out of the baby home because she came with a scary sounding label that probably turned most would-be parents bloodto ice. My daughter has Schizencephaly. In simple terms it’s a split between the two brain halves that results in various levels of impairment. My daughter uses a wheel chair and has trouble speaking.

We first became aware of her in the spring of 2005 when we were attending a Christmas party for internationally adopted children. An agency rep was there with flyers from the adoption agency and Elizabeth was there, the top dog of waiting children. She was the oldest (almost seven years old) and on her way to the next level of orphanage by September, where there would be almost no chance of getting a family. Well, by the time we got home, back when we only had five sugar-whacked kids (instead of our present seven) I had made the decision to find out more about her.

I called the agency rep and asked to see her videos. Most of them showed the same scene over and over – a long legged little girl in foot and leg braces, walking along the row of baby cribs, holding herself up and smiling like a mad woman, a sucker clenched between her back molars. It didn’t take long for me to convince my husband that adopting just one more wasn’t as insane as it seemed.

Here it is nearly two years later and my daughter is finishing up first grade. She has gone from a seven year old in diapers with almost no speaking skills, to an outgoing, chattering, friendly, charming, stubborn princess. She is reading at almost grade level, is a social star among the 7-8 yr old crowd, has a smile that can light up a two-mile radius and is finally speaking in full sentences.

Of all the children and all the paperwork, and all the prayers that went into making our show stopping, crowd gawking family, she is surely a star. It truly breaks my heart that she lived so many years in a baby home destined to become a statistic because of a scary sounding label. After two years of taking my daughter to therapy I have seen scores of homegrown children with labels that make “Cerebral Palsy” and “Schizencephaly” seem like a walk in the park. It looks like this time our leap of faith landed us right in the middle of God’s Grace.

She is an angel in a wheel chair, a stubborn princess, a little girl with garbled speech, bright onyx eyes and shiny hair. She is the light of our lives and, at times, the bane of my existence. She is my daughter.