34. Daisy Safe Place
DAISY Safe Place
Today was the best day of my life. People exaggerate when they say things like that, but I was not exaggerating.
I was in a committed relationship with a man I was so over-the-moon for that I could scarcely think about anything else.
Anything else, that is, besides the little girl who was moving into my house today.
My phone beeped with a message from my dad:
Don’t forget to send me pictures! Can’t wait to meet your Maisy!
My Maisy. I held the phone to my chest. What a lovely thought.
I sprayed the already-clean countertops and wiped them off.
I reorganized the diapers on the changing table—again.
Then I looked up over the crib. The ballet slippers.
Painted by the mother who had left me, who I had totally lost my cool in front of.
I hated myself for that. I hated myself more for not being able to take those ballet slippers down.
I hated myself for loving them so much. I hated myself for feeling like getting to have these slippers—painted by my mother—was a link between us that could bridge a gap.
If I thought about it like an adult, of course that was a good thing.
What could be better than putting a family back together?
But I wasn’t truly capable of thinking of it like an adult because, when it came to Julie, I would always be a child.
A part of me would always be the lost, wounded little girl whose mother did not want her, who was left by the person who was supposed to love her most. I wanted to heal that in myself.
And maybe time would. Maybe being back here with her would.
But what I could be sure of was that by taking Maisy in, by making her safe, at least for a little while, I could prevent some tiny part of that for her. She was wanted.
A car door slammed, and I practically sprinted to the driveway.
Allison was getting Maisy out of the car.
I actually jumped up and down, I was so excited to see her.
I was already dreading having to take her to day care Monday.
And Tuesday. And Wednesday. But then she was all mine again!
This was going to be great. No. I tempered my thoughts.
She was a baby. She would be up in the middle of the night, and I would be exhausted and then working twelve-hour shifts.
It would be hard. But it would be worth it.
“Thank you for taking her,” Allison said, smiling as she cradled Maisy. I wanted to take her, but she didn’t seem to be ready to let her go, so, instead, I made my way toward the house, and Allison followed.
Allison smiled as she crossed the threshold. “It really is so nice in here, Daisy. You must be so happy.”
As she said “happy,” my heart felt like it might burst.
“I really am,” I said. “And Maisy completes the picture.”
Allison nodded. “Okay. Well, just remember, this will likely be very short-term.” The thought drenched me in sadness.
But this is what fostering was. Short-term.
And of course Maisy would get adopted soon.
Probably by a sweet, happy couple who couldn’t have children of their own and were dying to love her.
It would be the best-case scenario. Better than a couple of teenagers trying to scrape out an existence and, tired and cranky, not being able to give much to her.
At least, that was what I had to tell myself.
It was hard to justify, that I knew who Maisy’s parents were and hadn’t told the truth about it.
I needed to do some hard looking in the mirror as to why that was.
And I would. Because truth was truth, and it needed to be in the world.
But not now. Today, I would just be happy with the baby who had felt like she was a part of my heart since the moment I first laid eyes on her.
“Now, just a reminder that you will need respite, Daisy. Any responsible adult that you would trust with your own child is a suitable short-term caregiver under North Carolina state law.”
I nodded. I knew she had to tell me these things even though I knew them.
“And if anything comes up, I’m just a phone call away, all right?”
I nodded again.
“And if any health issues arise—”
I interrupted her. “Allison, I’m a nurse. I’ve got this. She is perfectly healthy. I checked myself. And if that changes, she’s in the best possible hands.”
Allison smiled. “I know. That’s why I insisted that you get her.”
“You did?”
She nodded. Allison looked down at the baby as she started to fuss. “It’s okay,” she said, jostling her lightly. The fussing turned into a full-on cry.
“Oh no!” Allison said over the noise. “I can’t leave you in your first foster moment with a screaming baby!”
I laughed. “Screaming babies are kind of what I do!”
Allison gingerly handed Maisy to me. I propped her up on my shoulder, and the moment she snuggled her face into my neck, she stopped crying and sighed. She pulled her little legs up into me. She knew me. I wasn’t her mother, but I had been her safe place.
Allison’s eyes widened. “Oh my gosh,” she said. “She looks like she’s about to fall asleep.”
I turned to inhale that sweet baby smell and held her up close to me.
I reminded myself that this was going to be hard, that single parenthood was not for the faint of heart.
I didn’t say it out loud to Allison, but Maisy was mine.
I didn’t carry her or give birth to her, but somehow, way deep down, I knew this tiny baby felt the same eternal connection to me as I did to her.
Mason crossed my mind, but I pushed him away as I told Allison goodbye.
This wasn’t about him. It was about Maisy.
And it was about me. And it was about this child having the stability and love in her life that I hadn’t quite gotten.
Nope, I wouldn’t have said it out loud yet, but, in my heart, I was one hundred percent sure: When and if the sixty days were up and no one had claimed Maisy, my paperwork would be ready and waiting.
I was going to adopt our little Jane Doe.