sh*t

Waving a White Flag

Seven years ago our family was running around Belgrade, Serbia, gathering all of the necessary documents to bring home our new daughter. In the midst of our running around we searched out every public bathroom in the city as our daughter repeatedly grabbed her stomach crying, “Bol stomach!” translation ~ “Pain stomach!”

The day after we met her, we arrived at the foster home expecting to spend the day getting to know her better and hoping that she would grow more comfortable with the strangers who’d shown up the day before speaking a foreign language and referring to ourselves as her “Mama and Tata”. The three hours we spent at the foster home that day were not spent winning her over. Nope. We spent the day, along with our three older children, following her (and her entourage), from the bathroom to the yard as she tried to poop. She cried…

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