A Story About Eggs

"The other day, I went back to the chickens, and I found an egg.  It was an egg that was badly broken.  It was smooshed all over and seeping out onto the ground.  Do you know what that egg reminds me of?  It reminds me of you.  You're feeling angry right now, a little bit broken.  Did you know that there is nothing so broken that God cannot fix it?"

As I sat listening to my husband talking to my oldest, tears welled in my eyes.
What Michael didn't tell Million was that the particular egg he was describing was an egg that one of our chickens had cannibalized.  With the cold weather, the egg froze before we could get to it and cracked open.  Sadly, one of our chickens thought it an adequate food source instead of being willing to move down the ladder 3 feet to the feeder.  We will have to determine soon which chicken it is and get rid of it, or the chicken will teach the rest of the chickens to eat the eggs.

Like that egg, Million has been pecked on by others.  He has never had a "fair" chance at life.  His course was predetermined for him.  He has had so many circumstances both in Ethiopia and here in the United States that could lead a child to become angry and embittered.

But...

There is nothing so broken that God cannot fix it.

And that is our hope.  Our faith.  Our prayer.

We acknowledge that we may never see complete healing in him.
But we press on.
Because our God is a healer who delights in making broken things whole.  

"Why Don't I Have Brown Cousins?"

"Mama, will baby cousin have hair?"
"I think so.  Probably just a little."
"Will he have nipples?"
"Most babies do."
"Will he be brown like me?"
"No, sweetie.  He'll be creamy vanilla like Creedence."
"Oh.  I wish he would be brown.  Why don't I have any brown cousins?  Nobody looks like me...."

Things I can't answer in the way that he wants me to.

We talked about how it's not true that nobody looks like him, because he has some chocolate brown friends at church and how we see chocolate people all over town.  He ended up saying that he's glad that he'll eventually have a brown sister.

And that my skin is yogurt colored.

I can't fix the extended family bit of sadness in his heart, and that's not likely a situation that will ever be fixed.  Michael and I have always been passionate about adoption, but we don't believe our family has a responsibility to feel the same way.
This is just a note to say that with adoption some moments are tougher than others, and some of my son's questions are tougher than others.

And just like that the sadness was over.  And he started talking about how his skin was chocolate, and was probably so yummy that he should start licking it.  And lick it he did.  Because he's four and illogical.

Pregnancy, Miscarriage, Adoption, and How to Count Your Children

We are adding another little one to our family.  I was fairly cautious about putting this out on public media until I realized I had miscalculated our trimester dates, and that we were already out of the first trimester.  I also waited until my most recent midwife appointment, when we again heard the baby's heartbeat.

We are joyous about this new life.  He or she will make their appearance around the 1st of the year.
We're very thrilled. I cannot wait to see the boys embrace brotherhood once again.


But we're also sad.
It's so difficult to describe.

If I could change one insensitive thing I've ever done, I would have learned this: pregnancy does not automatically "fix" the pain of a miscarriage. There are some women I know that got pregnant after miscarriage.  And until I experienced this, I just kind of went on thinking "Oh, yay for them!  Now they get the baby they wanted."  But that's not how it worked.  Both babies were/are wanted.  And one is separated from their mommy and daddy forever.

I read recently a statement that said that babies who were miscarried have two "birthdays" for families to remember.  The first is their original due date, and the second is the date of their departure.  We're getting closer to our original due date, and I don't know how I'm going to handle that---if it will be a Big Deal or not so big of a deal.  The date of our baby's departure will be three weeks after this baby will be born, so I might still be in the throes of postpartum hormones, and it might become a very BIG DEAL.  I just don't know.  Or I might be so sleep-deprived that I won't even know it passed.

The other thing that makes me sad is not knowing how to count my children when people ask me how many kids I have.  I only have two at home.  But I have one in heaven.  And I have one in the womb.  And one somewhere in adoption-maybe-not-born-yet-we-really-don't-know land.  So do we count the one in my womb and not the one in adoption-land?  Do we leave out the miscarriage entirely?  The general public around me will acknowledge my pregnancy but not our current adoption process or my miscarriage, but that feels so stilted to me.

So this is a sad post.
But a happy post too.
Because baby number whatever is hopefully going to come our way in January.  

Using our Pain: Miscarriage and Adoption Pain

This has been a post I've contemplated over and over.  It's one that I admit that I've wanted to write several times before, but in each instance it's always been directed mean-spiritedly at someone in my head.  I've elected not to type it before, because I try to use whatever measures of self-control God has given me to NOT direct my anger into the blogosphere.

Today, however, I have an occasion where I'm not directing this post negatively at anyone.  So I thought I should grab the chance, while I had it...  (smirk)

Michael and I always have a strict "use your pain" philosophy.  That being said, we don't always use our pain well.  But it's our philosophy.  And I thought I'd share a bit about it, since it's been a... trying day.  What do I mean by using our pain?  I mean, when we've encountered an experience that was painful for us, or that we noted was painful for those around us, we do our best to learn from that experience and use our education in the future.

i.e. waiting for a child.  We do our best to be sensitive to those experiencing infertility and those who are in the midst of long and arduous adoption processes, simply because we've gone through a long and painful wait for a child.

I've been questioning lately and have not come up with any ideas about how God is going to allow us to use our miscarriage pain.  But I'm certain it will not be the most glamorous of circumstances.  And I'm open to whatever He wants.  It's a painful process.  Still is.  I constantly feel like the party pooper when I type about it, with so many people in joyous stages of life around me.  It's only been two months, but the world has gone on around me, and in many cases, people have forgotten it ever happened and have lost their sensitivity.

And then there's just general day-to-day life pain.  Living with a child who has a past history of trauma is difficult.  Daily.  With Million, however, I hesitate to be open about his pain, even to our closest family members.  He has an awful lot of pain in his little self.  But today I have a fairly harmless example.

Yesterday, we watched Frozen for the first time.  I'd avoided it because a.) I'd already heard all of the songs anyway....b)  I knew that the parents died, and I hate the gilding of death in children's movies and c.) I'd simply avoided it because Disney has not come out with a classy and intelligent female character who doesn't reek of sensuality or sassiness for a long time.  But we watched it anyway.  There were positives.  It was nice to see a movie as a family.  We do that so rarely.  It was cute and funny at points, I will give it that.  But neither Michael nor I could understand why it seems to have taken the world by storm (other than an insanely well-laid-out marketing plan...)

Then today, we had some issues. I don't want to go into a lot of detail here, but Million is now concerned that we are going to die or never come back if we go away on a trip.  He's been having a lot of Scary Dreams lately, and this is now compounded into daytime contemplation. The unfortunate bit about this whole situation is that we have a one-night getaway planned very shortly.  He has only been out of our care for three nights total.

So how do we use this pain in his life?  Obviously, we have a lot of strategies on a daily basis, that I don't want to get into here... but for right now, we've been talking a lot about who would be responsible for the boys' care should we die.  I've also been talking with him a lot about the feelings in the movie (and the feelings the movie failed to properly display about death.) He's got a really good vocabulary and is an extraordinarily intelligent child, but he doesn't understand a lot of feeling words very well, which is typical, given his age, gender, and life circumstances.

So, this is my silent prayer about daily pain and miscarriage pain, being posted into the blogosphere.... "God, use this pain.  Use it for good.  Bring your light and image to bear in our family, and through us the world.  Let beauty be brought forth from the ashes.  Make all things new."  

Belly Buttons and Adoption

"Mama, did my birth mommy* like it when I ate her food when I was in her tummy?" 

That's the question my sweet bundle of energy asked me yesterday.  I didn't answer it completely yesterday, because the circumstances surrounding his adoption are so nuanced and deep, and it was a nap-time stalling technique. 

Today, I came up with an answer that satisfied him.  "Sweet Pea, remember how yesterday we were talking about if your birth mommy liked it when you ate her food in her tummy?  I think a good answer is that her heart was full of a lot of feelings when you were in her tummy.  And that she thought about you a lot."  That satisfied his curiosity, and he repeated the answer to himself several times.   

We've been talking about belly buttons a lot, most notably because even though we haven't explained the "birds and the bees" yet to Million, we're trying to be fairly candid about how babies grow in mommies' tummies.  He understands that babies get their food through umbilical cords and after the baby is born, the baby doesn't need to eat the food from their mommy, so the umbilical cord needs to be clipped.  He's seen pictures of Creedence's umbilical cord in a clamp right after birth.  And that has brought questions surrounding the circumstances around his birth.  We're grateful that we know a lot more about his birth and life pre-orphanage than many families.  Michael has actually visited the building that Million was born in.  But we don't know much about his actual birth.  It's very likely that he was a preemie, judging on his medical records and his many early lung problems. 

But these kind of conversations.... I think at this stage they're harder on me than they are on him.  I get so worried that I'm going to say something "wrong" that will cause some future therapy.  A few days ago, I realized that he didn't know if his birth mommy was a female or a male.  Obviously more conversations are in order.  And we'll keep having them.  And he'll keep surprising me with the questions he comes up with.

*Note: we don't actually refer to his birth mommy as "birth mommy."

Self-fulfilling prophecies and goldfish syndrome in Adoptions

One of the wonderful things about reading books about reading books is that I generally come away with a laundry list of books to check out from our public library. Several of the children's books I requested came today.  And every single one of them was a winner.

Million sat through an entire story hour at our public library and behaved in generally appropriate ways.  Please tell me that someone else understands what a big deal this is.

In other thoughts, I have an adoption post lurking in the corners of my brain, but I have very little time at the present moment to formulate it.  So I'll just spill it here, and if anyone wants to steal the idea and run with it, be my guest.  I feel that a lot of young adult adoptee problems are just self-fulfilled prophecies.  Let me explain.  Say a baby or toddler was adopted.  They do a thing as a child that most non-adopted children would be redirected or scolded for.   There are two general reactions: A) "That must be because they were adopted."  and not react. or B) React in either extreme discipline because they lacked that discipline from the start or react in complete passivity/a.k.a. loving them is enough.  People expect adoptees to be problem children.  People are looking for it.  I've seen caregivers in public settings NOT discipline Million for doing something that required discipline.  I don't think it's because he's utterly charming. 

The other thought is that adoptees are goldfish in a bowl.  People are waiting for them to fail, and so their moves are scrutinized more than average children. 

For example: little boys just generally have a thing about touching their privates.  Especially after transitioning from diapers to underwear.  However, if a boy who was previously adopted is touching his privates, however innocently, the mind automatically goes to prior sexual abuse.  (I wholeheartedly acknowledge that it IS a concern for many parents, and I'm not trying to downplay it.  I just am trying to provide an example of the extreme scrutiny that adoptees go through.)

So there are the ideas about adoption that I really don't have a lot of time to explore in depth.  And I realize there are some stark generalizations, but please realize that I'm writing this post in the 5 minutes that Michael is washing Million's hair from playing in the leaves. 

Thoughts About Adoption Messages In Children's Clothing

We're spending this time packing, watching incredibly stupid horse movies checked out from the library (such a disappointment!), trying not to fret over some date changes in our this-house closing that would affect our that-house closing. 

And I've read three books.  For fun.
And I've been crocheting again.

Kind of helps when you have no furniture in the house except for a card table and chairs and two semi-uncomfortable used-to-be-doctor's-office-pleather-chairs. 

That, and we've been playing a restaurant's version of Bejeweled in attempts to get free food for the next year. 
Class acts, I tell you.


Tonight, I was folding some laundry, and I came across a onesie of Creedence's. 

It has a little fish on the front, and it says "This one's a keeper."
We live the kind of privileged life where I don't know if Creedence has ever actually worn the onesie or if it's just been shuffled from diaper bag to diaper bag.

But tonight, for whatever reason, I couldn't stop thinking of some other things about that onesie.  How must birth mothers and adoptees in the United States feel about the trite message displayed on that garment?  (And on apparently many onesies; I was lazily searching for an image of the onesie on google, and there are at least 18 types of "keeper" messages on onesies.)

When I (or whoever) bought that garment, we obviously weren't thinking of the back message of a fishing story: A) this one meets all of the requirements and is satisfying to me, appropriate weight etc., so I won't throw him back in the pond B) Some fish don't meet those requirements and aren't worth keeping.  (And disturbingly C: I just like to reel fish in for the fun of it so I can throw them back.)

When I think of it from an adoption perspective, it's horrifying.  To display a shirt on your child that says A) this baby meets my requirements and satisfies me, I think I'll keep him and B) Some babies aren't worth keeping, is utterly revolting.

Sigh.  I know that the person who designed the onesie designed it with a view of the parental-child relationship---an affirmation that "yes, you, my special child, are valued." 

If only, it didn't have a predator and prey relationship to go along with the lunch and eater mentality.

If I could give a facebook-status-type summary to this whole post, it would be: Heather is feeling disillusioned with children's clothing. 

How about you?  Have you ever seen any kids' clothing that looked cute initially and only revealed it's tasteless side later on?

Adoption and Societal Expectations

I'm a slow learner sometimes.
Have to admit that.
This week, I learned two things about adoption.
One thing very Million-specific...
And one more general.
I'll share the general here.

Because we adopted a toddler first, we will never have the idyllic moments that most first-time parents have.  The moments where the mommy or daddy is completely focused on intentionally promoting intellectual stimulation to their infant and beaming in every single developmental milestone.  No distractions...just purposeful, intentional time spent promoting psychological and physiological nurture to your infant.

Million never had that.  And Creedence doesn't have that now.
But Creedence's lack is simply because he has an older sibling.

When Million came home, his brain was already programmed in certain ways.  His social construct was changed so many times that how he ordered things in his little mind was not what one would consider a logical progression.

And then taking him into a "bonding" setting where we avoided any institutional care (shun! shun the big-bad institution, said the adoption books!) did achieve bonding to his family, but did not achieve any knowledge of societal expectations when he did eventually work his way into more institutional settings.


All this general explanation to say: apologies to the public library for absolutely RUINING your babygarten on Thursday and for my nearly 3-year-old throwing carpet squares and reciting Goodnight Moon very loudly before the librarian could turn the page and then pressing the alarm repeatedly on the elevator*. 

We're working on how to behave...but we could use a little grace.

*It was one of those days I was thankful to NOT be wearing an adoption t-shirt.  Because I don't want our family to be the family that gets mentioned derisively when people announce they're adopting "well, there was this little boy in the library one time, and he was adopted and he was wild and unruly and obviously not well adjusted."  I would much rather people assume (as some do when Michael's not with me) that I'm a single mom who has had two very different-looking boyfriends.  This is not to say that I'm not about openness in adoption regarding struggles and adjustment---I'm blogging about this, so obviously I'm okay being open to some extent.  I struggle with the line between transparency and protection of my kids.  I also struggle with the desire to see more families adopt but the fierce longing to protect children from families who adopt for the wrong reasons.  

Waiting and Learning (And How Learning Helps Waiting)

Michael taught me to glue and nail crates this weekend.  This is the first crate I put together by myself.   (I didn't do any of the sawing; that will be another lesson.)

We're going to be participating in five craft fairs/art bazaars this year, four of which average 1500 to 3000 people in attendance.  We're leaving the actually "big" ones that average 5000 or more people for next year.

We became DTE last Friday.  Right now, I'm occupying myself writing a list of 36+ fun activities that our family can do that are "out of the norm" to make each month of waiting fun.  I need to add in a buffer so that once we hit the three-year mark of waiting, I don't spiral into some crazy lady vortex with no activities or purpose left.

Michael has requested that he and Million can construct a outdoor clay oven as one of them.  That will be on this summer's docket.
Other examples are: visiting a lighthouse, going to a chocolate shop and watching chocolates being made, visiting a garden conservatory, going to an airplane show, etc.

The objective is to defeat the dreary and long wait with new educational opportunities for us to obsessively research about each month.  When I look back at our best waiting months from our last adoption process, I saw us in the midst of huge demolition projects in our home, learning to clean wool and spin wool into yarn, having an insanely large herb garden, and learning to cook Ethiopian meals.  Learning (at least for Michael and me) defeats the boredom which leads to discontent.

And if we can impress on our boys the fun of self-education and that The Wide World is an adventure waiting to happen, I'll be happy.

What are some ideas of family-friendly-ish activities that you wish your parents were crazy enough to do with you or to teach you?

To wait...

and then we wait.
today, we mailed our dossier off for little sister.

I think with every child, there comes a different kind of anticipation.

When we were adopting Million, someone told me that adoption waiting isn't as hard if it isn't your first child.  I remember blogging that on our adoption blog and getting a lot of nasty comments about "how do you know? you don't know our situation..." Of course, I understand the upset that a comment like that can cause, because it didn't exactly validate their pain.  But I see truth in it, too.

Especially now that we're waiting again.  And looking at a wait that will likely be four times longer to referral than our last one was.  (crossing fingers that we don't end up with all the waiting AFTER referral that we did with Million's case...)

But it is different.  It doesn't feel so desperate.  It doesn't feel so life altering.
With our wait for Million, since we were still "yuppies", I felt the need to announce it to the world that we were adopting.  I felt slighted when people didn't remember that I was a mama-to-be.  I had a whole blog about the experience of adoption.  I hung on every word in internet forums about Ethiopian adoption, skin care, hair care, etc.  I obsessively checked the wait list to see what "number" we were.

With our wait for Creedence, there was an anticipation that was brought on by education.  We went to so many child birth and natural pain management courses along with educating ourselves with scads of books.  Quite naturally, we anticipated labor and delivery as "the big event" and (I think) failed a little in preparing for life afterwards.  We're recovering now and have nearly a normal life as a family of four.  I didn't feel slighted when people didn't know I was pregnant at seven months along.  In fact, I thought it was funny that I was still getting "is she or isn't she?" looks and dropped jaws.

I'm not claiming that this adoption's wait won't be difficult.  That would be an absolute lie.  Especially, I anticipate, when we hit the two-year mark of waiting for a referral.  It will just be a different kind of difficult.  It won't be filled with the intense longing of a woman without children at home.  It won't be a status change from yuppie to stay-at-home mom.  It won't be a brand-new adventure that no one we know has ever done before.  We have a support network.  We have friends who have adopted from Ethiopia whom we write to and talk with on a regular basis.  We have friends in Ethiopia.  We know the sights, sounds, and smells of several portions of Ethiopia.

At the same time, we will be constantly reminded of our adoption process, as our business will be our main source of providing the remaining funds for the adoption.  Every time Michael builds a crate, or every time I answer an e-mail or change a listing, we're working towards bringing a daughter into our crazy lives.

So, dear wait, I plan on being your good friend and worst enemy for the next several years.  I plan on growing, learning, changing, being challenged and stretched.  I plan on embracing you, oh wait, and allowing the worst moments and best moments to shape me and mold me as a woman, as a wife, as a mama, a daughter, a sister, and a friend.  You don't intimidate me, wait.  You excite me.  With God's help, I will be a changed woman because of you.

A Tale of Two Years

Two years ago I saw my son for the first time.
The pixelated images that I printed out and held close to me for the months before I could hold his actual body to mine.
I heard a voice say "His name is Million," and my heart melted.
I didn't know that my tiny boy would have such a large personality.
I didn't know how deeply enmeshed my heart would be with his.
I only knew that he was mine.
He was my first child.
He was my little boy.
He was our son.

Michael and I are often asked if we feel bad for missing out on most of his big "firsts", since he didn't come home until he was speaking, running, with eight teeth, eating solid foods, etc.
Our answer has always been no.
We don't feel bad for missing it.
It's just what we know.

I think had we procreated first, there might have been some elements of that, and maybe once November Boy is born, we will experience some grief when we realize all we missed.

But I know that adoption first was absolutely right for us as a couple.  God knew that He could use it to open up our hearts and eyes in a way that the birth of a child of our flesh couldn't possibly accomplish.    

There are so many more things I could say today, on our two-year anniversary of our referral phone call.
But words are failing.
So I will just cherish memories and gratefully acknowledge God's working in our lives as a family.

A New Chapter: Colouring Our World With Hope

Tonight we "passed" our homestudy.
While the paperwork is not actually in our hands, it feels good to be done with that once again.
So different than last time.
Last time we passed our homestudy, we went fairly immediately to Target to buy a hedgehog baby blanket for our little boy.  And I bawled in the car.  It felt so good to be approved and accepted.  Good to be endorsed in written form, especially after a bad relationship with our first agency's social worker.

This time, Million was already in bed, and my stomach was cramping up from a little too much sitting down in one day (we attended a wedding immediately prior to our social worker's visit), so we nixed the celebratory run to Target.  I camped out on the couch while Michael made me a snack while we watched "My Fair Lady".  There was not really a huge amount of emotion.  Just a "well, that was easy" feeling.  Maybe I'll get around to buying a girly something or other this week sometime.  I'm still working on procuring things for baby #2, so it's hard to focus on items for child #3.

One wise thing our social worker emphasized at our last visit was not to compare adoptions as "better" or "worse".  Each adoption is its own animal.  She said a lot of times people get disappointed or disillusioned with their second adoption because of the rose-colored glasses they had with their first adoption going so well.  (She did note that we might not have this issue because our first adoption process was a little....problematic...but that she just liked to tell people worst-case scenario.)  She said people get upset because the referral doesn't happen the same way, the wait time is different, the online networks aren't as supportive, and they don't connect with their travel group in the same way.  I think this is really wise advice, especially considering the projected wait times are so much longer now (and constantly increasing in length) than they were in early 2008 when we first started Million's adoption, and the general atmosphere of the adoptive community is quite a bit different than it was.

Currently, it's cold outside.  Autumn usually brings a little more Bob Dylan and Etta James into my life's soundtrack...so when I was thinking of a song to mark tonight's accomplishment, I was a little surprised to hear Chicago's "Colour My World" pop into my head. (My dad would be so pleased...)

But it's appropriate.  "Colour my world with hopes of loving you."

May 4

May 4, 2011, a judge in Ethiopia finally thought it would be a good day to pass our case.

May 4, 2012, a boy in Minnesota is wearing what he calls "snorts," eating a homemade popsicle, throwing three cups of water on a very patient dog, and reading copious amounts of books.

We like this year better.

Six Months Behind, A World Ahead

 

We have our six-month post placement visit this coming Sunday. (Nothing like saving it for the last possible chance in the month that we were supposed to do it, right?)
That means that I'm only blogging today because I'm avoiding writing up our reports.

Because of our social worker's recommendations at our three-month visit, we've been very careful to avoid talking about our attachment in public forums.  We had only vaguely referenced it previously, but thought it was wise to maintain Million's privacy.

Suffice it to say, there have been very hard moments.
And beautiful moments.
And daily we thank God for bringing this little boy half-way across the world to be grafted into our hearts and family.
The little boy who hugs mannequins in stores.
The little boy who thanks God for oatmeal in the middle of a play session.
The little boy who loves animals, books, music, and cars.

Here is about where I should put a little paragraph about "we don't think everyone SHOULD adopt, but everyone should consider it yada yada yada..."  But I can't bring myself to do it today.  I've gotten past the point of using my blog as a soapbox (knocking on wood!), and I'll just leave those kind of convincing paragraphs to the more talented writers.

Adoption is hard, beautifully and wonderfully hard.  However, being a first-time parent, I'm not sure how much of the beautifully and wonderfully hard is from adoption and how much is just from parenting.

I'm grateful I have the rest of my life to delineate between the two.   

Delight

I typically refrain from analyzing our adoption---where we are, if we've bonded, etc.

Usually it seems that complete strangers and extended family members will do that for us, without putting much extensive thought or knowledge into the matter. "Oh, he seems to be attaching so well!" they gush.

People love to give their opinions about anything, even if they have no knowledge of the subject.

But two nights ago, there was a flicker of a moment where I saw in Million's face that he was taking genuine joy and delight in my company.
And it was a beautiful moment.