Silver Lining

Goodness, there are so many things people don't tell you about adoption post-airport.  And it's probably because nobody told them about it either, and they're withering under the guilt of their feelings.

Well, you can always count on me to tell it like it is!  But in all seriousness, I don't think I would be making it right now if it weren't for the moms ahead of me reaching back, grabbing my hand, encouraging me to press on and rest in the truth that this is all completely normal and temporary.  Thanks, mamas.  You know who you are.

The thing is, I was as prepared as you can be for trauma, fits, raging, culture shock, grief, for attachment to take time.  What I was not prepared for was how difficult it would be for me to feel like she is mine.  I mean, our daughter by birth drives me nuts constantly.  She is strong willed, stubborn, and bursting with energy.  But at the end of the day, I delight in her, and I know her beautiful heart; she is mine, and I love her all the way to the moon and back.  After all we went through to get JP here, all the battles, all the tears I shed, I did not expect to feel like someone in permanent nanny mode to another person's difficult child.  But again (thank you, adoptive mamas), I've been given the freedom to allow my own attachment to happen in its time.  And each day, I force myself to get out of bed, put one foot in front of the other, and give the only kind of love I can give: the choosing love.  The real love.  The love that only comes from the Holy Spirit at work in me, because I have nothing of my own to offer up right now.  The feelings will come.

And yesterday, I got a tiny glimpse of them.  A fellow Indimama just got word that they can travel to bring their daughter home from the same orphanage that JP was in.  They posted her picture on FB, and JP saw it over my shoulder.  She immediately said the little girl's name and the orphanage name, and started chattering to me.  She showed me how tall this girl was, and how old she was.  Then she started naming her other friends there and showing me their height and ages with her hands and broken English.  It's silly, but I felt myself tearing up.  I think it is the first time in our almost two months together that we simply had a communicative interaction that did not involve a want, need, defiance, or just mindless gibberish for the sake of sound.  She was just telling me a story about something that was important to her.  It made me so happy.  I got to see a little bit of her heart, the real child underneath.  I got to enjoy a moment with her that was just sharing.  I had a little tiny glimpse of feeling my heart swell with love for her as a person, not an idea, not a responsibility, but a person.  Maybe those moments are the exception rather than the rule, but I'll take the silver lining as proof  that the sun does exist behind the clouds. 

One month home

Well, one month plus a few days, but I'm not sure I could accurately tell you the date at this point.  Sometimes I feel very poetic when I write.  Today is not one of those days.  Heck, this week isn't even one of those weeks.  These days, I am mostly living on a dry sense of humor and wine chocolate.  

In all honesty, things are going well for JP.  She is making great strides in attachment.  She constantly wants our attention to show us a bite of food she's taken, another rock she's put in her basket, another streak of color she's drawn on her page... or just to look at her whether she's actually done anything new or not.  She definitely likes hugs now, although she still really doesn't do kisses much.  She and N are playing and laughing hysterically (and loudly) together constantly, until they both want the same toy, and then it (loudly) goes downhill very quickly.  Tantrums have gone from 1-2 per day to one or two every few days.  We have been loving, but very firm on boundaries, and I think she is starting to recognize that consistency.  

Mostly, we have pretty good days.  I can't explain how those good days still manage to be so. stinking. exhausting.  I now carry ear plugs in my pocket at all times, because I reach a point nearly everyday where I have to take the volume down about 30 decibels, or I'm going to lose it.  I occasionally lock myself in the bathroom for a few minutes of relative peace and quiet.  I've even taken to locking my bedroom door too just so that the knocking and fingers groping under the door are not directly visible to me... even if I know they're there.  This is the never ending winter.  It is cold.  And they are loud.  And crazy.  ALL THE TIME.  I love my children dearly, and I thank God for them.  That doesn't stop me from bundling them up and sending them outside to run laps, even if it's 40 degrees.  They have rooms full of toys, but all they want to do are the things we only allow outside: run, and yell.  Something's gotta give.

It was finally sunny and warm today, and we got to go out and play for real.  We spent hours out there, and let me tell you, it makes all the difference in the world.  We all got some activity, and they were able to run, play, and yell as much as they wanted to.  It was glorious. They were tired this evening, which means dinner was actually somewhat pleasant, instead of looking like a scene out of a Looney Toons Taz cartoon.  If Spring will actually stick around, I just might survive these first few months of adjustment.

It's hard to explain how this feels similar to bringing home a newborn.  We definitely have a different set of challenges, and I am getting more sleep than I did when N was a newborn, but good day or bad, I am totally and completely exhausted by bedtime.  It's more mental and emotional than physical, but it makes you feel tired in body when it seems like you've been filled up that morning to literally have every last drop sucked out of you over the course of the day.  That exhaustion lasted for months with N.  I can only imagine it will be a similar run with JP.  She needs us as much as a newborn would, but we have all the parenting challenges that come with a five year old (any five year old) along with the attachment and emotional needs that are specific to her background.  And I'll be honest, the exhaustion has had a large effect on my ability to feel attached to her as well.  I struggle with it daily.  I love her.  But it's not the same yet.  I would have been the first to argue that you can love a child that is not from your body just as much as a biological child.  And I still believe that.  But once they are home, and reality hits, you realize that it doesn't happen overnight, no matter how desperate you felt during the waiting.  She is my daughter, but it doesn't feel like it yet to me.  I've just accepted that for now, my feelings are on hold.  I am choosing to love her and mother her every single day, to wear myself out doing it, then to crawl into bed so I can get up and do it all over again the next day.  Some days I do it really well.  A lot of days, I feel it is painfully obvious that I am barely getting by.  But when people ask how it's going, all I know to say is, "pretty well, all things considered," because well, it is... but I still feel almost numb as I go through the daily motions of motherhood.  Perhaps I will thrive again someday.  I hope that my children will know me and remember me as more than the shell of a human being I feel like right now.  I suppose all this just makes it painfully obvious that I need just as much grace everyday as she does.  Here's hoping the light at the end of the tunnel I keep hearing about is still there.  I just have to keep putting one foot in front of the other until I round the bend and see it for myself.