Older Child Adoption: Views on Medicine

A lot of people email me wanting to know about older child and/or sibling adoption. I anticipated that like every other kid I have ever been around, The Angel and The Dinosaur would despise taking medication. I was dead wrong.

I cannot give the Dinosaur cough syrup without the Angel insisting that she get some too and then they both ask for more. They remind me in the mornings to give them their vitamins. Our first weekend home, we made an emergency trip to the dentist (thank goodness he was on call) because The Angel had an abscessed tooth. He prescribed a HUGE bottle of antibiotics before the tooth could come out. I knew it must have tasted awful because it smelled horrific. But she took it all...three times a day and while she didn't love it, she never complained. Not once.

Shots truly scare them both. The Angel cries just thinking about having to get one. The scars on their arms prove that while they were given in Africa, they left their mark. Our first trip to the pediatrician was so traumatic that the Hero is mandated to take them to every other appointment. It was that bad. For them and for Mommy.

Band-Aids are the only medical issue they joke about; they think they need one for every scrape or even invent reasons to get one.

While I don't know about other parents' experiences with medicine and older child adoption, my two seem to know that medicine was a rarity and to be respected and taken when asked. I think it is one of the reasons I advocate so hard for older kids to be adopted. I see what two toddlers have done to change our lives and I think everyone should be able to enjoy that kind of love.

Nothing Is Sacred

My transition to motherhood has not always been smooth.

Two toddlers as our first attempt at parenting is still laughable.

While doubling the laundry,

the noise,

the messes,

the food consumption

has all taken some adjustment for the Hero and I,

one thing has really been hard for me to grip:

My lack of privacy.

It's their complete disregard for boundaries.

If they are up, they expect The Hero & I to bounce right out of bed.

Even if it's Saturday.

Whether it's poking our sleeping bodies,

yelling from their beds,

or standing at the closed door to our room POUNDING!

Cooking dinner

better not include a quick taste test.

Without douling out tastes for everyone.

Even an innocent grape popped into my mouth

as we head out the door.

"Mommy, what you eating?"
"Mommy, I want one of those."

"Hey Mommy, you give [The Angel] dat?"

They don't care it's the only breakfast I've consumed.

If they are peacefully coloring,

molding play dough,

playing cars,

I may perform any mundane task.

But the moment I seize the moment

to read,

blog,

exhale on the couch,

or paint my toes,

all hell breaks loose.

Biblical proportions.

"Hey Mommy, what you doing?"

"Mommy, why you do dat?"

"Mommy, what's dat?"

"Dinosaur, stop talking, I'm talking to Mommy"

"Angel, STOOOOPPPPPP"

"Can you read this Mommy?"

"HEY Mommy..."

"Hey Mommy..."

"HEY MOMMMMMMYYYYY..."

Even the most private moments of my day are subject to interruption.

A trip to the restroom or shower must be

calculated,

always behind a locked door.

They are always having an even bigger emergency.

And nothing is sacred to them.

Not even the bathroom.

While I wouldn't take anything for them,

I'm considering a pair of ear plugs.

And a bigger lock on the bathroom door.

Duh!

The Angel had her first friend (who isn't related to us) sleepover last night.

Listening to kids explain their lives to one another cracks me up.

The Angel and the friend were in the back of the car.

Lexi asks The Angel why she has two silver teeth.

"Because my teeth were not good in Africa."

Lexi: "Whoa! You're from Africa?!"

The Angel: "Duh. That's why I'm brown."

Haha! She's a crack up.

Why Last Wednesday Was Wordless

Last Wednesday, I opened up my email in between two meetings. I almost didn't make it to the second one. I couldn't stop crying. This picture greeted me in my inbox:




If you haven't been reading here for long, you probably need to go back and read here, here, here , here, here, here and definitely here to learn why this face, beaming in his University of Oklahoma sweater sent me reeling. I went back and read these post myself tonight and cried and cried.

He has changed such a part of me. This almost twelve year old boy who lives in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. I'm never going to be the same. I haven't had a new picture of him in over a year. That's how long it's been since I've seen him.

I sent his OU sweater with a lady who was traveling several months ago. I almost forgot about it. Until a rock star friend took him a backpack full of stuff a few months ago. She didn't have time to travel to his care point and see him. She sent the backpack with a friend. Since Africa time doesn't tick the same as here, I didn't expect he would have it so soon and I sure never expected a picture of him receiving it.

You now understand my elation.




So until I can take another one of these:

Over Infertility?

I told The Hero I didn't want kids.

On our first date.

He laughed and said I would change my mind.

I scoffed.

I had never wanted kids.

Babies didn't make me oogle (still don't).

I had big plans for us.

Money.

Travelling.

Complete days of total irresponsibility.

And absolute no sign of crayons,

Cheetos,

or crying.

It took three years.

For The Hero to be right.

Work wasn't as rewarding as the brochures made it look.

Money spends twice as fast when you have a little.

The Hero and I were happy and did enjoy days of total irresponsibility.

But something was missing.

He could sense I wasn't satisfied.

But when I told him I wanted kids,

he laughed.

He said it was the cute Asian toddler beside us on the airplane.

He said I'd change my mind when we landed in Mexico.

He brushed it off when I read "What to Expect When You're Expecting"

on the beach,

drinking a margarita.

But he almost fell off the bench when I told him

I felt like we were missing out on a different kind of happiness.

And that I hated the person I was becoming.

And I seriously wanted to talk about a baby.

He cried.

The Hero had been waiting his whole life to be a father.

He's that damn good at it.

I took it extremely personal when we didn't get pregnant.

I felt that my hard heart for so many years led to our infertility.

I felt I had failed my husband,

my family,

and my own gender.

I was unable to perform a task that millions of women accomplish.

Every day.

I got bitter.

I bit back tears at the arrival of birth announcements.

I went to work instead of baby showers.

I let the Devil convince me that I couldn't get pregnant

and that made me less of a woman.

Our adoption changed everything.

My kids are just that: my kids.

But every once in awhile that old bedfellow creeps back.

He starts to lie again.

I'm not good enough.

Our love is different.

They aren't my kids.

Blah.

Blah.

Blah.

Those fears are perhaps felt more often as we head toward adoption again.

An information packet came yesterday.

Asking us same questions as two years ago.

Had we worked past our infertility issues?

I stared at the question.

I asked The Hero.

He laughed.

No.

He offered up.

I stared back.

We haven't?

He smiled.

Infertility is a lie. We had a family without the biology.

God did that.

Infertility is just a liar.

And that's a big enough history to never get over.

Over infertility?

Never.

I'm just mad we spent so much time being sidetracked by him.

I laughed.

He's right.

He usually always is.

We'd always have issues with infertility.

It told us we'd never have a family.

It was wrong.

And I'm sure we would have discussed it more.

But there were two voices already screaming

"Mommy!"

"Daddy!"

Going All In

My last post detailed a hard weekend of parenting.

It wasn't easy to write.

I don't like admitting my faults.

I'm not sure that anyone does.

It's completely against human nature

and especially against American thought to say

"Hey, let me tell you all about the ways that I screw up on a daily basis."

But the more I reflected on all my parenting fails last weekend,

I realized that almost every aspect of parenting is hard.

It's supposed to be.

A continuous dance of move and sway

and locking eyes with your dance partner.

And learning how they respond to the music.

With you.

Doubling our family count with two toddlers was no cake walk.

And learning to parent in your thirties for the first time was like treating a red hot sun burn after a day at the beach;

it needed a lot of TLC.

But while I cannot say I desire the hard days;

I'm learning to take them at face value;

a moment to embrace a chance to learn,

do better

and stop looking for something easy.

If it were easy, I wouldn't care what kind of personalities my kids developed,

would let them juggle knives while standing on our kitchen table

and would disregard all sanitation rules

(ok, maybe not all).

I believe that the biggest challenge to being a parent is

choosing to parent

and choosing it for a lifetime,

especially when it's hard.

So Dinosaur and Princess,

be warned.

You have no passive mama.

She's a warrior.

And she's learning.

Just like you.

She will not give up on you.

She refuses to stop learning from you,

teaching you,

dancing with you,

and guiding your steps as much as she can.

She's in it for the hard days;

the crazy days,

the laughs,

the tears,

the breezy,

the hard.

It will not always be easy,

in fact, she'll bet on it.

but she's crazy about you.

And she's all in.

Forever.

Hard

This weekend was hard.

All of it.

Every breath was ragged.

The rain only amplified our frustrations with ourselves and one another.

Every action I took was a Mommy Fail.

I began the weekend in tears and cried until I laughed.

Most of the time, all you see and hear about is their smiling faces.

You're not silly enough to believe that's all there is to them,

to us,

to me.

This weekend was a reminder of how human I am and how very much I have to go.

To be in control means to understand the outcome;

and friends, I am NOT in control of anything.

As I battled The Dinosaur's temper

and my own insecurities.

The sharp sword of my tongue guarded my heart.

After round after round of being on my toes,

deflecting the stinging wounds of his words,

and fighting back the tears.

I wanted to give in.

Throw in my sword and run away from home.

And in the way only He can, His spirit whispered

"because they fight you like you fight against me.

Stop battling.

Listen.

I love you.

I care what happens to you

and what kind of person you become."

The realization cut me close to the heart.

I'm not done growing.

I may never be.

Stop battling.

Listen.

Wow! That's good stuff.

Why didn't He whisper that on Saturday morning, instead of Sunday night?

Maybe He did.

I was too busy battling.

As we finished up our nightly routine,

The Dinosaur finished his bath

and The Hero brought him to get clothes.

He snuggled in his towel and whispered

"Mommy, I'm cold."

I wrapped him in a blanket and asked if he was ready for jammies.

"No Mommy. Rock me."

I choked.

In 13 months, he's never asked.

I rocked.

Our love depended on it.

Fifteen minutes and he was asleep.

Peacefully snoring on my chest.

Our arms were both too full of love.

We couldn't even have held a sword.

Our hands were too busy holding all the love.