Worth the Wait- That Adoption Wait Doesn't Always End When Our Child Comes Home...

When an adoptive parent hears the words "adoption wait" one thing usually comes to mind. The long months before the child comes home, months  that often turn into years. Years of filling out paperwork, waiting for approvals, standing in line at the Secretary of State's office, locating floor plans to your home, creating fire drill exit strategies, rearranging work meetings to accommodate getting that second, or third, set of fingerprints. Months of looking at that tiny, blurry, grainy referral photo. Months of loving this child you may have never met, and months of waiting with arms aching to hold that sweet child of yours. The adoption wait. We know it well, don't we?

With the adoption of my second child the term "adoption wait" took on a whole new meaning. The final signatures, the court decrees, the flight across the world and that first walk through the door as a family recently grown by one did not end my adoption wait. In fact, when that front door closed behind my newly formed family of four, our adoption wait was just beginning.

Suddenly everything that came so easily the first time around was a huge challenge. I found myself waiting for so much. Waiting, really, to be a mom, again. Waiting for the eye contact. Waiting for the anger to stop. Waiting for my new son to stop racing about the room as though driven by a motor. Waiting for that first hug. You know, the one where he actually hugs me back. The first good report from daycare.  The first family dinner without chaos. The first calm bedtime. The first calm car trip. The first calm anything.

Waiting. Always with the waiting. The first 27 months of our lives together were spent mired in the adoption wait.Waiting for the storm to pass. And when it didn't, I found myself waiting again. This time, waiting for therapists and doctor's appointments. Waiting for diagnosis and treatment plans. Waiting for spots to open in special schools and IEP's to be created. And then to be updated. Waiting for return telephone calls and emails. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. And just when you think you can't wait a moment longer, some new reason to wait pops up.

With our first adoption wait we knew what to expect. Fill in all the blanks in the paperwork, make the required five copies of everything, visit FedEx for the 100th time, and then wait. While that first wait wasn't easy, not by a long shot, it was, at least, predictable. At the end of the wait, if we followed the plan laid out by our adoption agency, and if nothing went wrong, like political unrest or a natural disaster, we would have our child. Maybe I was naive during those two "first" waits. Looking back, and knowing what I know now, seeing how the Russian ban on American adoptions has torn families apart, I am sure I was very naive. Thank God I was naive.

With this second adoption wait, the wait that started the day we came home with our 24 month old son, there was no "plan". My plan was to follow the same steps I took with our older son, steps to bonding that worked beautifully. Practically from day one my little Chinese son and I were glued together, bound by a love so deep that nothing could tear us apart. Meeting each expected growth and developmental milestone, cruising through surgeries with flying colors, our bumps in the road were small stones. The second time around, those bumps in the road were huge boulders that threatened to tear my family apart. Spouses arguing. One child craving the attention he suddenly lost when his little brother came home. One child pushing me away at every turn. And a tired, lost mother, with nowhere to turn. After all, I had asked for this. I wanted  this. I did this to myself. And so, on top of all of the other waiting, I waited for that mommy bliss I felt the first time. I waited for that bliss for two years.

So with all the waiting then came all the guilt. Why wasn't I more excited about this child? Why couldn't I make this work? Where was my heart?

I added waiting for the love to kick in to my list. Don't get me wrong. I loved my young son from day one. From the first moment I saw him toddling down that dingy hallway at the orphanage I loved him. Maybe that was why this adoption wait was so difficult for me. Because my love for him was so strong. My desire to have that family I had always pictured was strong. And so I waited.

The funny thing is that despite all that waiting, that perfect family never showed up. And as each day passed, full of tears and fighting and thrown food, that perfect family picture changed a little. Maybe I didn't need perfect. Maybe I would settle for a dinner without a meltdown. Maybe I would trade perfect for less bruising at the hands of a two year old. Every day the perfect picture faded and eventually a new image settled into my heart.

Happiness replaced anger. Grace replaced selfishness. The wait came to an end. The end snuck up on me, really. We are not through with the issues. My son may always have early life trauma related baggage to carry around. But I will always be there to help him carry it. And I no longer feel as though I am waiting for anything. I think I realized it for the first time the other day, as, ironically, I was waiting for our behavioral therapy appointment to begin. My son and I were sitting together on a sofa in the waiting room, surrounded by older kids and harried looking adults, and as we snuggled together to read a book I realized something. I was not holding my shoulders so tight they ached. I was not practically sitting on my son to get him to sit still. I was no longer holding my breath. I was simply a mom, reading a book to her four year old son. Yes, he still cannot sit still. He still has food issues and he still has moments of total meltdown. Yes, a good part of the reason that he is doing so well is all of the work we have put in to getting him to where he is. And yes, there are days that it is exhausting. But I am no longer waiting. No more do I wait for the anger to pass, both in him and in myself. No longer do I wait to run an errand because I just can't face taking him with me. No longer do I dread bedtimes or family dinners. No longer do I feel as though I am simply housing this lost little boy. No more. Now when I look at my persevering preschooler, I see my son. And it makes me smile. Because we made it through the wait. There will be more waiting in our future. More therapy, more issues, more meltdowns and, I am sure, a lot more frustrating moments. But during all of those waits  it will feel less like waiting and more like what it is- living. The wait is over! We may not look like the perfect family, and we may not look like the family I always pictured as perfect, but we are perfectly placed together. And that was worth the wait.

My Place in the Puzzle

Yesterday was a busy day. It started with an early summer program drop off for my super six year old so that the persevering preschooler and I could make it to his 8am occupational therapy appointment. The mom taxi was in full swing after that as I dropped my youngest off at daycare, raced home to clean the kitchen, work, and make dinner,  and then headed back out to pick up the youngest for his second therapy appointment of the day, behavioral therapy. When we walked in the door last night, tired and hungry, I was greeted by my oldest son, who ran over to me, practically knocking down his little brother, asking, "Mommy! Did you plan this dinner? It is so delicious! Thank you so  much!"  Wow. What a wonderful greeting! And it came at the end of a pretty good day. A very good day, in fact.

Sure, it was busy, with two different therapy appointments and work and all the "stuff" that comes with daily life. But it was good.

On the walk last night from the therapist's office to our car my persevering preschooler presented me with an outstanding meltdown. I am unclear as to the details of this but it appeared as though, even though he had been perfectly behaved inside the office, where we were all talking about his behavior, he felt the need to be carried to the car. Which I would have done, if he had just been  able to wait one minute. Just one tiny minute while I dug the car keys out of my purse and I would have scooped him up. Not having that need met he moved on to another need, the need to squat down in a busy parking lot to look at a rock. This need literally stopped traffic. This time I did pick up my son, and because I am not an ogre I picked up the rock as well. For that I was thanked with screaming and hitting, both activities I had just told the therapist that he rarely does these days. I kinda hope they were watching us out the window...

Even after stuffing him in the car, holding him down to buckle his car seat, removing his shoes so he couldn't throw them at me and offering him a snack, he continued to scream for a while. I climbed in the front seat and smiled. I smiled.  I can do this, I thought, because we have some answers. I can do this, I thought, because we have some help. I can do this, I thought, because I am not alone.

On the drive home, after my youngest had calmed down and was happily playing with the helicopter he picked out at the gift shop of the Dayton Air Force Museum, I started thinking about the these past two years. All of the "what ifs" came flooding into my mind. What if we had found these particular therapists earlier? What if we had begun this process last year? The year before? What if.....

Our journey has been typical. Our struggle was not unique. Many families bring their internationally adopted child home only to slowly find concerns and issues blooming before their eyes. I remember those first months, thinking his behavior was normal for what he had been through. And much of it probably was. I remember the remainder of that first year, thinking we just needed to find the right discipline approach while continuing to bond. I remember waiting to be placed in the special needs preschool, sure that these professionals would be able to help. I remember the counseling appointments on attachment, and the one on parenting approaches. I remember the diet changes, the supplements tried. Some of these approaches helped, some didn't. Some are still working and some have been abandoned. Narrowing down the issue and then treating it does not happen overnight.

I can't continue to allow the "what ifs" into my brain. I cannot imagine the child I saw two years ago even being able to sit through a therapy session, let alone get anything out of it. I can't imagine the mother I saw in myself even last year wanting to put her feelings of anger aside and learn to parent better through play therapy. But now, I am ready, and he is ready. And God placed in our hearts and minds the tools we need to move forward on this journey. He gave them to us when we were ready, on his timeline.

Last night the behavioral therapist asked me what I had done to bring my son to this point, where he now doing so much better. To this place where he rarely hits or spits. To this place where he feels like my son, and not just an angry visitor in my home. I started listing everything we had done and I suddenly had a hard time remembering it all. It was a hard two years. How can I not remember? As I was struggling to list things like wearing him, playing eye contact games, letting him remove every item of food from the refrigerator, it all sounded so less than. Less than what it really was. Less than what it felt like at the time. "What you did", the therapist said, "was not give up." Wait, what is that feeling? Pride? Peace? Ahhhhhh.

my happy boys at the lake

I will have weeks that are amazing, and weeks that are not so good. We will see regression in our son and moments of absolute joy. This week my super six year befriended a bully who had been picking on him and proudly announced at dinner that he and Bully were "friends now". He also talked this new friend into building a rocket out of legos at day care so they could sell it for a trillion dollars and give the money to children's hospital. What do you know, they are listening and watching what we do! My perserving preschooler helped me bring in the groceries from the car and began to actively play with friends at school. Not next to them, not near them, with them.  We had a successful first trip to the lake and spent a beautiful day outside, relaxing. We have a diagnosis to add to his issues that helps to explain the hyper activity and we have two brand new therapy programs in place. We lost our house cleaner, but we will buck up and scrub our own floors this week. (Well, let's not get carried away here!) This week was an amazing week. It was a week where we got the chance to see a little bit more of that larger than life puzzle our God has fit us into. There will be worries, setbacks, and challenges ahead. But right now I am enjoying my place in the puzzle.