We took the tiny toddler to the Nationwide Children’s
Hospital Behavioral Health Center this morning to finally look into what is
going on with his odd behaviors and defiance. The good news is that even though
he displays a few markers that would place him on the autism spectrum the
assessor did not think that we need to worry about that. And even though he
also displays a few markers for oppositional defiance disorder, she didn’t feel
that was a concern either. Whew. She also reinforced that my sweet husband and
I are, in fact, not crazy. Having the chance to witness just a tenth of his
total lack of interest in behaving in a manner that would welcome him back to
her office, she informed us that we were not over reacting in bringing him in
for a visit. Whew again.
The first few days/months of his life with us were not easy,
as many of you know. His young life, measured still in months at that point,
had seen so much loss and confusion that I understood the acting out. We ripped him away from the only home he
knew. We sounded funny. We smelled funny. I am sure he had seen other babies
leave the orphanage, never to return, and so he quite possibly may have been
terrified of what his fate was going to be as we walked him down that dingy
hallway, through the heavy wooden door and into the gray, cold night. It brings
tears to my eyes still to think about the wild look on his face as we drove
away, me holding him tight and attempting to whisper comforting words into his
little ear. So his outbursts at the hotel, the airports, those first few months
home- I understood.
Then those first weeks stretched into months and before we
knew it a year had passed. Our tiny toddler spent most of that first year
continuing to display his anger. Again we thought adoption related. It is not uncommon for a child adopted as a
toddler to push away people who love him, in an attempt to protect his heart.
He had already lost a birth mother, never feeling that loving touch that begins
to build that lifelong connection. He had seen caregivers come and go, possibly
never bonding with any of them. He had
lost the only home he had ever known. He had no guarantee that we weren’t going
to leave him as well. So he spent months pushing us away. This was super
frustrating for us because during all those months of fighting and pushing us
away he was also bonding and pulling us in to his heart. Every day was filled
with hugs, kisses, screams and punches. And my heart felt as though it was
being pulled apart, “I love you, I hate you, I love you, I hate you” is very
exhausting. But through it all I kept
thinking, “This will pass. He will soon trust that we love him and that we are
not leaving him and he will settle down.” Only he never did.
The days got easier, I guess. Or maybe we all just got used
to it. I really don’t know which. Some days are better than others, as it is
with any parenting hurdles. My sweet husband and I read books and took online
parenting classes. But so far we really haven’t found what works consistently.
Which brings us back to this morning, and our appointment at the behavioral
health center. And the relief of finding
out that our sweet little angel probably is just a stubborn and defiant
toddler.
OK, so now the real work begins. We don’t know if he will
outgrow this behavior. We don’t know if this is somehow adoption related,
seeing as he spent the first 24 months of his life in basically a free for all
setting, where it was OK to hit other kids and where he had to fight for
everything he got. I’m choosing to believe
that he will work it out. I’m choosing to believe that I will not have a tall,
strong teenage son who is quick to anger and can’t handle his emotions. I’m
choosing to believe that I will not have a 7 year old who can’t focus on the
activity at hand and who’s favorite word is “no”. I’m choosing to believe that if we put in the work
and help him through this now that we can have calmer days and my tiny toddler
can have the calm and happy life he deserves.
So we will participate in the program being offered by the
hospital. We will read the recommended books. We will take deep breaths and
walk away before we explode and we will take turns handling the odd behaviors. I
will research diet changes and alternative medicines and make an appointment to
discuss having the metals removed from his body. We will run our lives on
routines, something it is very clear our little guy needs. We will anticipate
and redirect and teach teach teach. We
will be thankful for our beautiful son, for the times that he laughs so hard
that he instinctively covers his mouth with his hand and when he dances in his
car seat. We will not lose sight of our big five year old, who soon will be
starting kindergarten and may have his own struggles pop up.
So we really don’t know any more now, at the end of the day,
than we did this morning, before our appointment. We know what our tiny toddler
probably doesn’t have but he remains a mystery to be unlocked. And even though
I am often exhausted and frustrated and ready to throw in the towel, I will
happily plug away at finding the key to unlock the beautiful little person I
know is in there.
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