A Pretty Regular Weekend

On Saturday, my mom and I hosted a baby shower for my very best friend ever, Laura (how second grade does that sound?!). She’s been mommy material since we were little girls. On the day we rec’d our referral, I happened to be at my parents’ house, randomly checked my email, and found the most amazing news of our lives. I didn’t know how thrilled I would be until I saw his picture. After my mom and I just stared at the referral photos in shock and awe (I really had no idea our referral was thatclose), I called Ed b/c he was on a business trip. After we talked,  the very next person I called was Laura. As I was dialing her number, my mom actually said, “K (her husband) is in trouble. They’re having a baby now!” And my mom was right. As soon as Laura saw Hoang’s (we hadn’t given him an American name yet)little picture, she decided she couldn’t wait any longer. She and her husband had been married for a little over a year and he had wanted to wait just a bit longer, but it was all over that day! Laura was pregnant in under two months. When she hosted my shower back in June, she was less than two months along. Now, she’s less than a month from her due date:

If she delivers full term, her little one and Mattix will be within a week of one year apart. Laura has been an amazing friend always, but if it’s even possible, an even more amazing friend during our entire adoption journey. She has acted exactly as I’ve felt during the nearly-two year process: that this is just as regular a way for US (not necessarily for Mattix, but for us) to have a family as the old-school way. She’s shared in every excitement and every heartache with me. She’s bent over backwards since we’ve been home to help me adjust and learn how to be a mom, even though her little one is still incubating! She lives quite a ways from us, but drove an hour one day just to bring me Gerber Graduate puffs for Mattix when I was concerned b/c he couldn’t get the rice puffs his doctor recommended into his mouth himself (no worries – like his mom, he now has absolutely no trouble getting the food in there). I could have easily driven to Target or the grocery store myself, but she insisted on bringing them to us.

Anyway, Saturday was definitely a long day. Even though we hosted it in a great restaurant with incredible service, My mom and I are closet wanna-be party planners so we put a lot of time into it. 

It was a fun day and Laura enjoyed herself, which is what really mattered to me. I left at 9:30 in the morning and got home at 5:30. That’s the longest I’ve been away from Mattix and I missed him, but it was also nice to have some adult time.  After getting off to a rocky start (we were out too late on Friday night), Mattix and Ed ended up having a great day together and were visited by Ed’s brother, his wife, and a good friend. Mattix clearly enjoyed meeting his uncle and aunt and Ed’s friend.

And by the way, take another look at the photo of Laura and I above and then take a look at this one:

This may not be the place for parenting advice, but I’m not totally useless. Here’s my best advice ever: if you know anyone who is pregnant, stand behind their cute pregnant tummy for photos. It takes at least 15 pounds off! Seriously! Too bad I just figured this out and I have less than three weeks to take advantage.

On Sunday, our social worker came for a home study update. Nothing too exciting or eventful there, although I will write a post later this week that will be PW protected (so if you want the PW, please leave a comment or send an email). Sunday was a pretty low key day, which was great because both Mattix and I need uneventful and low key right now. Ed seems to be fine with just about anything, but not so much for the other 2/3 of the family! Mattix slept in Ed’s lap on the glider for almost two hours. I wish I could do that. I’m the sort of person who has trouble sitting still. I can sit there patiently for as long as it takes to put Mattix to sleep, but once he’s out, I feel like I need to jump up and run around the house, being “productive.”  I’m working on that (I’ve been working on it for years and have really mellowed out a lot).

And by the way, this glider is the one that Ed insisted was a waste of $800. That was before it came in, after I waited impatiently for twelve weeks. When they delivered it, he nearly threw up: 

Just in case you’re still not sure why Ed almost threw up, I’ll give you a closeup of the pattern:

Well, the joke’s on him, because this glider is a life saver. It’s the only way to get Mattix to sleep at bedtime, during the night when he repeatedly wakes up, and during the day on the rare occasion he decides to take a nap. And furthermore, the leopard print looks AWESOME in our loft, which is very neutral and basic. These gliders are not exactly sightly, so I figured if I have to buy one, I should just make a statement. I went a little overboard with Mattix’s furniture and used up all the space in his room (I love it, though), so when I decided to order a glider, I knew it would have to go somewhere else. If you have to order a giant glider (this thing, in addition to the gliding ottoman, is a beast), you might as well go for it!! 

Tomorrow (Monday) Mattix will turn 11 months old. I can’t even believe that he’ll be one year old in another month. I’ll post a little summary of his progress over the past month tomorrow. Here are a few cute photos of him learning to brush his two teeth (or just gnawing on a toothbrush, but whatever):

I hope everyone had a nice weekend!

Milestones and Expectations

Today was an incredible day. I had one last minute errand to run for the shower I’m hosting tomorrow and I wanted to have my car washed so that when I unload it and accidentally lean into it like I always do, my dress doesn’t turn the unidentifiable shade of filth that my car has taken on since returning from Vietnam. Non-mommy Laura had an immaculately clean car. Mommy Laura has been driving around in a disaster.

We headed out for our errand, and for the first time, Mattix was happy in the car seat. He babbled and blew raspberries and even giggled occasionally. I couldn’t get over it. After our errand, we headed to the car wash. I could tell he was getting sleepy, so I was a little worried, but it suddenly got really quiet in the back seat. My first thought was that he had stopped breathing because I’m still a little neurotic about that, but I knew he’d fallen asleep. I debated heading home, then sitting in the garage for as long as he’d sleep, but I decided that the car really was that dirty.  If I was willing to trade baby’s nap for a clean car, that should give you an idea of how bad it was.

After we arrived at the car wash, I climbed out and opened up the back passenger side door to find Mattix peacefully sleeping. I just knew that he was going to open his eyes and scream like he usually does when I wake him in his carseat. I was ready for it. I reached in, unbuckled him, and pulled him out. He was quiet. I held him against me, still waiting for the meltdown, but it didn’t come. Instead, he briefly opened his eyes, looked at me, and let his little body melt against me.  I stood there completely stunned as he fell back to sleep. The only reason I moved was because the car wash attendant came over to see what services I wanted.

I gathered my purse and giant diaper bag and somehow managed to walk into the store with Mattix still asleep in my arms. I went to the center, where the seats are, and set down all the stuff, still expecting him to wake up, realize I was holding him, and become inconsolable. But that never happened.  He fell deeper and deeper to sleep, further relaxing into me. His little forehead was pressed into my cheek; both of our faces were soaked with sweat. All I could think about was exaclty four weeks ago today, when I first realized that Mattix wouldn’t even allow us to hold him.  I cried during his appointment at the medical clinic when I figured that out. I cried as he arched his back and screamed and kicked and yelled.

And so today I cried in Danny’s car wash because the same little baby that didn’t know how to be held one month ago fell asleep in my arms for the very first time. I stood there, sobbing, not caring who saw me or what they thought (trust me, I got a lot of looks) because he was asleep. In my arms. And for twenty minutes, my life was absolutely perfect.

I looked out the window and saw my car moving towards the front of the line, so I went to pay. The woman at the counter saw the mascara running down my cheeks and asked if I was okay. I told her that I was fine, that my baby had just fallen asleep in my arms. So she asked if he was okay. I told her we were both great.

Outside, the loud noises woke him up, so once again, I prepared myself. Instead, he angled his head a little, looked into my eyes, and didn’t move. He just sat against me, his body entirely relaxed, looking into my eyes. And Oh. My. Gosh. I was overwhelmed, and for the first time, in the best way possible. My wrist felt like it was going to snap and my arms burned. I was suddenly so glad my arms have gotten stronger over the past two years. A few years ago, I never would have been able to hold onto him like this for so long; he was dead weight. But now? My ass may look like someone spilled a Costco-sized container of cottage cheese all over it, but my arms are strong, and that’s all that matters. Because today I held his dead weight against me for 45 minutes, long after the man at the car wash yelled “Black Tahoe” seven or eight times , staring into his beautiful, huge, dark eyes.  

He babbled happily the rest of the way home and once we were here, I tried to put him down for a nap. He wasn’t interested in sleeping, but he did just lay in my lap and allow me to rock him for half an hour. He cooed a lot and played with his toes. When he finished his bottle and it was apparent that there wasn’t going to be a nap for either of us, I turned him around and sat him in my lap, facing me. His face exploded in the biggest smile I’ve ever seen and he leaned in to give me a kiss. Yes, his kisses are open-mouthed, sloppy, and occasionally involves getting licked, but he’s stingy with them so when we get them, we’re so exicted we just wipe the slobber away and count our blessings. I gave him a kiss, and he leaned back and laughed and laughed. Then he leaned in for a hug. He laid there for maybe 60 seconds, just pressing his head into my shoulder.

This evening, we went to dinner with a really awesome group of single moms who have been so kind as to include my sorry married ass in their fun outings. Two have their sweeties from VN and one is waiting for travel (and like so many others is porbably going to be negatively affected by the new I600 procedure – good change, not the best implementation -  so if you’re a prayers person, please keep K and her beautiful daughter in yours).   I’m so not the girl who takes her husband everywhere. So. Not. That. Girl. I never have been and I never will be. But when they invited me, I asked if it would be okay if I brought Ed because one of two things happens these days when we go out to eat: Mattix does really well or he doesn’t do well at all. I hadn’t seen these gals in a while, so I wanted Ed to come just in case it was one of those not-so-well nights so that I could still visit (and I didn’t want to leave Mattix at home with Ed b/c he had to meet his new girlfriend, who was born just a few days after him…holy crap she’s cute…they’re so getting married. He flirted with her quite a bit and she pretended to be shy, but my boy has determination, baby!) .  In addition, if it’s a not-so-well night, the drive home is horrible for Mattix and neither he nor I could handle another drive home like the one from the medical appointment on Monday.

But our night just continued on like our day. Mattix did so great. He sat at the table and “talked” and had fun. He ate noodles and rice for the first time (I didn’t even know it was okay to feed him that, but his new girlfriend’s momma told me it was and if he could talk, he’d thank her). He LOVED both. He shoveled a lot of that stuff down. Just like his mom, my boy doesn’t mess around with the food. If I’d have known how great it was going to be, I totally would have left Ed at home (kidding…sort of). Even after we got home, at nearly 9:30 when he would normally have a really hard time b/c we were two hours past bedtime, he was affectionate and happy. What an amazing day.

And that leads me to expectations. I don’t have any. Tomorrow may be a great day like today, or it might be another difficult day like Monday. But the key to surviving the tough ones and truly enjoying the great ones is to accept each day for what it is, go to bed (or not, in our case), and wake up (or check the clock to know it’s morning) with no expectations. If I held onto today and compared every coming day to it, I would be sorely disappointed. Instead, I appreciate every minute Mattix and I shared today. Whatever happens tomorrow, happens tomorrow.  We’ll take it as it comes, and one day, maybe in a month, maybe in six months, maybe in a year, lots of our days will be like today.

The day after we returned from Vietnam, Ed and I went to Whole Foods after Mattix’s first pediatrician appointment to get him “real” food. Another of my favorite places to grab a quick meal is in the same center, so we stopped for an early lunch. Ed had a conference call, so he was outside on the phone for a while. I tried to feed Mattix lunch and even though he was hungry, he wanted none of it. I tried to give him a bottle, but he wouldn’t take it.  He’d just had three shots and a lot of blood drawn, had stayed up all night after traveling for 36 hours, and wasn’t in the mood for much. I tired a lot of different foods, but he wasn’t having any of them. I sat at the table and said, “I don’t know what to do for you.”

A woman who had apparently been watching us asked me when we adopted him. I looked up, a little surprised because I hadn’t even noticed her, and told her we’d just returned the night before. She told me not to worry, that we’d figure it out over time. She had adopted domestically herself 16 years ago – two girls, nine months apart. She said something that has stuck with me: the best part of adoption is that she didn’t the same expectations of her kids that some parents of biological kids have. She said that because she and her husband don’t share the same genes with their daughters, they don’t expect them to turn out like them, or to behave them. Instead, they can stand back and let their kids be themselves, and they can do it easily. She said that over the years, she watched many of her friends who had biological children find themselves in frustrating positions because their kids were doing things or acting in ways that they thought they wouldn’t – not bad things or bad ways – just different, and that she’d lost count of the number of times she heard friends say, “I don’t know where she gets that. It’s not from her father or I!”

 Certainly all parents don’t do this, but what she said stuck with me. Neither Ed nor I had particular expectations when we first met Mattix, and I’m doing my best to continue to remember that. I’m not saying that because I have no expectations my kid’s going to run through WalMart with no shoes knocking over displays b/c I have no expectations of him, period. Those are different expectations. I’m talking about the kind of expectations where I might want him to behave towards me tomorrow like he did today. Those are the expectations that can lead to disappointment for me and a lot of pressure for Mattix. We’re just going to take each day as it comes to us and he’s going to take all the time he needs to become comfortable in our family.

Oh, and yes Jen, that was SO the stink eye in the car picture!!!  I interpreted it as, “Get me the eff out of this car and get some clothes on me, you incompetent excuse for a parent! I was just paraded naked through Sweet Tomatoes and now you’re taking pictures?!”

 A few more cute ones of the little man:

He’s been drooling up a storm lately b/c he has three little teeth cutting through on the top. I thought it was too funny when I noticed his blobs of drool in the following two photos; the bib says it all!

And for a while, we thought he might grow up to be a dermatologist b/c he was sooo into his dermatologist this week. But now I’m pretty sure he has a career as a break dancer in his future. (I just didn’t catch the part where he whipped the right leg under the left on camera.)

And finally, he looks so cute in jeans! He has about twelve pairs of jeans, which is ridiculous, but who cares when you’re this cute!

A Few Calm Days and a Big Giant Crap in Sweet Tomatoes

Tuesday was a nice, uneventful day. Mattix didn’t wake up happy, but after a TWO HOUR NAP (did you catch that? I said a TWO HOUR NAP), he was in a much better mood (by the way, as of Thursday night, this has yet to be repeated).

 Part of the treatment for the skin issues is a few different cortisone-based creams of varying strengths (depending on the body part – stronger for his body, less so for his face) and Benadryl. Oh Benadryl, how I love thee! Liquid gold, baby, liquid gold. I’m not saying that he slept through the night on Monday night. Don’t get me wrong. He didn’t. But there was a very distinct three hour (THREE HOUR) period of nothing but whimpering.

And then, maybe because he got better sleep Monday night, he actually took a nap on Tuesday.  A two hour nap. And when he woke up, after he got his bearings and stopped crying, he was happy. I’m so pleased that he had a good afternoon because he deserves one. He deserves to have a little bit of 10-month old happiness, doesn’t he?

He might have slept better Monday night, but his incompetent, slightly stupid parents (so much for super dad) made a little mistake when they gave him all of his liquid medication at once (a total of four full medicine droppers – 1 tsp each – and a spoonful of yogurt with a crushed pill). He was in his little diaper, unknowingly waiting for the creaming/lotioning that he was about to hate, when it happened. It was actually hilarious. All the liquid was down and I put the spoon of yogurt in his mouth. He smooshed it around in there, made a really funny face, then leaned over and barfed all over the place. Then, for good measure, he stepped in it, squishing it between his toes. You know how I don’t do crap? Well, I don’t do barf, either. I’m not a body functions kind of girl. I yelled for Ed to grab a towel while I tried to pull him out of his puke pile without rubbing the puke that had dripped down his chest and stomach all over me. My efforts bit me in the butt, becuase he leaned against the couch. So there’s puke all over the kid, all over the couch, smeared into the carpet, and one of the dogs came running over.  I’ll spare you the details, but I almost puked, too. 

 We got everything cleaned up and all was well, except that we didn’t know how much he had puked up. So, the moral of the story: don’t give your baby all of his medication at once when he has to take a lot! Unfortunately, although we were sure he puked up nearly everything, we couldn’t re-medicate him because we didn’t know.

And in happy mommy news, I got back to the trainer Tuesday. Actually, I made it back last Friday, but my trainer was so brutal that I couldn’t walk right until Monday, so I didn’t count that. On Saturday morning, Ed asked me if I’d taken a dump in my pants because of the way I was walking. I couldn’t carry Mattix up or down the stairs until Sunday evening because it took both hands to drag myself up the railing (I wish I was being funny, but I’m not. Note to trainer: if you ever find this blog, know that I think you’re great and I love having you kick the crap out of me a few times a week, but seriously? That was a little overboard. It’s not entirely my fault I was off for so long.) Today, in addition to the 30 minutes with the trainer, I actually did my full 45 minutes of cardio and some good stretching and I feel so great! I haven’t slept in a month, but it still felt so good. I had taken the entire month off; we got our travel call on Dec. 5th and I obviously cancelled everything between the 5th and the 8th because although three days is more than adequate to prepare to leave the country and return with a baby, I just didn’t want to do anything extra. And we came home right before Christmas and New Years, and blah, blah, blah, but whatever, Tuesday was great.

Tuesday night, Mattix took his first real bath in a real bathtub. In Vietnam, we bathed him in the Ducky tub and after we left the Ducky tub behind in Saigon, in a really shallow tub of water in the hotel in Hanoi. Since we’ve been home, we’ve bathed him in the sink because as far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing cuter than a baby in a sink (and it was really easy and practical).  Well, his skin treatments require him to soak for 15 minutes and we didn’t think he’d be willing to just sit in the sink for 15 minutes. Plus, it’s too shallow. So we filled up the tub and  it was so much fun. He had the best time ever with his bath toys. He was frantic about keeping them from floating away. He wanted all of them in front him of, within his reach, and not in anyone else’s hands. If one floated off, he would dive for it and pull it back. If I picked up one to squirt him, he wanted it back IMMEDIATELY. He was so frenzied the entire time that he really didn’t notice Ed or I. It only took him a few mouthfuls of water to figure out that he had to put his hands down when he leaned forward and that he couldn’t just dive for a toy when he wanted it.

“My toys”

“My toys have all floated away…”

“Give it back.”

“Oh my Gosh! What are you doing? Don’t touch it!”

“Listen, bi-atch. I told you not to touch my stuff.”

“Okay, back to my toys.”

 Wednesday was a good day. Mattix and I hung around the house, played with toys, and Mom took a few more bitch slaps. As Mattix becomes more comfortable, he’s also much more inclined to express his frustration and anger with us. I don’t see it as a bad thing because he needs to deal with these feelings. And by deal with them, I don’t mean to get over them. He just needs to learn to express them, and right now, this is how he does it. I don’t expect him to know how to act because nobody taught him how to act.  We’re not telling him “no” for much, but we are for the hitting and kicking. 

Because we were feeling crazy adventurous, Ed and I decided to go out to dinner on Wednesday. We went over our list of favorite places, and with the exception of Picazzo’s, which Ed wasn’t in the mood for, we were able to quickly cross them all off of the list. I don’t think any of our old favorites even have high chairs, which kind of gives you an idea as to how they feel about you bringing along an almost 11 month old baby who looooovvveeesss to throw everything within reach on the floor and then scream with delight.  I really wanted a salad, as I’m sure scruvy is setting in from my complete and total lack of veggies and fruit (previous daily staples for me) since we left for Vietnam. So where did we end up? Sweet Tomatoes. Yeah, Sweet Tomatoes. That place is so damn loud I could set up a three ring circus and nobody would notice. I think they encourage your kid to throw crap on the floor. My mom met us b/c she was spending the night at hour house. Turns out it was a good thing.

We finished our dinner and I picked Mattix up and noticed that horrible stank, the one to which I referred frequently while we were in Vietnam. I felt brave. A few diet cokes really loosened up the inhibitions (’cause that is about the strongest drink one can order at a Sweet Tomatoes, not that I wanted anything stronger), so I volunteered for changing duty. Big mistake. Big, big mistake.

I had a severe episode of PTSD as I pulled Mattix’s pants down and smeared the most horrifying mess of crap all over the back of his legs, all over his pants, all over my sleeves, and UNDER. MY. NAILS. Under my nails, people, under my nails.  What the hell? I thought we were through with those horrible diaper blowouts the minute we came home and had real American diapers! We’ve had a few leak-out-the leg incidents, but they were super small and didn’t make a big mess.

But this? This was disaster quality. Thank goodness my mom was there. I just froze up trying to figure out whether I wanted to pass out or throw up because there was crap under my nails. We managed to get his pants off, afterremoving his socks and shoes, so the socks and shoes were salvaged, but the pants and onesie? Not so much. I’m surprised we got the onesie off without covering his hair in poo.

Don’t worry. This story only gets worse. Mattix was busy playing with his wipes case while we tried to mop up the liquid mess when he decided that the wipes case was far too stupid a toy for him so he threw it – hard – across the bathroom. It opened up and the precious wipes went flying all over the floor. When I handed him the case, I apparently failed to explain to him that said wipes were actually very necessary to clean the crap off of him. Yet another screw up on my part. Oh well, I thought, we’ll just use paper towels. Yeah, too bad the paper towel dispenser was empty.

Meanwhile, Mattix was so not lovin’ being held down on the changing table, so he was thrashing all over the place, further spreading the poo mess everywhere. By the time my mom ran out and grabbed a handful of napkins, things were not looking good in the ladies room. One woman actually came in to use the bathroom and promptly left. I don’t blame her. I wanted to leave as well. We got the poo cleaned up with the napkins and a lot of water and went to dress little man in an “emergency outfit” from my well-stocked diaper bag. I’m the queen of all things organized. I may suck at motherhood, but I’m freakin’ Polly Prepared. My giant Juicy diaper bag is 100% stocked, 100% of the time….except for yesterday. The emergency outfit had been used up during a pee incident a few days ago and I had forgotten to replace it. So this, my friends, is how Mattix went home:

 

That’s right! The white trash is leaving the building. We walked out of Sweet Tomatoes with Mattix sporting a diaper and socks, wrapped up in one regular blanket and two receiving blankets. It was about 50 degrees outside.

- – - – - – - – - -

Lots and lots of people continually tell us that Mattix looks like Ed. We’ve been hearing it since we received his referral, and we heard it a lot in VN (from VNese people). I counted back about 20 months and am trying to remember whether Ed was on any extended business trips at that time.  I’ll let you know when I figure it out.

And in truly exciting news, the Leonard family accepted the referral of two absolutely beautiful little boys, Sam and Eli. Congratulations to their whole family!

The Good Days and the Bad Days…Monday was the Latter

Before I launch into a  recap of the day that left me in tears over a bag of crap (literally), I’ll start with this:

He is such a sweet, sweet baby. He is he reason every day is so good, even when they’re not.  One day, I pray that he’ll really sleep like this for an extended period of time. In this photo, he had fallen asleep after our adventure at the market and he was so, so tired. This sort of peaceful sleep has yet to be repeated (note that it only lasted about two hours) without the aid of Benadryl, and never longer than two hours at a time.

So, Sunday night was a doozy. I know, I sound like my mom. Who says "doozy?" Really, who says that? Whatever. It was.  Sunday night was "my" night. It has gotten so bad that Ed and I have started to take turns with the nights so that one of us can at least be half-rested every other day. We still sleep in our room together, so we’re both sort of up from the baby monitor, but only one of us has to actually get out of bed for the diaper, bottle, rock, bottle, pat, sway, and repeat routine. Like I said, Sunday night was my night.

I may have slept for two-45 minute periods. One of those periods only lasted for that long because Ed was nice enough to get up when I failed to even hear Mattix cry. We had a much-needed aappointment with Mattix’ pediatrician this morning, so although I loved every minute of my nap from 6:15 until 7:00 a.m.,  I was hurtin’ when the human alarm (a.k.a. Mattix) went off  promptly at 7:00. I was hurtin’ so badly that I dragged myself into the bathroom for my all-too-regular dry heaving routine.

Ed fed Mattix breakfast, bathed and dressed him, and packed my diaper bag while I puked and showered. And by showered, and I certainly don’t mean washed my hair. That’s become a luxury that I can only seem to afford every four days or so. Gross. Tell me about it. (However, if you ever find yourself in this position, you must really give the baby powder trick a try. It makes four day old hair only seem like two day old hair. By day five, I’m sorry, but I can’t help you b/c I can’t help myself. I suggest a hat.) So I puked, showered, clumped in a little more baby powder, got dressed and came downstairs.

Mattix is actually generally happy in the mornings once he’s completely woken up and gotten his bearings, despite the night troubles. Well, this morning was quite the exception. I came downstairs, wishing I could just crawl back into bed, but looking forward to seeing the smile that makes my day. It was not to be. I walked up to him and said, "Good morning, baby." And got smacked in the face. Yup, my adorable little baby bitch slapped me.

“Oh well,” I thought, “I can’t blame him. My hair is dirtier than this mess was before going to the groomer’s on Sunday:”

"and I’m not even sure if I brushed my teeth, so I had that one coming." I said the usual "No, Mattix, be gentle," took his hand, and touched my face softly. Apparently, he disagreed, probably still disgusted by my nasty hair, and a second bitch slapping ensued. "So the day is going to mirror the night," I thought.

Ed put Mattix into his car seat, I ran to the bathroom for one last dry heave, and off we (Mattix and I) went, into the mess of Monday morning rush hour traffic, further complicated by an unexpected rainstorm. In usual fashion, Mattix was not havin’ the car seat and he wanted me to know it. He threw his bottle across the car, then immediately wanted it back. Unfortunately, I was stuck in bumper to bumper traffic, so I handed back his "juice" bottle (I say "juice" because he has yet to figure out that 20% juice, 80% water really isn’t that different than water), which pleased him for ten minutes before he began crying inconsolably. The good news is that he cried himself to sleep. The bad news it that it’s never, ever good to wake him in his car seat in a new location. But we were ten minutes late by the time we finally pulled into the very last covered spot on the fifth floor of the parking garage, so I had no choice. (For the record, pre-baby, I was NEVER late. I hate being late. Being late is NOT. OKAY. with me. I have yet to be on time since returning home from VN.)

We walked into the doctor’s office, I was soaking wet, baby was crying, and I was hoping they didn’t notice that by this time, we were twenty minutes late. I l.o.v.e. Mattix’s pediatrician. I searched for a month for a ped in town who was familiar with internationally adopted children before I found her. Unfortunately, although I live in a city with over 1.5 million residents, we have not one single clinic that specializes in internationally adopted children. And I’m not just saying I want a place near my house that does this; I’m willing to drive. Hell, it takes 45 minutes with absolutely no traffic to get to this ped’s office, easily one hour fifteen minutes in traffic. I mean we don’t have a single such clinic in our state. But that’s okay, because his ped great.

So I love her, but the office staff? Not so much. They’re oftenalways very rude to me. To the point where last time I finally had it and gave one particularly rude woman a schooling on cultural ignorance. Needless to say, I’m not so popular with the front office staff. But whatever. How many times do I need to listen to her yell out, "Hooonnnngggg" then snicker before I’m finally entitled to tell her that although I don’t expect her to know how to pronounce Hoang, it’s certainly inappropriate to do it blatantly incorrectly and then laugh about it? This is not me being sensitive, by the way, because I’m about the least sensitive person I know. You have to work really, really hard to offend me. We’ve just had a few big fiascoes with their front office and billing department (yes, he’s covered on our insurance as of the date of adoption, but no, I don’t have a card yet because we just returned from Vietnam yesterday and I just called the insurance company this morning – that sort of stuff), so it doesn’t take much.  So, anyway, I waited for the usual, "Hooonnnngggg," was not disappointed, gathered up our plethora of stuff, and headed to the back. (Good news is that Mattix has gained over half a pound since the last time we were there! Bad news is that I have, too.)

Forty five minutes later, Intern walked in and told me she was working with Pediatrician today and asked me about Mattix’s symptoms. Pediatrician works at a teaching hospital, which I think is great (truly, I’m not being a smart ass), but today I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t go through everything with Intern, only to turn around and do it again with Pediatrician. I knew it was going ot be hard enough to get everything out once; no way, no how was I going to be able to do it twice. Intern was totally nice and understanding, which made me feel even worse. (Why are women like that? Why do we feel bad about things that shouldn’t make us feel bad?)  

Pediatrician came in and I started talking. It was not easy, because some of the things I told her upset me to even discuss. I don’t want to write about some of them at this point, but just know that it wasn’t easy. I was in tears by the end. Not crying, crying, just teary with a wavering voice.  I’m not a crier, so this upset me even more. My husband never saw me really cry until we rec’d Mattix’ referral, and by that point, we’d been married for over six years and together for nearly eight. Anyway, we had a really great 45 minute aappointment. She’s truly a wonderful pediatrician. I unfortunately have some serious, extensive personal experience with lots of physicians over a long period of time. I’m pretty finicky now about who I choose. They have to be very, very educated, smart, and professional, but they also have to be able to listen and empathize, because medical advice is all well and good, but unless you’re living it, you don’t totally get it. Maybe if I were having a life-saving transplant or something my criteria would be different, but for most things in my life, if a physician can’t listen, they’re useless to me. So anyway, Pediatrician fits all of my criteria and that makes me happy.

The two issues I feel comfortable discussing here are the sleeping problems and the skin problems. First of all, take a look at this (and enlarge it so you can see more than just the obvious ouchie):

…and tell me how you would feel if much of your body looked like some variation of this (and by the way, it has almost doubled in size since I took this photo)? Mattix was covered in scabies when we picked him up from the orphanage, even though the physician at the international clinic told me he had a “viral rash." Despite that crap medical advice, it became very apparent that Mattix had scabies when I picked caught them, too. He was so infested that it took three separate treatments with Elimite (Permethrin), each a week apart, to finally kill them all. However, he was left with horrible rashes and strange bumps, like the one above, all over his body. In addition, he had a number of other very severe skin issues going on that needed immediate attention.

I like Pediatrician because she’s not insistent that she’s the Empress of the Medical Field. She doesn’t insist she knows everything. (Because nobody knows everything, no matter how brilliant they are. To me, that’s the sign of a good doctor: one who knows what she doesn’t know and isn’t afraid to say it.)  She said she had a really good idea about the problem, but that Mattix needed to see their pediatric dermatology specialist. Our insurance doesn’t require referrals, but I always prefer that a general care doctor make suggestions because coordinated care is far superior to the alternative fragmented, head-doesn’t-communicate-with-the-body care. Furthermore, awesome Dermatologist was booked for like the next four weeks, but Pediatrician got us an aappointment for later in the afternoon (we actually had to wait another hour while she worked on it, and Mattix wasn’t so impressed, but she got it done).

In addition, we discussed the sleeping issues. This was very, very good. First of all, she looked at me and said, "We need to figure something out, because you can’t take care of him when you’re this tired." So yeah, I look that bad. I mean, I know I do, but when someone you don’t know that well tells you you look that bad, you know it’s really. that.

Really, everything we discussed was not new, but it was reassuring to have a good pediatrician’s perspective. Like I mentioned earlier, she treats a lot of internationally adopted children, so none of our issues are new to her. It was great to hear reassuring things and to know that this too shall pass, which I of course know, but when you’re drowning in it, it’s hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel. We have a game plan for the sleeping issues, so we’ll see how it goes over the next week or two. Also, I know that Mattix is never going to sleep well until his body ceases to cause him so much discomfort and pain. His skin is such a wreck. He tears at it until he bleeds. He scratches and cries and rubs. I can’t even imagine dealing with that on top of everything else he’s going through.

Which leads us to waiting for the aappointment with Awesome Dermatologist. Like I said, it was hard for Pediatrician to even get us an appointment with him, but she worked a miracle and got us in the same day. By the time the aappointment was scheduled, it was 12:00 and we’d been there since a little after 9:00. Mattix was tired and cranky, and the thought of hanging around until a 2:30 appointment was making my head spin. I was also tired and cranky and had not eaten since 4:00 the day before.  Except that we couldn’t even leave for lunch because we were sent to the waiting room while Pediatrician got us the name of an eye specialist so that we can have his wandering eye evaluated.

So we were sitting in the waiting room, and Matix was testy and squirmy, and I was tired and pissy, and the clock was just ticking but nothing was happening. And I realized that it was only 12:15 and there was no way Mattix was going to hang on for the rest of the day. So what’s a girl to do but call her mom?! My mom said she was on her way, so I saw a little glimmer of hope – maybe we could get through the day! By 1:00, we were still siting in the waiting room. Mattix had fallen asleep after two full bottles and some vigorous stroller shaking, so that was at least good. (By the way, if you’re stroller shopping, I highly recommend the Britax Vigour. Although the storage basket leaves much to be desired, the suspension alone makes it worth it. That baby can bounce, and that’s my only saving grace when Mattix is in it, it’s not moving, and he’s tired!) Too bad Mattix’s doody smell was taking over the waiting room. After a plethora of diry looks, I finally decided to ask one of the FOUR receptionists if just maybe, possibly, she could drag herself to the back and find out about the names. I mean, really, if the same person were sitting directly in front of you for an hour, wouldn’t you ask if you could help them with anything?  She apologized on behalf of Pediatrician, who was so busy she’d forgotten. Pediatrician really is that busy, so I wasn’t upset, but still…

Mattix was still out by some miracle, so we went upstairs to the lab to drop of the his stool sample. G.R.O.S.S. I do NOT do well with poo. (Refer to the plethora of poo stories during our VN trip, starting with this one.)  Collecting the poo for three days was about the worst experience of my life. I was given six rather large containers and had to collect poo samples once a day for three days. I had to divide up said poo samples into two containers each day. The first day I managed to gag my way through it by breathing out of my mouth and yelling inappropriate obscenities throughout the entire process (no, not in front of Mattix). The second day I puked my guts up midway through the collection (really), but still finished the job. The third day I called for Ed, ’cause a girl can only take so much.

I brought the above-referenced poo samples with me to drop off at the lab. Although I don’t believe Mattix has any parasites, like Pediatrician said, "He could potentially have intestinal parasites that he has had since birth and has learned to live normally with them. But you? You’ll know if you catch one." Well, I don’t want any of us to carry around any parasites, so I collected the crap. After that experience, I’ve decided that for future adoptions, we’re all shit outta luck (ha ha) ’cause I’m not doing that again, thankyouverymuch. Intestinal parasites can take over our house for all I care.

So I walked into the lab with the poo samples in the containers, in a Ziploc freezer baggie, in a grocery sack, and asked the gal at the front desk who could take the sample from me. She called for someone from the back, who came up front and asked for the requisition form. I explained that it had been written on the previous form when we had his blood drawn two weeks ago.

(By the way, all those labs came back great! Liver function, kidney function, and CBC were all normal; HIV, syphilis, Hep B & C, and all of the other communicable diseases were negative, and, the shock of all shocks to me, he was actually given all of the vaccines the orphanage claimed he was given. So, the good news is that he’s almost exactly on schedule for a 10 month old as far as vaccines go. He had three during our last aappointment, and he’ll have about three more in two weeks, and then he’ll be right where he should be!)

Anyway, I told the woman about the order being written on the past requisition form and spelled his last name for her. She went to the back, then returned a few minutes later and said they didn’t have any record of him, period. I said that they must have a record for him and asked her to please check again. She told me that there was no record so obviously he hadn’t been there. Okay, so I know I was tired and I know I was a little short on patience, but WTF? Usually I can last through the first few rounds of incompetence, but not today. Smart mouth took over, and I said, "Really? No record? That’s fascinating. I’d love to know whose medical information I was given this morning when we rec’d all of the results of his blood work from two weeks ago, which blood was drawn HERE. IN THIS OFFICE. TWO WEEKS AGO." I’m pretty sure my face was starting to turn red and steam may have been shooting from my ears. It probably sounds silly to get so worked up over this, but after going through the same thing over and over with Pediatrician’s office, I wasn’t sure I could take it again, not today. I hadn’t slept, my kid smelled like crap b/c he had been sitting in it for an hour (and I’m sorry, but if you understand how hard it is for him to fall asleep, you’ll know why I wasn’t willing to change that diaper until he woke up himself), I’m standing there holding a bag of crap, and I want to either eat lunch or puke (both equally). I thought my head was going to explode.

The look on my face must have said that I wasn’t in the mood to argue, so the woman went to the back office for a few minutes, then returned with Nice Lab Lady. Nice Lab Lady told me not to worry, that he IS in the system, but unfortunately, they couldn’t find the order for the stool study. She said I’d have to go back downstairs and have them write up another order for the lab work. Too bad everyone in that office was gone for lunch and the doctor was gone for the rest of the day. I explained that to her and I said that I would just go ahead and leave the sample and call the office tomorrow to have it straightened out.  Nice Lab Lady told me that she couldn’t take the sample with out the proper requisition form and that I couldn’t leave it until they had the order on hand. I explained to her that we had another aappointment in another building, that it would be impossible to get the order today because by the time that aappointment was over, everyone in Ped’s office would be gone for the day, and that I couldn’t possibly drive down here with him tomorrow because, look at him, look at me, does this look like it’s going well?! And she told me that she was really sorry, but she couldn’t take it.

And this is where I would usually become insistent, firm but courteous, then demanding, then whatever else is necessary to get the job done, but instead, I started to cry. Yeah, I actually started to cry.  Me, the girl who doesn’t cry, started to cry. I then thrust the grocery store bag towards her and said way too loudly, “For the love of God, just take this bag of his shit.”

Who does that? I’ve spent my entire life being calm, collected, and effective. Usually, the more frustrated or angry I become, the more level headed and calm I appear because that’s how I’m wired. I can get through any situation, any day, no matter how angering or upsetting. My husband hates to argue with me (not that we EVER argue, of course) because he says it’s not fair.  But instead, today, for the first time in my entire life, I cried because I was frustrated. I cried over a bag of my kid’s shit. In a children’s hospital lab.

Nice Lab Lady looked at me and didn’t see a crazy woman who was holding a bag of crap and falling apart. Instead, she saw an overtired, stressed out, concerned mom who just wanted to take care of her baby and get him home. She took my bag of crap, patted me on the back, and said, “Honey, I know exactly what you’re feeling right now. My daughter was a preemie and we were in and out of clinics and hospitals for months. And I know how frustrating this can be. I’m going to walk downstairs with you and get this taken care of right away.” And we walked downstairs, and just like I said, nobody was there to do anything about it. Nice Lab Lady told me not even to worry, that she would get it taken care of, and that the next time I heard about my bag of crap would be when the results came in. So I cried more.

But then the horrible stench of Mattix’s diaper, which had been festering in the heated waiting rooms, snapped me back to reality. After profusely thanking Nice Lab Lady, we headed into the ladies’ room for fun times. Mattix doesn’t do diaper changes, so it is especially great when they’re really dirty and we’re in a public place and I’m alone. Trying to get his clothes off, take the dirty diaper off, clean him up, and re-diaper him, all while trying to hold down 19 pounds of screaming strength, isn’t my idea of a good time. But we got it done, and just as we walked out, my mom arrived.

And it got better. Because even though I’m a grown woman with a child, my mom’s presence apparently still calms me and makes me feel like everything is going to be okay. We walked over to the hospital cafeteria, where I was told that I couldn’t take Mattix because no children under 12 are allowed anywhere in the hospital. So Mom held Mattix while I ran in and grabbed some fruit, french fries, string cheese, and Diet Coke because yes, my once stellar eating habits are just that good these days.

Then we went to the downstairs lobby of Ped’s office where I ate and mom fed Mattix his favorite food, which just so happens to make my stomach turn - pureed green beans and rice – and yogurt. And yes, I let go a little. This was another topic we covered at the aappointment – me going overboard with only allowing Ed and I to meet Mattix’s every single last need and refusing to deviate even a little bit, even when it’s killing us – more on that another day).

The rest of the day was uneventful. He saw awesome Dermatologist, who just so happens to be from Ethiopia and mentioned that he was interested in adopting from there eventually. He is keenly aware of skin issues with children who have lived in orphanages, and so he knew exactly what we were dealing with and what to do about it. I felt reassured about the three separate scabies treatments, because he said that I had done everything correctly (finally!) and that we were 50% of the way there just because of that. He also said not to expect this to get completely better any time soon, but that things would improve dramatically in the next two weeks of treatment. Awesome Dermatologist kept telling me how cute Mattix is, which was a relief, because I was a little worried he would get annoyed every time Mattix tried to climb him, nearly tore a button off of his jacket, and stole the pen out of his pocket three separate times. It all really was cute, but you never know whether someone else will appreciate the "activity" like you do! And my mom got to see Monkey Mattix – the crazy, climbing, energetic, unable-to-sit-still little guy that I know every single day.

We got through the day, had new medication and new hope, and a long drive ahead of us, during which I sat in the front seat and listened to the poor little guy yanking out his hair, whimpering, and pulling at his ears until he finally put himself to sleep.

When we got home, Ed met me in the garage and took Mattix so I could go have all of the prescriptions filled. You know it’s been a long day when you’re looking forward to some "quiet time" in the pharmacy. It took them 30 minutes to fill the prescriptions; I’ve never enjoyed waiting for something quite that much.

This is what I was talking about when I said that nobody writes about the bad days. This was by no means some crazy, abnormal day. All parents go through this – whether they have bio or adopted kids. Except when you’re newly home with an adopted child and all you see are blogs filled with cute pictures and all you hear from everyone around you is that this must be perfect, you might start to wonder (at least I do) what’s going on with your family. How come everyone else has really cute pictures to show for their day, but you have a bag of crap and a meltdown in the lab?

I do have really cute pictures, though, even if one of them happens to be of Mattix giving me the stink eye at the end of our really long medical appointments day, when he finally had enough of me. And yes, he’s truly giving me the stink eye. He saves his super pissy look for his momma. Nobody believes me until they see him doing it. Well, I finally caught it on camera, although this is a fairly nice version of it because I caught it at the tail end:

He assumes the position and gives the eye for a solid 30 seconds until he’s sure that I’m aware of his irritation. Too bad for him I think it’s the cutest! He may be annoyed with me when he gives it, but that face melts my heart. He has sooooo much personality and I love that about him.

And finally, the other night, we let him try a few tiny little bites of ice cream. I always said I would never, ever, ever let my babies try bad, unhealthy, adult food. Never say never, because when this cute little face is staring at you, silently (or loudly) pleading for a bite, what can you do? I’m not quite to the point of filling up his bottle with Coke (I really saw a woman do that once), so I’m still a fit parent as far as I’m concerned. (And for the record, I dont’ even really like ice cream, so what does that say about my current mental state?)

"Hmmm, that looks good! I’d like to try some…."

“What is this stuff? I’m not sure…”

“It’s a little messy, but I’m thinkin’ it might be okay.”

“Okay, so I like it. Hurry up with the bites.”

“Finally! If only this lady weren’t such a pig, there would be more bites for me. I will give her a dirty look so she’ll stop being so selfish.”

“I’m sorry, what? Why can’t I have more? Forget it. Spoons are for girls, anyway. I’ll take care of this myself.”

And that’s where the photos end, because Ed had to put the camera down to help me with one very angry kid who wasn’t done eating ice cream, even though Mommy said he was done. This was the most hilarious three minutes of my week. He is SO CUTE. Who knew feeding your baby ice cream could bring so much laughter. He laughed his little butt off after every bite, and so did we! I haven’t laughed like that in a long time. I love this little man so, so much.

“A Bottle is Not a Bandaid and Your Son is Not a Table Cloth:” Parenting Laura-style

I’m a logical person. I’m not very creative nor very imaginative. I live in a realistic, logical world that centers around reason. So here’s what I was thinking when I would yank the bottle out of Mattix’s mouth at the speed of light after he’d fallen asleep…

It is difficult to put Mattix to sleep, and once he’s asleep, you can be certain of one thing: it’s not going to last long. There’s a lot more of this rocking and bottle routine I believe that I’ll write about it at some point, but for now, you just need to know that we’re experiencing sleep issues from hell. For very good reasons, I don’t believe they are going to resolve any time soon. Anyway, he sucks down one or two full bottles (6-8 ozs each) every night during the first bedtime routine (note I wrote “first” because there are about five big “routines” and five small “routines” each night). 

When he’s finally starting to drift off, his little sucking reflex slows waaaayyy down, but he almost always continues to suck. It’s really quite cute to watch, but by the time we get to this point, it has been anywhere from 20 minutes (once in a blue moon) to well over an hour. On the nights where it’s been over an hour, I’m anxious to get the show on the road because I know that this is just the first of many times we’ll have to rock him to sleep with a bottle and I’m already getting tired just thinking about it.

So, on the nights I would put him to bed, I would wait until he’d closed his eyes, was breathing deeply, and was very clearly asleep, even though he was sucking on the bottle just a little. And then, when I was sure it was time, in one incredibly fast movement, I would take the bottle and pull it straight out of his mouth as quickly as I could. One night, I pulled it out so quickly that I lost my grip and it went flying across the room. But whatever. Besides that time, my catlike reflexes were pretty impressive. My average was about 50%. He would stay asleep 50% of the time and wake up the other 50%. The latter times would necessitate starting over on the rocking thing, but overall, I thought a 50-50 average was pretty good.

Until Ed happened to walk into the room just as I was executed my highly practiced and polished move. Because he was there, he took Mattix off of my lap and put him into his crib (another thing I’m not too great at – read on). Then he came back into the room where I was sitting and said, “What the hell was that?” Honestly having no idea what was talking about, I asked, “What the hell was what?” To which he responded, “What exactly were you thinking when you yanked the bottle out of his mouth so fast you nearly threw your shoulder out of socket?”

So I explained my theory to him – that the faster I yanked it out, the quicker it was over, and the quicker is was over, the less likey Mattix was to wake up and realize the bottle was no longer in his mouth.  Looking at me as though I had two heads, Ed informed me that my theory was good…if the bottle was a Bandaid. Critical anyone? Now I’m doing it his way, wherein I slowly pull a tiny bit of the bottle out, wait a few seconds, do it again, wait a few seconds, do it again, until the whole bottle is out. The only difference I can see is that Ed’s way takes longer works most of the time, but whatever.

And then there was the night that Ed was in the room when I transferred Mattix from my lap on the rocking chair to his crib. Again, I’m logical. In my mind, the quicker I get my arms outta there, the less likely he is to wake up. Right? So I take Mattix over to the crib, tweak my back bending waaayyy down (because Ed insists that our monster crib must be on the very, very lowest level because Mattix is highly likely to spider man his way up the side and climb out), get Mattix within a quarter inch of the mattress, and whip my arms back, thereby placing him in his bed in nanoseconds. So fast I was certain that he didn’t even notice. He barely stirred. I’d been doing this for a few nights. He’d only woken up every time except for tonight once, and save for a few bruises on my elbows, I felt like my execution was Olympic-worthy.

I stood straight up, cracked my back, and observed my work. I was quite pleased because Mattix simply rolled to his side, whimpered once, and fell back to sleep. And then I turned to look at Ed, just so he could see my face while I was gloating. Only he had this look on his face.

Me: “What?”

Ed: “What do you mean what? What are you doing?”

Me: “Um, putting the baby to bed?”

Ed: “That’s how you put him to bed?”

Me: “Yeah, why?”

Ed: “No wonder he wakes up.”

Me: (Explained my well-reasoned theory)

Ed: “That might work if you son were a tablecloth you were trying to remove without disturbing everything on the table. He’s not a tablecloth, though, so you might want to try something else.”

So, my lessons for the week:

1. A bottle is not to be removed from the baby’s mouth in the same manner that one removes a Bandaid from delicate skin
2. It is not practical to remove one’s arms from underneath the baby as though one is removing a tablecloth from a fully set table

If you need any parenting advice, feel free to email me. I’m getting really, really good at this (as if you even need to be told that).

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Yesterday (Sunday), Mattix and I met my mom, my best friend, and her mom for lunch at the world’s best restaurant (particularly if you have Celiac Disease and loovvveee pizza, but still amazing even if you don’t, I’m told). This is something we have done regularly for years, but it was our first time with Mattix and guess what? He seemed to have a great time, too! This makes me very happy, as eating makes me very happy, and the idea of not being able to eat at said amazing restaurant regularly makes me very, very sad.

Here’s a cute picture of the Little Man and my mom. Notice her death grip on him. It’s amazing how strong this little 19 pounder is – if he decides he’s going to maneuver his way into what we call the “death roll,” you’re in trouble. As such, a very firm grip is necessary!

And I’m posting the picture of myself with Mattix, but try not to spit out your coffee with disgust. If you read my travel journal, you might remember the entry where I acknowledged that I was starting to look like a dude. Unfortunately, it’s only gotten worse. I was hoping it was being in Vietnam that was doing it to me, but alas, it’s just plain me. I’m blaming it on the fact that I haven’t had the old ’stache waxed since late November (hey, we got the call to leave on Dec. 5th, only had three days to get ready, and came home right before Christmas, so cut me some slack) and maybe the fact that my eyebrows have become so out of control that they are one big, bushy mess. But whatever. It’s a good day when I get to brush my teeth, so mustaches and eyebrows are not as important as they used to be. Oh, and I hadn’t washed my hair in three days, so again, a little sympathy. Thank goodness Thursday is salon day. Maybe I can get some of this taken care of, in addition to doing something with the hair that will allow me to stop wearing it in a filthy, messy knot at the back of my head.

And I would post one of my best friend and Mattix, but she’s so pregnant now that she was having trouble holding him, so you’ll have to settle for one of her and I at my shower…back in freaking June (when she wasn’t even two months along), you know, when we thought we were going to travel for Mattix in August so it made sense to have a shower in late June(ha, ha, ha says the bitter mom)… I’m hosting her shower this Saturday and I’m sooo excited that we’ll be new moms together, even though our little ones will be almost exactly one year apart. Ironically, the dress I bought to wear to her shower this Saturday is cream with black polka dots, similar to the one she was wearing here, when she hosted my shower at the world’s best restaurant, back in June, you now, when we were going to travel in August:

In other crazy exciting news, Mattix got to meet his great uncle, his great grandparents and his great great grandma (yep, that’s a great, great grandma) last week. My uncle is awesome. He was the one who broke all the rules for my little brother and I growing up (my mom knew about it) and bought us tons of candy, McDs, and useless toys. We grew up thinking Cheerios were sugared cereal and ‘Nilla Wafers were some sort of awesome cookie, so Uncle S was our hero. Well, he’s going to be the same for Mattix b/c I now appreciate the logic behind suh trickery and lies and someone’s gotta spoil him, right? Mattix LOVED Great Uncle S from the minute he saw him. Some people just have a way with kids!

Today (Monday) was quite frankly The Day From Hell. Because I’ll probably burst into tears if I try to write anything about it now (as I did earlier today), I’ll save it for tomorrow. I’ll just say that the highlight was me yelling at the woman at the lab, “For the love of God, just take this bag of his shit.” And no, I’m not messin’ around. That happened. In the lab at a Children’s Hospital with, ahem, children in the waiting room.  My husband met me at the bottom of the stairs with a nice large glass of River Oak cab after I put Mattix to bed, which I’m sipping now, trying to regain my sanity.  

To end on a postive note, here are a few more Mattix pics:

 

Adjusting, Part 2

Ed and I went into this adoption with very open minds and very few expectations. By that, I mean we didn’t have some mental image of two new happy parents with a “new” baby who loved us unconditionally from the day we met him. I was beyond prepared for the challenges of adoption. I used those nine months that we waited for travel to educate myself in the way that I should have before we even began the adoption journey.

Furthermore, I was keenly aware of the shortcomings I expected to face as a new parent. Sounds strange, but I wasn’t born with the “mommy gene.” I’m not sure if you know what I’m talking about, but I mean that “thing” some women have where it’s obvious that they’re just natural at parenting. My best friend, who’s pregnant right now and due shortly before Mattix’s first birthday, has the mommy gene. She’s wanted to have a family since we were young teenagers. She’s amazing with children. She knows what they want. She knows what to do with them. She doesn’t even have a baby yet, and she’s been giving me awesome baby advice. My own mom has that gene, too.  Me? I used to think I was that person. As a young teenager, I was the world’s best babysitter. I was in high demand. Seriously. I loved kids and they loved me. And then somewhere, between the end of high school and now, I lost it. I became that person who would stiffly hold a baby out a foot in front of me, trying miserably to make him laugh, then quickly pass him off when he started to cry. ‘Cause as it turns out, I don’t have the mommy gene. However, my complete and total lack of a mommy gene did not ever impede my desire to raise children. I just knew that it would be work, not natural, and that I would have to put more effort into it than a woman with the mommy gene. And I was okay with that. Completely and totally okay with it.

In addition to my lack of the mommy gene, I think that Ed and I entered the adoption process in a different way than many other families do.  Our reasons for adopting are personal and I’m not prepared to share them at this point, but I’ll just say that we have known that we wanted to adopt since before we were married and so there wasn’t any real consideration of having biological children. The topic only came up briefly when considering the financial expenses associated with adoption, but it was a very brief conversation. That doesn’t make other families better, or us better, or anything like that, but it seems significant  to me now because it wasn’t like I was really, really anxious to have a baby immediately. I just knew that I wanted a family and the time was right, probably the same way that most people who have biological kids feel when they start “trying.” It doesn’t make us crazy different than other adoptive families, but I think it is important because many families (not all, but many) arrive at adoption after experiencing some measure of difficulty, frustration, and maybe even loss  and that many  APs were ready for kids, like, yesterday, because of the obstacles they’ve had to overcome.  We started the adoption process like most people attempt to begin building/continue adding to their families. I was done with law school, we’d bought our house and had settled in a bit, Ed wasn’t getting any younger, and we felt like it was time to start our family.  So we had the “we’re ready for kids” talk, then we got started on the home study (our complete and total lack of intelligence and research is a whole separate post).  The wait for a referral wasn’t difficult. Most of the time, I didn’t’ really know where we stood as far as our place in “line.” I was aware that there were many other ethical agencies that could have referred a child to us within months (because we started shortly after VN reopened), but I was totally fine waiting six months to a year for a referral because that sounded about right. (Now, the wait between referral and travel is a whole different can of worms. That was horrible.)

I feel like everyone around us expected us to be ready for a family in a different way than we were. Like, here we were waiting for so long – we rec’d our referral over a year after we began the process, then waited another nine months to travel – and now that the baby was home, our lives were entirely perfect because the long-time dream was finally fulfilled, and any challenges we might face were insignificant because nothing else mattered. And our dream was fulfilled, except that I felt like every other first time mom who doesn’t have that mommy gene and is very uncertain of her abilities – I was exhausted, totally incompetent, unbelievably awkward, super frustrated, and stressed out. But I wasn’t parenting a biological infant. I was parenting a ten month old child who had spent every day of his life in an institution. I was parenting a child who didn’t know me, who wasn’t entirely fond of me (why would he be?), who was very uncomfortable because he’d come to us infested with scabies and covered with rashes, who was frustrated with me because I had taken him away from everything he knew, and who didn’t understand a word I said. Although we had waited for nearly two years, we had become parents in one instant.  To a ten month old baby. Who didn’t exactly have an ideal first ten months of life.

I expected all of these feelings. Truly. Nothing that I felt came as a surprise. I was very well educated in the what-to-expect-from-an-adopted-child area. Not to say that I knew everything, ‘cause I’m learning every day, but sure wasn’t anticipating pure bliss or anything.  In addition, I had very realistic expectations of myself as a parent because I know myself pretty well. Not to sound like I think I’m all sorts of fabulous, because I’m not, but I’ve been good at most of the things I’ve done in my life.  I always did well in school, in law school, at work. If I wanted to accomplish something, I simply did it, and with relative ease. If I wasn’t great, I worked really hard figured it out. Not to make my life sound all sorts of simple, because I’ve faced some very different personal challenges of a serious nature, but as far as most things go, my incredibly strong ambition and drive have afforded me relative success. I’ve always done the hard work and appreciated the rewards. But as far as parenting, I wasn’t under any false pretenses. I knew that I wasn’t going to be a natural at parenting. I knew that I was going to have to work really, really hard to do many of the things that many women just kind of get. Simple things. But then I was going to have to work really hard at those things AND the things that come with an adopted, previously institutionalized child.

So we came home, and I wasn’t disappointed in myself or anything, but I was frustrated and nobody appreciated that. My husband, the man who had only held a baby once in his entire life, was 100% natural. He was nervous ahead of time, probably like I was, but as it turns out, he had nothing about which to be concerned. He knew how to handle this kid like he’d been a parent for years. And I was so grateful, because one of us needed to know what the hell to do. So people would see us with Mattix, and they would comment on how great we were (because Ed is that great and apparently it wasn’t obvious how I was drowning in my own incompetence) and I would think, “I can’t do this. I can’t take care of him. I don’t know what to do. How long before I can get a nanny and go to work?”  I couldn’t even get him from my lap in the rocker into his crib without waking him, causing him to cry, kick his legs, arch his back. Ed would just seamlessly hop up, slide him into bed, and sneak out of the room.  My husband didn’t see my situation for what it was, because I’m not a feelings person (wouldn’t know it from this post), so I would just walk around in a daze, scared and frustrated, trying to figure out how I was going to do this.

Not once did I wonder what I got myself into, because from the moment they put Mattix in my arms at the orphanage, my heart ached with love. I never came home and thought, “What the hell was I thinking?” I believe that some adoptive parents feel this sometimes, and I’m sure as hell not going to judge. I just didn’t feel that. But I felt lots of other things. I think I felt like some first-time biological fathers who are a little disconnected and overwhelmed might feel– I loved this kid for sure and I was so glad to have him in my life, but I wasn’t exactly going to knock Ed over to jump out of bed and get to him first when he cried in the middle of the all night, because I didn’t know what to do anyway.  We came home and I thought, “Okay, this is good. I have a son and I love him. I have a great husband who’s amazing with the baby. I’m ready to go to work now.” Except that I wasn’t going to “work.” This was my work, and I felt totally, unbelievably bad at my work. I didn’t know what to do at work. All I felt capable of was sitting at my desk and staring at my pile of work. I’ve never felt like I was that bad at anything, and here I was, bad at the most important job I’ll ever have.

And still, I was surrounded by everyone telling me how great I was with him. I don’t know – maybe I really was that great when other people were around. Of course, other people were around when he was quiet because they were new, and new situations make him quiet, when he was calm, when he’d laugh a little and “perform” by clapping and giggling because that’s what he learned to do in the orphanage for attention. Those people weren’t around at night when he was screaming bloody murder in his sleep because he was having a night terror, when I was trying to wake him up, when I was trying to rock him to comfort him, when he was kicking my legs so hard out of frustration that my legs were black and blue, when he was smacking me in the chest because he was angry, when he was pulling my hair. They weren’t around when he was so exhausted during the day that he could barely keep his eyes open, and yet hours of effort wouldn’t get him to sleep but rather make him even more upset.  

These other people who were telling me how great I was doing, how great our family was, how wonderful a mother I was, didn’t seem to understand how much worse that made me feel. I would tell them that no, I’m really not good at this and I’m feeling overwhelmed by my incompetence, only to be told that was silly because it was apparent I had it together. The only thing worse than sucking at the world’s most important job is having everyone tell you that you don’t when you want them to acknowledge that you do.  I wanted to be better at it because this is the job that really matters to me, but how could I get better when nobody would recognize that I needed help? 

I could tell Ed was becoming increasingly frustrated with me, which was making me frustrated with him, because what the hell? Why would he be frustrated with me? After crying myself to sleep for a few nights, I finally couldn’t take it anymore. I told Ed I was leaving the entire next day to run all of the errands that really needed to be taken care of sooner rather than later. And he was totally fine with me leaving him with Mattix for an entire day because he was just so natural at parenting.  If the situation had been reversed, if he had told me he was leaving to run errands for the day, I think I might have beat him with a tire iron (please don’t miss the sarcasm there – I wouldn’t really beat my husband with a tire iron…well, not very often, anyway).

And that day was my turning point. I left the house and ran a million errands. I drove around wondering why I was drowning in my own incompetence, why nobody understood me, why everyone seemed to gloss over what I was telling them, almost arguing with my feelings. By the end of the day, I was ready to make someone understand. I came home and sat Ed down and told him all of the things I’m writing here, plus a few lot more, and it finally clicked for him. He finally understood. He had no idea, because his feelings were so different. He was so good at this, so natural, that he just didn’t understand where I was coming from. When I would thrust Mattix into his arms shortly after picking him up, Ed was thinking that I was just being lazy, even though I’ve never been lazy in my entire life. When I would say that I didn’t want to rock Mattix to sleep night after night, Ed assumed it was because I would rather just go to bed myself, when really, it was because I was afraid that once again, I was going to wake him up when I tried to slip him into bed.

Once Ed finally understood why I was acting like I was, it got so much better.  Like immediately better. Not the skills part, and not even the feeling natural part, but the part where I was so overcome with frustration that I couldn’t even see straight. Instead of feeling irritated with me, he began helping me.  That’s sort of funny because I certainly never expected him to show me how to change a diaper without waking up the baby or how to transition Mattix from my lap on the rocking chair into his bed.  But he did help me, and he’s still helping me, and it’s getting better every single day.  

I’m not pretending that I went to bed a wreck one night and woke up the next morning Donna Reed. I’m just saying that a lot of the weight I had been carrying around was suddenly lifted. Finally, someone else appreciated my feelings.

This all took place over a surprisingly (to me) short period of time. But it was SO intense, and it would have lasted longer had I not had a complete and total meltdown when I did. Don’t get me wrong – this is. not. easy. This is still very difficult. I’m awkward most of the time, but I’m learning how to adapt every day. I’m now able to focus on what Mattix needs and when he needs it, rather than sit there feeling totall helpless. And I’m continuing to learn that lots of times, I don’t know what he needs. I often feel unbelievably useless, incompetent, and unprepared.   But instead of feeling hopeless, I believe that with time, I will get better! And when I say “I” will get better, I mean I, me, myself. Mattix is already remarkable; he doesn’t need to get “better.” He’s just an incredible little human being. But I certainly don’t expect the situation he’s facing to improve quickly or immediately or within some defined period of time. That will all take time. He has to adjust to yet another new situation. He has to experience his own frustration and anger and happiness and sadness. He has faced more loss, pain, and upset in his short ten months of life than I have during all of my time on earth. Every day brings a new magical accomplishment – some huge and some small – but many days also bring difficulty – some days more than others.

Before we brought Mattix home, I had spent so much time preparing to focus solely on his needs that I didn’t leave myself any room to focus on my own, and that’s also where I went wrong.  I can’t be here for him if I can’t be here for myself. And so now hope to be able to do my best to be what he needs me to be.

Because this is all about me and from my perspective, I don’t mind sharing it (well, it’s kind of intimidating, but I’m willing to do it anyway). However, in the future, when I write about our challenges, I will probably password protect the posts that focus on Mattix.

And finally, here are a few photos because I’m sorry, but he’s so damn cute. You don’t have to agree, but don’t tell me because I won’t believe you.  I am so enamored with this kid that I don’t know what to do with myself.

 

(If you click on the smaller photos, they will open up in a new window so that you can seem them. I’m obviously semi-incompetent when it comes to uploading photos to WordPress. Give me a few days and maybe I’ll figure this all out along with the parenting gig.)

I600s are coming again!

E at Looking for George just rec’d wonderful news! This is really great for her family, and also great for everyone waiting becuase it means that USCIS is issuing them again!

The day after we returned home…

…it sunk in. What sunk in, you ask? Exactly how much I sucked at being a parent, that’s what. This is going to be a long post, so it won’t hurt my feelings if you just skip it. It’s a combination of things I’m writing now and parts of journaling (the very first of my entire life) that I’ve done over the past two weeks. It’s very important to me that our lives aren’t all about Ed and I and that we don’t view everything from just our perspectives, and the following may make it sound that way. However, this is my transition and my truth and this is how I felt, and that’s all there is to it.

———-

     Shortly before we finally left to pick up our son, another adoptive mom who traveled with us and I were discussing “adoption amnesia” – you know, that thing that happens to so many people who have a rough go of it pre-adoption day, but suddenly forget all those months of waiting, heartache, and gut-wrenching concern for the child they have yet to meet just as soon as they have their baby home? I said I’d never have adoption amnesia (we just so happen to be one of those families who had a rough go b/c of a HUGE travel delay). After I gave it some thought, I came to the conclusion that I won’t have adoption amnesia per se, because I rarely let go of anything entirely (just ask my husband – I have a memory like an elephant), but I fully realize that my vivid memories of those painful nine months will indeed fade with time and that eventually, I really won’t remember so intensely how much they sucked. (‘Cause they did…they sucked really, really badly. I have so much empathy for the families waiting for I600 approval b/c I know just how much being forced to wait longer than necessary blows the big one.)   

     And like those memories, I know that the memories of the adjustment period will also fade with time. Don’t misunderstand me; these memories don’t suck at all, but this certainly isn’t the easiest time my life.  Because of that, I’m writing about them now, before they start to fade, because I want to be honest about them, and it’s hard to be honest about something that you don’t even remember that well.

     My husband and I had an incredible, life-altering experience in Vietnam. I know I wrote about it on my travel blog, and I know it probably sounds silly and cheesy, but it’s the truth. Looking back, I know there were several reasons for this; the most important one has always been obvious (adopting our son).  While we were there, I felt like all of my previous worries about parenting in general, and parenting an adopted child, were wasted thoughts because I really was much better at it than I had expected. In fact, I kind of impressed myself sometimes. There were a few occasions where I even thought to myself, “Damn. Good job, Laura, you’re kicking some ass and taking names.” At one point, even my husband looked at me and said, “You’re really good at this.” And I thought, “Uh, yeah, check me out, I ru-ule.”

And then we came home.

     I could just end there, but that would of course spare you a ridiculously long blog post. It’s very important for me to live up to my mom’s accusation of “being wordy,” so I’ll just keep writing.

     So, where was I? Oh yes, we came home. For a little background, we experienced sleeping issues from hell while in VN (and we continue to experience them now). And by “we,” I mean our son. And therefore, as a result, my husband and I did, too. On a good night, my husband and I each got four hours of sleep. Despite this, I ran on a full tank of adrenaline that never seemed to empty and I woke up every morning ready for a new adventure. By the time we boarded the plane to come home, I was starting to drag a little. Neither of us was able to sleep on any of the flights home (we had to stay up with the baby), so we arrived home over 30 hours after leaving VN thoroughly exhausted. Because of a little ”luggage issue” (another post entirely), it was well after midnight by the time we got home. And then we continued our sleeping issues from hell, with a littlecrap-load of added jetlag for the little man, which made said sleeping issues from hell worse. I didn’t even have jetlag; I had I’m-so-f’ing-tired-I-could-sleep-all-day-and-all-night-lag.

     So we were both very exhausted, but I was really, really exhausted. As in, I was falling asleep at the kitchen counter with a fork in my mouth while trying to eat (and if you know me, there ain’t nothin’ in this world that gets in the way of meal time, so this was really, really serious). Lest you think I’m a total wus, I do have a few issues that make this sort of sleep deprivation very unhealthy and more detrimental than they would be to a “normal” person.

     I tell you all of this to put things in a little context. Being that tired certainly didn’t make the adjustment any easier, but that’s not the reason it has been hard for me, either. We came home, I was tired, and then reality sunk it. And that’s when it got scary for me. That’s when I realized why I did so well in Vietnam. There were a few things, actually, that gave me a false sense of confidence and a very incorrect perception of skill and ability. One was that my husband and I were together 24 hours a day, so I was never alone with the baby. Well, that’s an exaggeration. I was alone for an hour here or an hour there, but mostly those would happen after he was asleep.  We were a brand new family of three, functioning as one unit the entire time. Don’t get me wrong, we faced some tough times, but we faced them as a team. I realized that now, I might have to deal with something that I’m so unfamiliar with and I might just have to do it while Ed was in a meeting with a client across town. And then what? The other reason was that nobody in Vietnam had any expectations of me. Actually, I think most of the locals had pretty low expectations of us as adoptive parents. And that was great. I mean, if everyone just assumed that my husband and I were total jackasses that were screwing up left and right, then how could I mess up to the point where it was really obvious to myself that I sucked at it? People were telling us what to do all day long, and I loved it. Really. I’m not being sarcastic. If someone wasn’t telling me “Pants, socks for baby. Baby cold” (I still maintain that baby ain’t cold when it’s 95 degrees out, but I didn’t argue the point then, and I’m not going to now), then someone else was rushing over to snatch him up if he was crying and I couldn’t console him. I was one of those strange APs who looked around the restaurant, desperately searching for a nice lady to come take the baby while I ate, because he preferred to hear her speak Vietnamese than to have me awkwardly shove some nasty veal and tomato version of Vietnamese baby food into his mouth, anyway (and I really like to eat, and it’s hard to eat with a baby, no?).

     So we came home, and it dawned on me that at some point, I was going to actually have to take care of Mattix alone. Alone! The thought made me head spin and my stomach ache.  How the hell was I going to do that without my husband there?  I’m the most independent person I know (sometimes to a fault), and here I was, freaking out about having to be alone with my child. As if that wasn’t bad enough, over the following few days, I realized that everyone around me just assumed that because we had been waiting for this amazing little baby to come home for nine months, I knew exactly what to do with him.

     Furthermore, apparently I looked like I was a lot better at everything than I actually was. And that’s not what I was aiming for at all. Trust me, if you can’t tell, I’m struck with the brutal honesty curse. I’m not one of those people trying to put on the old dog and pony show, so I was in no way trying to appear to have my shit together, because I didn’t. At all. This may all sound minor, but what it resulted in was an overwhelming amount of fear, frustration, and anxiety. I wanted someone, anyone, to just look at me and understand me. I had so many feelings that I couldn’t sort through.  I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to get into bed (partly because I was so overwhelmed, and partly because I seriously just wanted to sleep) and stay there for a week. But I couldn’t, because this unbelievably precious little person who was experiencing a huge amount of trauma needed to me take care of him. But I felt like I couldn’t really do that, either, because I didn’t even know what to do.

     There’s more – lots more – and the majority of it is written. I’ll post it tomorrow, because like usual, the length is out of control.  Once again, I don’t want you to assume that I’m depressing and gloomy. I’m just trying to write these feelings down because I don’t want them to get lost in the really great ones, and trust me, there are SO many, like today when Mattix gave his Glow Worm a kiss. Tomorrow’s post should wrap up the current solemnity for at least the next week.

Why Don’t People Talk About the Hard Parts?

That has been my question since I started reading adoption blogs over a year ago. (By hard parts, I mean the hard parts after everyone is home and the fantasy becomes a reality.) Every once in a while, I’ll come across a blog that touches on it, or one where someone acknowledges the difficult “transition time,” but that acknowledgment often comes well after it’s over.  I have a lot of theories and I’ve even read some explanations. I’ve heard that some are concerned b/c they want to adopt again and are worried that if their SW or agency ever read about their challenges, it might negatively affect a subsequent adoption. I’ve heard that people don’t feel comfortable sharing such personal, intimate information on the ‘net. *I* think that some may be concerned that their children will access it one day way down the road (can you imagine what the Internet will be like in 15 years?!) and they don’t want their kids to read about the not-so-fun parts.

 All of these are great reasons, really. We’re planning to adopt again in the future, so I can see how one might be concerned about a SW reading such detailed information. And for sure, I’m a privacy freak. It has taken me almost two years to start a blog. Actually, one year. I became blog obsessed after our referral and have sat down to start one 100 times but lost my nerve every time. And the third reason is my own. 

However, all of these reasons still aren’t compelling enough to stop me from writing what I’m about to write (either tonight or in a new post tomorrow, depending on how long this gets).  I truly hope that if my social worker were to read this blog that it wouldn’t interfere with our family’s ability to continue to grow through international adoption. I would actually be disgusted if that were the case. Granted, it’s probably not necessary to spill your guts and every last detail of your life to your social worker, but I would certainly hope that a well educated, reasonable SW would appreciate ones ability to be honest and work through the adjustment period.  Anyone who insists that there is not some measure of difficulty during the adjustment period, even if said adjustment period is short, is suspect in my book.

Second, as I mentioned, I am a HUGE privacy freak. Huge.  I was up for hours last night, debating with myself over whether or not to keep this blog. I password protected our travel journal b/c I was so worried about who might read it. Probably a little silly. I mean, really, who cares all that much about what I have to say, right? I’m sure not that many people, so I’m trying to work through those issues. My husband has been on me to let up about it a bit, but it’s still hard. One of our travel mates told me I have “lawyer issues.” (And you know you’re probably totally correct, Karen!) At this point, I still have our travel journal PW protected. If I become even more crazy and wild over time, I’ll probably open it up because, again, who’s really going to read it? So, anyway, my point is that I do understand the concern about sharing such personal thoughts on the ‘net.

Finally, I’ve put a lot of thought and consideration into the possibility that my son will use google, or whatever future program will be out there in ten years, and find this. But then I really thought about it, and realized that I’ll be willing to share this blog with him one day (when he’s much older) if he is interested. Nobody glossed over my life for me. Certainly nobody made me feel like crap, but I sure as hell didn’t enter adulthood thinking that my first 18 years with my parents were one continuous vacation for them, either, because raising kids IS hard, whether biological or adopted, and there ARE challenges for every parent. I knew that even though I was a good kid (really, I was a good kid), I also presented all sorts of challenges. I also knew that my parents loved (hopefully still love) me very much and that I’m a very, very significant part of their lives. For every challenge in parenting, there are countless rewards. And that’s what makes it such an amazing journey. But that doesn’t mean that the challenges must be buried in a closet. At least I don’t think so. Life is a journey, one (hopefully) long learning experience, full of ups and downs. We all learn from each other. But it’s hard to learn sometimes when we only share the good stuff.

And so that is why I started this blog. Really, that’s the motivation that I finally needed to start a blog: to share honestly about our post-adoption experiences. The good, the better, the best, and the sometimes difficult ones. I wrote my very first blog entry last night with the intention of posting a personal journal entry I wrote just for myself a few days ago later this week. Jen at Mindful Musings posted the following: http://www.mindfulmusings.wordpress.com/2008/01/02/finally-jens-resolutiontoday addressing the very topic that I think is so important. Random timing – I’m glad to know I’m not the only one. (Throw me a bone on the whole no-link situation here. I messed with it for half an hour and am either really slow or something’s not working correctly. I’ve given up for now. If you’re good at that (translation: if you’re remotely intelligent, unlike myself), please send me an email or leave a comment and HELP. I tried to follow wordpress’ instructions, but you see where that got me. )

And finally, I don’t want to sound all somber and down; this isn’t exactly how I envisioned my second ever blog post to sound (actually, I didn’t really ever envision anything, so I’m full of crap, but you know what I mean). If you read my travel journal, you’ll know that I’m pretty light hearted, painfully sarcastic, not too serious, and (I hope) somewhat positive.  But I’m also realistic, and if I don’t write some of this now, the memories will fade with time and I’ll end up glossing over this, just like so many people, because that’s what we do. That’s what we have to do in life. But with any luck, we learn as we go. 

 This did get longer than I expected (I think you’ll have to get used to that if you intend to continue reading my verbal diarrhea in the future; my mom accused me of being “really wordy” in my travel journal), so I’ll post more tomorrow.  Happy New Year to every one. May 2008 bring all adoptive and prospective adoptive families good news and good times.

A Blog…Finally

So, finally, nearly two years after beginning our adoption process, we’re home from Vietnam with our son. Our lives have changed overnight, even though we waited for this for so long.  Most everything that we suspected would happen has happened. All the things we anticipated – wonderful and not as great- have occurred. Sure, there have been a few surprises, but we waited for so long and had so much time to read, read, read, and research, research, research, that truly,  little has surprised us. And yet it is all so foreign and new. So expected, yet unexpected. Does that make any sense?

 I’ve read Vietnam adoption blogs for over a year, and particularly religiously since we received our referral so long ago.  (I’m not just saying “so long ago” for effect.  We waited nearly nine months between referral and travel.)  I sat down to start one of my own a hundred times because I have so many insightful thoughtsI have a comment about everything, yet my paranoia and fierce need for privacy kept me from taking the plunge.  I’ve written lots of posts in my mind about every topic covered in VN adoption land, but just couldn’t make myself write. Well, here I go. We’re back with our baby and the sleep deprivation is making me live on the edge. Danger is my middle name. Truthfully, I kept a detailed travel blog while in Vietnam and I found it very helpful, both to remember the great parts and to work through the tough ones. Plus, I have a penchant for honesty when it comes to life experiences. I figure that I benefited from other honest bloggers. so I might as well take a chance.  

For now, I’m going to password protect photos and anything too personal. If you happen to read this blog and have any interest in following the future protected posts, please leave comments here and there so I feel comfortable sharing the password with you when I get to that point. I read blogs for so long and was a comment-phobe. Then, when someone would end up going PW-protected or add in a few PW protected posts, I would kick myself for not commenting previously so that I could ask for the PW. Not that I’m all that exciting or you’re just dying to read, but you know, just in case…