Kelly says, “Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday. I love you abuela. I do cake.”
Monica says, “Happy birthday to you. A regalo muy bonita. I love you. I love you so much. Hi. Tu eres bonita.”
Zach says, “I love you lots and lots and lots.”
I say, “You are such a strong person. You have taught me so much about life by the way you live. You’ve always been there for me. I love you very much. Happy birthday.”
Because they are young, because they have speech and language delays, because they are afraid, our girls have yet to find their voice and tell us about their past. We get bits and pieces of stories about life before us as Kelly rambles on and on non-stop everyday. But how clearly she, as a 4 years old with delays, actually remembers accurately what has happened to her is up for discussion. However, sometimes they act out in ways that speak louder than anything they could say, and it makes my heart break and my mind race trying to figure out what it means.
Last night, after Monica had been sleeping for 3 hours, I went in to give her a nightly kiss on the forehead before I hit the sack. I do this every night. She never wakes up. But last night, after I kissed her and then Kelly, she sat up in bed and crossed her legs. I went over to ask her if she needed to go to the bathroom, which is normal for her. What she did was completely unexpected. She got out of bed and hurried over to the dark corner of the room and hid behind the recliner. I was so confused. I went to her and said, “It’s ok, it’s mami. Come here.” She quickly came over with her arms up and I picked her up and rocked her for 20 minutes. Her heart was racing. Neither of us said a word. I have no idea what was going through her mind, but here’s what was going through mine.
Have you done this before? Have you silently been frightened in the night and found a dark corner in which to hide? You’re so quiet. You’re a silent crier. You don’t want to draw attention to your fears at night. Is this what was going through your mind last night? What were you afraid of? And how can I comfort you? How can I help you find your voice?
I’ve followed the news stories about Torie Hansen’s international adoption with good parts sadness and some parts horror. Not, necessarily, horror over a family unable to continue to try and bond with a troubled child. But horror with how the family dealt with their difficulties. Sending a boy back to his native country, alone, with a note saying “I no longer wish to parent this child” is, to say the least, not the route to go.
But I have little sympathy to the commentary that pretends that removing a child from a home should never be an option.
Now let me be clear, our experience with Monica and Kelly doesn’t fall anywhere near the end of the spectrum of worst case scenarios. It is, in fact, why I feel ridiculously blessed. We and our daughters are doing pretty awesome considering how bad things can sometimes go. They very clearly love us in healthy ways (and we them).
But that’s not say international adoption is a cake walk. It’s not.
KJ Dell’Antonia has a poignant piece in Slate this week in which she talks about some painful truths about adoption. It’s a thoughtful read (and interesting to read the commentary below). The line that’s stuck with me the last few days is this:
With some crazed exceptions, few adoptive parents go through this process intending to do harm. The problem is that harm has already been done. Even the best adoptive parent is just the clean-up crew.
I hadn’t thought of myself as the clean-up crew. More like the 2nd (and 3rd, and 4th, and 77th) chance. But some days you’re picking up a lot of pieces.
Our girls are growing and learning so much, especially Monica. It is very apparent that she is settling in to life here with her new family. Not only is she adjusting to our family well, but she is developing some very important life skills which is a blessing to see. She is learning how to calm herself down and use her words. As a result there are less tantrums and things don’t escalate or get out of control as quickly. I would love to take credit for that and say that it’s because Zach and I are such great parents 
but it’s because Monica is such a strong little girl and learns so quickly. It truly amazes me how she has come to trust herself and us more every day.
Life for Monica is joyful and exciting. She takes everything in and stores it up as happiness. Her smile is big and her eyes are bright. Here are some photos that highlight her experiences over the past few weeks. You’ll see pictures of the zoo, which we frequent about once a week. We also had Easter and the girls dyed eggs and hunted for candy at Grandma’s house. We took our first family vacation to Red River Gorge in Kentucky and camped with Grandma, Grandpa, Abuela, Abuelo, and the Walters. Monica was soooooooo excited to camp with her new friends Karis, Ryan and Nathan. You can see in the picture that they all hit it off and had a blast playing together. We went on a couple of hikes, the first of which was an uphill climb for 3/4 of a mile. Monica ran uphill the whole way, dragging Karis behind her and hiding behind trees. The girls has tons of energy.
Enjoy the pics. To view the photos in a lager size just click on any picture and it will take you to Picasa slide show.
Yesterday was vaccination day.
Kelly promised me she wouldn’t cry. Monica insisted Kelly go first. This, at times, sums up their personalities. Kelly had to get 5 – a number she kept trying to turn into two (it’s easy when you use fingers to represent digits). Monica had to get two.
When we entered into the doctor’s room, the nurse and I had a conversation like this.
Me: “Can I hold them?”
Nurse (looking at Monica who was practically hunching in the corner): “Yeah, I’m guessing you’re going to have to. I’ll try to be quick.”
She was quick. Kelly started screaming and crying as the nurse put the cotton swap on her arms. “It hurts, it hurts!” She was totally psyching herself out. Still, in less than 40 seconds all five shots were distributed through various parts of the body.
The spectacle of hermanita gritando did not do any wonders for Monica. She tried to dodge out the door as Kelly jumped out of my arms. I grabbed her and did a wrestling move to pin her in my arms. The nurse really knew her stuff, and 10 seconds later Monica was well and thoroughly vaccinated…although it took her a good 5 minutes to stop screaming. Yep, people were staring at us as we walked out of the office. Everyone knew what they were getting.
Which, besides shots, were also suckers.
On the way back home we stopped at Burke’s Hardware to pick up a screw. They eagerly opened their suckers and were trading them back and forth. And dropping them on the floor. The floor with sawdust, fertilizer, and other drabs and drubs of people working on home projects. And then happily picking the suckers up and continuing to suck away.
Walking out Kelly told me she had to go to the bathroom. I begged a store clerk to let us use the employee restroom. Again, it was a hardware store. On the floor next to the (highly sketchy) toliet was a plumbing snake. Monica dropped her sucker right next to it.
“Okay,” I freaked out. “I can’t handle this, suckers go in the basura (trash) right now!”
Monica also started to freak out. “Por que?!”
“Because your sucker is covered in po-po. It’s disgusting.” And, not being in a patient mood (I really was grossed out, suckers are sticky monstrosities to begin with…especially with children), I grabbed her sucker and threw it in the trash.
Monica was not happy. She crunched her face up and started to throw a tantrum. I knelt down beside her and calmly said, “I know you wanted that sucker. It was your reward for the shots. But it was not good anymore. When we get home I will give you a dulce.”
And you know what she did? My eldest daughter, who a month ago would have completely melted down and had to be carried from store? She shrugged and said “okay.”
Progress in bits and pieces.
