We read a thousand books on adoption.

Actually, let me be honest. Renee and Kristen read a 1000 books on adoption and then pointed me to the ones that were worthy. Those still seemed to number quite high, but I didn’t pull as much weight in the research department as my wife did.

Some of the books are gold with solid, practical advice¹. As well as a good amount of warning. I feel like we went into this experience with our eyes at least 1/2 open.

But, at this point in the game, bits and pieces blur together a bit. In one book I remember the author talking about regression or reversion. I’m remembering it defined in two slightly different ways.

The first way is when your 4 (or 10) year old child may start acting like they’re 2. They may suddenly go through a “terrible twos” stage. Ditch some of their emotional control. Suddenly need pullups again because they can’t make it through the day without having an accident. Want to be cradled like a baby, fed like a baby, talked to like a baby.

The books generally point out that this is a good thing. Your kids are able to go through those stages in a healthy, safe environment. Often times they speed through it quickly, helping to build the bond with their new parents.

The second way is sort of the “2 steps forward, 1 step back” regression. Things might be going incredibly well, your kids growing and maturing with their new family. And then you hit a period of time where it’s like you’re starting over with the first month.

Kelly is having a regression week.

As adoptive parents, Renee and I know that you have these weeks. Fact of life. Indeed, I suspect parents see this happen just as often with their biological kidos. So I think we’re doing a pretty good job of taking it in stride. We’re communicating well, tag teaming.

But it’s tough. I think, somewhere in Kelly Jo’s mind, she’s freaking out about loosing control. This is a very normal thing for adoptive kids and very understandable. I bet most adoptive parents (especially of older children) spend a majority of their time working with their sons and daughters trying to get them to understand that they can be, well, kids again and let their parents do the heavy lifting.

And, of course, we worry. We wonder what we did to trigger this stage? Is this particular set of parenting tools the right one?

In addition to loss of control, we think that Kelly is mourning. Today in the car she said this:

“Mommy, I’m sad.”

Renee said, “Oh, I’m sorry you’re sad.”

“Because Mariana y Nano….” (Mariana and Nano were, we think, foster siblings.)

Then, in a genuinely confused voice, she asked, “Mommy, why am I sad?”

“Because you lived with them for a long time. And you had to say goodbye. And you loved them. And you miss them.”

“Yeah. That’s why I’m sad.”

We see behaviors and actions. We see emotions run across her face. We see tears and hear wailing. We listen to shrieks and laughter. Yet I’m not sure how much understanding we see. She’s four going on three and trying to make sense of a new life.

This is hard.

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¹ For those interested, in no particular order, we’ve found the following books to be most helpful:

1. The Connected Child
2. Parenting the Hurt Child
3. Adopting the Hurt Child
4. Parenting with Love and Logic
5. When a Stranger Calls You Mom

What Kelly calls her flip-flops

BTW, I had a horrible mom moment about 2 weeks ago when I took the girls to Pay-Less and the manager offered to measure their feet. Turns out Monica was wearing 2 sizes too small and Kelly was wearing 2 1/2 sizes too small! Who knew that kids’ feet grow so darn fast. I’m on the fast track learning curve, but apparently it’s not fast enough for some things. Here are Kelly’s shoes, from one day to the next . . .

How many adoptive parents grow melancholy when their children’s first language disappears?

I’ve tried to keep up with the Spanish with the girls. I talk with them every day, hold conversations, use many nouns and verbs. And, while they still understand me, the do not respond in Spanish.

At first I thought this was a choice. New family, new country, new language…they just wanted to fit.

But earlier this week I had a conversation with Kelly that went like this:

“Kelly, en Espanol, como se llama este parte del cuerpo?” and I pointed to my nose.

“Nose.”

“No sweetheart, en Espanol.” She looked really confused.

“Nose.”

“No, that’s in English. In Spanish it’s nariz.”

We then cycled through a number of body parts and she could only call them by their English names. She really could not remember what they were in Spanish.

Now with Kelly I wasn’t too surprised. Our youngest only speaks in English. People are often surprised to find out that she’s only been here 5 and 1/2 months. She conjugates, uses correct pronouns and proper verb tenses. She absorbs new phrases (literally, you see her mouth and entire face digest words…you can see vocabulary grow in her mind) at incredible rates.

But I did the same exercise with Monica this evening with the same result (except that it really bothered Monica…she grew frustrated at not remembering the words in Spanish).

I suspect that most words are new for 4 and 6 year old. You learn what you’re hearing in your immediate surroundings. And, with the exception of me, they’re not hearing much Spanish (the one major downside of living in Cincinnati, Ohio…oh how I sometimes miss Houston).

But I’m sad. Painful histories I’m praying they forget. Memories of poverty and hunger I want to disappear. Yet their loss of language, their beginning narrative (for that matter, our beginning narrative as a new family), that’s something I mourn…at least a little.

Renee and I have made the promise to help them get it back. At least some day. We tell them that some day we’ll go back to Colombia, maybe teach for a year or travel a summer. It’s a country and culture we’ve come to love. And we can’t wait to return.

In the meantime, they’re starting to sound like Americans.

arden lane

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