Down and Dirty

When you are in labor, to get through the hellish pain (oh, are you pregnant, sorry, it's just a beautiful moment of being a woman, you don't even notice the screaming that's coming out of your own mouth) the delivery team will tell you, "Focus on the baby being born."  Imagine holding her, seeing her-anything to get you to visualize being OUT of the moment you are IN.

That works like crap.

Okay, no, it does work some. With Evelyn, who decided not to tuck her chin, I pushed for three hours.  That is obscene, and while I was pushing I would say, "Out, out, come out."  No really, I did, ask Bard!  And sure enough, 3 and a half hours later, she did! And my first words after the birth of my first child? "She came out!" Of course, my chant had morphed into something like, "FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY GET THAT HORRIBLE CHILD OUT OF ME!!" Honestly, for me, that's nurturing, and we were just bonding.

Yes, babies who are super messy have to wear
their sisters' hand me down bibs!

If I ever write an adoption book (uh, hello, you're reading it!) I would tell adoptive parents to do the opposite.  You know that child who is now spitting at you, screaming because you are trying to feed him, going through 6 bibs, 6 wash clothes, 3 burp rags, 8 diapers, two outfits, and a partridge in a pear tree every day?  You know the one who is waking up in the night screaming?  You know the one who has you at a different doctor's appointment every day, cleaning spit up off the carpet, changing your clothes, did I mention screaming every time you try and feed him?  Which, if you are counting bibs you know is 6 times.  Every. Day.  All. Day.  That child.  That child is your paper baby.  That child is the one you prayed over, you sobbed for, you bled and broke and doubted and screamed for.

Everyone tells you all through the paper chase that this is the easy part of adoption, that when you come home and are trying not to scream at the child who is screaming at you, that is when the hard part really starts.  In fact, we were told that almost daily.  And not once did we listen because, that is just ridiculous.  You know when you take your wedding vows and the pastor is saying "Blah blah blah-it will be hard-blah blah blah-choose to love something or other blah"? Did any of you listen to that blah blah?  Yeah, I have it on video somewhere.

So of course (am I saying of course a lot?) Bard and I got in a big fight last weekend because I have barely had more than 4 hours of sleep in the last month (maybe if someone hadn't decided to give us all the flu before we took custody of a small needy child I might have been more rested, but I'm not sure because someone at our wedding told us to blah blah not keep score, blah.)  You see, I just wanted a Fair cookie.  Oh yes Tacoma, you know what I'm talking about!  A big, gooey, soft, chocolate chip cookie from the Puyallup Fair!  And lo and behold, we happened to be at the Fair-perfect!  So (as came up in our argument) Bard wanted scones-we got scones.  Bard wanted BBQ, we got BBQ.  Never mind the fact that I like those foods too, that does not fit into this argument at all. On our way out, I sent Bard to buy cookies-one for the girls to share, one for me, and maybe one for him, and yes, I did in fact specify that very amount.  So imagine my surprise, nay, utter disbelief when Bard came back with just one cookie and said we could all share because they cost 4 dollars. Um, yes, add several zeroes to that 4 and you have our adoption WHICH IS THE VERY REASON I NEED MY OWN HUGE COOKIE!

Well, I was dutifully snippy about it and we went home, got through the rest of the day, and then had at it.  To sum up, Bard was frustrated that I was cranky all the time and I was frustrated that he was frustrated that I was cranky all the time  My life had been transformed into the mundanest of mundane-laundry, lack of sleep, and loud children.  I had no energy for anything beyond spit up and was determined to wallow in the mud of self pity.  So I told Bard that the one little treat I get is some yummy dessert at the end of the day when it's quiet and I can sit by myself and not having anyone demanding millions of dirty and annoying tasks from me!  And he had taken that away! He did realize that I am not getting any sleep and that my days are long and pathetic.  But he didn't totally get it because he pointed out the fact that there was still a huge part of cookie sitting in the kitchen for me and why didn't I go enjoy it now. As disdainfully as can be I answered the obvious,

"BECAUSE IT'S MOCKING ME!!!"

And apparently I am not as ornery as I strive to be, since I could not resist giggling which made Bard crack up laughing.  But that's okay, because clearly I had gotten the last word!

So back to labor.  Now that I've had the baby, I need to remember my labor pains. All that work, all that stress, all those prayers-that's what got me my new title - "Queen of spitty screamy non sleepy babies." Weirdly, that has helped me feel a bit better.  So has sleeping on the couch. But it's a good reminder-we chose this path. We chose this child.  We would choose hom again.  And again.  And again.  The harder part is that when you have your paper baby, you can be angry at all sorts of people.  All the delays and money, they are all someone else's fault, someone far far away, and you can complain til the cows come home about them because everyone understands corruption and government incompetence.  And don't even get me started on foreign governments. :)

Now those people are all gone. There's no paper.  It's just baby.  So you can be mad at baby.  And you can be mad at cookie stealing husband.  Neither option really makes you feel better and they definitely don't help you to visualize anything different, getting out of the moment you are in. Much like my little cookie (okay, it was still the size of two regular cookies, but that is not the point people!) I will focus on little treats.

Cici reading to Max :)

Max only cried twice while I was feeding him and it took a half hour instead of 40 minutes. Yes I had to blow on his face to get him to smile, constantly wave shiny objects to distract him, chatter incessantly like an idiot, give him a spoon of his own so he could drop it on the floor for me to pick up 8 jillion times. But my blood pressure stayed where it is supposed to be, and so did his.  And I probably burned a ton of calories-which will help me with my little dessert habit.

Max gained 11 ounces in two weeks (take that screaming baby!) which is great! We saw the adoption specialist yesterday and he gave us a bunch of referrals to help us walk through some of the health issues.

Max does not need to eat at night anymore! He apparently needs to scream sometimes, but that is to be expected and has dwindled as well.

Max has started sitting up on his knees and is reaching for things above him.  He holds a spoon easily now, without looking like Mr Burns anymore, and more than once Max has crawled into another room on his own, exploring without fear just like any other child.

Max easily engages with his sisters and will even crawl over to them, which leads me to his biggest milestone. . .drum roll please!

Max started swimming class and LOVED it!

Max is crawling on is hands and knees, not army style on his stomach anymore!  We've been home three weeks tomorrow-and that is pretty impressive for just a few weeks of good nutrition, a little love, and a lot of room to act like a little boy.

We had a relatively peaceful day today-barely any screaming from anyone-and lots of sweet moments like Cici coloring a picture for Max and Evelyn playing with him after dinner. Oh, she apparently taught him to crawl, who knew?!  I'm tired, but hey, what mom of three children isn't exhausted by 8pm? And I'm thankful for little treats.  I knew it would be hard.  And I did it anyway.  It's not surprising that this is a huge challenge but that doesn't really make it less of a challenge.  I can go to bed tonight, looking back on all the hard work and the little boy it brought us, and looking forward to all the hard work, and the little boy who is worth it, always.

And, I may not even need my dessert time.  Although, let's not get crazy.  Baby steps people, baby steps.