Toddler attachment milestone

Our daughter, 2 1/2 mind you, said the most fantastic thing tonight. I gave her a kiss and said "Goodnight, sweet pea," leaving her in the care of her daddy. She said "Momma? Sometimes when you turn and leave me it make me sad," very calmly. I turned and kissed her again and she smiled and relaxed. I am so proud of her for feeling the difference between sad and angry and being able to express it.

On the other hand, today at school she hit G, then said "I so mad at G!" Words INSTEAD of hands is something we'll have to keep working on.

Mother of All Tantrums

If you're a long(er)-time reader, then you know that we've been struggling with tantrums since Miss I came home. Today we set a record: one and a half hours before she finally cried herself to sleep. About every twenty minutes she tried to pull herself together: "Done." Deep breath. "I done. All done," and then she would start again.
My beautiful daughter was screaming and growling.
I wanted to leave her in her room, shut the door, and take my own deep breaths. I did step out for a few moments to call my mom for advice and encouragement, but I was too fearful that she would feel abandoned to leave for long. So I sat there on the floor of her room while she screamed and growled and cried.
Readers, I am not Catholic, but I prayed to Mary.

Guilt and More Guilt

It's 10:30 pm. Trying and failing to get her to bed for more than two hours. (Dh is working).

Lost my cool. Cried in front of my kids. Freaked one out, amused the other (guess which was which?).

Can't. do. it.

At least not today.

Does that make me ungrateful?

Am I the only one plagued with guilt about not being grateful enough every time I'm (beyond) frustrated with my daughter? Guilty because I should love her without limits (which would look like not getting frustrated). Guilty because this is what I wanted for so long (and I should love every minute of it). Guilty because she's already had a hard enough life (and she shouldn't have a crazy mother). Guilty because I don't remember being this frustrated with my son (but this doesn't mean I wasn't - though in truth, she is objectively more of a button-pusher than he is, for good reasons, I'm sure). Guilty because families are still waiting for their children, and would give anything to be in my position (they think).

Guiltier because prior to the last eight weeks, my son honestly believed I could do anything. Now he knows that I can't, and it scares him.

Guiltiest because I'm sure her first mother would have done anything just for the chance to be frustrated with her, if only for just one long night, two hours past what is ultimately an arbitrary bedtime anyway.

Damn the attachment people for making me feel like only a bad mother would let a toddler cry it out.

Just once.

Something Blue?

So I just read (as many of you probably have too) that there's a new wedding fashion - post-wedding blues. Apparently, more and more brides who've spent a whole year as the center of attention/the universe are suffering from the let-down that is the reality of the marriage, post-party.

I am a little ashamed to say that I laughed.

Ashamed because I should recognize this as a legitimate adjustment disorder. But I laughed because I did plan less for the day (though it was lovely and just as I'd want it to be) than I did for the day after, and the day after that. Even then, it just seemed sensible to worry more about the marriage than the wedding.

But I have experienced the parenting parallel, twice. After the drama/trauma of my pregnancy and delivery, I was physically too tired to parent, ready to slip away. My son was safe. I had done my job. Hadn't I? But then the real work began.

Now, after the heroic efforts it took to become parents to a second child, I'm emotionally exhausted. I'm physically exhausted, too - it'll be a long time before we no longer feel sleep-deprived. But more than anything, I feel like we did the hard work, and now we need a break. But wait: Our 18 month old is behaving developmentally appropriately! She's trying to become independent! She's challenging me! Waiting for a baby was all about ME! But now it's all about Miss I.! And I don't have the emotional reserves I'd like to have. I find myself, at the center of the drama of my own making, saying things like "Well, but I asked for this," after every expression of frustration (which other parents can make with impunity).

This is all just a matter of adjustment for me and thankfully not Post-adoption depression. But maybe I should be more generous towards Bridezillas with the blues.

In Shifts

Or, in which I use language that will make my mother blush.

A couple of years ago, I came across an advertisement for a job. I might have considered it, but it said: "Must like shit work."
And I don't so much, so I sent the ad to Leno instead.

When our first blossom was tiny, as you know, dh and I took shifts during the night. This was the only way for either of us to get any sleep -ds's reflux and vomitting were that bad. Now there's the kangaroo sleeper, but that was then.

DH and I had always had different sleeping patterns, so we were able to come to a somewhat agreeable arrangement. Shifts were not entirely equal, as I nursed each time (ds rejected the bottle with pumped milk). But on his shift, dh burped, changed and cuddled and held our baby while I slept in peace.

We're back to sleeping in pieces. In theory, that should help us all attach, but here's the problem with our current shifts: Our baby is an active toddler, who wakes up one hour after I gp to sleep and either screams for a long time or believes it's playtime - most recently the latter occurs, for three hours. And so my shift has become a battle of wills. I refuse to have a midnight playdate, though I'm happy to walk, bounce, rock, snuggle. And this does not make her happy,

Dh's shift begins at 5am, when Miss I awakes happily, smiles and says "Up-pah, Dadda" and then "bah." So she drinks her bah, snuggles against his chest, watches a bit of Sesame Street, and falls asleep for another hour.

Once we tried to switch shifts. But I am a light sleeper, and I'm now prepared to wake up at first fussing - this is how to avoid the wrath. So I took my "shift" and still took his, only that day she awoke at 4am. I did what anyone would do - I cried.

I learned several things:
I sleep too lightly
I have terrible luck
I still do not like shi(f)t work, though I do love to cuddle, and bounce and play - at the right times (not night times).

Miss Independence Day

We didn't really celebrate Independence Day (though we had a lovely day with my parents): This year July 4 is squished between work days. Ds has an ear infection. And no one in our house slept last night (ds's ear infection awoke him, Miss I. went ballistic when he tried to join us in bed, dh tried to rock I. back to sleep while I lay down with ds, only to be shoved out of bed and on to the floor and then to be asked sadly, "Momma, where did you go?!") And it's rainy here, as it is in 43 other states. So no celebration.

But today we didn't-celebrate with our newest family member (who was, despite our lack of festivity, decked out in star spangled pants). She's already become American in some not-so-good ways: "No." "Mine." Picky eating and refusing to eat from the spoon I've loaded with yogurt and choosing instead to dump it because hey, she can. Shock at Toys R Us (her huge non-blinking eyes and head all a-swivel cracked us up) quickly dissolved into a love of shiny plastic crap with noise and lights.

But it really struck us all day that she is here, with us, now, in America! and that while it only seems to my sleepless brain that I have been both snuggling this little girl and exhausted forever, it was only a little over two weeks ago that she got off a plane, got in line for Immigration and Naturalization with a sealed brown envelope from the US Embassy in Addis, and was on the road to becoming a US Citizen. And that struck us as insanely weird and funny and also wonderful.

Happy first Independence Day, Miss I! I promise we'll see fireworks next year.

****
Coming soon - a rehashing of the Italian/Ethiopian conflict in honor of and preparation for an upcoming family reunion. Now there's some fireworks.

Fifty Minute Tantrum

Dear readers,
I kid you not and I do not exaggerate. I do know she's a bit shell shocked. I know she has to grieve her losses and learn to accept permanent and unconditional love. I know the shots yesterday have her feeling out of sorts.
But still. Fifty minutes of unrelenting screaming.
The last time this happened (last week, an hour) ds asked if he could have his ears surgically removed so he wouldn't have to hear it. Then he settled for earplugs instead. But what's a momma to do?!

Learning how to love and be loved

American family's most recent post breaks my heart. Because we have been there, and right now we are where she will be. We are parenting a child old enough to remember her losses (and they are many) and not old enough to be able to express them. And I can't really help her much.

Shortly before our referral but after we had expressed openness to an older infant/toddler, I was overwhelmed with the thought that I couldn't help her at all. I was obsessed with the fact that our daughter - as yet unnamed but certainly already born - was starving, suffering through the drought afflicting the south of Ethiopia. And it was a fact. Every day I had to find a way to reject, refuse, ignore my powerlessness to do anything about her pain. And I wondered, every day, if this was the day she would lose her family, everything and everyone she was only learning to love.

Now we are expecting Miss I., who lost her first family and just last week lost her nannies at the care center (wonderfully kind and loving, if overwhelmed by the number and needs of their charges) to know what to do with us. This is an impossible demand to make on a little person, and I am so sorry for it.

Incredibly, so far she seems to be working it out. At first she ate everything we offered as if there might not be enough, just as she soaked up our love as if there would soon be an end to it, cried as if her heart were breaking every time someone left the room and laughed heartily when that someone returned to her view.

Just four days later, she's already shaking her head and saying "no" to things and foods taking as many as ten steps away from me before running to squeeze my knees or demanding "up-ah," for reassurance that her exploration is safe, healthy, good. Sometimes she even turns the corner from one room to another and then just peeks back at me, to make sure I am there and watching her. These are milestones in our development.

She awoke in the middle of the night last night, and she rolled back and forth and laughed when I placed her in between me and dh (instead of replacing her in the cosleeper), as if laughter was the only way to express surprise and joy that she didn't have to choose one of us for comfort, that she had an abundance.

She tantrums when I put her down, and I whisper how I wish I could explain that this is it, that our family is the end of the road, that it is forever, that I will take care of her, but no words can communicate that to her. For now we will have to understand her surprise when we are still here, until we've been here so long that it isn't surprising. We'll worry about forever later.

This morning ds was feeling a little jealous. He later said, calmly, "I'm feeling sad and angry that you don't have as much time for me." But at the time, he was not so calm. "She doesn't love you," he said angrily.

"You're right," I answered. "She doesn't even know how --- yet." But she will.

----

Today my kids fought in the car. Dh seemed bothered by ds poking Miss I, and her "Nah!" and pointing to the spot he had poked her (the nonverbal form of the familiar "HE'S TOUCHING ME!"). I said "This is what you wanted!" and smiled.
"Yeah," he replied. "The American freaking dream."
And then he smiled slowly.
I have to say, two kids having normal kid fights in the back seat of the car really is a dream come true.

Even Quicker Update! (I think)

Sometime soon I will post about the travelers' adventures, the homecoming and first meeting, attachment, toddler parenting mishaps, and our first two days together. I can't do any of that until the pictures are uploaded and the suitcases are unpacked. But I can tell you this:

Right now, in my room, sleep two of the most precious children in the world - ds, who loves his little sister fiercely already, who makes me prouder and prouder all the time

and I., whose happiest place is on the hip of her Momma, whose smiles are almost always for her brother (certainly kisses are just for him!) but who can't fall asleep without Adadda holding her, and who sings an "Adadda" song of her own invention.

Tonight, dh, absent for what feels like an eternity (and with experiences that he says have, in a good way, aged him) and I will sleep there as well.

I love them so much my heart hurts.