Hippos and Monkeys and Dogs, Oh My!

Who loves her stuffed monkey, Mo, as if he were her BFF? This girl!

Noemi is seriously dedicated to the furry friend, so we decided to take Mo along with us to church this past week for a special "blessing of the animals" courtyard service in recognition of St. Francis' life and mission. We knew our cats wouldn't feel the blessing of being schlepped in their crates to church and back, which is why we told Mo to hop in the car instead.

Yes, we were the only folks in attendance with a monkey (and a stuffed one at that) but Noemi got a kick out of watching each dog and cat present be blessed by our pastor, Bill. Mo was given a special blessing to help give Noemi the peace of Jesus while she sleeps, since Mo is must-have companion in the crib. Services like this one remind me why we love our church. And why we love our Mo. And why we love gigantic painted cut-outs of hippos.

My (Almost) Schoolgirl

I couldn't help but to grab a classic first day of school pic of Noemi on our way out the door. The first of many...
Doesn't she seem so grown up?

Noemi started attending child care one day/week while I am at work. We dedicated moonfuls of time to preparing her for this big change; and of course I was nervous that the transition could be detrimental. Noemi and I spent time together in her new classroom for weeks as I slowly weened myself from her presence. On top of that I have been sleeping with everything under the sun to get my scent on it for her to take to "school." I could go on and on about the accommodations we made to help ease this transition--surely her sweet teachers thought I was a nut. But from what I can tell so far, they are working. No doubt, she has shown some anxiety while at school, but she has maintained a peaceful state while at home. Her first official day of school without me, though it started off disasterous and left me feeling like I was going to vomit all day at work, ended beautifully. When I came to pick her up she ran to me with a giggly smile and wrapped her arms around my legs. This is the FIRST time she has ever greeted me with a spontaneous smile and hug when I have come home from work. Way to make my heart tha-thump-tha-thump-tha-thump with love and gratitude. Couldn't ask for more than that. Here's hoping that we've starting a trend.

And So It Begins

Sosi, whatcha doing? It's awfully quiet in there...

Oh, I see. How lovely. You colored on your toys, the floor AND the wall. Excellent. Let's take some photos so that we can show daddy the results of your creative genius at work...

Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

Geesh--just when I write a post about the tail spin that our life is in, it bounces back. This whole "publicly report on how things are going" with Noemi is enough to make a liar out of me every.single.time. I write that our sweet girl is on an up--her sleep and mood are great--then she plummets and goes into the eerie world of disaster child for a while (and takes me with her as her hostage). Oh God, how I wish I could figure out how to not have my mood be dependent on hers. Then, with a flip of a switch, the real Noemi emerges and spring birds are a singin' again.

I know I've said this before, but this up and down pattern is (so I have been repeatedly told) quite textbook. The detail that keeps me hopeful is that each time the agitation/aggression/lack of connection/blah blah blah comes to a head and gets really bad, the Noemi on the other side of it is increasingly joyous. I ain't kidding. It's like I have two different children--the one who is riddled with grief and fear and the one who is at home within herself. I never know which one is going to wake up in the morning (or refuse to sleep), but the real Noemi is starting to push away the terrified child that she is undoubtedly exhausted by, too.

Noemi loves eating strawberry popsicles in the backyard. And running after sandpipers on the beach. And lapping running water from the tub faucet like a cat. And having her top ribs tickled. And giving me high-fives as she comes to the bottom of the slide. And pretending to talk on my cell phone. And telling our kitties to "come on." And dancing to the outrageous tunes of Erasure. And putting band-aids on anything that might qualify as a boo-boo. And clutching me in the shower to have her back massaged by the warm water. And painting. And reading Everyone Poops over and over again. And snuggling with her stuffed tiger, "Chet" and her monkey, "Mo." And...and...and...
This is my daughter.

I don't want my discussions of the struggles to define her. She deserves to be recognized as the child she was created to be, despite the incredible challenges she has had to face. That is what is so tricky about making public the ebb and flow of the tide that has been our first year together. She's getting through this--we are getting through this. *um--some days more than others* I'm thankful that the insane periods between a calm, happy Noemi are becoming increasingly shorter; and my prayer is that this trend continues. So thank you for reading and loving my daughter with me. Thank you for kind words, prayers, laughter and checking in to make sure that I'm still functioning. Thank you.

Who Is: A Curious Girl

Here is a list that I started of some things I've caught myself saying recently in response to Noemi's antics. I love that she is getting to the age where she can tell me what she is thinking...and that she understands exactly what I am saying. Gosh--I wish I had video of some of these moments.

1. No no, honey, we just wipe your butt with the toilet paper, not your butt then your hair.

2. I know you're sad, but it's not a boo boo. You just got your diaper stuck in the door.

3. (at the grocery store) Shhh...the crabs are sleeping. OK, baby, you're right, they are dead.

4. I know you love the hose, but it stays outside! We don't water the stairs!

5. Our feet stay on the ground, they don't go in the potty.

6. It's OK...just pick it up off of the floor and eat it. Quickly, please.

7. Yes, Bert poops too, baby.

8. Yes, that's Mommy's pimple. Someday you'll have one, too.

9. No, we don't need a Band Aid on your nipple. It's not a boo boo, it's your nipple.

10. Baby, please don't pet Layla with the popsicle. Oh, yucky. Yes, that is cat hair on your popsicle.

Hearing Voices

I scheduled an appointment for me with Noemi's therapist today. Um...yeah...it's been that kind of week. Perhaps it's all of the coming down from summer-induced hooplah; I just don't know anymore. We're back to a new version of the hot mess I spoke of a few months ago, and though I have been assured that this roller-coaster ride is a very typical route for healing, I still feel like the seagull poo on the beachcomber's head. Or the unsuspecting beachcomber. We're back to startling aggression and sleep disturbances and I needed someone to tell me it is going to be OK.

What I have realized about this whole experience is that I have been running on adrenaline for many months. OK, for a year. Sure, I felt crazed, isolated and exhausted, but having a few weeks without the mayhem and now having it rear its head again is messing with my noggin. It's not that I didn't think it would ever come back, it's just that I've tasted Noemi's sweetness. I've watched her beautifully unfold and I want to see more. The exhaustion has truly set in now that the ugly has returned.

Cognitively I know that she is doing tremendously better with her trauma response and attachment. She's becoming increasingly secure, calm and aware of how Mommy feels when the going gets tough. Being a strong-willed toddler is just the icing on this stress cake. I wept in front of her after the Battle of Galactica in our kitchen last week and since then she frequently checks my eyes for "water." Her words. Yikes. Perhaps showing her mommy's humanness is a good way to build empathy--perhaps it worries her in the same breath--perhaps it helps her feel in control.

I've never raised a baby; and I've certainly never raised a baby with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Folks talk about the challenges that can sometimes exist with adopting older children-- this conversation is quite common in the adoption community. But what is less common is the conversation about the challenging baby. I can't tell you how many times I have heard, "but she was so young when you brought her home...she won't remember any of it...babies are so resilient." On the contrary, research shows that the earliest moments in life have the most lasting effects on the brain. If a child has a firm foundation as an infant, then later experiences trauma, he/she is less likely to have the lasting physiological effects as the child who experiences trauma early in life. Our babies aren't as resilient as science first thought. This is not to say that Noemi isn't already growing into a content, well-adjusted child--I truly believe that she is on the fast-track for that. I see it every day in her kind, eager and joyful spirit. But adoptive parents of babies often need just as much support as those who adopt older children. And some babies are going to need just as much support, if not more than, some of those older children.

Please note that my intention is not, in any way, to paint a scary picture of adoption. Just check out the video below and you'll see why adoption is the greatest gift of my life. Our story is simply one of a toddler who happens to have derived PTSD due to the circumstances surrounding her adoption. In fact, a recent study reports that most adopted children grow to be very psychologically healthy. *I won't get all geeked-out by referencing these studies in APA format or anything, but I'd be happy to share with those interested.* So keep the hope and don't let the resounding voice of "your baby was so young" keep you from getting your baby/toddler help if you feel something is amiss. I feel fortunate to have the support and confidence that results from knowing that early help is the most effective help.



I've dedicated my professional life to working with and loving challenging young children, but there is something extraordinarily different about parenting one. There is a mental return to childhood that doesn't exist while one has on her vocational hat. At work, I draw on my training and experiences to evaluate a given behavior and react to it. But at home, in the darkness of the night when I am pushed to my limit, I draw on what I knew as a child. What I was taught--for good and for bad. And I'm learning to listen to the voices that make me stronger rather than weaker. I am trying to weed out the well-intentioned but highly misinformed voices so that I can focus on listening to the voices that induce healing for the both of us.

I hear voices of friends, family, professionals--geesh, even strangers. I receive opinions and advise. But all I can rely on right now is the voice of my Maker, who told me before I even started this journey, "I made you for this." And the man sitting at the feet of my Maker, my dearly missed grandfather, who would nod his head with his toothless grin and tell me softly when I start to fear that I am not capable, "Just forget about it, baby doll, just forget about it."