Hitting the Pause Button

I've been contemplating what to do with this blog for many months.  I've thought about using the blog as a jumping-off point for writing a book.  And maybe someday I will.  But after much thought I feel that the life of this blog has come to an end, at least for now.

It's been more than two years since Noemi has been home and we are still struggling.  A lot some days.  In ways I never would have imagined and it's been difficult to assign words to our experiences. When I started sharing our struggles I was under the impression that if we worked hard enough, loved severely enough and chose the best strategies we would eventually love and attach and secure our way out of the corner we found ourselves in.   

That's a bunch of hot bunk.

I am in love with Noemi.  This good, good dancing child is the greatest gift of my life:


I want to see her live into this tap-happy joy everyday...cause she has so dang much love to share. Some days she is able and other days she crumbles.  As I have said before, grief never ends--it just changes.  Trauma never goes away, we just learn how to cope.  What I have come to realize is that God put me in her life as her mother so that we can continuously grow and learn from each other.  Noemi has shaped me and molded me and made me fall to my knees more times than I can count. 

Perhaps this is my screwed up, yet beautiful gift for which to be grateful:
I have been given the opportunity to walk with her and love her through the darkest parts of herself  and I have have been given the opportunity to make peace with the darkest parts of myself.  There is grace in the ugliest of places, if I only figure out how to accept it.  I've been like Jacob wrestling with an angel, and not sure when/if daylight is coming.  The wrestling is where the grace lies.  This is where the holy lies.

   Vision After the Sermon, Jacob Wrestling with the Angel

Gauguin, 1888

OK, some days I want to give holy the finger.  It's so much easier to write about something being holy than to live into it in the moment.  I've been clinging to the string of a yo-yo; one moment we're up, one moment we're down.  Never knowing what the hour is going to be like has turned me into a jumpy, untethered ball of nerves.  But that's when my darkest parts get the best of me and I forget to surrender to grace transforming our lives. 

Noemi became potty-trained this summer.  In true Noemi fashion, she put a ton of pressure on herself to do it right or not do it at all.  For the first weeks, she insisted on wearing her undies for nap time.  If I tried to get her to wear a diaper, she felt shamed.  If she didn't wear one, she'd wet the bed and feel ashamed of herself.  sigh.  One afternoon she wet the bed and when I came into her room she had her face down in the pillow, sobbing.  She kicked and hit and muttered, "Don't tell anybody. I don't want you to tell anybody."  My heart broke for her.

I don't want to add to her shame.  I don't want to be part of the equation that weakens her already fragile self-worth.  My job as her mother is to build her up.  Hour after hour.  Month after month.  Year after year.  It's one thing to make public the struggles during a transitional time.  But this is not a transition anymore.  It's one thing to make public the struggles during infancy.  But Noemi will soon be three and is very aware of what folks are discussing around her.  It's one thing to edit hard so that I don't regret anything that I say on here.  But at some point it's beyond challenging to be true, yet sure that she will someday approve what I have chosen to share honestly. 

I could keep posting cute photos of her and funny anecdotes, but this has never been a place to merely showcase my alarmingly charming kid.  I have had this blog to give and get support--for her, for me, for you.  So if I am not going to keep it r.e.a.l. then it's time to pause.    

Thank you for walking with me.  Thank you.  I am grateful for the many people that have held up my daughter.  Your comments of support and encouragement--they have meant the world to me.  Please remain in touch via email at julie*at*robertswitmer*dot*com.  I would love to hear from you.  Really.  No, reaaaaally.

My prayer is that this blog has been a support, in some small way, to you.  My prayer is that this blog has been worshipful by giving glory to God.  My prayer is that this blog has been a tribute to our beginning together--that Noemi will someday read this and know the intensity of our hope, love and dedication.  My prayer is that I have represented her, first and foremost, as our shining treasure. 

I've sung this to my precious daughter every day for the 769 days we have been together...and I will continue...

And He will raise you up on eagle's wings 
Bear you on the breath of dawn
Make you to shine like the sun
And hold you in the palm of His hand. 

Amen and Amen.

Misspelling Woes: Part Two of The Marriage Post

It's no secret that I am a terrible speller.  My posts are riddled with misspellings and I make no apologies.  I have memories of spelling "apple" as "appel" three tests in a row in the second grade, each week being convinced that it was the week I got it right.  I was brought in from recess for that one.  That was the beginning of my life-long misspelling woes.

But herein lies the spelling error of all time:

Following my last blog post Donovan and I were, again, admiring the inscription on our wedding bands.  Picture us snuggled up on the couch, smiling as we took off our rings.  We took a closer look...and then we noticed...(now sitting up straight with a what the hooties? expression)...

Our rings do NOT read:  "Whither thou goest, I will go."

Instead, the inscription reads:  "Wither thou goest, I will go."

whither (adverb):  to what place, situation, position, degree or end 
wither (verb): to become dry and sapless   or:  to lose vitality, force, or freshness 

How did it take us 13 years to realize this?  Um...because I can't spell.  And obviously our ring maker can't either.  We then noticed that the program from our wedding ceremony has the same typo.  sweet.  Guess the folks at the printing place didn't notice.  Or didn't care.  Or thought it was hilarious and had a good laugh at our expense.  I wouldn't have expected our guests on our wedding day to point it out, but really--  oh where oh where were the editors??  

Ahhhhhh yes--my husband is an editor.   

I would like to take this opportunity to note that he was a copy editor at the time of our wedding and looked for misspellings for a living (lest I entirely blame myself for this mega blooper).  And he was entirely involved in the designing of our rings.  At least our Ketubah hanging above our bed is in Hebrew, so I'm going to ignorantly assume that there is no issue.  No withering of the religious contract singed before God--whew.  

We had a good laugh, put the rings back on and have decided to keep the rings just as they are.  If we're going to wither, we'd at least like to do it together. 

The Marriage Post

It's been 13 years since I made a really good choice.  Best decision.  Yesterday was our wedding anniversary and we celebrated over a large pot of mussels.  I pulled the sequin mini out from the back of the closet because, well, I just don't really have the chance to wear such things much anymore.  It was so nice to have a night to ourselves to talk about our wedding, our marriage and how we were transitioning between styles in 1998--oh my. 

I'm counting on lucky 13 to carry us through this next year.  For those first few anniversaries, I was optimistic that the next year would hold so many promises of greatness for our marriage--that our marriage would just keep getting better with each passing year.  But that was before we grew up (after all, we were a mere 22 and 23 when we exchanged rings).  The reality is, it gets harder to make a marriage work.  Not because we don't love each other--not because we aren't grossly committed to each other--not because we weren't a good fit from the start, but because life happens.  Romantics can boo me all they want,  but life can be hard on a marriage.

The first few years we were married we lived in beautiful, Victorian-era apartment building in a small city.  We walked everywhere together and we ate long, late diners on our deck with friends who lived in the apartments above us.  Close-by friends meant eating breakfast together in our pjs on snow days and staying up through the night before stumbling back to our respective apartments.  It was like an extension of college-- like Melrose Place-- except we didn't sleep with each others' spouses.  It didn't matter that we counted dollar bills in white envelopes each month because we only had to worry about ourselves and our little apartment.

Fast-forward 13 years.  Donovan and I bicker over the stove about how to respond to situations with Noemi.  We bite each others' heads off in frantic "who the hell knows anymore" tones.  We debate, analyze, re-analyze and live in an uber-conscious state.  I throw the broccoli and cry, he delves deeper into his work.  Many days, life seems like it's all about the disrepair.  Our focus is rarely on each other or ourselves--but on a sweet little ladybug.  And we are worn out.

Sometimes we see ourselves as a winning team with a strong offensive line, other times we yell at each other from the sidelines as our defensive line gets pummeled. (Did I really just make a sports analogy? I believe I did).   Not that Donovan and I are playing against Noemi.  Let me be clear:  We, the three of us, are playing against the things that had hurt her and made deep grooves in the structure of her brain.  We all play each day to win with the intention of not reinforcing old, destructive brain pathways that were established before we knew her.  We wake up with our game-face on (uh--sometimes) so that we create new, healthy pathways and continuously reinforce the use of those pathways.  With constant, repetitive use they will eventually become the trusted, dominant paths in her brain.   We replay scenes in our minds, debating whether or not we made the best move.  Sometimes yes, sometimes no.  We are in this together--the three of us--playing the most important game of our life to date.

Donovan and I doubt, we debate, we agree, we disagree.  We have no clue.  We lose perspective.  We are tired and somehow, when one is incredibly tired, crusty jelly on the kitchen counter seems so much more concerning.  But we love each other and try really dang hard to make as much quality time for each other as we possibly can.  We are committed to loving and laughing despite our flaws, which have, incidentally blown up like pubescent acne through all of this. 

I now know that this next year may not necessarily be easier.  I no longer trust Mr. Hallmark and his deceiving, wooing, smug-inducing ways.  I have to trust in something greater.  The realities of life tell me that we just don't know which hand we are going to be dealt and that our situations can change in a blink, without warning and without instruction.  Maybe this year will be blissfully calmer and we will get our steady back--perhaps the sequin mini will show its face again.  Or perhaps a new challenge will be thrown our way that will, again, test the strength of our marriage.  Who knows.  What I do know is that we make a choice everyday to be in relationship with each other and I wouldn't want it any other way.

13 years ago yesterday, we read the following prayer together during our ceremony:

God our lover,

in whose arms we are held,

and by whose passions we are known,

require of us also that love

which is filled with longing,

delights in truth,

and costs not less than everything.

Through Jesus Christ.  Amen.  

Last night, we took off our wedding bands and looked at the inscription on the inside:  "Whither thou goest, I will go."  We agreed that it was the perfect inscription for us; and 13 years later it holds more meaning than it did on the day we had the rings made.  So here is a toast to my faithful husband...*clink* ...a true blessing in my life.  He is the one I would choose again today.  I wouldn't want to throw broccoli at anyone but him.

I agree. He's one handsome lobster.

Noemi has fallen hard for the lobster on the corner in front of Mike's Seafood in Sea Isle City, NJ.  We drive by this guy enthusiastically waving to the public all the time, and when we stop for our fresh catch she can't hop out of the car fast enough to shake that big red claw.  She let out a squeal this past weekend, however, when the playful lobster followed her into Mike's.  The moment he stepped over the threshold Noemi let him and all of Mike's patrons know that he had taken a step too far.  Clearly, he belongs on the street and only on the street.  Poor lobster guy--he felt really bad about making her cry.  No worries--they quickly made up and were back to flirting in no time. We finally got the lobster to violate his summer job contract and talk to us, only to find out it has been the same guy in that suit each and every time we stop by.  Thanks, Davor, now Noemi has a name for her crush. 

Crab Therapy and Beyond

After the heightened anxiety of the last few weeks, we fled to the shore for some quiet time as a family.  The beach has proven to be therapeutic for all of us in the past; and I am relieved to see that Noemi genuinely lights up and feels regulated when she has full access to an unending water source.  Tip:  the farther out she has her tongue, the more she is having a blast.  As long as we park ourselves by the ocean's edge, our girl is one delighted soul.  We knew that our family needed some shore time.

Scene One:  The Shore
We initially spent a few days as just the three of us and then good friends joined us to round-out the holiday weekend.  And it was just what we all needed.  Noemi got her water-play and Daddy-throw-me-higher sensory input and I got my sun and butt-on-the-sand input.  I also got to dive into picking crabs with my dear friend, Ellis, who craves them as much as I do--nothing beats a glass of chardonnay and a heaping plate of steamed beauties. For the record, Ellis and I sat there long after the table was cleared and the sky grew dark, picking and sucking away.  Note:  This is not a turn-on to most husbands.  Some girls get manicures, Ellis and I pick crabs.  

Noemi hanging tough with the big kids

Scene Two:  Coming Home
Since returning from the shore, we have been on lockdown for uber-conscious intimate time.  Today, our giggly, rested, regulated girl was back.  She affectionately called me "mommy bird" and tweeted playfully for me to feed her. 

But here is where I get all sappy about how the struggles eventually beget great rewards...if we just are able to hang in there...(oh, and how I hang on by a string sometimes).

As I gave Noemi her bottle last night during our normal bedtime routine, she gently leaned her head back and looked in my eyes.  Mind you, this happens occasionally.  But it's rare that she is truly at complete rest with her eyes for more than a few seconds during bottle feeding.  She has great eye contact during conversation, but bedtime has a history of being a vulnerable time for her.  Typically, she'll look in my eyes then start to tensely blink and avert her eyes while making incessant chatter.  She hasn't physically resisted sleep in months, but it's interesting how she hangs on to the control/resistance through her eyes and voice.  Last night, her eye contact was long enough that I studied the little pigmentation spot she has on her right eye and the lines in her deep brown irises.  It lasted for what seemed like minutes.  Admittedly, I teared up...but she didn't look away.  She just kept sucking and gazing until her eyes slowly closed.

I am fully aware that this seems like such an everyday I-can't-believe-this-is-the-subject-of-a-blog-post baby behavior.  But that's my point.  This is what newborns naturally do.  And this is what Noemi has worked so hard for the last 22 months to learn to do with me.  Noemi has demonstrated before that her "explosive periods" are often an indication that she is on the verge of taking a step toward becoming more attached.  And so, I celebrate the minor miracles that matter so much.   Even though we were back to dodgy eyes during nap-time today,  she demonstrated a new connection last night.  What mother doesn't yearn for that? 

Counting the blessings...

Who's the cutest Ethiopian on the block?

Noemi's Adoption Day was on June 30th and this year was the two-year anniversary of the day we officially became a family.  Oh, holy crap--has it really been two years!?  It was fun to be able to tell Noemi the story of our happy tears and look at photos from the day she became ours and we became hers--she caught on to my excitement and proudly pronounced that it was her "adoppom day."

We sported our traditional Ethiopian garb and headed out for some injera and tibs for dinner with Grandma.  Noemi's little white dress was a bit smaller on her this year compared to last year --I suppose next year it will likely fit more like a tunic.  Is needing more cute dresses a good enough reason to get on a plane back to Ethiopia?  I think so. 

When we were in Ethiopia  in 2009 we bought one present to give to Noemi each year on her adoption day until she is 18.  We gave her a set of jute animals to play with in the restaurant while we waited for her Yëkikk Alicha to arrive (yellow split peas--her yum yum fav).  She's already named each of the animals and spent the bulk of this afternoon feeding them cereal and lifting up each of their tails so they could poop.  atta girl.

Happy Adoption Day, my love.  I am so, so grateful that you are my daughter.  Eternally grateful.

Soul Sista Prayin'

I've had a few weeks to have this "no longer employed" thing sink in. This has certainly been an identity shift for me; and I haven't taken it lying down.  After all, I've only ever worked in this field since my first job when I was 15.  I never waitressed or worked at the mall with my friends.  Instead, my far-too-serious teenage self was volunteering with art therapists at a children's hospital and working in residential facilities for children with severe needs. Part of me regrets never having learned how to make a proper Orange Julius, or blowing off my shift at the boardwalk snack stand, but I've always known where my passions lie.  This is why I've done some kicking and screaming over the past year and a half as I have watched my beloved work slip away.  Now that the slow bleed is finished and I have licked my wounds I'm starting to feel sense of relief.  It's behind me, for now, and it's time to stop whining and move forward.  

I'm trying to rely on God to fill in the gaps.  Parenthood has been extremely isolating in ways I never could have predicted, and shelving my career has exasperated this.  But I know God has a plan, and that my job is to find myself in him.  My job is to find balance in the places where I am--not where I believe I wish to be.  And right now, today, tomorrow, I am here parenting Noemi. 

A wise friend recently referred to my parenting Noemi as "holy work."  That sits well with my soul.  Her 4-hour scream session yesterday certainly did not feel holy, but I suppose the moment where she threw the small, hard box that my Bible came in at my face could be considered baptismal.  It's been a rough few weeks again with lack of sleep and the return of bulldozer-worthy control and aggression.  It's highlighted how much I need a day to focus on something outside of our home.  But perhaps the balance will come when I find balance within myself first, rather than relying on outside experiences to bring me relief.  No doubt, a night out with my husband or a girlfriend is long overdue, but I shouldn't exclusively blame the externals.

As I was on my knees praying yesterday during the seventh inning stretch of our tour of Hades, I begged God to give my tired self strength and to help me remember the big picture and surrender my fear to him and ...and...and...   I was reminded that I don't do this enough.   Sure, prayer is a part of my daily life, but soul-sista praaaayin' on my knees complete with mascara running down my neck isn't.  I've written about reaching the bottom before, and yesterday I felt like my heart was on fire and my brain was going to split in two.  As another wise friend has said: Julie, we now know the soundtrack to hell.

But Noemi and I eventually passed out together on my bed and we woke up less effected.

Last night I sat Noemi on my lap, put my lips to her forehead and prayed out loud for her--for her brain to keep on healing--for her to be able to feel safe and relaxed enough to fall asleep--for her to trust that Mommy keeps her safe and that Jesus always loves us no matter how much we whine, cry, kick and scream (that one was for me as much as it was for her).  And then I felt an eensy-weensy bit more balanced.  I regularly pray for her, but not with her.  Sure, we pray together every night to thank Jesus for her favorite people and the events of the day, but I usually don't focus on her struggles.  Perhaps I should so that she learns not to be ashamed of her struggles and to stare them in the eye and shoo them away.

Perhaps she and I both need a little more holy work--a little more of this kind of prayer in our lives.

It's Better Than Hannah Montana, No?

Noemi has long had a crush on Will.i.am.   And I'm OK with that.  'Cause I kinda do, too. 

Lessons From Daddy: Teaching 'Em Young

"Noemi, don't touch ANYTHING!"

What a great Daddy you have, my dear.

Get the Balance Right

The hiatus is over.  Nothing dramatic was cooking, I just needed some time of quiet.  I've had a virtual freeze on all social media--even emailing.  Sometimes a girl needs to purge her brain of excess goop. Emptying the trash bin.

That being said, I've thought of countless tales to share, but haven't mustered up the energy to do it.  Like the 48-hour "Sosi the Destroyer" period  oh, how I wish I had taken photos.  She started by chucking my sunglasses down concrete steps, scratching the lenses.  She moved on to frying my phone by dunking it in her (expensive) hair oils that she poured all over the coffee table (which pooled onto the carpet).  Then she got her paws on the box of markers and drew a 4-foot swath of "rainbows" on our cream rug.  As I was cleaning the rug she was in the kitchen sink shattering juice glasses.  Then she opened the windows and colored the screens with Chapstick.  And to top it all off, she poured laundry detergent into her palms and "cleaned" the walls and windows.  All in less than 48 hours.  Each feat was accomplished with remarkable speed by dragging furniture to access drawers/shelves previously out of reach.  I now shudder when I have my back turned and hear, yook, mommy yook! You would think I'm sucking down mini eclairs in the backyard and letting her run amuck.  I swear she scales walls with speedier precision than Spiderman himself.

So yeah, she keeps me busy.  She does all of these things with a truly innocent smile and she is so eager to show me her accomplishments.  I am working on finding the balance between keeping her pride and creativity intact while grabbing the damn markers out of her hands before there is anymore damage.  Thanks to my friend, Unis, for recommending the fridge lock.

Balance.  That has been the theme of this past month.  Finding it with her.  Finding it within myself.  It's funny how quickly one's life becomes out-of-balance.

That's my not-so subtle segue to what has really been occupying my mental space...

Remember when I desperately reduced my work hours?  Working half-time was not a good fit for Noemi; and my supervisors were incredibly accommodating when they agreed to a one-day/week contract.  I knew that it would come to an end with the close of our fiscal year, but hopes were high that we would be able to write me into a new contract.  That was before the PA education system took some serious budget cuts and has since become, ummmm, gravely unstable. And so, myself along with many other educators will not have a contract next year.  Yesterday was my last day of work.  The boxes full of what occupied my cubicle sit on my dining room table and I'm just too dang sad to unload them. 

I've long said that I wanted to be home full-time with my children; and in theory I still do.  But that aspiration was at its height before A: the years of pouring my heart into my career all while trying to become a parent  B: experiencing the sobering reality of parenting a child with special emotional needs.  Frankly, I need a break from the intensity.  Those 8 hours at the office were my bring-me-back-to-center time where I cultivated other passions-- where I felt like I was good at something and that I actually completed tasks--where I knew no one would scream or hit me or spit at me--where I had meaningful adult conversation.  It's been my balance.  So I'm in the midst of an identity shift as I consider what it means to walk away from one's passion after 15 years and looking for the door that God is going to open.

Things are still going well with Noemi and I love how much I like my daughter.  Her vigor and kind heartedness and stamina and curiosity and courage and humor and sing-songy loveliness remain.   But as I have discussed with other parents who have children with attachment and trauma-related needs, the brain does not just heal one day and the needs *poof!* disappear.  Rather than the healing happening linearly, it happens like a spiral slowly rising out of the muck.  Noemi cycles in and out of things; and her symptoms change as she ages and moves through developmental shifts.  The source of the anxiety is the same but how it is manifested in behavior morphs as she grows.  She's a hoot of a lot higher on that spiral than she was 6 months ago, yet there is much healing that is still happening.

I am grateful to be the mother of such an infectiously joyful child and never want my discussion of the challenges to communicate otherwise.  I'm simply seeking a new balance--because it makes me a better mother, wife and human.  Perhaps that balance will include a new creative endeavor--or--perhaps we'll keep it simple and just build that wine cellar that I've been jonesin' for.   Time will tell.

The Gripe of A Diva

My mom has not posted any cute photos or written anything witty about me in a while

...and I'm starting to get pissed off.   

The audacity. 

Maybe She'll Be a Trail Runner

The Boston Marathon?  Four out of the top 10 male runners were Ethiopian.  Our very own Lancaster's Race Against Racism held yesterday?   Both male and female winners were Ethiopian.  Philadelphia's Broad Street Run held today?  The same dude who placed first in Lancaster yesterday woke up and did it again in Philly today.  Yowzaaas. 

My girl?  Oh yeah--she's got the genes all right ('cause we all know she didn't get any athletic abilities from me).  

Give her a wide open space and she delightfully goes in circles at her highest speed.



She's got motivation, that's fo' sho'.   She's already run her own emotional marathon and won, so I highly doubt this child will ever place last at anything that she puts her mind to in this life.

OOPS

Apparently, getting my paws on Tsehai Loves Learning wasn't that complicated.  At all.  In fact, she has her own website that pops right up with the most basic of internet searches.   Yeah, my search prior to my post last night would have been more successful if I had spelled the character's name correctly. 

Never did say that I ever won a spelling bee--and I may or may not have flunked spelling tests repeatedly in the second grade.  Anyone wanna play Hangman?  Or Scrabble?  Or other words games that I despise for this very reason?  sigh.

Anyway, you can watch previews to the DVDs and order them (complete with English subtitles) here.  Or just go on Youtube for a quick fix.  It's that easy.

My new lil' buddy, Tsehai

If you haven't already seen the adorable Tsehai, check her out.  Anyone know how a low-tech gal can get her paws on this first-ever Ethiopian children's television show in Amharic?   I'd love to watch this with Noemi!

Ripping a Blessing

Good Friday.  It's one of the most cherished, yet violent holidays on the Christian calendar.  I struggle with just how to talk to a two-year-old about suffering, crucifixion and death so I keep to the point.  I told Noemi that today is important because it is the day that Jesus showed us just how much he loves us.

After our solemn Good Friday service, we brought Noemi home and I rocked her before bed.  I end our bedtime ritual with a prayer each night, often blessing people that we love.  Tonight, I turned off the light and simply said, "Thank you Jesus for loving us so much."  Noemi kept her sweet, quiet little head snuggled to my chest.  Then she ripped a big one and softly said, "And thank you Jesus for the farts."

Amen.

Baby Days

The referral photos for Sosina, April 16, 2009

Today is the anniversary of the day we received your referral--the first day we ever saw your fourish-month-old little round face, heard your name and envisioned you, specifically, as our daughter.  For us, your parents, today feels like your birthday.  I cradled you this morning and told you about seeing your face for the first time.  I told you about the little curl on the top of your head and how Daddy and I cried a happy cry.  I rocked you and called you my itty bitty baby girl.  You love when I refer to you as my baby and you often pretend to cry like an infant so that I scoop you up, hold you close and kiss you all over your face.  This game, which happens frequently now, seems like it is making up for lost time--for both of us.  I know the days where you want to be my baby are numbered but you like to be reminded of it now.  So today, I remind you and hold you and thank God for you.  My baby. 

tooties

I will likely cry the day she stops calling them "tooties."

May the Ick Booty Kickin' Continue

I've given a hoot of a lot of attention to attachment--how well Noemi bonds and connects with me and how well she trusts me as the protector of her world. But being uber-conscious of how connected I feel toward her has taken a back seat.

I spent time leading up to Noemi's adoption learning about grief and attachment and the importance of creating an environment where she felt safe and secure enough to trust me as her mother.  That was our primary focus for many months after her homecoming. We played by attachment parenting rules. But since things only got worse as months went by we sought professional help. That's when my focus turned to attachment's partner-in-crime, trauma. I learned how PTSD can affect an infant/toddler and, again, our family had a focus. The two cannot be separated, so we had a double focus:  work on the healing of the trauma simultaneously with forming an attachment. Bingo--good formula, eh?

Not quite. I was still missing something.  It took until the last few months for me to figure out the missing link. What I did not focus on in my so-anxious-I've-nibbled-my-cuticles-off state was how I was bonding to Noemi through all of this mess. Not how she attached to me--but how I bonded to her.

This is the skeleton in many adoptive families closets. It's taboo to discuss because we've worked SO HARD to bring our child home--years of praying, researching and agonizing as we wait and watch our child grow through photos.  It is assumed we will have instant love and affection for our child when she's finally in our arms. And when that doesn't come automatically, there is eerie, quiet shame. 

I can thankfully say that I did not struggle with loving Noemi instantly.  My heart melted the first time I held her.  I did, however, feel shame for not feeling so honky-dory about our situation (um--to put it lightly).  I wanted to have felt overwrought with bubbly joy, but I felt more defeated exhaustion than anything.  What I can say with thankful confidence is that my love has grown and that I am surprised by how much more affection I genuinely feel for her now that the love is reciprocated.

When I look back on our first year together, I have a bit more sympathy for myself than I did in the moment. I was living on less than a few pieced together hours of sleep a day at best. And the hours that I was awake I was caring for a frantic, scared, angry child who smiled at me one moment then shrieked at me the next. I wanted her to love me; but love cannot be forced.  I remember how hard I had to work for her to smile and laugh for many months.  After a while, I just point blank got tired of tickling her in an attempt to create intimacy.  Sometimes I had to force myself to smile, even when I was bracing myself on the inside for the rejection, because that is what helped build the two-way street.   At least that is what all of the books said:  If you don't feel it, fake it. It will come.  It's HARD to feel genuine affection toward someone that you love and ache for, but who gives you little authentic affection in return.  And I had high expectations of myself.  I was devastated.

But time and hard work and love and commitment and prayer heals.  As months passed and Noemi stared expressing consistent trust in me, love for me and affection toward me, I felt myself letting my guard down.  Our interactions were less emotionally calculated and genuine joy became the norm.  We could just be together rather than needing to work together.  Giggles and hugs and snuggles and eye gazing now come naturally.  It now feels real.  I have no words to express the relief and love. 

Having gotten to this place, I now have room in my psyche to think about what I brought to the family table, rather than focusing simply on what Noemi brought to the table.  Certainly, it would have been helpful if I had given this the attention it deserved before Noemi came home; but it's funny how becoming a parent makes me reflect on things that I was never conscious of before.  Who were/are my attachment models?   What was unconsciously taught to me as a child?  What is hard-wired in me that I may now be passing on?  It's something adoptive parents just don't hear much about--we focus on the child attaching to us but give little credence or attention to how prepared/capable we are to be part of the attachment process.  We ALL bring our ick to parenting.  And when you are parenting a child from a difficult place, the ick-factor gets turned up, lit on fire and rears its head sooner.  It's whether or not I recognize it, grab the ick by its horns and do the emotional work necessary to shove it where the sun don't shine. 

That's where I am today:  Thankful that Noemi's epic ick of last year is behind us and working hard on my own ick.   Thank God the good Lord gives me the grace I need to be a work in progress.

Noemi is doing remarkably well.  Seeing her true self makes my heart swell with adoration, affection, enjoyment and satisfaction.  I am so proud of her.  I am amazed by her ability to continuously heal and grow into her true (dare I say hilarious) self.  She is nothing shy of an incredible human being.  Her steady health has given me more space to reflect on how my own ick affects my parenting and bonding, which has helped me feel more empowered.  So... when she does have a rough day (rather than feeling so overwhelmed that I become paralyzed) I feel more in control to kick some ick booty.  Both hers and mine.

Buzz, buzz, buzzy

There is a lot of hot buzz in the adoption community.  I have not commented on it because I have been sitting tight to see what, if anything, settles.  The office of Ministry of Women, Children and Youth Affairs is the governing agency that handles adoption paperwork in Ethiopia.  It issued a statement a few weeks ago that the number of adoptions that will be processed per day will be dramatically reduced.  Once it showed up as an alert on the State Department's website I knew to take it seriously.  Since then there have been many unofficial and official conversations about how this may impact Ethiopian adoptions.  It appears that MOWCYA will receive much needed assistance to help process adoptions faster, but most information is speculative at this point.  All things considered, it will likely slow down the already long adoption process. 

I fully support Ethiopia making these changes in an effort to secure that every adoption in Ethiopia is ethical.  MOWCYA is a small agency that has been overwhelmed by the recent surge in adoptions, working hard to make sure that paperwork such as death certificates and abandonment police reports are not falsified.  And where there is an increase of families looking to adopt a child, there is undoubtedly an increase in greed and corruption.  MOWCYA is putting on the brakes in an effort to correct this.  Unfortunately, the result of a slow-down means that children may wait in orphanages for a substantially longer time and families will wait accordingly for their child to come home.  Orphanages will be caring for children longer, meaning more of their resources will be tapped.  Of course we expect all adoptions to be ethical.  And of course we want to minimize the time a child receives institutional care.  So this is sticky.

Icky, ooey gooey sticky. 

International adoption is complicated and takes a long time.  For this reason, our intention was to start the adoption process for a second child shortly after Noemi came home.  We completed the initial application, but our process soon came to a screeching halt.  If you have read this blog for any length of time then you know that we have had to place all of our energy on helping Noemi transition.  We knew that SHE and that WE were not ready for another child as soon as we had originally thought.  But as we prepared to jump back into the piles of paperwork for bambino #2 a few months ago, I felt unsettled.  The unsettled feeling grew.  We decided to wait.  And then the MOWCYA announcement came.

Now we are not sure what to do.

If I have learned one thing through our long family building process it is this:  I can expect God to faithfully reveal his plan for our family, but I can't expect him to do it in my timing.   

Noemi is getting older.  The process is taking longer.  How to build one's family is a very personal decision, and every family is different.  Our family is now part Ethiopian.  We feel connected and committed to that country for obvious reasons.  But Ethiopia does not owe our family its children.  And we have many things to weigh when making this decision. Noemi has needs to consider.  My burned-out ragged ol' self has limitations to consider.  Risk is an ever-present force in the land of adoption; it's just choosing which risks to take on given our family's current needs.  There is much. much. much to consider.  

We have begun looking into all options again.  A blank slate.  Starting over is a daunting process.  Donovan and I chose to adopt through our placing agency because we knew that they had a long history of humanitarian work, they support hard-to-place children and adhere to strict ethical practices.  They are well respected by governmental officials in Ethiopia.  I spent months researching agencies, reading mission statements and asking hard questions. I was shocked by how many adoption agencies couldn't tell me where each penny went and how they chose to help countries and families prevent adoption from ever becoming necessary.  Above all else, I was disheartened by how many agencies stress the speed of the adoption process rather than the truthfulness of it.

A few weary tears were shed over the confusion of this process, but we know we will find the best answer for our family.  Things may smooth out with Ethiopian adoptions.  Or they may not.  But finding the best path for our family is not a logical decision by any means--there are too many variables that can go one way or another.  In order to survive building a family through adoption I have to surrender my inner-planner and (try to) trust the inner voice of God's guidance--even when I think his timing sucks.

Score!

For all of you out there looking for a bathing suit for your daughter, run to Gymboree and get THE ONE THAT COMES WITH THE (dare I say freakin' adorable?) SWIM CAP.  And it's on sale right now...so use those legs and get going!  

Just think...

...less water in her recently tubed ears.

...less sand in her freshly coiled hair.

...less chlorine on her fragile little curls.

What could be better than a bathing suit with a swim cap?   The even cuter bikini that coordinates with the swim cap.  You betcha--had to get both.  I would have just gotten the bikini if the swim cap had been sold separately; but I'll forgive Gymboree for the marketing ploy. I'm just the kind of sucker they are looking for.  I'll be exchanging the bikini for a smaller size because Noemi does not require nearly as much fabric when her kissable Buddha belly is left to bulge free. 



Genius.

You're pure genius, Gymboree girls' bathing suit designers.

High-five to you.  You're my new BFFs.

Candy Soup and Other Delicacies

One of Noemi's greatest joys? Her recent obsession with candy.

Not actual candy (though she digs that, too) but the play kind. We bought her a pretend birthday cake for her birthday, complete with jelly bean, gummy drop and strawberry velcro chips that decorate the cake slices. Seems odd to decorate a cake with such things, but she's borderline obsessive about these (what she collectively refers to as) "candy" chips.

Everywhere I turn...candy chips. It's like Candy Land puked in unsuspecting places throughout the house.Mommy, you want candy soup? Here you go, Mommy, candy for you! I have woken up most mornings in the past few weeks to candy being pushed against my lips or placed on my pillow for later. I don't dare leave my dinner unattended or candy will surely be added to my plate. Or, she may just move her peanut butter sandwich aside to make room for candy on her plate. I find them in most every pocket of her sweaters; and she is constantly trying to smuggle them out of the house. When I changed her out of her footed pjs yesterday morning, two candy chips fell out of her footies. Hmmmm...now she's sleeping with them, too. My diplomatic Noemi is an equal opportunity lender, making sure her stuffed animals and the cats have a sufficient supply of candy. She put one piece in the cat's food bowl the other day-- Layla approached the bowl, sniffed it and walked away. Noemi decided Layla's lack of interest was because she wanted more candy, so she dumped a handful in the bowl.So if you're interested in candy on your pizza--or pizza toppings chips with your candy when candy just isn't enough--I know the girl for you. These are the very things I love most about her. Our Secret Candy Fairy is using her creative noggin' each time she sprinkles them here or there, tucks them in hard-to-reach places or tries to flush them down the toilet. Whatagirl.