Feeling Safe

We hit a major milestone this week. The boys actually fell asleep WHILE I was reading to them. A year ago our bedtime routine was as far as it can get from snuggles and quiet story time with relaxed, sleepy children. Getting the boys to fall asleep and stay asleep has been an ongoing challenge, as it is in many families, so this is a big deal for us and we are celebrating.

Before the boys came home we had grand plans of co-sleeping with them. We thought it would provide much needed bonding time and that they would benefit from the added security of having us close at night. Once we became actual parents, while those reasons certainly held true, we also realized that we - mom and dad - needed time to re-coop and recharge. Given the hectic nature of our transition last year, our bedroom felt like the one place we could find that time. I have this mental image of Mark and I last year, retreating to our bedroom after epic long bedtime battles, with books about "parenting your adopted child" or "dealing with toddlers" on our laps. Mostly we just sat there dazed in front of the TV until we crashed. The only time we co-slept with the boys in our bed was the day we arrived home from Ethiopia.

Even though the boys were two months shy of turning three when we came home, I deliberated for a very long time about whether to buy cribs or beds. We had been told time and again that a child of that age would probably climb right out of a crib, but they looked so tiny in their pictures and I knew that they had been in cribs in Ethiopia. Ultimately we decided on two little, low to the ground beds. The day after we arrived home from Ethiopia we put the boys down for a nap in those little beds and they fell instantly asleep and didn't move an inch. Mark and I congratulated ourselves on making the right decision.


The next day the honeymoon ended and the boys' anxiety about sleep went through the roof. The only way to get them to sleep, and we tried almost everything, was to hold them in bed until exhaustion overtook their fight and flight instincts. We pushed those little beds together and one of us climbed in between them for however long it took. For many months that time was two hours+ on average, and it was not the sweet snuggle time I had dreamed of. They did not yet know the benefits of lying still and close to someone who loved them and their survival skills and fears were in control, making it impossible for them to relax. Some of those fears they expressed while I held them in the dark, like their fear of wild animals. Other fears went unspoken but I suspect that they wondered what would happen to them next. They would talk and joke and cajole and push buttons and try to escape, and when that didn't work they would cry so loudly that I thought the neighbors were going to call child services. In the very early months, bedtime was so stressful that I lamented our decision to forego the cribs and I considered packing up the beds and sprinting to IKEA. Ultimately my initial belief that our bonding and their fears would benefit from lying in the same bed together won and we stuck it out with this semi-cosleeping method.

 

As far as staying asleep went, in the beginning they would stay asleep, alone in their bed, until 7 AM like clock work. I was grateful for this and needed it at the time but I suspected that once they realized I would come if they called, they would call. Quietly I wanted them to reach that stage, as in my heart I saw it as progression in their understanding of family and their attachment to us as their parents. Sure enough, shortly after I returned to work a year ago, they began calling. They missed me during the day and I missed them. Coming to them when they called felt right, as a parent would do in the middle of a night during the first year when a birth child enters a family. My feeling that co-sleeping was right for our family outweighed other alternatives and I began crawling into bed between them in the middle of the night. This allowed me to go back to sleep fairly quickly, gave them the close contact they craved, and mornings became a special time together where we could read and talk and practice snuggling without the anxiety that surrounded bedtime.

Last spring I emerged from a particularly stressful few months at work, where I had been away from home a lot and when I was home the boys' night time make-up sessions were more demanding than usual. I began to feel drained by this routine that had previously been working so well for us and I started wondering if I needed to make a change. Serendipitously, one of the lovely adoptive moms that I am so grateful to know invited several adoptive mom's to her house that week. I shared some of this story that night and on the walk to our cars one friend stopped me and said something to the effect of, "I think what you are doing is the right thing to do, and I think it will get better soon. Hang in there." It was such a simple gesture but it meant so much to me and it helped me rally the strength to continue. A few weeks later the boys started sleeping through the night.

I began writing a post in celebration of that milestone at the beginning of August but I never finished it. By the end of August we were feeling so confident in where we were as a family that we asked one of the boys' preschool teachers, whom they adore, to babysit for a couple hours while we went out to dinner - our second date night and our first with a babysitter other than their grandparents! On the surface it seemed to go well but it brought an immediate halt to sleeping through the night. It's hard to be sure, but I do think the two events were related. That was almost a month ago, and just this week they started sleeping through the night again, and now we've had two nights where they were able to relax enough to fall asleep while I read to them! We are going on our second "date" next week, so we'll see what happens next, but overall I'm pretty thrilled with where we are and it feels great to see tangible evidence that our boys feel safe enough to relax in my arms and on their own. What a difference a year makes!!

* In no way do I presume that our approach is THE one right approach to getting your child to sleep. Everyone must do what feels right for their own family and no two families are alike.

Wordless Wednesday

Wordless Wednesday

Remembering

Ten years ago I lived in Manhattan a few blocks from the World Trade Center. It was so beautiful outside that morning that in spite of my rush to get to work, I paused in front of my living room window to note the crystal-clear blue sky and the way the sun sparkled off the Twin Towers. I had given my apartment a thorough cleaning the day before and I hesitated for a moment before throwing open the windows. Even on the thirtieth floor, dust has a way of quickly finding it's way into a NYC apartment.

I was planning to drop my laundry off at the dry cleaners that morning but I was running late and decided I didn't have the minutes to spare. Walking to the subway I passed throngs of small children on their way to school. Some of the littlest ones looked nervous, it being the beginning of a new school year. On my way down the stairs into the subway at World Trade Center I heard a loud crash and thought there must have been a car accident right outside the subway entrance, but I didn't have time to investigate and hurried on.

The subway platform was surprisingly empty and the train took an unusually long time to arrive. I thought nothing of it other than how the delay was making me even later. Finally a train arrived and I waited for the packed cars to unload. Men and women in suits hurried past me on their way to work. Just as the doors were closing a woman ran onto the train at the other end of the nearly empty car. She was visibly upset and I overheard her telling the other passengers something. I thought I heard her say "train crash" and I figured that must have been the reason for the delay.

When I got to midtown everything seemed normal. I went into the deli I frequented every morning and ordered my usual breakfast. I asked if anyone had heard anything about a train crash. No one had.

When I got to my desk the message light on my phone was blinking. I was surprised to hear that I had a few messages and then listened in bewilderment to the voices of friends asking if I was ok, had I made it to the office, call when I got the message.  All the friends worked downtown. I quickly dialed a number and listened in shock as my friend described what was happening. The burning plane in the side of the North Tower. The sky filled with smoke and office papers. My mind filled with images of a small plane whose course had somehow gone woefully off track. I hung up and called my father to tell him I was safe just before the phones went down. When I got off the call the office was buzzing with the word terrorism.

I spent the rest of the morning with my coworkers, huddled around the one TV in the office, watching those unbelievable events unfold. That afternoon I grabbed my gym bag and a few things from my desk drawers, realizing that I probably would not be able to return home that night. I began walking downtown to stay with friends in the East Village and watched in horror as first one, then a few, then throngs of ash and dust covered people passed me on their way uptown. They all wore the same expression. It was a look I had never seen before and hope I never see again. That night I couldn't stop thinking about all the people I had passed on my walk to work that day. The people who got off the subway when I got on. The children on their way to school, a school that was engulfed in dust when the towers fell.

A week later I showed a piece of mail to prove my residence and was allowed to pass the barriers that separated ground zero from the rest of the world. This place was not recognizable as my neighborhood, it was a war zone. After some time I was escorted to my apartment by an armed soldier and given 15 minutes to pack a bag. I don't remember what I packed other than a sentimental old stuffed animal that became a source of embarrassment when my bag was dumped out moments later for a thorough search. It was another ten days before I was able to return home for good. 65% of the people who lived in my 40 floor building never did return. Some didn't make it out of those buildings. Others took themselves to a neighborhood where you didn't have to walk for blocks and blocks because cabs and subways didn't go there. Some took their children where the air was cleaner and you didn't have to pass security checkpoints with armed soldiers to get home. For reasons that I still cannot fully explain, I stayed. From my apartment windows I watched the fires burn for months. Military helicopters used the lawn in front of my building as a landing pad. Twenty four hours a day for eight months and nineteen days I listened to the unearthly sound of the cranes as they lifted debris onto barges beneath my window. I got to know my neighbors. People I passed on the sidewalk or shared an elevator with were no longer strangers to be ignored. It was a strange time.

I grew up a lot that year. I developed a deeper love for this country and a deep respect for the people who dedicate their lives to protect it. The things that seemed like problems pre 9/11 no longer measured up in light of the tragedy that had happened to so many. I began to truly realize what a luck and love filled life I had and instead of whining about my small problems, I started to fix them. Six months later I had a new job, one that I loved. The next year I met the love of my life. The rest, as they say, is history.

On this tenth anniversary I am thinking of those who lost so much that day--those who lost their lives, their loved ones or their health. I am feeling grateful to all the brave men and women who have dedicated or lost their lives making sure our neighborhoods don't become war zones again. I spent today under a crystal-clear blue sky with my family, celebrating life and feeling luckier than ever.

Looking Backward and Moving Forward

Mama! This may be my first ride in a NYC taxi, but I'VE GOT IT UNDER CONTROL!

When we were waiting to bring our boys home we became friends with several families who had already adopted children. Many of those families told us "the first year is hard."

Now that we are into our second year as a family I can see the truth in that simple statement. We felt lucky with our transition in so many ways right from the beginning, and noted significant progress each month, but looking back I can say that our first year together really was hard. Behind closed doors Mark and I marvel at it and say, "Remember last year?!" The boys say it too. They say, "Remember when I was scared of (that person, that animal, that place) last year?!" Adopting older children is undoubtedly harder in some ways but it is also such an amazing gift. Their early memories are just one of those gifts.

The only thing that renders silence in this family
is shiro and injera!

For those who haven't been following, we arrived home with the boys June 1st last year. Everything from the weather to the food to our activities this summer reminded us of our first and most challenging months as a family. These shared memories and the traditions we have forged over the year seem to anchor us in some way now. Places, the smell of the air, even the way the light falls in their room all feel familiar now. Physically I no longer have a constant pit of worry in my stomach. The boys are no longer on high alert and no longer wonder what it means to be a family. If they are scared--or hurt or tired or sad--they tell me, instead of slipping into controlling behaviors or snuggling into the lap of another adult (phew--that one was so hard for us as new parents).

One of the boys (that little cutie to the left) was so shy last year that he barely spoke until October. Now he rarely stops speaking! Tonight at dinner he told me a long, complex story about dinosaurs and pirates and what they did and where they went on their adventures. He was slow to trust us and his affections came from a different place last year. Now he is truly loving, outgoing but not falsely charming, and we have seen real steps toward his attachment being secure.

The other child was always on best behavior last year. He was sweet and loving and cooperative almost all of the time. This summer, once they started summer school, he tried on a number of not-so-perfect behaviors in imitation of a new classmate. When the reprimand came his eyes would turn down at the corners and he would say, "You don't love me???????" We reminded him again and again that we love him no matter what (but that we don't love that behavior!). With a lot of patience, reassurance and the resurrection of the "sticker chart" (Oh how I love you sticker chart! Your concrete boundaries and rewards work so well for my little ones!) the new testing behaviors seem to have faded away recently. More steps on the journey to secure attachment I hope...

How can you be afraid of a NYC taxi on the lap of a Dad like that?

My smart, beautiful, sweet boys...your resiliency amazes me.

Taye, "Hiiiiiiiiiiiiii Mom and Daaaaaaad!!!!!!!"         Dash, "Taye! Be cool, Brother!!!!!!"

With the advent of memories as a family, the boys seem to have forgotten most of their life before us. We still look at pictures and their lifebooks together but they used to tell me things about the people and places in those pictures. About three months ago, coinciding with the time we arrived in America, they started asking me questions about their past as if they had forgotten it all. I know this is probably normal but it surprised me given how strong their memories of Ethiopia were six months ago.

They do remember some things. One of the earliest pictures we have of the boys was taken the week they arrived at Gladney. It is a difficult picture to look at because they are so small and thin and sad--it doesn't even look like them until you look closely at their eyes. However difficult this picture is to look at, it is an important piece of their history and I do not hide it from them. The other day it was sitting on the shelf above their dresser, which I still put them on to lotion their hair and skin in the morning. One of the boys picked it up and started looking at it intently. I gave him a minute and then asked if he knew who those boys were.

"Yes. Dash and Taye."
"Do you remember where that was taken?"
"Yes, Effeopia."
"What else do you remember, Sweetie?"
"Dash and Taye needed a mommy...."

Gulp. I thought for certain Mark must have said that to them at some point but he says no and no one else has seen that picture other than the person who took it.

Dash, "I cannot believe I am standing in front of a T-Rex!"    Mark, "Please take the picture. This kid is really heavy!"

My smart, beautiful, sweet boys...your courage astounds me.

Dash, "This horse is ok but I reaaaaaly like these girls!"

There is so much more I want to say about the last few months but in the interest of actually publishing this post I will refrain. I have started to write but failed to finish six posts over the last two months! There are the obvious reasons. Work has been extremely busy. I try to focus all my time outside of work on the boys and over the summer that time was spent outdoors at the pool, or the zoo, or gardening or some other activity that was unconducive to blogging. 

There are also other reasons. Big things have been happening in the Horn of Africa with drought and famine. Big things have been happening in Ethiopia with families and children suffering, the future of adoptions uncertain and the closing of orphanages, including the one our boys were at (not Gladney, the government orphanage they spent a week at). There are big things happening within our own extended family not to mention what's happening in our country. It feels awkward posting happy-go-lucky updates on the adventures of Dash and Taye in light of these things and it makes me wish I was a better writer.

I have also spent some of my alone time--you know, the couple hours after the boys go to sleep when I should be at the gym--sitting on my neighbor's front stoop cherishing new friends. Yes, they are my neighbors and no, I did not really know them until recently. This probably sounds odd to some of you but as a childless, city dwelling, professional my social life always revolved around coworkers or going out to dinner with Mark or friends. I am so grateful to have this wonderful group of women (and men too, but it's the women who nourish me) steps from my front door. 

And ok, here I go rambling and getting into other topics when I really just want to POST SOMETHING...

Is anyone even still reading?! LOL

Dinos Rule!