Some New Things

It’s been a fun week here on the east coast.

Last Sunday, our family of five flew to Newark, NJ, to spend seven days with my brother Nathan, his wife Keriann, and their four-month old daughter Marielle. We’ve enjoyed some days away from our regular routine, filled with sightseeing, time with family, and a slower pace than we normally keep at home. We have one final day here in New Jersey, and then we head for home again Sunday morning.

It’s also been a big week of milestones for Matthew. It’s funny to have some of these new achievements happen for Matthew away from home—it’s not what I might have expected. But I think here we have more time and energy to focus on our children. It seems like either Aaron or I are playing with Matthew almost every waking moment here—tumbling on the floor, playing games, reading books, singing songs, and just generally interacting.

Here are some of his new skills:

• He can now play “ball” in a very real way. Not only will he roll a ball back and forth with another person, but he will also throw the ball (overhand, like a MLS pitcher) and initiate the game.
• He does the hand motions to “Wheels on the Bus.”
• Tonight he asked me for a bottle of “milk” using the sign—I almost started to cry when he did it.
• I asked him earlier this evening if he wanted a bath—he seemed interested, but then I got distracted. He then got really fussy and frustrated—and I couldn’t, for the life of me, figure out what he needed. I finally got down to his level, held out my hand, and said “show me what you need”—and he led me the 14 steps upstairs to the bathroom and literally pushed me into the tub. It dawned on me that he had been promised a bath and was looking forward to it.
• He watched his brother and sister do a dance video game on the Wii, then proceeded to stand in front of them and dance to about ten songs in a row. He was so proud of himself
• He’s been reading all kinds of Richard Scarry books here—looking at each page carefully, and turning the pages when I ask him to.
• And now he can do hand motions to two other songs as well—he starts them when I start to sing.

I know these might seem like little milestones to some people, but to us they are HUGE. We are so grateful that Matthew continues to make forward progress, albeit at his own pace.

We have our appointment with the Neurodevelopmental Center at Children’s Hospital on June 5, which is less than two weeks away. I’m not scared about that visit, but I AM curious to hear what they might say to us about our son. Some part of my mind and heart does wonder in a real way if perhaps he’s facing some developmental challenges that will affect him throughout his life, but the other part of my mind and heart wants to fight like a mama lion for the chance to let him develop at his own pace.

When I think about all the deprivation he experienced the first 18 months of his life, I celebrate his very deep attachment to us—the way he lays his head on my shoulder when I’m rocking him down for his nap, how he reaches for me or Aaron EVERY TIME he falls down or bumps himself, how he initiates play with us—asking for help, leading us around by the hand, using his hand signs, engaging in songs and activities.

In my heart, Matthew is nothing short of a miracle—and his courage to keep learning and growing every single day inspires me to do the same thing. I have promised myself that I won’t hope small for him—but instead I’ll dream BIG and believe he will achieve amazing things.

Last year at this time, Aaron and I were enjoying our second day in Hong Kong, just a few days away from meeting Matthew for the first time. It’s hard to imagine there was a time when he wasn’t part of our lives—since now he is so deeply embedded in everything that we do.

And I have to say, honestly, that each day as his mama is such a gift to me, because I am reminded about all sorts of things—believing in the best a person can be, loving a child simply because he is mine, and looking closely for milestones, no matter how small, that show my son’s courage and the way he embraces the life before him.

I have always believed that the human spirit longs to not just survive but thrive. If our boy is any indication of this old adage, then I can honestly say it’s true.

Blessed, blessed boy.

Our Central Park rock climber, Sam.

Sweet Maya, about to turn eight next week.

Matthew fast asleep on my back in the Central Park Zoo

Matthew woke up in time to see the petting zoo in Central Park

Playing in the pool and slip-n-slide in Uncle Nathan's backyard

Uncle Nathan and cousin Marielle

I got some baby Marielle snuggles

A visit to Newtown, Connecticut, to see old friends

The kids at Liberty State Park with Manhattan in the background

Maya was all smiles to see the Statue of Liberty

Just an average day in the Russell family (with NYC in the background)

Maya and Marielle

Sweet niece, just four months old

Almost a Year Gone By

For some reason recently, I’ve been feeling the need to re-read all our blog posts from the weeks leading up to our trip to China. You see, we left for China on May 23 last year, so as I live through the end of the school year at Trinity and all the anticipation that summer brings, I remember vividly the whole host of emotions we were feeling last year at this time, and I’ve felt a deep need to reconnect with some of those feelings.

I remember Mother’s Day last year, the nostalgia of spending that day with two children for the last time. Next year on Mother’s Day I’ll have three children, I remember thinking, and now here it is Mother’s Day 2013 and I DO have three children.

I had a little yearning moment earlier today too—which caught me off guard and left me pleasantly surprised. I’ve admitted on this blog that in the past several months, I’ve felt a great deal of frustration with China as a country and what I feel like is the lack of care they showed for Matthew’s development during his months in the orphanage. We’ve been somewhat overwhelmed by his delays and what they might possibly mean long term, and in the midst of all that, I’ve felt angry at China for not doing a better job offering him developmental opportunities while he was still in their care.

I don’t hate China or anything—I’m just frustrated about the reality of our world and that country, and what happened to my child as a result. I know, from all my blog reading, that it’s a common feeling for adoptive parents to feel who bring children home from international orphanages.

But today I had a very different feeling. I got to slip away after lunch today to do a little shopping, and I decided to head up to the outlet malls that are about 10 minutes north of our house. They are a common destination for Canadian tourists, particularly Chinese-Canadian tourists, it seems. In fact, today probably 50% of the people walking around up there were Asian, and most of them Chinese, at least from my viewpoint. I was in line at a store when two women, a cashier and a customer, struck up a conversation. The customer told the cashier that she wasn’t from the United States, and in fact that she wasn’t from Canada either. She said she lived in China. Then the two women began talking Mandarin to each other.

It was a warm day. I could smell the residual cigarette smoke from the outdoor, covered walkways of the outlet mall, drifting into the store where I stood. And the women before me chatted back and forth in Chinese. In that instant, I had a deep and lovely yearning for China—for its landscape, its language and its people. In that moment I felt something deeply familiar and nostalgic, and my heart longed for my son’s first home in a way I had never felt before. I missed China with every bone in my body—and I realized that because Matthew is part of us, China is too.

China is SO FAR away from Everett. Maya and Sam ask regularly when we get to go visit, and I wish I could tell them we’d go sometime soon. We WILL go to China someday as a family, and hopefully more than once, but it’s expensive and a long way to travel with small children. So we probably won’t get back to China for at least 8 or 10 years. But the reality of that makes me sad. I wish it was closer, so we could pop over and visit. I’d love to show all three of our children the beautiful place where Matthew was born—and I’d give more than anything to visit China when we weren’t there to pick up a child. It was such an emotional and complicated trip for so many reasons.

I wouldn’t want to go back to last time this year—Even though our trip to China was an amazing adventure, I’m so grateful that we’re on this side of the journey. Matthew is home, his surgeries are done for now, he’s growing and changing, despite some concerns about his developmental delays. We are grateful to have him in our family.

I do feel grateful that we live somewhere where Asian people make up more than a small percentage of the population. Our Chinese-American son will be able to look around and see people who look like him right here in Everett. We won’t have to travel all the way to China for him to have that experience.

And on this Mother’s Day, I give thanks for all three of my children and the journeys we have taken and will take together as a family. Sometimes people say to us, “what a gift your family has given to Matthew,” and I think to myself, No, what a gift Matthew has given to us.

For as my mom has said on more than one occasion, “Matthew needed a family, and our family needed a Matthew.” What a fine blessing it is that we have each other in this life.

More Delays

I’ve been composing this blog post in my head for several days now. I want to be honest in this blog about our adoption journey—and tell you the straight truth about how life really is—but sometimes I need some days to frame things in my own head before writing them down. This has been one of those weeks.

Last week on Tuesday, I took Matthew to Seattle Children’s Hospital to see the Craniofacial Speech Therapist. One of the things you can’t tell from the pictures of Matthew is that his language is still very delayed. In some ways he must look like a very average two-year old. But if you were to visit us and spend any time with him, it would be obvious that he’s significantly behind in his language development.

We had gone to Children’s because I’ve obviously been aware of his delays, and I was wondering just how much his language delay is being affected by his cleft lip and palate, and all the many issues surrounding those challenges. It was a hard visit and a good one too, because the speech therapist we saw, who specializes in cleft lip and palate kiddos, was quite certain that Matthew’s language challenges have nothing to do with his palate. His palate, according to her, is functioning perfectly well.

However, she was quite overwhelmed by his many social and language delays. When she tried to interact with him in the ways she must interact with other, more developmentally on-target kids, he didn’t react in any normal ways, and she became very concerned.

I watched this all go down, and I knew what was happening, but at the end of our visit, she told me she’d like to refer us to the Neurodevelopmental Center at Children’s so Matthew can be evaluated by a Neurodevelopmental Pediatrician. She said she was surprised we hadn’t already gotten this referral from Craniofacial, and she was pretty sure we needed to be seen over there as soon as possible. She cited several “red flags,” as she called them, in Matthew’s behavior that led her to believe he may have some kind of neurodevelopmental disorder or delay.

Wow. What hard words to hear.

I’ll admit that I’ve wondered the very same thing time and time again as Matthew’s mama. I’ve even voiced some of those worries here on this blog. But to hear someone at Children’s put words to my own thoughts was really hard. Hard enough that I felt on the verge of tears for several days last week. And of course with those words came all my fears and worries—all my anxieties brought to the surface for me to face head on.

And here are some of them: What if my son never learns to talk? What if he has significant cognitive or neurological delays that affect this learning and development for the rest of his life? What if he can never be independent? What if he never catches up?

These are questions that I’m sure many adoptive parents (and probably parents in general) ask when their children show signs of developmental delay. It’s scary, but I suppose in some ways it’s also empowering to have a referral that might lead to some deeper understanding of a child’s behavior and delays.

It’s funny because part of me thinks perhaps he has some disorder or delay that will be nameable, and part of me feels deep down inside that the depravity of Matthew’s early life in the orphanage is still playing itself out in his life.

Tonight we had some friends over whose son is almost 10 months old. He was born about a week after we got home from China with Matthew. So in terms of life in our family and life here in the United States, Matthew is about he same age as this little boy. It was funny to watch him, because in terms of language development, these little boys both seem to be in about the same place. They are both making babbling sounds but not saying words. They are both avid explorers of the world around them. Matthew is actually quite ahead of this little baby in his gross and fine motor skills, but in terms of language and speech, they are right on par.

And sometimes I thin about the fact that it was likely Matthew didn’t hear anything until his palate was repaired and tubes were put in his ears. If this is the case, then he didn’t start hearing the English language until about five months ago. Five months. When I think about a five-month old baby, I am astonished at all the language and communication that Matthew is able to do.

It’s taken me six days to write this blog post because I’ve needed that entire time to frame my own thoughts and let all this new information settle into my mama heart. Yes, I will honestly admit to you that the thought of starting in another department at Children’s makes my heart sink. I was pretty sure we were done with treatment and major interventions for a few years, and now here we are beginning a new process in a new section of the hospital.

But I also feel defensive of my son—of wanting to protect this fragile time in his development and be the mama lion who roars in defense of the time he so desperately needs to catch up. Will my son talk? Yes, I believe he will one day. Will it be tomorrow? Probably not.

Kids who started their lives in orphanages can’t be tracked the same way that kids can who started with parents in a nurturing home. It’s just not the same environment in ANY way. Adopted or not, kids who start their lives in the arms of parents who dote on them, care for them, and love them develop and grow differently than those who lie in a crib from morning until night with very little adult interaction.

And when I think about this start to life for my son, it makes me want to weep. The scars of being an orphan stay with children long after they have families of their own—this we know to be true.

And we also knew of the risks of adopting a child internationally from an orphanage setting. Delays are inevitable—you just don’t know what type they will be.

I was playing the “life could be worse” game a few nights ago, thinking about how much harder it would be if Matthew had an attachment disorder rather than a speech and language delay. One of the things I can count on from my boy is his enthusiasm for his mama—his hugs, the way he grabs my hand and leads me around the house, the smooth feel of his cheek when he lays his head on my shoulder as I’m singing him to bed at night.  This boy might not be talking, but he shows his love and affection for his family in so many ways, and we feel the same kind of fierce love and attachment to him.

Which is why I know we will get through this crazy time—no matter what the pediatrician at the Neurodevelopmental Center tells us. We signed up for this journey—we felt called to this adoption—and we will dig deep and find the strength within us to take our boy to yet another doctor’s appointment, with a new plan or diagnosis about his health.

It’s not the easiest thing in the world—and sometimes we feel tired—but we love this boy and would do anything for him, so this too we will do.

One last thought: I’ve been poking around on as many China cleft lip/palate blogs as I can, trying to find someone out there whose story sounds similar to ours. I’d love to find another family who adopted a kid with a speech and language delay. Do you know someone? Are you that someone? If so, I kindly beg of you to comment or email me or reach out.  I could use a fellow mama lion in this process—someone who understands how this feels. It can be kind of lonely sometimes, trying to navigate these unfamiliar waters with a child who doesn’t match up to the charts like he should. Kind, understanding words buoy me like nothing else in the world.

Your kind thoughts and prayers are also appreciated, as always. We never feel alone, even when our questions and worries threaten to swallow us whole. For this I am ever grateful.

And now here are some new photos our boy--with his kind eyes and his piercing gaze. Man, do I love this kid.

After bath--man, do I love this kiddo!

Ready to go for a walk in the Kelty backpack

A pensive moment

Riding his Wheely Bug around the kitchen!

A Northwest Kid

Some days I'm struck by a deep sense of place and just how that sense of place will eventually impact Matthew.

When we were in China, there were families there from all over the country adopting children. Many of them were from Texas or the South--a few from the Midwest, and a few from the East coast. There were Californians as well as one family from Oregon, and a couple Washington folks like us. At one point during our trip, it dawned on me that each of the children being adopted would be going to a different part of the country and would grow up being shaped by that place.

This struck me even more strongly about a month after we got home when I took all three of my kids to the Darrington Bluegrass Festival. There we were out in the boondocks of Western Washington, sitting next to a bunch of hippie outdoorsy folk listening to one bluegrass band after another. It was such a wonderful afternoon, and already Matthew was exploring his world, looking all around, and taking everything in.

Our kid is definitely a Pacific Northwest boy. What gives it away? Perhaps his bright green North Face fleece and his Crocs. Or the way he LOVES being outdoors, putting his hands in the dirt, licking the raindrops, and exploring trails and beaches.

When I look back at all the photos we've taken of Matthew since he arrived home in Washington, I'm struck by how many of them were taken outside--on a hiking trail, at a beach, at a park, in the rain, in the backyard. Our boy can't get enough of the great Pacific Northwest outdoors, and I couldn't be more thrilled.

Here are a few of Matthew's recent adventures exploring the world.

Checking out the seesaw at Kayak Point.

Going down the slide with help from Aunt Chris--straight into Grandpa's arms

Finally tackling the seesaw by himself!

Family adventures at the park

A walk in our neighborhood

Leading the pack: walking with Aunt Chris and Grandma & Grandpa Russell

Just a few fun photos

Sorry this blog has gotten kind of heavy the past few entries. If you know our journey or can imagine it, I'm sure you understand that it is filled with ups and downs. I've always struggled with how "real" to be on this blog. I don't want to scare anyone away from international adoption, especially of children with cleft lip and palate. But I also don't want to be guilty of portraying our life through rose-colored glasses. It's not easy, but having Matthew in our lives is a blessing and a gift that I celebrate each day.

And especially these days, as we are nearing the one-year anniversary of our trip to China. It's still a month and a half away, but I vividly remember all the waiting last year, the anxiety, the wondering, and the longing for Matthew. Every time I remember those emotions, I feel a rush of gratitude that he is here with us, and that no matter what we face, it's good just to be with him in person. The waiting, knowing he was in an orphanage halfway around the world, was dreadful. It's good to have him home.

Here are a few fun photos of our boy. I am so happy with how his lip is healing. I've read a couple places that it takes over a year for the scars to stop being so bright red, and even now, depending on the day, they are pretty mellow and not overwhelmingly noticeable on his face. Honestly I don't even think about it much anymore, but I am reminded about his lip repair by others in public sometimes. It's not usually anything unkind--just curious people wondering about it. I'm learning to answer kindly and graciously, seeing myself as an educator and a representative of cleft.

Thanks, readers near and far, for following our journey. I'm still amazed by how many people read our blog on a daily or weekly basis . . . it's a reminder of the way our stories can reach out of our own lives and weave themselves into the lives of others, even those we haven't met. Please feel welcome to leave a comment anytime--we love knowing who is reading our posts!

Here is Matthew on the ferry to San Juan Island. That's my mom (Marmie) with him. He loved the window.

Pressing his cheek against the cool glass.

The kids in the car, waiting to come home to Anacortes.

That boy loves the velcro on his shoes.

Getting some Daddy tickles

Some Honest Mama Talk

I’ve been poking around on other China cleft lip/palate adoption blogs lately, and other adoption forums too, hungry to read about other families who are walking the same path we are. I’ve mentioned before, at least once or twice, that this path of adoption is both full of community and support (as I wrote about in my last post) and also somewhat lonely and isolating. We can’t look around and see other kids like Matthew who are developing in a “normal” way for his situation. Yes, there are other families who have children with a cleft lip and palate, and we feel grateful for the friendships we’ve forged with other families who are walking a similar path.

But each adoption is different—each kid with a special need is different—and at this point in our journey, we are also so aware of the impact the orphanage had on Matthew. For 18 months, our boy basically lay in a crib without much interaction at all. This means that while a normal infant in a family developed alongside plenty of snuggles, kisses, songs, words, and facial expressions, Matthew probably likely stared at the cold boards of his crib bottom or the white walls of the room where he lay. It’s not much stimulation for a little person who has just entered the world. And we are seeing the effects of that lack of stimulation in very significant ways right now.

These days I spend my time flip-flopping between feeling so proud of Matthew for all that he is accomplishing and feeling impatient with how slowly his progress is coming along. Everyone we talk with and run into wants to know about Matthew—how he’s doing, how his mouth is healing, and if he’s talking. I have to admit I’m a little tired of that last question, because my answer is still NO. No, he isn’t talking.

I’d rather they ask me what he IS doing—what he’s learning, how he’s attaching and continuing to settle into our family—because I do have many wonderful things to share.

I thought it might help other adoptive families reading our blog, and our friends and family who follow our story here, if I laid out a couple things for all of you:

First, we’ve been encouraged to think about Matthew’s “homecoming” as the start of his developmental life. He’s been home just over nine months, which means in many ways that developmentally he should be at the level of a nine month old baby.

To top that off, when he had his palate repaired in late November, we learned that he had basically NO hearing in either of his ears. So those first five months, from June to November, he wasn’t able to develop his language or speech at all because he couldn’t hear a thing. His palate repair was four months ago, which means that in terms of speech and language development, he’s about the age of a four month old.

Nine months in physical development, four months in language development. Those of you who know Matthew will agree that he’s definitely farther along than these developmental markers. In fact, we had another assessment today by our speech therapist, and based on her results, she said he’s about 23 months in gross and fine motor skills, and about 10 months in speech and language (all for a boy who is, in total, just 27 months old).

This is good news. He’s gained a lot of development over the past few months (since starting speech). Our first evaluation plotted him at 4 months for speech and 16 months for gross and fine motor skills. So he’s developed along at rapid pace, almost doubling his development in three months.

I wrote these results in my mind and on my heart today, to remind me when I begin to feel discouraged that our boy is learning and growing in so many ways.

Speech therapy isn’t just about making the mouth shape the consonant and vowel sounds. It’s also about developing all those pre-linguistic skills of play and interaction. These skills weren’t developed in Matthew when they normally should have, so he’s working hard to catch up. He’s started signing, which is a blessing because he can finally start telling us when he wants something.

The biggest gift to us right now is the fact that Matthew has attached so beautiful to our family. Whenever I start to feel discouraged, I think about how life would be if he talking but refusing to attach to his parents. It would be incredibly difficult to parent a child with an attachment disorder—and I have the greatest respect for those of you who are facing this challenge.

Sometimes I wonder how much differently it feels to parent Matthew than to parent any other child with a special need—or if it’s really different at all? Since the attachment piece is in place, we are dealing with advocating for his needs, supporting him, determining how much to expect and how much to let go. Parents who have kids on the whole spectrum from ADHD to a severe genetic cognitive delay know the challenges of these kinds of tasks. I now understand the strange looks from people in the grocery store—although unlike some parents I know, I haven’t yet learned to ignore them. Our boy is still young and quite cute (at least we think so), which goes a long way for us in terms of helping him appear endearing to other people.

However, part of me just thinks, “who cares?” It’s not like strangers in the grocery store know our story, or Matthew’s story. He’s doing such a good job learning and growing—and yes, he’s delayed in some things very common for adopted kids with cleft issues. But the beauty of it is that we are here to support him through it all. We are here to advocate for him, to help him learn, and that’s our job.

I’ve been feeling very emotional about all this for the past many weeks now—emotional to the point of tears several times. Sometimes I feel guilty or ashamed when I am frustrated with Matthew and his slow development—because I know that among all the things he needs, one of the things he needs MOST is a family that is supporting him through every step.

And while this isn’t exactly what I was expecting with this adoption, I was expecting it to be hard—I just didn’t know how. We welcomed Matthew into our lives and our family aware of the fact that he would bring needs with him—that we would use some of our best energy helping him grow and learn.

And I could make a very long list of all the ways he has grown and changed and developed, especially over the past four months since his palate repair, but I won’t. I will let this post be as it is—telling the truth of this moment in my heart and in our family and for Matthew. Tomorrow, perhaps, it will be a different reality. When he says his first word, my blog post will be FILLED with elation and joy—and the long-awaited reality of verbal communication for our son.

But until that day, I will see each and every moment with him as the gift that it is, and try to cling to my best enthusiasm and hope for him, which is really all he needs from me.

Matthew and big brother Sam, one of his favorite playmates!

Cheerleaders

I have been so aware, recently, of the many people rallying around Matthew during this huge time of learning for him. We celebrate each of his milestones enthusiastically at our house, but we are joined by a whole host of people who are helping him grow alongside us.

People like Anaga, our speech therapist, who literally gets tears in her eyes every time Matthew does something new and amazing. She’s regularly saying to me, “that’s beautiful—that’s SO beautiful.” She did this the first time he signed “more” to her during a session, or when he came up and grabbed her hands and pulled her to the other side of the room. She’s one of his biggest cheerleaders, watching him learn and grow each week.

Then there is the amazing staff at the Acorn Learning Center where Matthew goes to preschool two days a week. Three teachers are with him on Wednesdays and Thursdays, not to mention a whole group of amazing student Early Childhood Education majors (both female and male!) who spend time with both my boys at preschool. It seems like every day, when I come to pick them up, one of the teachers has something amazing to tell me about Matthew. Along with us, they are watching him develop and learn—and it’s thrilling to them. Their excitement is contagious, and is a huge encouragement to us on a journey that often feels snail-slow at times.

And finally there is my family, especially my parents who live down the block and care for Matthew every Wednesday afternoon. They delight in his growing and learning. They read books to him, play games, talk to him, take him outside on walks and for playtime in the backyard, feed him, and carry him around. And they are witness to Matthew’s development and share all his new “doings” with enthusiasm when I come to pick him up.

It takes a village to raise a child. I know some people think this line is cliché, overused, and they might be right. But the sentiment is dead on: There is no way we’d be doing all this with Matthew if we didn’t have the support of people around us. But these days, even more than support, it’s the shared enthusiasm and the community of cheerleaders who are most important. Important to us, yes. But even more so important to Matthew. He will grow up knowing that there is a wide circle of people around him who believe in him, who are excited to see him learn new things, and who will be beside him no matter where life leads.

What a gift this is for all of us.

Here is Anaga, doing speech therapy with Matthew. It's ball play time!