Some Mama Thoughts

Matthew and I drove to Children’s today for his feeding appointment. We are lucky to see an occupational therapist there who is wonderful (and happens to have worked with my dear friend Kaitlin several years ago). She’s helpful and kind, celebrating Matthew’s successes, but also aware of his challenges. I suppose that’s the right combination for a therapist.

But today, for some reason, it made me really emotional to be at Children’s and watch Matthew struggle with eating . . . it made my questions loom big in my mind: what is ahead for this boy? What else should we be doing for him? And how are we ever going to find enough energy and time to give him all the support he needs?

These are common parent questions, and probably even more common for those who parent children with special needs. As an example, I’ve been spoon-feeding my son now for more than an entire year. For 12 months, at every single meal, I’ve sat and spooned food into his mouth, I’m so ready for him to start eating independently, but he’s not quite there, YET. He will get there—I truly believe that. He’s made such amazing progress despite his many delays and challenges. But sometimes just having the patience to wait for that next step is the hardest thing.

Patience is something I could use more of these days—patience to live into these days with purpose and without expectation. Matthew can only develop at a pace set by him—and it seems like each day he’s learning new things, catching up, doing everything right.

And still he’s behind.

So friends, who read this blog, please hear this kind but pleading request from me: When you call me or come over to my house, PLEASE stop asking me, “So is Matthew talking yet?”

The answer is still NO, and each time you ask and I have to say “no” again, it hurts my heart a little.

Aaron’s pretty sure Matthew won’t talk until he’s at least four. I’m hoping it’s sooner than that. He is starting to make a panting noise for a doggy, and he has his own version of “Elmo” (his favorite character) that sounds like “e-lo-e-lo.” Those are pretty amazing milestones.

He’s also consistently signing these words: more, all done, help, eat, milk, ball, book, shoes and play.

It’s not a lot, but to me it’s miraculous and wonderful that Matthew is finally learning the joy of communicating his needs and wishes. We’ve got a long way to go, but we’ve already come so far.

When I’m faced with his shortcomings—with the things he’s NOT doing, with his delays—I sometimes find myself sinking into a dark place inside, overcome with worry about what’s ahead for him.

So these days I am choosing to stay focused on what’s positive for Matthew—not as a way to delude myself about what’s really true, but as my resistance against worry and fear. Because even worse for Matthew than his delays is having a mama who is so overcome with them that she can’t be a good mama anymore.

And what I want most in the world is to be the best mama I can—for all three of my children.

Confidence

It seems like I’m always looking back a year, marking how far we’ve come by the distance 12 months gives us. It’s September and we’re back to school and back into the routines of work and school—and as a result, I’ve been thinking a lot about last September, especially where Matthew was developmentally and how far he’s come.

One thing I’m aware of these days is the how confident I feel parenting him. One difference that I can clearly articulate between my biological babies and this adopted one is how comfortable I felt at first as parent to my child. With my first two, they were newborn when they landed in my arms, and I was a new parent.

Especially with my first one, we learned together. By the time she was 18 months, I had figured her out.

With my second baby, he also started from infancy and perhaps I felt even more prepared because I had already figured out how to be mama to his big sister. Parenting came naturally—soothing, feeding, caring for a little person.

But with Matthew things were different, because he had already lived 18 months of life on his own before they put him in my arms. For the past 15 months, I’ve had to not only learn the patterns and habits of this little boy, but also try to understand how to comfort him and wind him down.

So after all this time, I’m so grateful to feel confidence in my ability to meet his needs, soothe him, and care for him well.

At our house we continue to feel somewhat overwhelmed by Matthew’s delays in language, but we’re overcoming those in important ways too. Having a child who doesn’t talk as a two-year old has been a new experience for me, but I’ve learned to rely heavily on body language and signing, which thankfully Matthew does with some competence. His growth, while slow, is happening and it’s wonderful to watch.

Matthew turns three on November 28, and the following Monday he is eligible to start at a developmental preschool in the school district where we live. He’ll be bussed there, as it’s not our neighborhood school, which is two blocks away. Instead it’s the next school over, less than a mile from our house, and we hear that it’s an amazing program.

I’m so excited for him to spend his mornings in a rich, nurturing environment that is geared specifically for children who have language delays. Based on the babbling and vocalizing that Matthew does, I know that he WANTS dearly to communicate with us using words. He’s just struggling to figure out how.

So we still have a long way to go around here, but each little step—each new step that leads to confidence and assurance—helps this mama know and believe that we’re moving forward with our boy.

And especially when you’re a mama, it’s good to know that when a boy cries, you can take him in your arms, press him against your chest, hum a familiar song, and feel his breathing slow and his body relax. It’s good to know that a boy finds comfort in your arms.

Small, Important Moments

I just finished putting Matthew down for a nap. I think it might be my favorite time of day, especially during the summer when the sunshine warms our attic bedroom and the air feels still, sticky almost, as the fan blows on us and I soothe my boy to sleep.

Last Friday was the one-year anniversary of Matthew’s lip repair at Children’s Hospital. When I think back a year ago, I’m overwhelmed by how little we knew our son during that season. I remember the first night home from the hospital when Aaron, and then I, in turn, slept on the hard kitchen floor alongside Matthew, whose only comfort was to be found with his cheek pressed deeply into the cool, firm linoleum. There was so little I knew about him back then—so many ways I longed to comfort and care for him, but I always felt like I came up short.

And how much more fully I know my boy now, this year later, as I feel his warmth against my body and his breath wet against the skin of my chest. I love that moment when he crosses from awake to asleep, the final shudder, the weight of his body when it’s overtaken by sleep. I’ve come to treasure these nap moments—this time to sit silently and know that my body and my voice comforts my boy like no other.

Raising our first two children (both biological) hasn’t been easy, but with Matthew I am more aware of how all the small moments add up to a bigger kind of thing—a force of love and family and parenting that I was oblivious to with my older kids. Sure, I put the hours in with both of them from the first moment they drank milk from my breast. But the time just went by naturally, and I didn’t think much of the minutes and hours and days that both Aaron and I spent raising them.

With Matthew, it's different. I think it’s because he came to us having lived 18 months already—18 months that are unknown to us and appear to be a less than ideal environment for nurture and growth. Everything we do feels like a catch up right now, each hug or snuggle a chance to undo what was done to him in those early months.

I look ahead with anticipation to Matthew’s third birthday (which also happens to be Thanksgiving Day this year) because it’s a point of crossing for us—on that day, Matthew will have been part of our family as long has he wasn’t. That day, and every day after, marks a life for Matthew where our family—his family—takes on the bigger part of his history. It’s a good day—to celebrate his life and birthday, to celebrate 18 months of having him home with us—and to be glad that most of his life he will live in our family as a Russell. The orphanage is part of his story, but it’s just a small part—getting smaller and smaller as the years go on.

And what becomes larger and larger is this environment where he is loved and snuggled and tickled, where moms and dads don’t leave him, where brothers and sisters help him grow in a rich and nurturing learning environment.

I’ve heard it said that “time is the great healer.” I don’t know how true that is for everyone else, but I am convinced that one of the most important aspects to this adoption is the passing of time and the small moments that add up to a lifetime of love and affection.

It’s been 14 months with Matthew, and each of those months is comprised of moments like today: snuggles, hugs, laughter, babbles, playtime—and some frustrations and challenges too.

But a boy is made of all these things, spun into being from love and hardship and the solid presence of people who will love him always—and a family is knit together this way too.

 

Bath time for the boys

Playing at the park with Riley

A hike down a trail with friends

Signing "more" to big sister Maya

The threesome on the trampoline in Missoula

Exploring Aunt Chrisy's backyard

Summer

One of the best parts of summer is the freedom to play outside from sun up to sun down. Matthew LOVES being outside, and since we’ve made some changes to our backyard, the kids are fairly free to roam back there whenever they like.

Last weekend Maya, Sam, and their cousin Parker put on a show for the rest of the family, and Matthew got to play a role. One new change in Matthew is that his sense of himself as a social being is developing, and he’s taking a more active role in playing with other children these days. I love to watch him run around after his siblings, laughing and following them even though he’s not totally sure what game they are playing.

He also loves playing with water—the hose is his favorite part of the backyard. Sun or clouds, if we give him the chance, he’ll be soaked to the bone and having the time of his life.

The other wonderful (and terrible) change in Matthew is that he’s moved into a stage of temper tantrums. Man, can he throw a first-class tantrum. It’s frustrating sometimes, but I am also thankful because I can tell he’s frustrated himself by not being able to communicate, and I expect that his frustration will eventually push him over the edge into saying some words.

He is TWO, after all. ‘Tis the season for temper tantrums, and it’s nice to see he’s right on target for some things!

Summer is flying by and we are taking advantage of each and every moment we can.