Day is Done

There are some days that are better when they are over. Today was one of those days.

Matthew’s surgery went off without a hitch, and he’s well into recovery. It’s amazing how quickly little people heal—I’m so grateful for that.

We checked in at the surgical center around 8:45 this morning and were taken straight back to the pre-op area. My friend Bebeth came and joined us around 9:15. Around 9:30 it became apparent that things were running pretty late in the operating room, so the surgical nurse gave us permission to take Matthew (in his little hospital gown) and walk around the hospital until they were ready for us—it’s a good thing we did, because they ended up running almost 90 minutes late. Matthew enjoyed running all around the hospital, checking out the fish tank, playing with the fish imprints on the floor, and jumping on and off a bench.

When we finally made our way back to the surgery center, we got to see the surgical dentist and the anesthesiologist, and then it was time to carry Matthew back to the OR. I got to wear the fun, gauzy white jumpsuit again and the stylish hat and booties. 

I felt like an old pro, having carried him into the operating room three times prior, but I have to admit that it was still overwhelming and kind of freaky walking into the bright, white operating room and laying my boy down on the table. The anesthesiologist put the gas mask over his mouth and nose, and it took about two minutes for him to conk out, so I sang “The Wheels on the Bus” and “Tis a Gift to be Simple” until I could tell he was asleep. Then I gave him a little kiss on the cheek and was escorted back to the pre-surgical area.

My friend Bebeth and I got coffee and lunch and hung out in the hospital until the procedure was done. We got to talk at length with the surgical dentist (Dr. Kelly—really LOVED him) and then about 1:30 we got called back to the post-op area. A nurse carried Matthew into us, and he reached right for me. He was kind of groggy and grumpy, but he did a lot better once the nurse took the IV out of his arm and removed the tape stuck all over him.

After a sippy cup of warm milk (one of his favorite things ever) and a cup of yogurt, we got to go home. The rest of this afternoon and evening Matthew was sweet and kind of sleepy, but he seems to be recovering just fine. The dentist didn’t need to pull any teeth, but he did trim some of his gums, cap a tooth, and shave down a couple other teeth—so it’s likely he’ll have a little bit of oral discomfort for a day or two. Thank goodness for ibuprofen.

Many kind thanks to everyone who was sending thoughts and prayers our way. I was also thankful for the many test messages and phone calls today (and sorry for not replying to most of them).

At this point we anticipate that it will be another couple years before we have to lay foot in the surgery center again, which is a good thing. I don’t think this mama can handle another day like this one for a good long while.

Ashes, the ER and surgery

There are ashes on my forehead tonight.

Ashes thanks to my good friend, who also happens to be a pastor, who made a house call with his ash bowl after work today to mark this black smudge on my forehead—a symbolic gesture of an unseen mark that is there already, that is there always.

It’s fitting to wear this black smudge on my forehead after the day (no, the week) we’ve had around her—and after the day that awaits tomorrow. When ashes are marked on the forehead on Ash Wednesday, they come with these words: “remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” The topic of this act is the very human, earthliness of our bodies, and it’s the bodies of my children that have been at the forefront of my mind for some days.

We’ve had several bouts of sickness around here, but a few days ago Sam’s bugs took a turn for the worst. The pediatrician suspected appendicitis and sent us to the ER last night, where we sat for over three hours, discouraged and frustrated, until we bundled up our boy and took him home. But this morning, after another conversation with the pediatric nurse, we went back to the ER, where we were indeed admitted and spent several hours. Turns out Sam’s just battling a pretty intensive case of the stomach flu and was severely dehydrated. So we waited at the hospital until his fluid levels were back up to a normal level, and then they sent us home.

Sam in the ER this morning.

Which was a good thing because now we’re home preparing for Matthew to have dental surgery tomorrow. Because of his cleft lip and palate coupled with his orphanage start, Matthew will have ongoing dental challenges for quite a while. We knew that this was a significant possibility when we said yes to a child with cleft. So tomorrow Matthew needs to have a procedure done—one that can’t be done in a dentist’s chair, so they’ve scheduled him into surgery with a general anesthetic so they can fix the problems in his mouth.

Matthew's bath on the eve of his surgical procedure.

Oh dear me, what a crazy few days it’s been, and I anticipate a few crazy days still ahead too. Tonight I’m turning my attention from one child (Sam) to another (Matthew), preparing my mama heart to walk my boy into the OR once again, to sit in the surgery center and wait to hear it’s all gone well, and then to try and comfort our boy as he wakes up from anesthesia.

I’m grateful that my friend, who is also the mama of a beautiful China cleft lip/palate girl, is going to come hang with me at the hospital. It will be good to have some company, especially from someone who kind of gets it (she’s been through surgery with her daughter already too!).

It’s not really all that big of a deal, but after the week we’ve had, with two ER visits, I’m a little spooked by hospitals and not looking forward to tomorrow.

So if you’re reading this and are willing to send some thoughts or prayers Matthew’s way tomorrow, I’d really appreciate it. We could use all the good wishes we can get. Thanks, friends.

Singing Through the Days

I think virtually any parent will tell you that there are moments in the parenting journey when for one moment everything is lovely and then in an instant, you feel sorrow so intense that it might just rip your heart out. Perhaps those kinds of experiences are even more poignant and present with an adopted child. I don’t know, since this is honestly my first time parenting an adopted child and some days I feel like a total newbie, but I suspect that it’s true.

I had one of those experiences tonight with Matthew—one of those moments in my own head that started beautiful and turned so deeply sorrowful and then back to joy again. Here’s what happened:

As an educator who has always been interested in multiple intelligences, it’s really fascinating to me watching Matthew start to take off in his development, only to realize with delight that some of his strengths are things I didn’t expect. One strength that is developing is his amazing love of music and songs. He can’t speak one single real word, but our son has a repertoire of about five recognizable songs that he can—and does—hum throughout the day. Totally in tune. It’s amazing.

The first one I recognized was Wheels on the Bus. Next it was Row, Row, Row Your Boat. Then came The Farmer in the Dell. The fourth is a tune I’ve sung to him since he came home—one that reminded me of the sounds he made with his thumb in his mouth but has since morphed into a version of the Campbell Soup song: “Mmm Good, mmm, Good. That’s What Campbell’s Soup is, mmm good.” With his thumb in his mouth, it sounds like a Cantonese version of the soup commercial. Hilarious and adorable.

Then all day today I noticed that Matthew was singing a familiar tune, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was. At first he was just humming the first half, but then later today he started humming the whole song. And tonight it finally dawned on me: Just a few days ago, Matthew’s preschool teacher wrote a note saying Matthew was learning to sing the “Hello” and “Goodbye” songs with the rest of the kids. I realized the song he was humming today was that song:

Hello friends,

Hello friends,

Hello friends,

How are you today?

And then the goodbye version, sung to the same tune:

Goodbye friends,

Goodbye friends,

Goodbye friends,

We’ll see you here next time

I first learned this song from an album that my brother gave me when Maya was born. I had to admit that tonight when I realized what Matthew was singing, I started to cry tears of joy. Matthew’s love of song is another testament to the fact that his ears are finally working and he’s really hearing the world around him. It was also amazing for me to realize that Matthew’s not just singing songs he hears at home but also at school—that the gift of music is present in all places of his life.

It was a lovely moment for me, tears streaming down my face. I love seeing this little person emerge from his shell—love seeing him open up and take in the world around him—love knowing that he is moving forward and gaining skills and knowledge because of preschool and the love and support of family and friends—all the people who have come alongside him to help him learn and grow.

But that wasn’t the deeply sad moment. No, that moment happened later in the evening.

It was 7:00 and I had gathered up Matthew to change him and get him ready for bed. He was smiling up at me from the changing table, again humming the “Hello” song, and I remembered something we had read during our adoption training—that new studies about the nature/nurture debate are showing that it turns out most of us are about 90% nature after all. Our temperaments and behaviors are significantly shaped by the nurturing families around us, and we learn to grow and develop because of those wonderful forces, but when it comes down to it, the most recent behavioral science suggests that most of who we are comes from something biological.

And it dawned on me tonight, while changing Matthew’s diaper and getting him into his pajamas, that his love of music and his amazingly in-tune ear don’t come from me and Aaron, but are knitted deeply into his biological make up.

Someone in his biological family is musical.

And then I couldn’t stop the tears from running down my cheeks as I looked closely at this beautiful boy who is my son and felt so sorrowfully all that his family lost when they left him on that street corner in Xucheng Town.

They’ll likely never know that their boy loves music. They won’t see him work so hard to learn, watch him say his first word or learn to read or become this amazing human being that he is becoming.

And after standing still with the weight of all the sadness one mama’s heart can hold, my sorrow turned to joy again as I realized that even though I didn’t give Matthew the music gene, I get to foster it—to develop it—to nurture it. We are a singing family—we sing our way through our days. We sing in the morning. We make up songs about breakfast and getting dressed and Matthew’s bus driver who takes him to school each day. And we sing in the evening—bowing our heads in thanks at the dinner table, doing dishes, taking baths, tucking small people into bed.

Music comprises the greater part of our day at our house, and Matthew’s proclivity toward music multiplies and adds to the tapestry of our family in blessed ways.

I’ve said it before, and I still know it’s true—loss will always sneak its way into our lives somehow, no matter what we do to keep it out. Adoption is beauty and new life and love, but it’s also loss and grief and sorrow. I suppose that’s the way life is—and adoption is no different.

But when those tears start to pool in my eyes and my heart weighs heavy with the knowledge of all that Matthew has lost, I will pull that little boy into my arms and hug him tight—and together we’ll sing our own song of joy and sorrow—the lines a kind of melody and harmony that break my heart with their intertwining loss and loveliness.

And music will soothe us even when nothing else can.

Boy Oh Boy

I excitedly posted this comment on Facebook yesterday:

This note came home from Matthew's preschool teacher today and made this mama's heart soar: "Matthew seemed very relaxed today and made lots of eye contact. He is growing leaps and bounds right before our eyes!"

Ninety-seven “likes” later (thank you dear friends and family for your unbridled enthusiasm for our boy), my heart is even more full than it was. It’s hard to explain how it feels to invest in a boy for months and months with what feels like such little returns, only to wake up one morning and see the tangible results of that investment.

So in case you were wondering, preschool is going SO WELL for Matthew. He loves his teachers and his classroom, he’s learning to play with other students, he’s signing like crazy, sitting in circle time, experimenting with eating new foods, and settling into the routine like it’s old hat.

I’m thrilled.

It’s a busy time at our house right now, as I’ve shared before, since Matthew is our little explorer and scientist, and we cannot take our eyes off him for a second. He’s climbing bookshelves, re-arranging furniture, drawing on upholstery, pushing every button he can find, and generally making whatever mischief he can possibly make.

But even though Aaron and I roll our eyes several times a day and sometimes audibly moan at our exhaustion, we’re also secretly thrilled at the ways Matthew is waking up to the world around him. It’s amazing to realize that he’s hearing words and sounds, that he’s soaking them in and processing them and coming to understand them.

I’ve had a shift in my heart these past weeks too. Learning to love a child who comes to you already formed and shaped is a strange thing, and in the midst of all the transition, there were honestly times when I had to work hard to feel attached to my boy. He was new and strange (as I’m sure we were also to him), and when he didn’t respond in ways that I expected him to, I felt distanced from him and frustrated too. It was hard to understand him (it still is sometimes, honestly). But the longer we’ve spent time together, the more we’ve come to know each other, and the more he awakens to the world and begins asserting himself as a social being, the more I am falling head-over-heels in love with this boy.

Yes, it’s his sweet face that I think is so beautiful. He’s such a handsome boy, with his deep brown eyes, his luscious lips, his perfect cheekbones. He’s really quite a gorgeous kiddo.

His body is also familiar and beautiful to me, and strong and able too. Despite his many social challenges, Matthew’s physical development has really completely caught up (which is a miracle in itself) and I’ve always given thanks for strong and capable body that carries my boy through his days.

But these days it’s more than just the graceful features of my boy that make this mama’s heart swell. For the first time I’m seeing pieces of Matthew’s personality emerge—his sense of humor, his persistence, his determination—and I’m falling in love with those things too. I remember telling Aaron, after we had been matched with Matthew but hadn’t yet brought him home, that I hoped our third child would be calm and mild-mannered.

What a funny laugh now that neither “calm” nor “mild-mannered” are words I’d use to describe our boy. But now I understand that his persistence and his largess of presence are so important to his ability to thrive in our family and our world. If he was meek and reluctant, hesitant or cautious, he wouldn’t be doing so well in his development, overcoming so many challenges. It’s exactly his STRONG personality that is helping him move through this season.

Today I had this funny thought: Although this journey is foggy and unclear at best right now, one day I’ll look back and see a clear trajectory of development for Matthew that I hope I will finally understand.

It’s always this way, I suppose. When you’re in the thick of things, it’s hard to see where you are going. But once you arrive somewhere, there’s the blessing of looking back and finally saying “oh yeah, NOW I get it.”

That moment will be grace upon grace for this mama’s heart.