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!

New Skills and New Friends

I’ve been working on a blog post in my head for several days (perhaps weeks) now, but every time I think I find the time to sit down and write it out, some other person here needs me or I am so exhausted I can barely drag myself to the couch for some evening television time.

And the posts I’ve been working on have ran the gamut of subjects, but most of them have been about the challenges of being tired parents caring for a 2-year old who is totally into everything. It’s funny, because around here we groan and cheer at the very same time. We groan because Matthew is into absolutely everything. But we cheer too because he’s learning new things and showcasing his skills in a veritable cirque de soleil.

I’m not kidding about him being into everything. For example, one of his favorite things to do is drive little matchbox cars on the keys of the new piano we just brought into our house. He opens the lid, then proceeds to play at being Mozart with a metal car in his hand. Sometimes he takes to banging on the keys so hard it sounds like the walls will cave in.

He also likes to pull the wooden vents out of the floor and fling them across the room. He chucks very large toys across the hardwood floors. He crawls under the table and plays and laughs to himself. And one of his favorite games is being chased around the dining room table. He literally squeals with delight as his brother or sister chases him.

When we put something up high, he promptly does everything he can to reach it down again. And if he can’t reach it, he starts to yell and cry. He expresses frustration—which is frustrating and lovely to me, both. He yanks on his high chair when he’s hungry, pushes away the spoon when he’s full, and fusses in a sing-song tone when he’s tired.

It’s all rather exhausting, but we’re so delighted that we don’t mind being tired. Our boy is learning so much. When I look back to January 1, I can’t believe all the skills he’s gained in less than two months.

But perhaps one of the most amazing things happened this very night when Matthew and I were sitting in the living room reading bedtime books. We read the same ones every night, mostly to build routine with him, and I’ve selected a few specific ones that have objects in them that he likes and knows. His favorite book right now is Spot Loves His Daddy. In that book, a father and son pair of dogs have a little adventure together. They play in the park with a ball, go to the beach, play on the hillside with a kite while a little bird watches, feed the ducks at the pond (“quack, quack”), and read a bedtime story at night. The very last page is of Spot, the dog, with a soccer ball (the same one earlier in the book).

We’ve been working on the word “ball.” Matthew obviously knows this word because when we ask him to go get a ball, he does. But tonight we were looking at the book and I got to the last page. I said, “Matthew, where’s the ball,” and my boy stuck out his pointer finger and pointed right to it.

I could hardly believe it!

Just so I knew this momentous achievement wasn’t an act of luck, we read the entire book a second time so we could arrive once more on the back page. And I said again, “Matthew, where’s the ball?” And of course my smart boy pointed to the ball again with his pointer finger.

It’s such a delight to watch him learn and begin to understand the world around him. I can’t tell you what a gift it is to finally have him come up and grab me by the hand and lead me somewhere in the house. Usually it’s just because he’s dropped a car behind the bookshelf and needs me to fetch it, but I’m thrilled no matter what he needs from me. The point is HE NEEDS SOMETHING FROM ME. And he has learned to express it.

One last little blessing of the past week has been finally meeting another adoptive family whom we’ve been in communication with since last fall. They traveled in early January to pick up their daughter, who was also born with a cleft lip and palate. I’ve mentioned them before, but we were so grateful to have them join us for dinner on Saturday night. It warmed my heart to see Matthew and their youngest daughter side by side in the high chair—both China-babes, both having lived through placement in an American family, and both going through a similar process to repair their cleft lips and palates.

And the big siblings enjoyed their time together too. In some ways being an adoptive family is so normal and feels the same as being an all-biological family. But it’s also different, and this is complicated by having a child with a cleft lip and palate. We are grateful for these new friends who are walking a similar journey to us. And I feel especially thankful that Matthew will grow up knowing other children who share a similar life adventure.

This is a long post—if you’ve made it all the way through, you show great fortitude. We continue to be encouraged by this adoption journey and all the amazing people we’ve come to know through the process. And we are, of course, always grateful for the love and support of the family and friends who have seen us through this long season and promise to stay beside us no matter what comes.

A sink bath during a weekend away at a log cabin in Anacortes.

I'm not so sure about this, Mom.

Matthew and his new buddy Amara, who came home from China in January.

Smiling kids who all have little siblings adopted from China (plus they really enjoyed each other's company!).

How it really is these days

I realized today that although I’ve been pretty good keeping up with this blog in terms of documenting all the major events in our life, it’s been quite a while since I’ve given a real update about how Matthew is doing, and about how we are doing having Matthew in our family.

It was easier to be raw and real in China, when it seemed like we wore every emotion on our sleeve, when family and friends were so far away we breathed the distance with every breath, and when nothing was familiar except the words on the page.

Now it’s different. We’re home, living life together, facing the many challenges that any family faces, and trying to find a new rhythm together, a new normal.

So I’m happy to tell you that after eight long months, we’ve finally found that rhythm.

“Nobody said adoption was for sissies,” wrote some friends on their blog three days after they returned from China with their newly adopted daughter. How right they are. And I might even be willing to change that statement so it says, “nobody said parenting was for sissies,” because as any parent of a child knows, parenting takes patience, energy, resilience, creativity and just plain determination.

But perhaps this adoption thing is something else entirely. Perhaps when a child isn’t born into a family but instead spends 18 months lying in a crib with no one touching him or talking to him, he comes home to parents who have to teach him how to be a boy—how to be a human being, really. And that teaching is hard work, enough to leave a mama bone tired at the end of a day, and a daddy too.

Bone tired we have been. And we’ve given this journey every little part of ourselves. So what a gift it is, eight months later, to arrive at a place where we are finally seeing the fruits of our labor.

Let me explain.

But first, allow me this one confession. I have spent the last four weeks feeling very ANGRY at China and the child welfare system there. I know, I know—when we brought Matthew home, I wrote about wanting always to feel gratitude for his orphanage that they kept him alive and helped him grow for 18 months. But for some reason in late December, I started reading some other adoption blogs and ran into some very hard orphanage stories. One orphanage, in particular, has stuck with me. It’s located very close to Matthew’s orphanage, and the adoptive parents who visited it were overwhelmed with its horror.  Things went on there that should never happen to children. It was similar in size to Matthew’s orphanage (about 30-35 children) with a very small staff of caregivers. Children were strapped to toilets for hours at a time until they could produce results, children who were as young as 12 months. Cribs were metal railings with wooden slats—no mattress or covering under the babies. This is likely what Matthew slept on as well, which explains his fascination with hard surfaces, especially the wood floors in our house. Walls were whitewashed and lacked color. There were very little toys.

It was a terrible place.

But the worst part was that when this particular family went to leave the orphanage, the orphanage director sat them down and asked them to sign a paper saying they had visited the orphanage and “found it satisfactory.” The adoptive parents could hardly pick up the pen and sign the paper—but they knew that if they didn’t sign, all 30 of the children in this orphanage might no longer be eligible for adoption. It’s a complicated system, in China, like in many other places in the world where “orphans” are cast aside and institutionalized.

And as we have encountered so many challenges with Matthew—the most recent being his language and communication—I’ve felt angry again and again about the circumstances of his first 18 months. Aaron and I are quite sure that he never sustained any actual abuse. But he was the victim of institutional neglect that left him without much human contact, and with very little stimulation. When we think of all the challenges that face him already because he is an international adoptee and has a cleft lip and palate, we can hardly fathom how different his development might have been had he received nurture and touch from the very beginning of his life. And what’s even more ironic is that we were matched with him on his one-year birthday but were forced (by the adoption system) to wait until he was 18 months to pick him up. Six long months (another 50% of his life) that he was lying in that orphanage with no one to touch or talk to him.

So I’ve let myself be angry, although I haven’t exactly known where to vent it. I do understand that orphaned children are the result of many factors, not just some policies in China. Children are often the victims of our world’s greed, poverty, and strange moral decision-making. Matthew is just one child among thousands (probably millions) who have gotten caught up in this. China certainly isn’t solely to blame.

But still this mama’s heart has ached over this travesty.

It’s amazing, though, because being more acquainted with this system and imagining Matthew’s orphanage life a little more clearly, I’ve also grown in my understanding of my son, which I consider a gift. When I think about him lying in a crib for 18 months without a caregiver’s touch and consistent voice, when I think about him crying with no one to respond to him, it first makes my heart break, but it also helps make sense of some of his “strange” behavior. Like how it’s taken eight months for him to make eye contact with me, or how he’s just now initiating relationships.

And that is the good news. After all this time, coming through three surgeries and a significant amount of pain, transition, and trauma, our boy is waking up to the world around him. He’s not saying words yet, but he’s starting to use some sign language to tell us things (more, milk, all done, bye). He’s making car noises, trying to imitate sounds, and asking us for help by his body and his eyes. He wants to be held ALL THE TIME, his warm body melting into mine. He’s grown sturdy and strong (and even a little chubby, having gained 9 pounds since he got home 7 ½ months ago). He is eating a huge amount of solid food, loves trying new things, plays hard all day long, and reaches for me or Aaron every chance he can get. And he cries (thank goodness) and when he cries, he knows we’ll be there in an instant to hold or hug him, or to help him. In our house, crying does mean something. And he’s learned this during the past eight months.

It’s a miracle. A miracle.

I am so proud of him—my smart, strong boy who is unlearning past habits (like isolation, withdrawal, lack of communication) and starting to learn new patterns of communicating and interacting with us. It’s all so gorgeous, I can hardly write about it without feeling tears come to my eyes.

I’m quite sure I will always feel both gratitude and anger toward China and its systems for Matthew’s early months of life. I will also feel so thankful that he ended up matched with our family and has made us complete as a family of five. I can’t imagine life without him—really, truly.

As I watched my three children playing together earlier this evening, it dawned on me that what once felt strange and new now feels normal—as it should be. Matthew is here, he has found his place in our family, and he will be with us forever. The first 18 months, although they seemed long when we got home, will dissolve into almost no time at all as Matthew grows up in our family and continues to learn and develop.

This is probably the best gift of all.

So don’t get me wrong—we still have plenty of challenging days, where our energy doesn’t seem like enough and our questions and worries are still huge. But when I hold my boy close at bedtime, singing my mama songs in his ear, rubbing his head and feet, giving him kisses, I’m so proud of his courage and strength, so grateful that he is home and we have settled into this new life.

And I can’t wait to see what waits ahead for him—and for us—on this incredible journey.

Our Northwest boy home from a walk in the rain with his mama!

Matthew's Baptism

This morning, Matthew was baptized at our church, First Presbyterian of Snohomish. It was a special day for all of us, as we remembered together how God made Matthew and has already been accompanying him on his life journey.

Our dear friends Phil and Kaitlin were in town with their two sweet girls (Mara and Vivian). They are Matthew's godparents and joined us up front for the baptism. After the service, we hosted a gathering at our house and invited a whole host of friends and family to come celebrate with us.

It's been a blessed day--and a special time to celebrate Matthew and his life. We love him and are so thankful that he is part of our family. It was a gift to us to see all the other people in our lives who also love him and pledge to supporting him and walking beside him in life.

Here are a few photos from the day:

Kaitlin holds Matthew while Pastor Charlie pours the water on his head.

A slightly blurry photo--but you get the picture!

Pastor Ann prays for Matthew.

Matthew and his godparents, Phil and Kaitlin.

A photo after the service.

Matthew with my parents Barbara & Bruce (aka Marmie & Bapa)

Kaitlin with her sweet daughter Vivian.

Matthew's baptism cake.

My dear friend Nina (and her husband Joel in the corner) who came to celebrate with us.

So far in January . . .

we've kept ourselves busy with many adventures and activities. It's been a good month of slowing down and settling in. No more surgeries, no more huge transitions--just good, full life. Here are a few things going on at our house:

Matthew has discovered the outside. He stands here and watches cars.

Our boy is smiling A LOT. This warms his mama's heart.

We celebrated my cousin's bridal shower and my grandma got to come!

Maya and I paid Gonna another special visit.

Matthew tried on his baptism outfit (I think he likes it!)

Some friends gave us their piano and Maya has started lessons!