Breaking Point

Friday night we argued so badly about what we should do, versus what we wanted to do. Or, more clearly, what we didn't want to do, which was be burdened by the needs of another baby. I was so mad at Scott I could hardly breathe. His tension with me was pretty high as well. I wanted one thing, then immediately went the other direction. It was a very literal battle playing out within ourselves and between each other. It came down to three things for me.

1- If we agreed that God's timing was perfect in how and when He brought us each of our three boys, then who were we to say His timing was less than perfect this time.

2- What if God brought her here to us because of her needs? What if He knew we would provide all we could for her?

3- What if He brought her to us because He knew she would learn about Jesus here?

Was it worth it to me, to be inconvenienced and burdened by her, in order for her to hear the message of Jesus Christ and learn of His saving grace?

I'm not sure how the answer could ever be no. But still....and this is a hard thing to say....in the same breath, I wondered, could we give her all of that if we never learned to love her. Truly love. The "you are mine and I am yours" kind of love that brings out the mama tiger in us women. When you know you could tear down a wall if it was the only way to get to your child. When the sound of that cry means more to you then just a noise. It's a cry for mommy and the response is a desire to answer. What if that love never happened?

So we 'slept', or tossed around in irritated slumber, that night. Scott decided by morning that if her being here was going to cause such emotional strife, it was best if she did not stay. Being that it was Saturday now, we decided to make the call first thing Monday morning. It was agonizing. I was afraid if I insisted she stayed, that Scott would resent me forever,  while simultaneously, I feared that if she left, I would resent him. Saturday is a blur. It came and went, most likely, with more of the same conversations we had been having all week.

Meanwhile, our boys. They were finally over the strep and viruses that had them down that week. Fevers and moods were back to normal and without paying it much mind, they had become quite the little helpers. They took turns helping her hold her bottle. They laid on the blanket with her, rolling and patting her. They made faces and talked with her, tickled her feet and dangled toys for her to see. They jumped right up when she cried to see what she needed, and alerted me immediately of her tears. In a weeks time, they had become protective, supportive, loving big brothers.

This brought a new question to mind that night....what will we tell the boys?

Love Comes in a Box

By the next day, we started receiving packages from my family, sending gifts for baby girl. They were all so excited for us, and thrilled that we had a girl now! My mom had coworkers bring her bags of hand-me-downs to send to us, dresses and jammies, bows and shoes.....I just opened them and cried. All these people were being so supportive and here we are, struggling to even commit to keeping her. We had begun having the conversation that we could call our worker and let her know it was more than we could handle and they could find another home for this blue eyed girl we were unable to call 'ours'.

I cried, my tummy ached, my irritation soared when I was 'inconvenienced', and I couldn't stand to hear Scott complain about it. At this point in our first week with her, I totally and completely blamed him and it made me mad for him to mention 'sending her back'. As far as I could tell, we shouldn't have even said yes, and it was all his fault that we did. By Friday, we were bickering more than we ever had. Now that she was here, now that we were up most nights, now that the boys 'had a little sister', he was realizing he didn't think he wanted to do another round of cutting teeth, or potty training. Now, that we were almost through a week of sickness, now that I was struggling day in and day out to learn to love this baby; struggling to find resolution, or peace about a decision either way; struggling to smile at her when her big blue eyes locked on to mine in that 'knowing' kind of way. She knew I was hers, long before I realized she was mine. Now. And I could not have been more angry or hurt over it all.

On either Thursday or Friday that week, I opened another box. This one from my Texas people. My Aunt Vicki sent a few things and a note expressing how wonderful she thought it was that we now had a baby girl in our boy filled home. I could feel her joy and it made me sad. As I continued reading, she told me about the blanket that she had included in the package. It was a sweet, lace trimmed, baby pink blanket that her mom, (my Gram's sister) Aunt Charlotte, had made when Vickie was pregnant with her second child in the early 80's. They were all convinced she was having a girl and so this precious blanket was made and ready for 'her' arrival. Well, 'she' turned out to be another 'he'...my cousin Kevin! They were over the moon to have another boy but saved that pink blanket hoping someone down the line would one day have a daughter to wrap up in this treasure. Then a few years ago, Kevin was killed in a car accident. While he was likely never wrapped in this pink blanket, I knew the significance of her sending this to me was great and I was instantly humbled and ashamed. I called my mom crying, asking her, "How am I supposed to tell Aunt Vicki we have mostly likely decided not to keep her?'. I couldn't even bring myself to take the blanket out of the box.

I confided in my older sister, Shanon, (who lived in Oklahoma at the time) about the depth of my struggle. I confessed to her how ashamed I was that one of the reasons I wasn't sure we wanted to keep her was not knowing the extent of her needs. She was very delayed. In fact, at 6 months old was more like a 1-2 month old. We were so uncertain about taking this challenge on, when life with our boys was already so busy. What if she was deaf? Did we want to commit our entire family to needing to learn to sign?! My nephew, her son, Zach, has special needs. She understands first hand, the joys and the challenges faced when raising a non-typical child. She is one of the most patient and loving parents I have ever seen in action, and is the best big sister a girl could have. She listened with compassion and understanding that day. She shared her own insight and assured me, that whatever we decided would be ok. If we chose to keep her, we would be fine, that we would adjust as a family and face whatever came our way. And, if we chose not too, no one would be mad at us. No one would find blame or fault. Shanon demonstrates with her words and her actions, that while raising a special needs child might come with it's own difficulties, it also comes with great love and true happiness.

I knew after talking with her, that saying no to this baby for fear of what her needs may one day be, was about the most ugly, selfish thing we had ever considered. Not by the way she made me feel that day, but by the love we all have for Zach. How could you say 'no' just because he has a greater need? In the same way, I now knew if we said no, it would not be for fear of her needs, but because we just didn't want to say yes.

Feeling Suffocated

Remember, a few blogs ago, how I said, these things are hard to admit in private, let alone write about so publicly? Keep that in mind for this whole first week. Nothing I'm going to write about myself makes me look like a very kind person, let alone a decent mother. But again, the gloriousness....it's coming.

Monday mornings doctor visit proved what I suspected...all three boys had strep, and two also had a virus. This was the first time all three had ever been sick together, let alone all had such a severe case of strep throat. Of course. Because why wouldn't that happen just 2-3 days after the arrival of a new baby?! So, we headed home for a day of movies, fluids and hopefully sleep.

We got the movies and the juice, but the sleep....who are we kidding! Little one was just not a good sleeper, yet, and the boys, they hurt, they cried, Mason threw up. All of which I can handle, but every time she cried, it made me a little more irritable. Didn't she realize I had three sick boys who needed me? Couldn't she just nap? Scott got home early and helped by adding two hands. We managed dinner and baths and got everyone down for bed.

I think somewhere that day, my anger at him began. I wanted to close the home. This was all his fault. Or at least that's where I placed my anger. Better at him, than the kids, but still, it wasn't fair. Meanwhile, his selfishness began to brew. We had finally made it to a place where the boys were sleeping through the night, our nap routine was working, all three had their own rooms before her and had all cut all their teeth. He didn't like having his morning coffee interrupted by the cries of a baby, again. And it all started to irritate him, too.

Not to dwell on it, but I know how bad this sounds. If we had gotten pregnant again, or even been seeking to adopt, or looking to bring in another baby, it would have been so different. While we decided to leave our home open, there was no way to prepare emotionally for the addition of another baby, until it was upon us. We did choose to say yes, but otherwise, there is so little you can do to ready yourself for the changes that will befall your home when you add unplanned kids.

Monday night, and into Tuesday, was about the same as it had been. Very little sleep, lots of fussing, more throw up, constant spit up and a mommy on the edge. At one point that day I found myself crying on the floor trying to hold all four crying kids,  babbling and pleading my way through the "I'm sorry. Mommy's trying." speech. It was pitiful. It was then that I started praying. "Ok God, you brought this lady to the Subway....were we supposed to say no? Help me!"

I have a dear friend, Angela...you know the kind, she can tell when my "I'm fine" is real, and when it's a lie. She understands that just because you have a heart for adoption, doesn't mean the transition is always easy. When we talk on the phone, she knows when my first tears fall and tells me just because it isn't easy, doesn't mean it isn't worth it. She loves that we now had a baby girl, even if she thinks we might be crazy, and I know she'll love me, and my kids, right through our crazy, because she's that kind of friend. Well, she called me sometime that day, I'm sure expecting she'd hear how sweet baby girl is and how well we were all settling in, but instead, when I hesitated, she knew. She knew it wasn't the pretty picture everyone likes to imagine it is when you invite a child into your life and she listened to me. She heard my selfish, vain complaints that day. She sympathized, she encouraged, she allowed me to say, without judgement,  that I felt suffocated and I didn't know if we could do it. And she asked if there was anything she could do to help. Well, of course, times like that, when a mom really needs the help, are the very times it's impossible to imagine anyone walking into your home and seeing you in this state. So, I said, thanks, but no thanks. We hung up that day after lots of tears.

The next morning, maybe around lunch time, I saw a car pull in the drive. It was Angela. She came in with a hug and declined my offer for a cup of coffee. She said, "I'm here to hold a baby, give you a chance for a shower, or a nap, or a drink...whatever you need, but I'm here." I can't hold my tears back even now, remembering how much it meant to me that she was there. There are not enough fancy words, but here's my Facebook post made later that day....

"Humbled and oh so grateful for the selfless acts of a friend. New 5 mo old, and 3 sick boys, 3 with strep, 2 with an additional virus and high temps. I needed a breath....thank you Angela for helping me get that breath and my baby boy back to the doctor today. There are not enough thank you's out there!! Love you!!"

It was enough of a breath to get me thinking about how I was feeling about this baby. She was difficult. Needy. Why did God bring her here? And in the midst of my frustration, exhaustion and selfishness, one thought began creeping in my mind.....if His timing was perfect with all three of our boys, why would I assume it was not perfect this time.

Not Getting Easier

If Friday night was tough, I'm not sure what to call the whole first week. Saturday, when we woke, I knew I needed to get the two boys to the doctor, so I called as soon as they were open. I took baby girl in as well, as we always do when a new child enters our home. The strep tests were negative for the boys, and she seemed fine. Delayed in many areas, but otherwise, ok. I headed home with a diagnosis of 'drainage' for two fussy boys and a new feeding recommendation for a fussy baby girl.

Our first full day was spent mostly trying to establish a routine, and allow everyone time to get to know each other. Baby was one week from being six months old. She had terrible torticollis that had been untreated, when lying on her stomach she could not hold her head up, could not roll over, could not hold her own bottle, could not sit or pull up, and would not engage with toys around her. Failure to thrive. (I think that means, if left in her current state, she would not thrive...would not develop...may not live.) Our boys were all pretty active by six months old, so it was hard to see this little one, virtually unable to move. I sat with her on a blanket in the middle of the living room floor and let the boys play around her. She loved to watch them run and play, moving her head side to side and occasionally stretching out to them. I'm not sure she had ever seen such activity and she wanted to be involved, just didn't have the means. The activity was good for her, but it wore her out and often frustrated her.

She cried, a lot. Spit up, a lot. Needed held, a lot. Which are all expected with a baby. In and of themselves, not a big deal, but the boys were crabby, and it was difficult to 'enjoy' the sound of crying from an unfamiliar baby in our already loud home. This is a hard sensory effect to try to explain, and maybe it needs no explanation for some, but I feel it deserves just a little. (This is based on my personal experience and is not intended to speak for anyone else who may feel differently about these things.) A crying baby is only sweet for so long. I LOVE babies and their unique form of communication, but, after a time, it can be hard to take. This was true for all three of our sons when something in their little world was amiss and all they knew to do was keep on crying, and now it was astoundingly true with her. If you recall, I was pretty well ok with closing our home and not having any more kids show up, rocking the metaphorical boat I was steering, but now another was here, and she wouldn't stop crying. Worse than the crying for me, was how hard of a time I was having with compassion for her tears. I had two fussy boys that needed me and the third starting to get puny. I was busy. I tended to her needs, but I wasn't full of joy in doing so. I was selfish and a little begrudging.

We made it through that first full day and second night. Our new feeding regiment and style didn't have much affect that first night, but she did seem to enjoy not sleeping in the car seat. I could see her little body trying to stretch and squitch about the crib, which was good, even though it was accompanied by more reflux and spit up. I prayed that we had done the right thing saying 'yes' this time, but inside, I was a little worried.

It was Saturday night now, and all were asleep. We debated about going to church the next day, but decided we should. We needed the prayers and encouragement of our church family. We needed to get out of the house. And I needed a break from, well, my fussy kids and the new crying baby.

Being on time for church was a weekly battle, never mind adding a fourth child...the three crabby boys that I was not convinced were well...two exhausted adults...and a Gram. Somehow, we managed to get out the door relatively close to on time. The support we have always received from our friends at church is astounding, in and of itself. They are loving, encouraging, kind, thoughtful, helpful.....it was good to get a few hugs that morning and, even though it had only been 36 hours since her arrival, it was good to get a breath that was not shortened or deepened due to the needs of our little people.

Sunday brought a little hope as we watched people we love, love on her. Our families, although maybe a little hesitant when we first told them, were coming around. And while they were concerned for our well being, as per their usual, they loved baby girl right from the start.

That nights sleep made Friday night look like a dream. Now all three boys were feverish, coughing, complaining, and crying...along with the every two hour plan that she was on, we hardly shut our eyes. I would be heading back to the doc Monday morning, alone with all four. I was doubting my abilities, frustrated by a lack of sleep and struggling to figure out how to hold three sick boys, while bottle feeding and cooking breakfast.

And Baby Makes Four

Scott got home about the time the boys woke up from nap that Friday afternoon in July, wondering if she was here yet. We had just a little time to have snack and get dressed before the current foster parents were supposed to be at our house to drop off baby girl. Timothy, who was four at the time, would have made an excellent town crier....he ran from window to window and door to door, to watch the drive and let us know minute to minute that "they aren't coming yet!" Until they were, and then his scream bellowed throughout the house, "They're here!"

I have to admit, I was glad for his watchful eye, or I would have been pacing window to window myself. We all rushed to the back door to greet the guests who were "bringing our new baby" to us. Except me. I think I had a dish to wash or a towel that needed folding, or maybe I had to pee....whatever the menial task, it was simply to give me another minute to gather myself for what was about to happen. Our first addition in almost 2 years, since Eli was born. Another baby; a girl; number four. Had we really thought this all the way through?!? Deep breath momma, here she is....

They were nice as they could be, the current foster parents, as they brought her in and handed her to Scott. I sat with the foster mom going over schedules, routines, concerns, issues they had while she was in their care. I was happy to busy myself and watch Scott and the boys with this tiny, 12 pound, five month old baby girl. She was droopy from a hearing procedure that morning, but calmly looked around at the eight eyes upon her and the six hands petting and reaching for her. Scott just smiled at me. He has a way of reassuring me with that smile.

I finally held her after they left, trying to assess what our future with her would hold from the moments I had known her. Would she always be so tiny? How much time will it take to catch her up, so she's not failing to thrive? Will she be deaf from that hearing problem I just found out about? Will the boys cherish her? Will I? All my babies I have held as tight to my chest and neck as I possibly could, but baby girl....she needed a bath. Maybe holding her tight to my face so I could breathe her in as I kiss her sweet cheeks will feel more natural, after she has a bath. Maybe after a bottle. She is sweet...cries a lot, but she's sweet. Scott, sensing my hesitation, kept asking me, "are you ok?".  I said I'd be fine, just a bit overwhelmed by it all. We are all tired. Maybe after a good night's sleep.

Don't get me wrong, I held her, sang to her the same song I had been singing to my boys for almost four years, bathed her, tickled and cooed with her. I was just struggling to find that feeling. You know the one that comes over you when you know. If you don't know what I mean, I'm sorry, my words are lacking. If you do know, then... you just know. It happened so quick with the boys, but it was different then, namely, we didn't already have three kids keeping us physically and emotionally exhausted, and I was excited the other times...this time I was hesitant. I should never have expected to find that connection after just one day, but all the same, I was already struggling. After laying her down and giving the boys some extra snuggle time...it was a big day for them too....I told Scott I thought two of the boys were getting sick. ( I can't remember which two, but that's a trivial detail at this point.) I would need to take them to the doctor the next day, Saturday morning, to make sure it wasn't strep...again.

The couple who brought her to us had her on a bedtime feeding schedule and style we were not very comfortable with, giving her more formula than we thought a five month old with reflux should be eating, and had been thickening it with enough rice cereal she would most likely need a fork to cut it with, then, were leaving her in the carseat all night! We tried it that first night since that's what she was used to, but decided before we fell asleep, it was the last time. In an effort to keep my opinions to myself about how others parent, I will just say, we believe that when you feed a baby, it's the perfect opportunity to hold them close, talk sweet or sing to them, pray for them. From now on, that's all she would receive from us, regardless of what she was 'used to'.

That baby girl cried about every two hours all night long. We took turns holding her, feeding her, we fell asleep rocking her, and got what sleep we could between her cries and the crying of the boys I thought were getting sick. It was a rough first night, and did not help my desire to cradle her close. I'm sorry if this sounds awful and selfish, but without her there, I would have had a lot more sleep that night, and for many months to come. I woke the next morning a bit frustrated by it all. This truth is hard for me to admit and think about in private, let alone to write about it so publicly, but without knowing exactly where I was, you would miss the gloriousness of the rest of the story. Stay with me on this one. It gets good!

A Confession

About a year ago, my oldest, Timothy, became 'a difficult child'. He was still doing very good at school and for the most part, church and around others, but at home, he was flat out difficult. If I had to be entirely honest, it got to where I just didn't want to be around him much. He has always been loud, but it was getting unreasonably so; he was aggressive, hurtful to his brothers, defiant, disrespectful....just not a joy to be around at all. So, I tried to fuss it out of him, discipline him, implement one consequence after another, sent him to his room, spanked, took toys away from him.... It was constant from the moment he woke up until I dropped him off at school, and started up again as soon as the van door was shut upon picking him up from school. I was frazzled, angry, hurt and completely over it. And I began taking it out on him, compounding the problem, which was obviously bad parenting on my part, but I felt helpless and incompetent and it showed. At the first sign of misbehavior I began sending him to his room as a means of avoiding it. I would listen to his angry stomping and shouting while my own insides boiled with irritation. Don't misunderstand. I have loved him every minute since I've known him, and I continued to tell him so, I just didn't want to be around him.

I got help from a teacher friend who gave me behavior charts and a few tips, I talked with other moms who gave me encouragement or a different view point, and Scott and I talked it to death every. single. night. It was the first thing I thought about in the morning and the last thing on my mind as I fell asleep at night. I was completely consumed and fatigued by it all, searching for solutions, praying for answers, then repeating, day in and day out, his same behaviors followed by my same anger. 

So, where are we now? Why have I chosen to write about this? Because he is such a joy. Because talking and searching and praying for so long finally uncovered some answers. 

After talking to my teacher friend about a couple of the behaviors in particular, she suggested we have him tested for pica. Basically, if I understand it correctly, it stems from an iron deficiency. So, we did.....he was very anemic. Very. We started him on vitamins with iron and no joke, within a week we saw improvements. The lows had gotten so low that any improvement was welcomed with enthusiasm. From there I tried hard to reset my responses to his behaviors. To realize he was not acting out that way to hurt me or because of me, but because he's five and doesn't know what to do with his emotions, and my sad misdirection had only confused the solution for him. "This is how mom acts when she gets mad, so why not." And, on top of that, he was suffering under the physical symptoms of being so low in iron. 

It's been a year since this all got really bad, so it would be impossible to explain every change we, or more specifically I, made, but along with getting his iron built up and changing our responses to his behavior, I added some bedtime snuggles a couple months ago and if you ask me, I'd say that has been the best change for he and I. He is still a little boy, now six, trying to cope with the world around him, wanting his way and having a fit when it doesn't play out like he wants, but my responses are more consistent and less angry, most of the time. And he has made improvements, matured and seen the benefit of being a helpful big brother, instead of a hurtful one. 

He is smart, loving, kind and he loves to snuggle his momma, something we had almost completely lost. Partly because, in general, he's not as snuggly as the younger ones, he's always on the go, loud and with the compounded irritations of his behavior for so long, snuggling was rarely on my mind. When I implemented this 'nuggle time", as we call it, I said, "I'm going to lay here. Either we cuddle and talk, or we don't, but I'll be here." Like a little inch worm, he found his way up against me from his head to his toes and for the most part, this is how we snuggle almost every night now, for about ten minutes before he goes to sleep. Longer when he says, "Can you stay just a minute longer mommy." I do this with all the boys, but it has made the biggest impact on Timothy and our relationship. I had quit seeing him as my little guy, and only saw him as his behaviors which I didn't like. I had nearly blinded myself to the little boy that I loved up the biggest hippo ever. (How he chose to express his love when he was a toddler. A hippo was one of the biggest things he could think of, so that was a lot of love.)

We made several other changes such as moving him back to his own room, instead of with his brothers. Ironically, we did that for Mason and Elijah, because Timothy had a way of keeping them up and not letting them sleep, but once he was moved he said, "Thank you mom and dad, now my brothers won't wake me up." We had to laugh at that one! Point being, it wasn't one magic change we made and I can't promise any of it had anything to do with any of the changes we made. We have prayed heavily for his heart over the past year, and for our hearts to love him as God does. The God who made him in His image, and in my opinion, to do great things. Either way, it's been an answer to prayer, and while we know it will never be perfect, nor will our journey as parents be without conflict and frustration, but I realize now, when I kiss his sleeping head, not only that I love him, but just how much I like him. That I enjoy his sense of humor, his dancing, his imagination, his love of running, jumping, swinging, climbing. He is a joy. He is not a difficult child, he is my son. My one of a kind Timothy, and I wouldn't change a thing about him. Not a thing.