We were recently married and it dawned on me that any moment now, we could make a baby. Up until then I hadn’t given it much thought, as we weren’t sexually active before marriage, so the prospect was moot.
We both had finished our studies, moved across the world, we had jobs, renting a very comfortable, very pricy apartment, and we were financially independent, but barely. Just treading water really. We thought, in our irresponsible minds, that we could become parents and make it work. But in California the maternity leave is only three months. And the cost of having a child is a bit prohibitive. Alas, I saw maternity leave as an escape from the job I was starting to dread. But as we weren’t getting pregnant we thought God had other plans for us, to give us time, as we had only met for the first time that same year. We were young, married at 22.
Then nine years passed until we became adoptive parents. And that time of growing in togetherness, growing professionally, gaining financial stability beyond expectations, It was a useful time. We’ve grown and learned a bunch. We are teachable and hungry.
Even with our healthy upbringing and support system, it still would have been hard to become parents at 23, in the eve of the economic crisis that hit the entire world in 2008. It must be beyond overwhelming to become a parent at an even younger age. One needs such mental and physical strength, along with a steady stream of dual income.
—–
My friends from the adoption support group discuss challenges of parenting, and the challenges of loving well a child with special needs due to their history of abandonment, attachment and reattachment. And I seriously question my sense of smooth sailing right now. Is it just in my head? Why do I enjoy this parenting ride so much? I should dread it some.
I have had and still have my battles but I deal with them in the moment and then file them away as solved. The hardship we overcome doesn’t linger. Only if I ponder with purpose, I can start digging up dirt. But for the most part I read. I read lots! …and books speak to me. And I put the wisdom into practice. And it changes everything.
Of course I often go with the flow, with my many friends with kids of varying ages, who have so much grace and love, who are honest and true. Most of what I see in their behavior are age appropriate challenges. And I think I take parenting with a pinch of salt and gratitude.
One of our big hurdles, for a long time, was the self soothing behavior Jackie came to the foster family with. It was developed in her first year of life, left alone for too long. She would put herself to sleep by repeatedly bopping her face into the pillow. We have tried everything we could think of. And we often felt discouraged. At one point it seemed that we finally made our point and she is trying to comply with our pleading. She stoped doing it for a few good months, and then, all of a sudden, it started again.
Have you ever struggled with addiction? Any kind of addiction?
All the things that I have struggled with in my youth, now they seem to serve me well. They help me not panic nor get completely discouraged. They provide me with a good measure of empathy and an ability to not give-up.
We’ve created consequences, we’ve discussed the long term issues this repetitive action can cause, I’ve lost my temper on a few occasions, we’ve rewarded cooperation, we’ve distracted her, turned her on her side, soothed her, co-slept.
After the long summer of no head bopping, when she started it again, I went to her and had a heart-to-heart talk. I told her I had noticed she hadn’t bopped her head in months, but that she just started doing it again. “You must have rediscovered that it feels good to bop your head, huh?” I asked. And a huge grin appeared on her face. As if I finally get it. It is self-soothing. But to everyone else it’s disturbing, I said. And I told her there might be undesirable consequences at kindergarten if she does it when she naps there. She instantly said: “I never bop my head at nap time in school. Only at home”. Her genuineness makes me smile. I decided it it’s not the end of the world. That her bopping is not about me and I am here to course correct and to help her to the best of my ability for as long as I have to.
She did it half asleep, when slightly cold, when she couldn’t sleep, late at night or when she would wake up involuntarily at night.
You know the funny thing? I learned a year later that most adopted kids do this self sooting, or did it at some point. Many bop their face into the pillow. They rock back and fort, or while standing side to side, some masturbate, or they rock themselves in bed until they mat their hair, or get a bald spot, they bite nails, they hit their head with their hands. And as I put thing in perspective I realize how easy we’ve got it.
—–
I don’t know if I ever mentioned this on my blog, but I got the best traits from both my parents. Tata would be the patient explainer of things, mama would be the re-assurer of good enough, tata would go to battle for us, mama would wake up with us at night to soothe our fever or toothaches. I don’t remember playing with either of them, but I don’t remember missing them, because one of them was always with us. They were honest and fair in disciplining us, they fought with each other and made up, they involved us in working the filed, counting the money, cleaning the car, doing laundry by hand. And later on, they were very laissez fair in many regards. Inertia and intuition seem to have ruled. And in this life context, I have heard other women (from church) tell my mom that she doesn’t deserve us, and in not so many words that she is not a good mother. Indeed, we didn’t have white pressed shirts in church, or proper hair, but my mom was a woking mom. And I resented those women for hurting her feelings. She brushed them off, but took their critics to heart and asked for our forgiveness for not doing more. Silly mom. She was perfect. Not just to my mind as a kid, but even looking back. She was perfect. Maybe because I didn’t care then and I don’t care now that we didn’t present a picture perfect white pressed shirt type of family. Though appearances mattered a great deal back then. We were clean, fed, loved and instructed. Respectful, albeit a little shy or better said reserved. We considered ourselves to have humble roots, and I loved the freedom that gave me. My favorite beginnings are those with low expectations.