Adoption Stuff

Recently Kyle and Owen have been talking a lot about things related to adoption. We seem to go through phases with this, as I'm sure all adoptive families do. For stretches of time it rarely, if ever, even comes up. And then we have periods of time when it is bubbling up to the surface a lot. Right now we're in one of those. Our motto with kids' information has always been to give them age-appropriate information if/when they ask for it, but to carefully only answer the questions they are asking and restrain ourselves as much as possible from pushing it further. The idea being that they'll ask what they want to know; they'll ask what they are ready to know. This approach of ours is common, I think. Anyway, we try to stick to this 'information approach' and it has worked for us so far (in many realms, not just adoption). Lately, though, K & O have begun to not just ask questions, but to make statements that we feel compelled to respond to with information. We're comfortable with this, but it is new. And it is not always easy to know how much information to give them. Perhaps it is their age (4 years + 4 months old), perhaps it is the start of school (new questions arising in their now more complex social worlds), perhaps it is all just coincidental... it doesn't matter-- but they are, for sure, thinking about adoption stuff now that they definitely were not thinking about even a month or two ago.

I know with no uncertainty that Braydon and I are well-educated and knowledgeable adoptive parents. We are very confident in that. This is true for me especially because I tend to be the one who actually does all the research -- and I do a lot of research. But Braydon and I communicate intensively on this stuff and I always give him the 'cliff notes' version of all I've learned/read/heard/figured out (i.e., over glasses of wine I tell him everything I know). I think we're relatively well-prepared for much of what is ahead as far as our boys' adoption questions and confusions go. But I have to say, no matter how prepared you are, some of this stuff is just absolutely astonishing. It is one thing to hear the stories from other adoptive parents or to study the research literature or to read adoptees' biographies, etc., etc., etc. It is quite another thing to sit there, face to face with your own child, and experience this stuff. Right now the form this is taking is this: I'm looking at my precious sweet boys, they're looking back at me, and they're saying things that --yes, should be to be expected-- but stun and astonish me nonetheless. It is common (if not the norm) for adoptees to question the permanence of their families. It is common (if not the norm) for adoptees to fantasize about their birthparents. It is common (if not the norm) for adoptees to wonder about their history. But still, despite my intellectual understanding of all this, I continually find myself dumbfounded and wondering, 'How do these thoughts even enter their minds?' Just three examples (of many) from recent days~~~

A few nights ago I was getting Owen ready for bed. He was being his silly self and he was saying, "I want to be a girl! Then I would pee on the potty sitting down!" Then he'd giggle and pretend to pee on the potty sitting down, etc. Typical Owen. But then his tone suddenly took a dramatic turn. Sitting face-to-face with me in the bathroom he looked me right in the eyes and said, "When you send me back to Haiti I will tell my birthmother that I want to be borned again but as a girl next time. That's what I'm going to say to my birthmother when you send me back to Haiti." Huge gulp. What? "Send me back to Haiti?" How on earth did he even come up with this phrase, let alone this thought?? It is stunning. And you just can't be prepared for that. No matter how prepared you are, it just hits you like a ton of bricks. A ton of bricks.

A couple of days ago we were outside playing in the backyard on a beautiful sunny day. Out of the blue Kyle says, "When I was borned that was my birthday." I said, "Yes!" Then he said, "When I was borned I was not here. I don't know who caught me. I wanted to be borned from my mommy but I wasn't. It was my birthmother. And it was so, so scary. It was dark and me and Owen were in there. And you didn't come for me mommy. You didn't. You took too long." O.k., Oh. My. God. Again, a ton of bricks. I don't care how much you know about this stuff, when it is your kid, and they're saying it right to you, it is astonishing. Just astonishing. Awhile later, as he was running off to the trampoline, he looked back at me over his shoulder and shouted out: "Am I in this family forever? Or no?" Of course I shouted back, "Yes! Forever! Forever and ever and ever!" He stopped, turned back to face me, looked at me, and said, "So, are you my mommy forever and ever? Or will I have to have another mommy?" It doesn't matter how many millions of times we've assured them of these things. Their questions still remain. Their uncertainty seems to be forever in tact. You try to convince yourself that the good thing is (the proof that you're doing a good job is) that he's verbalizing this stuff to you. You try to tell yourself that its all good because it reveals that he's able to put this stuff out there to you. He trusts you to say it to you. You say this to yourself, but you can't help but feel totally flabbergasted. How could he even question the permanence of my mothering? How?

The day before yesterday, on the drive home from school, the boys were talking excitedly about how we were going to feed Meera her first taste of "baby rice" that evening. Owen says, "When we were babies we didn't drink breastmilk. We drank formula. Formula from bottles. We liked bottles. But when we were first borned we drank breastmilk from our birthmother's breasts. Yup! We did! We drank breastmilk from our birthmother's breasts! When we were first borned babies in Haiti." I couldn't leave it there. I felt it would be wrong to let him get that belief cemented into his mind, because then I'd have to burst his bubble down the road which would probably be even more painful than bursting it now. "Sweetie," I said, "baby, you never drank breastmilk. Your birthmother gave birth to you and then you went straight to the orphanage. In the orphanage they gave you formula in bottles. And then Mommy and Papi came to get you. And we fed you bottles too. You never drank breastmilk from your birthmother's breasts." Looking at me through the rear view mirror he responded with, "Yup! We drank breastmilk from our birthmother's breasts! When we were first borned in Haiti! When we were with our birthmother!" "O.k.," I said, "we can pretend that is real." That was the best I could do. Because no matter how much I know it is all about him, I would be lying if I were to say that I didn't have a lump in my throat, secretly wishing that I could have "borned" him, secretly wishing that I could have given him what he sees me giving his sister. Knowing that his questions and confusions and fantasies are healthy and normal and right, but secretly wishing that I could whisk them all away so that his tiny heart and tiny mind wouldn't have to be encumbered by all of this history. And secretly astonished, yet again, by the complexities of adoption.

Home coming

"Home can heal. There is healing in home." ~Maya Angelou

We're noticing many things about ourselves as a family in the first couple days that we're home with baby Meera. Many emotional things. Many good things and some not so good; all just us.

There is an old Russian proverb that "only other people's children are ugly." And I suspect that is true. And I am sure that everyone who has had children, biologically or through adoption has felt what I heard Heather say a few minutes ago. But when you feel this way, it just doesn't matter that every parent does:

Heather: "[sobbing] I didn't expect to love her this much, I just didn't. She is the cutest thing I have ever seen. I don't want her to ever be more than five days old."

There is infinite hope in the future for Meera, there is boundless love for this little being new to the earth. There is fear, there is joy, there is pressure and relief. It all happens at the same time. And so far, in the short years that we have been parents, we've realized this is what it means to love that deeply.

***

We adopted first by choice, we didn't try to have a child biologically first. That was, and is, our belief and our philosophy (which are different things) and we do our best (not always successful) to live out our beliefs. We live our life in hope and it shapes our decisions daily.

Now that we have Meera, we're reflecting in ways that daily life usually prevents. It makes us recall when we adopted K & O and how we felt then. It reveals our deepest inner selves about our inadequacies and wants. It makes us look at ourselves and see the flaws and strengths. When we adopted K & O I had the adoption blues and struggled, but Heather felt the same way then for them as she does now for Meera. Now we love Meera so strongly that we question our sanity.

It makes us notice the differences and the similarities in love for Kyle, for Owen and for Meera. It makes us aware of the strength of our own feelings and the power of love. I learned that love is not a zero-sum game. Heather now is remembering that as well. We have made a family in the most amazing of ways, and it has many different parts to its emotional life.

This family has newness and oldness, it has goodness and the remeberance of pain. It contains our hopes, our fears our passion, our love, healing, desires and needs. It's also a rocking good time.

We have made this.

"Everything that is done in the world is done by hope." ~Martin Luther King Junior

Swinging - In and Out, In and Out, In and Out

We've been working on pumping skills (when swinging) lately. For as physically agile and ridiculously adept as Kyle and Owen are, their swinging-pumping skills have always been surprisingly lackluster. Given that they -- for example -- walked at 10 months, could hit golf balls very hard and very far at 14 months (hard and far enough that one of Kyle's hits from the front yard broke a window in our house), were shooting hoops to a full height basket at 18 months, were riding Razor scooters (and doing tricks on them) at 24 months, were diving swan dives off the ledge of the pool (and swimming underwater the width of the pool) at 2 years 2 months, were snorkeling in the open Caribbean when they were barely 3, and are now hitting baseballs into the neighbors' yards at barely 4... (... you get the drift...)... you'd think that they could pump on a swing. But no. So lately we've been really trying to get them to grasp the whole pumping concept: in and out, in and out, in and out. Really, I think they just really like being pushed and have no motivation to learn to pump. But with a lot of coaching and a lot of coaxing, they are starting to get better at it. This weekend we saw their swinging skillz greatly improve. And I see this as a metaphor for the weekend for all of us: in and out, in and out, in and out.

Our emotions are like four pendulums, our tempers are swinging, our patience is swaying, etc. Again, you get the drift -- lots of fussing, screaming, tantruming, dropping-onto-the-floor-in-a-weeping-heap (I'm speaking both literally and figuratively for all four of us here!). But also lots of moments of sweet contentment, sheer happiness, empathy, and pulling together too. Kyle kisses my belly hundreds of times a day just at random, and tells me "Mommy, I love that baby inside there." Owen talks gently to the baby regularly trying to convince her to "get out of there." In hopes to find inspiration for tolerance, Braydon is back to re-reading our favorite parenting book of all time (the perfect owners manual for our particular twinados; OMG are our boys ever classic textbook SSpirited with a double capital 'S') -- Raising Your Spirited Child (click here). And I'm just basically using every single bit of self-control I have in me to try to remain calm amidst the storm. K & O are trying to be good for their frazzled parents (which is a lot for them, all things considered). And Braydon and I are trying to keep up with our wild high-energy pushing-pushing-pushing boys (which is a lot for us, all things considered). I feel like we're all in and out, in and out, in and out. And not usually swinging in coordination with one another. But we're dealing. And trying to pass the time. What else are we supposed to do?

The truth is, this is nothing compared to the waiting that we went through (all four of us) during our adoption. Nothing, absolutely nothing, compares to that. This just pales in comparison. Pales. I think about that constantly. I can't really speak for what K & O must have gone through (I hate to even let myself think about what those first eight months of life were like for them). So I'll only speak for myself here. But I can confidently say: I'd take the in-and-out, in-and-out, in-and-out emotional rollercoaster of physical discomfort, aches and pains, feeling like a beached whale, hard-to-sleep, everyone-on-the-edge-of-their-seat, trying-to-pass-time, 4-days-passed-the-due-date, weirdness of this melodrama over the in-and-out, in-and-out, in-and-out emotional rollercoaster of a literal ticking-clock, life-or-death, tiny-babies-barely-surviving-in-a-Haitian-orphanage, no-end-in-sight, sleepless nights melodrama of our Haitian adoption process any day of the week. Seriously. I'm sorry if that offends anyone out there who just doesn't get it. But it is the honest to God truth. After having gone through what we went through (and knowing the stories of so many others who have gone through much worse), I have a hard time complaining about this. It is all relative. So, at the end of the day (or the end of a very loooong past-due-date weekend, as the case may be), and at the end of this pregnancy (hopefully the end!!!!!!!!!!!) I really can't bear to complain. It just feels foolish to me -- the idea of complaining about something so relatively easy. Yes, being 9 months + 4 days pregnant kind of sucks. Yes, I'm ready to be done with this. Yes, I kind of want to spend the entire day napping. Yes, I kind of wish someone would devote themselves to catering to my every whim for the remainder of this baby-countdown. But it really isn't that bad. In comparison... it really, really isn't. And so we just keep swinging.

Here are some random (very random!) shots from the weekend. Our good camera is packed for the hospital, so we just have our old camera out -- and our photo taking has been sporadic, at best.







In other news -- interestingly, June was back with us pretty much full-time this weekend. (For those of you who don't know about K & O's imaginary friend click here for one of many posts where we have written about her.) Here are some fun facts that I've learned about June these past couple of days:

• June's bike is black
• June's raincoat is gray
• June's rainboots are blue and green
• When June "has a pee pee accident in the night" (i.e., wets her bed) she "cleans herself up all by herself"
• When June goes out to lunch with us she always orders macaroni and cheese, if at all possible
• When June goes out to lunch with us at California Tortilla (where mac 'n cheese is not possible) she chooses an Oatmeal Raisin cookie over a brownie for dessert after she finishes her burrito (just like K & O)
• June has her own bedroom -- it is between Kyle and Owen's bedrooms
• June has a peace crane hanging from the ceiling in her bedroom -- just like K & O do
• June is not good at pumping
• June is not K & O's sister
• June is not going to be allowed to hold Baby Sister (she'll have her own baby)
• June's age is variable depending on what we (or she) is doing at any given moment -- sometimes she's 4, sometimes 10, sometimes (often) she's 35 or 36. And every once in a while, June is "tweety" years old (see below)
• June does not know how to snap, but she is trying to learn (see below)

And here's some more recent random info from our neck of the woods -- The Latest Re: K & O Twinspeak (click here for another post on this topic)

• "Tweety" (not to be mistaken for the word 'twenty' -- how dare you!!!!!) is a number. This number is 100% made up by K & O and does not resemble any other number known to humankind, and yet is used in their language many times every day. From what I can gather, it means 'many' or 'a lot' or 'a high number' or 'infinite.' But, importantly, it is also fluid (i.e., it is not a fixed number and can fluctuate depending on the circumstance). It is not interchanged with any other word and does not replace any real number. Examples --there are tweety caterpillars swarming around in the nest in the tree in the front yard; the ocean has tweety fish in it; a car driving too fast is driving tweety [mph] on the road; David Ortiz and Manny Ramirez (red sox) can hit the baseball tweety far; Tiger Woods can hit the golfball tweety; a very old man might be tweety years old; sometimes June is tweety years old (when she gets to do something that K & O are not allowed to do, such as cook by herself on the hot stove); K & O are so hungry that they want to eat tweety cheese; Papi is so funny that he is tweety funny; and my favorite... K & O "love Mommy tweety times around."
• "Snap!" is a remark. Owen can snap his fingers to make a loud snap sound. Kyle cannot. Snapping has become a big thing around here. The word "snap" is now part of K & O's twinspeak. To say "snap!" while motioning a snap motion with their fingers in someone's face (sound or not), indicates something along the lines of either 'awesome! you're totally cool! hip hip hooray!' or 'bummer! you're a total drag! boo to you!' Examples -- I say, "I have an idea! Let's go play outside!" and I get two quick loud punctuated verbal "SNAP!"'s along with both boys jumping up and doing the snapping hand motion fast and furious in my face as they run toward the door; I say, "No, we're going to eat dinner soon, you cannot have any cheese!" and I get two quick loud punctuated verbal "SNAP!"'s along with both boys jumping up and doing the snapping hand motion fast and furious in my face as they give me the hairy eyeball and saunter off to the playroom; Kyle does something rude to Owen and he gets the "SNAP!" in response; Owen suggests some fun pretend game to Kyle and he gets the "SNAP!" in response; sometimes they'll be chattering together in the backseat of the car and suddenly they'll both do the "SNAP!" at the same time (in the midst of talking about something super cool or something that they think is a super downer).

O.k., that's it for today. Blogging can now officially be counted as one of my "things to do to pass time waiting for baby"!!! We know that many of you are checking in here for updates -- 697 of you yesterday, to be exact. We feel very checked-in-after, and I've gotta say-- it feels good! Thank you! Don't fret -- we'll keep you updated! ;)

Reflections on K & O's Birthday

I cannot get over it that they are turning 4!?! These pictures are from May 8, 2005 -- their first birthday.

On their first birthday the boys had been home just over three months. In those short three months they had gained many pounds, gotten many teeth, and grown many inches. They had become healthy and were well on their way to a full physical recovery. They were also making huge strides developmentally, emotionally, and psychologically. They still weren't ready for a houseful of people and/or any kind of 'real' birthday party... they were just barely starting to come out of their shells and blossom. But we knew in our hearts that they were going to thrive. The signs were all there already. We felt so lucky that their first birthday was their first birthday home. We were so grateful to have been able to bring them home so young. We also felt lots of deep emotions about that day they turned one. I cried often -- deep mournful crying -- around that time. I mourned for what they hadn't had on the day of their birth. I mourned for what that day must have been like for them, as tiny newborn infants. I mourned for all that was lost, never to be able to be regained. And I mourned for their birthmother... the thoughts would flood my mind... what must it have been like to give birth on that day in Cite Soleil, Haiti? The blazing hot sun and the dirty dusty smokey filthy hazy painfulness of it all? They were born at a missionary clinic in Cite Soleil -- how did she get there? she had never had medical care, so what a surprise it must have been to birth twins? and what was it like then -- to know in her heart that they were not to be hers to raise? We can't assume anything about her emotions or thoughts; we know enough about the situation in Haiti to know not to assume. But I can't help but wonder. And I wonder most about my babies... what happens when that happens to an infant? A precious newborn soul. I give thanks they were twins, they had each other. But to start your life that way --- to have your birth day be that day. What does it all mean? That year they turned one I agonized over all this. And I was so deeply grateful, too, that they had been born. That they had survived. That they were mine. By the time their actual birthday came I was emotionally drained from churning and churning over these sorts of things (and what I've written here is just the very tip of the iceberg). But I was also in the midst of an intense phase with Kyle and Owen. As their mother my goal was to 'go back' and 're-do' as much of their infancy as I possibly could with them. Knowing that I could never truly go back, nor truly re-do, I was driven to do the best I could nonetheless. I insisted that they be held as much as humanly possible and that the house be as soothing as we could possibly make it. We'd rock them for hours, we'd hold their hands down so that we could bottle feed them (in the orphanage they had been taught to feed themselves and had been doing so since around age 4 months... so they'd fight us in the beginning not wanting to rely on us for feedings), we'd coo to them like they were newborns, we'd force them to have eye-contact despite their many attempts to not, we'd run to them at every tiny whimper 24x7, we'd protect them as if they were just hours old. We felt fortunate -- around May 8, 2005 we knew in our hearts that it was working. Our boys had sparkles in their eyes. They were engaged in the world. They were enjoying life. They were alive. Their first birthday was on a Sunday. We had them baptized that day. The ceremony was special and beautiful for us. It was also Mother's Day. I felt that it was a profound thing: to have their first birthday, their baptisms, and my first Mother's Day all on the exact same day. It felt charmed somehow. It felt like the weights were being lifted, that we were coming into the light. It felt like an incredible miracle -- a fresh new start in life for two precious and beautiful and fragile souls. Like many adoptive mom's, I continue to have mixed emotions around Kyle and Owen's birthday. It brings to the surface many thoughts and feelings that seem to forever be somewhat raw. I don't fight it because I think it is good for those things to always remain a little bit at the surface and a little bit raw. It doesn't dominate me, but it is part of me. It is part of being mother to Kyle and Owen. It just means that we are real. The history is real. The present is real. And the future -- whatever it may hold -- is real. Three years ago, when they turned one, I could not have imagined the boys that they would be today. I feel blessed beyond belief for what they were and what they have become. And I anticipate with open arms what the future has in store.

Cracking Each Other Up, Crazy Happy, & Do They Know?

K & O have always been really good at making each other laugh. Almost always with inside jokes that seem very twinny (i.e., nobody seems to really 'get it' except for the two of them). Even as little babies they'd regularly crack each other up. I remember when they were about 13-14 months old they had a "da!" phase where they would shout "da!" at each other with every variation of intonation that you could possibly imagine -- just cracking each other up like it was the funniest thing in the whole wide world. They'd often do it in the grocery store as I was rolling them in the cart. People in the isles wouldn't be able to help themselves from stopping to watch them... and people couldn't help but crack up themselves when they'd see it. Regularly I'd get asked, "What are they saying to each other? What is so funny?" And all I could say, was, "I have no idea! Who the heck knows?! But obviously they think that whatever it is is absolutely hysterical!?!!" But lately they've taken their art form to a whole new level. They are cracking each other up -- BIG TIME! They laugh so incredibly hard at/with each other that we worry one of them will choke. But it is very hard to not crack up yourself when you're in their presence and they're on a roll. These seriously intense laughing spells are happening at least a couple of times a day, sometimes many times each day. This particular twinny laugh session (photos below) took place after dinner the other night when the two of them were eating ice cream for dessert. Braydon and I were sitting at the table with them, but they were in their own little world... and whatever it was that they thought was so funny was very, very funny! These guys are so crazy happy so much of the time. It is hard to imagine that this is normal... even despite the fact that they are 3 year old twin boys. How can any two people be that crazy happy that much of the time???!

Recently I was chatting with a mom of one of K & O's friends from school. School was out and we were watching our kids play on the playground before heading home. Out of nowhere she said, "I want to ask you something, but please just tell me if you don't want to answer because I'd totally understand." I said, "O.k.?" And she said, "Do you think they know?" I was caught off guard and I wasn't exactly sure I knew what she was asking. She clarified, "Do you think that Kyle and Owen know-- like, they know hardship and pain and they know how lucky they are-- and maybe that is why they are so happy and full of life all the time? I mean, I just don't think it is normal-- for kids this age to be like that. There is something different about them. It is like they must know or something." This is not the first time that someone has asked me something like this. Many people have, actually. But I was surprised to hear it from this mom because she doesn't know much of K & O's life story. I said, "Honestly, I don't know. Braydon and I do wonder about that. We wonder if somehow that is all deep inside them at some level and that's why they are this way. But we really don't know. There is no way to know." She then asked me if it bothers me for her to call them "lucky." She explained that another adoptive family she knows has a big problem with it when people describe their child as 'lucky.' I know that many adoptive families do feel this way. When people refer to their kids as "lucky" they make short retorts back like, "no, we're the lucky ones!" etc. Braydon and I have talked about this at length in regards to our boys. I understand why it bothers people to refer to their adopted children as "lucky" (the reasons are many and I empathize with all of them). But in our specific case, it really doesn't bother me. First of all-- on so many levels, K & O are just not at all lucky. Lucky to have been born in one of the worst most violent and desperately impoverished slums on the planet?? I think not. Lucky to have been abandoned at birth with absolutely nothing?? No. Lucky to have been forced to survive in a very tough Haitian orphanage for their first eight months of life? No. Lucky to have then, at age 8 months, had everything they had ever known (bad as may have been, it was still their life and the only life they knew) ripped away from them as they were brought to an entirely new world where nothing resembled anything from their prior life whatsoever? No. But are they lucky to be twins who at least had each other? Lucky to have been abandoned early enough that they were able to get at least some sustenance in the orphanage? Lucky to have been adopted by Braydon and I? Lucky to have been two out of 1.5 million orphans in Haiti who 'got out'? Lucky to have been two out of only approximately 200 Haitian orphans adopted into the U.S.A. in the year 2005 (many of the other 200 having been adopted by their extended family members who had somehow managed to immigrate to the U.S. in years prior)? Lucky to have been given a new life with opportunities and life-chances that exceed anything imaginable in their birthplace of origin... that exceed anything imaginable by all of the other hundreds of thousands of orphans still struggling to survive in Haiti? I think so. What are the chances? 2 out of 1.5 million. The chances of winning any number of lotteries are higher. Is it luck? I guess that is one way to describe it. Destiny? Perhaps. God's will? I'm sure many people look at it that way. Coincidence? I suppose that's possible. I don't know what it is. I only know that K & O have never looked back. I know that they are the two happiest, most engaged-in-life, most full-of-life people I've ever known. Is that because they know??? I am not sure. I just know that I know. And it makes me feel like the proudest most grateful mother in the whole world. Words cannot describe how crazy happy it makes me to know that they are so crazy happy.

[top 5 photos are K looking/laughing at O; bottom 5 photos are O looking/laughing at K]

Whatever it takes

We have always been highly motivated. This motivation comes from a variety of places, some external forces and some internal. Some sources are more influential than others and some are more comforting influences than others. But whatever the genesis of our motivation, the outcome is the same: we are driven.

This drive is not limited to any one thing, it cuts across everything. And it's not just driven to succeed in the traditional career sense. It's driven to be engaged in life fully. To find the daily experience that engages us, propels us and unites us. It is to be unequivocally moving forward, progressing, creating, and improving. To be a life force.

***

When we decided to adopt, we did our paper work, we went through the motions. And then, as many adoptive families have experienced, things came to a griding halt. At the end of 2004 things were bad in Haiti. Not that things are wonderful now, but that period was particularly bad. And we were adopting in the middle of it. Along with many other people. It was winter, and snowing here. It was falling apart.

The advice we received was to wait, to not rock the boat, to let things take their course. It would all pass and get done. But in our mind, each day, each minute, each second, our baby boys were getting older. They were not getting the love and care we could provide, that they needed. They were alive, and relatively healthy as far as orphans in Haiti go, but when your children are waiting, that is no comfort. Each moment was an eternity for us and although the boys didn't know, those moments slipping away were immeasurably valuable in so many ways.

Right or wrong as you may think, we took matters into our own hands. We called the head of Haitian social services. We called him daily. We called the Department of Homeland security daily. I connected with the DHS director for Latin American (who covers Haiti). We put the welfare of our children above all others. We were warned off by Haitians to not disrupt things, we were warned off by US services to not disrupt things. We pushed harder.

Things were hung up. Our paper work was not ready. Violence was erupting daily on the streets. It was chaos, there were concerns about over all country stability. We couldn't wait any longer. We bought plane tickets. We would not come home without our babies.

***

We arrived in PaP and Rock, the incredible man running the orphanage and facilitating things on the ground, picked us up at the airport. We could tell he didn't think much of us coming down here now, without everything complete and with the situation as it was. What did we expect to be able to accomplish. We gave him a wad of money and told him to use it to make things happen.

One day hours passed as we waited sitting in a steaming jeep in downtown PaP waiting for an Haitian ID to be finished. I had Owen in a front carrier, Heather had Kyle. We were all dehydrated and H and I fed the boys dried cheerios. Street vendors carrying their wares on tall sticks walked by hawking things at us. A woman cooked beans and rice in an aluminum pot over a rubber tire fire.

Before the ID was finished, shots rang out next to us. Everyone ducked, scattered; the streets cleared. Rock's cousin jammed the jeep into drive and sped off, counting all along the way: 10% safe, 20% safe, 50% safe, until we arrived at our UN protected, walled hotel where he said we were 80% safe. We found out we had the ID. Heather and I each drank two rum punches that night, I fell and bruised my bottom.

The next morning, the Haitian paper work was done, but we had to wrangle the US side to get visas. It was the day before Carnival and we were strongly advised by everyone to get out of the country before this particular Carnival. I called to get airline tickets - all flights were 100% booked. But sometimes, you can find the right person. Sometimes that right person hears you, connects with you and moves mountains for you. I found that person and we secured 4 tickets on the day Carnival starts.

We got into the jeep wearing our babies on our chests. The consulate had removed all non-essential personnel and was closing. Our facilitator had given up on getting the visas and told us we would have to wait until next week. We convinced him to head to the consulate anyway. Using his cell phone as we drove into PaP I got someone at the consulate. And then I got the right person who agreed to meet us before he was evacuated.

Our facilitator was clearly amazed. Owen and Kyle were sweating in the morning heat, pressed to our chests.

There were no US Marines at the consulate, only Haitian guards. We waited for a long time. There was a 3 year old Newsweek in the lobby. A Dartmouth grad came out to sign out paper work. We played the name game, it was really weird. We had the visas.

The last stop was Department of Homeland security. We were an hour late for our appointment. They had been sticklers about every detail. Eventually they let us in (there was a line out the door). In an amazing coincidence, the DHS Director for Latin American happened to be visiting Haiti that week. He saw our boys. There was a document still missing. We had the document but it needed something, I can't even remember what. He looked at us, he looked at the boys, he signed the document. We were ready to go.

Before we left, our facilitator said to us, "you have passion". That was his explanation for how we accomplished everything in a week. He was astounded.

Some people are highly critical of our decisions on how to go about doing things and how we did it. Some are bitter that we were able to get our kids faster. Some think the way we did it was right. After we came home, a number of communications came out that nobody under any circumstances should call the Haitian social services department. I am sorry if we caused any problems for anyone else.

***

This is how we live our life. Daily. Find the things that really matter.

Do whatever it takes.

3 Years Home From Haiti

Owen (wrapped in yellow blanket) & Kyle (in blue blanket) asleep in the Hotel Montana the afternoon before we were to fly out of Haiti. Braydon had just spent hours trying to arrange for flights to the U.S. We were in Haiti during a very dangerous time, very few Americans were in the country, and all flights were booked due to the movement of United Nations troops and foreign dignitaries trying to get out before the then predicted violence related to Karnaval [click here]). Braydon was finally successful when a Haitian airline employee at the Port au Prince airport became committed to personally seeing to it that we get the boys out ASAP. We spent an incredible amount of money on the tickets, but had not one care in the world about that. The sense of relief that washed over us -- knowing that we had four tickets to leave Haiti the next day -- was intense. I remember taking this photo of the boys sleeping on the hotel bed, thinking how completely oblivious they were to how their lives were about to be completely transformed.

-<>-<>-<>-

Three years ago today we spent our first day at home as a family of four. We celebrate our Adoption Day as January 31st -- the day we were united as a family forever. But each year on February 5th, I cannot help but think about our homecoming. This year February 5 is no different for me than the past two years have been...

These two photos (Kyle top, Owen bottom) were taken by Braydon our first morning in the U.S. with the boys. We had just been home a few hours (we had arrived at our house at about 2:30 a.m.). K & O were still wearing the clothes that they had worn on the plane flights home. Those red onesies with tropical palm trees on them were the first clothes we bought for the boys. We had bought them the day after we had received our referral in late May 2004.

...I'm distracted all day with it. I think about our travel, our immigration of the boys in Miami, of our drive home from the Philadelphia airport in the pitch dark wee hours of the night. I think about those first hours in our house with Kyle and Owen. I think about those first days and weeks with them at home. And I think about Haiti. I can't help it; those few hours, days, and weeks of early 2005 transformed my life in the most profound ways. It isn't simply about becoming a mother, or becoming a family. Yes, of course those things are powerful. But it is more about the profound transformation in me in as the result of experiencing the most true miracle of my lifetime. A miracle in the most real sense: unexplicable by science, logic, or reason. The possibilities of the human heart and soul, at age 8 months and at age 30-something years -- the human capacity for love, healing, attachment, and transformation -- were made real to me in those moments of our early family life. There is nothing that compares (at least not in my lifetime so far) to witnessing such a profound transformation in myself, Braydon and our boys.

Kyle (top) and Owen (bottom), in the family room, one of our first days home.

Acting in the world to use what one has to give new life to another human being... originally it was, for us, meant solely to empower two others, but it unexpectedly resulted in empowering four. I have never before felt such a profound miracle, such a profound sense of empowerment, such a profound knowledge of knowing with absolute certainty that our lives were being used in exactly the right ways. The depths of this cannot be overstated. The human heart knows no bounds. The soul can be set asail. Home can heal. Hope is transformative. These things became real to me, in the truest sense, in those first few minutes, hours, days, and weeks home from Haiti. In my mind, there is no greater miracle.

Kyle (top) and Owen (bottom), in their bedroom, one of our first days home.

Today we've been home from Haiti for 3 years. Although so much has happened since then, that first day home with Kyle and Owen is so vivid to me today that it is as if it was yesterday. There is a Haitian proverb that says, "Piti, piti, wazo fe nich li" -- translated to English it says, "Little by little the bird builds its nest."

-<>-<>-<>-

Please click here to read an Associated Press article entitled "Poor Haitians Resort to Eating Dirt." This article was released a few days ago, but I've been waiting for today to post about it. For those well-aware of the dire situation in Haiti, the eating of "mud cookies" in Cite Soleil (where Kyle and Owen were born) and elsewhere throughout Haiti is old news. But still, given how little news coverage Haiti receives, we celebrate any internationally recognized press on Haiti in hopes of raising at least some public awareness.

One of my favorite pictures -- Braydon and Kyle, 2 days after our homecoming.

Last year on our Adoption Day we posted a bunch of photos of our first days and weeks together. If you're interested in seeing more photos, you can check them out by clicking here.

Oh Sweetness Beyond Sweetness

This morning Kyle woke up first and came to cuddle with me in bed. He had his 'Honey Bunny' with him, of course (regular readers know that 'Honey Bunny' is Kyle's beloved lovey/attachment object, and 'Lovey Lion' is Owen's). As Kyle and I were lying there together, all snuggly and silent, he was sucking his thumb and holding his Honey Bunny between his two hands. In his groggy early morning voice he said, "Mommy, was Honey Bunny and Lovey Lion in the lady's belly too with me and Owen?"

Questions

This pregnancy is bringing up lots of questions for the boys. We knew it would. Owen's questions are mostly focused on Baby Sister... "How did she get in there?" "How will she get out of there?" "Will you pee on her when she's getting born?" "Will it hurt her when she is getting born?" "How big will she be when she is born?" "What color will she be?" (note: he told us tonight at dinner: "I think she will be brown!") Etc. These questions are hard to answer-- as they surely are for any family experiencing a pregnancy with a young child already in the home. But Kyle's questions are 100 times harder to answer. Kyle's questions are mostly focused on his own (and Owen's, since they are not separate in Ky Ky's mind) experiences pre-birth, during birth, and after birth... "Was it dark in the special lady's belly, was it so scary for me and Owen?" "Were we born in a hospital?" "Who caught me when I got born, did a doctor catch me and Owen?" "Why wasn't I in your belly, why wasn't Owen in your belly, why were we in another lady's belly?" (he still rarely refers to his birthmother as "birthmother" and still consistently refers to her as "another lady" or "the special lady") "Can I please see a picture from when I was born?" "Who took care of me when I was born?" "I needed you to take care of me, why didn't you take care of me when I was born?" "Did you come to get me right away when I was born?" Etc. Kyle is a tough cookie. And his curiosity is intense. When we were planning to adopt and were in the process of adopting (and even right up until a few weeks ago), I knew it would be challenging to talk about all of these questions that would be raised for K & O. I have been thinking of these questions and brainstorming my answers for over four years now. But nothing, just nothing, can prepare you for what it is like when those huge brown eyes are peering straight into yours and those gorgeous little faces are seeking your answers. It is no longer intellectual when it is real-- when the questions are coming from your own precious children. It feels massive. So massive that I can't even explain it. It is surprising to me how often tears spring to my eyes immediately when I hear the questions. I thought I'd be o.k. with it all, and I am at peace with it, but I'm not o.k. with it. At least not emotionally. And oh Kyle. His questions just cut to the heart of it all. As is always his way. Tonight, as I was tucking him into bed he lifted his head off his pillow and in the darkness, with his eyes looking face-forward straight into mine, his mouth so close to my face that I could feel his warm sweet breath he whispered, "Mommy, where were you when I was born?"

Today in the Grocery Store

It seems that ever since I started going to the grocery store with K & O (which was, basically, very soon after they came home from Haiti), there is always a story to tell about each and every trip we make. For some reason it is in the grocery store that we have our most interesting (read between the lines) experiences. Today was no exception. Today, in addition to all the normal mundane stuff that occurs when you bring two three year old boys to the grocery store with you, not just one but two interesting things happened!

Setting the scene-- Huge grocery store. The boys were in the kind of cart where in between the actual food bin part of the cart and the part that you push, there is a small bench that fits two kids. K & O are sitting squeezed together and with me pushing the cart their heads were just below my head. These stories are true stories.

---

Story 1

About mid-way through the trip, at the end of one of the middle aisles, I was concentrating on trying to search an upper shelf for a specific thing on my list. I was lost in the task, not really focused on anything except trying to find this thing as quick as possible. My concentration is broken when I hear, "Hey!" Then again, "Hey?!" I look up. About halfway down the aisle is a well dressed middle aged white woman, standing with no cart or basket or anything in her hands. There are several people in between us, but she's looking directly at me saying loudly, "Hey?!!" -- apparently trying to get my attention. She's got everybody else's attention in the aisle, including K & O's. I look at her (my head just above K & O's) with a startled look of 'Are you talking to me?' on my face. She says (loud enough for me to hear, with half a long aisle and several other shoppers separating us), "Are those your kids?" I totally hear her, but do what I always do in these situations... I act like I can't hear her in order to buy myself some time to think quick (remember, in addition to the audience of other shoppers, my most important audience -- K & O -- are right there just inches away from my mouth). She belts it out louder, "Are THOSE your kids?" I nod as proudly and confidently as I can given that I'm totally nervous about what is about to unfold. She starts walking toward me very quickly and aggressively, weaving in and out of people (who are all staring at me and her) as she approaches. I conscientiously lean my body and head in tight with K & O's. As she gets within a few steps of me she suddenly stops. Looks me right in the eye. Point blank says, "Are they YOUR CHILDREN????" I say, "Yes." She says, "I thought I was hearing them call you 'mom'? Are they your kids?" I say, "Yes, they are my kids." She says, "Like, you had them???" I do what I always do in such moments (I'm pretty sure I know exactly what she's asking but I want her to be the one to feel like an idiot, not me, and definitely not K & O), I ask with a look of sincere confusion on my face, "What do you mean?" She says, "YOU had THEM?" I said, "I did not give birth to them, if that's what you mean. I adopted them, they are my kids, they were adopted." She looks at me in total shock. "Oh," she says, "I couldn't figure it out. I kept hearing them call you 'mom' and I just couldn't figure it out." I stand there silently. K & O are looking straight at her. Everyone around us now starts to pretend to be shopping in the aisle again. She says, "I know about bi-racial kids, but I've never seen kids that dark come out of a person as white as you." I smiled as sweet-fake as I possibly could and said, "Oh." She says, "I mean, they are really dark. What do they call that? Pigment? They have very dark pigment. And you're so white. I couldn't figure out how they were your kids." I looked at her and said, "They are my kids." And that was that. We kept on moving (and when I got home and was unpacking the bags I realized that I had forgotten the item I had been looking for when that whole interaction began).

---

Story 2

Totally other kind of 'story'... So, we're toward the end of the trip. The boys have been behaving very well, all things considered. I've been very focused on getting out as quickly as possible so I haven't really been watching too closely what they're doing since they're not seeming to cause any problems. We're in the bread and dairy aisle, the widest aisle. It is crowded with people and carts. I sort of anchor our cart toward the middle of the aisle and from there I start quickly gathering each item we need and then placing it in the cart. I'm going back and forth, back and forth. I start to notice some people snickering, some people openly laughing out loud, some people giving each other looks of disgust. I get nervous it is something regarding my boys. A random shopper walks by me and says, "They're twins?" I say, "Yes." He says flatly, "Wow." Another random shopper nearby says cheerily, "I had three boys who almost sent me to the insane asylum, but I'd take three boys of different ages over two twin boys any day!!!" I laugh. She says, "I'm not kidding!" From the cheese section I bend around another customer to try to peer down the aisle to check on K & O. They are sitting on the cart bench, with their bodies turned so that they are face to face. At first I think they are cutely kissing. But no. To my horror I can clearly see that they have their mouths wide open and they are french kissing. People are staring. Some people have even stopped dead in their tracks to stare. I run over to them and start pushing the cart forward. "Guys! Please! No tongues!!!" That gets a big rise out of them. They start laughing and doing it more. As I move as quickly as possible through the rest of the dairy aisle I periodically look down to see them giggling, french kissing, and licking each other all over their faces. "Guys! Guys! Please!!" I say. "What mommy? We like it!!!" they say in unison. "Who wants a cookie?!!!!!!" I say as I frantically break open a package of fig newtons from our cart.

Two Interesting Things From Last Night

Owen's Belly Button--
Click here for previous post about Owen's Umbilical Hernia. Never has he ever once said or done anything to indicate that he has any self-consciousness whatsoever about it... until last night. At the dinner table last night, truly out of nowhere, completely out of the blue, Owen says (with seriousness and a tone of real sadness), "Mommy, why I don't have an 'innie' belly button? Why I have an 'outie'? I don't want a big outie, I want to have an innie." My mind started racing the second I heard 'innie' because I knew what he was going to be getting at before he even finished his first sentence. The default answer that immediately shot through my head was to tell him "Because that's how God made you! And you're perfect just the way you are!" or some rubbish like that. But, 1) it is a lie-- that is not how "God" made him-- it is the result of human hands, a poorly tied umbilical at birth, a pretty extreme umbilical hernia, and early starvation so that the hernia could not and will not ever be able to totally heal... and 2) to tell him he's 'perfect just the way he is' would sort of be problematic when, sometime relatively soon, we take him for an operation to correct his umbilical hernia and give him an 'innie'... I tried to think quick. I said: "Owen, you don't want the outie belly button?" He said, "No, I don't want it, I want to have an innie just like Kyle and just like you and just like Papi." I said, "O.k.! Guess what? We're going to go to a special doctor at a hospital who will fix your belly button and make it an innie!" He seemed satisfied with that. Now I've got it on my to-do list for today to start the process to set that up. The surgeon we saw about it when the boys first came home said that he wanted to do the surgery at age four. Braydon and I had already been talking about trying to get the operation set up early, hopefully for this winter, so that we can have it out of the way before the baby is due. Now Owen's given me a push to make it happen. But I find it just so interesting that now suddenly Owen has noticed it and is self-conscious of it. Something must have happened at school yesterday or something, but I have no idea what.

Sibling Love--
[Quick note about Baby Sister's name-- we're not making the name public so on the blog we're writing 'Baby Sister' even when K or O actually say 'Baby ___'. They call her by her name almost 100% of the time.] Last night right before bed, the boys were on Braydon's lap in Kyle's room, just like every night, and Braydon had just finished reading them books. I walked over, just like every night, to say prayers with them. Before I sat down --with my belly just at their face level-- I pulled my shirt up so that K & O could kiss the belly and say 'night night' to Baby Sister (they've been doing this since we told them there is a baby in there). They kiss the belly and whisper things (that Braydon and I usually can't make out) to Baby Sister. They were doing this whole routine last night when out of the blue Kyle says very clearly: "Night Nights. I love you Baby Sister." Then Owen said it too: "I love you Baby Sister." We have never prompted them to say 'I love you' to the baby; we've never even insinuated that they should feel 'love' for this abstract soon-to-be member of our family; and we've never talked about feeling love ourselves for the baby. It was totally sweet and cute, but also totally surprising to hear it. Braydon and I were totally taken aback by it. I find it so fascinating that siblings can start to develop a true bond and an organic love for each other even before they meet and/or even before one is born. There is no doubt that K & O feel love for their Baby Sister, despite the fact that she's still so abstract to them and they've never known another sibling but each other/their twin. And the other part that is so amazing is the miracle of adoption--- the fact that Baby Sister won't be a biological sibling to them, but this has absolutely no significance whatsoever (at least not now) for K & O.

Baby Sister

So… the scoop about “Baby Sister”!!! I’m at 21 weeks; halfway through the pregnancy now. Mostly what I remember about the first trimester was it being one long, 3-month, delirius-blurry-hazey-fog of nausea mixed with desperate exhaustion. (The two photos below, both from late September, pretty much sum it up for me: napping as much and as often as possible, sometimes with K & O... and seriously blurry mornings). Obviously I knew that everyday millions of women around the world are pregnant under extremely much worse circumstances than me, and I reminded myself of that multiple times a day, but those first 10-12 weeks were just plain rough around here nonetheless-- me working more than full-time (with my tenure case decision in the middle of it), Braydon working waaaay more than full-time, two rambunctious 3-year-olds running us ragged, and me just hoping that: 1) I'd get through each of my lectures and meetings without having to run out of the room to puke, and 2) I'd be able to get through the day without falling asleep at the wheel [literally and figuratively]. I remember thinking to myself often, “If Tara Livesay can do this in Haiti with lots more kids than I have, then I can do this here without complaining about it!” (Hi Tara!) I also remember the first trimester being exciting too. Suffice it to say, it is strange to go through a first pregnancy, but with two kids already! Being over 35 I'm considered a "high risk pregnancy" so I have been getting the best of everything plus tons of extra attention and appointments from the best doctors in our area. Knock on wood--- it has been really a terrific experience so far.

I think so often of what it must have been like for Kyle and Owen’s birthmother when she was pregnant with them. She is on my mind a lot anyway, but during this pregnancy I think of her pretty constantly. And I talk about her at just about every doctor’s appointment I attend. I tell the doctors how grateful I am for what we have, how appalled I am at the disparities of the medical systems across the globe. They surely think I’m nuts. But I can’t help myself. I am in awe at the medical establishment we have. Every time I’m hooked up to an ultrasound machine (even though I’m 100% healthy and the baby is too, because of being “high risk” I’ve already had four!), every time they draw blood, every time they test my urine, every time they put me on the scale, every time we listen to the heartbeat, I think of K & O’s birthmother. I wonder what it would be like to be in Haiti, in Cite Soleil, on the streets, with nothing—not even a mattress—and to be pregnant. Not to mention, to be pregnant with twins. No doctor. No tests. No pre-natal vitamins. No ultrasounds. And I think of other things too--- like what it must be like to be pregnant in a place where there is extremely limited (if any) clean drinking water available, and what it must be like to have to struggle to find food—and to be forced to survive on only rice and beans (on a good day) and/or mud cakes (on a bad day) and/or absolutely nothing (on the worst days). I am so spoiled with my cute new wardrobe from GapMaternity, and my snuggly Boppy Pregnancy Pillow (the best invention ever, by the way! and the best "Happy Pregnancy" gift Braydon ever could have given me!), and my mega grocery store 10 minutes away where Braydon can run to at any time of day or night to get me anything – absolutely anything – I could possibly need or want. It is shameful – not because of what we have here, but because of what they don’t have there, and because of how the two go hand-in-hand. I wonder what it would be like to be her. I ache in my chest for her. I wonder what it would be like to be a baby (or two) growing inside of her. The baby inside of me has been sucking on her hand during our past two ultrasounds. She’s swimming around happily in there without a care in the world. The contrasts are almost more than my mind can bear.

We found out Friday that it is a girl! We didn’t care whether it was a boy or girl, but I was hoping for a girl just to switch things up around here a bit. (Plus, I'm Woman enough to admit it: I can't wait to dress a girl!!!) We had waited until then to tell K & O about the baby—we wanted to get through Christmas before the real countdown-to-baby began. We also wanted to be able to tell them if it was a boy or a girl—thinking it would make it much less abstract for them. I’m so glad we waited. It has been such a joy to share this with them!

They are beyond thrilled. They seem to understand it all much more than I expected that they would. I was worried that they’d be asking 100 times a day about when the baby was coming, but they aren’t—they understand she’s coming in the spring, in May. We told them the baby is going to be born “after their birthday” and they totally get it (I am praying that she waits until then!!! Their birthday is May 8 and Baby is due May 15). Kyle immediately made the mental leap: “I’m having a baby sister when I’m four!!!” he announced. “Yes!” I said. And he’s been repeating that over and over since. True to their word from previous months and years of their begging for a baby, neither of them seem to care in the slightest about the gender—they’re happy to have a sister and have never even hinted at questioning that. They know her name but we’re keeping her name quiet, something just for us to know, until she is born.

Owen is nothing but ecstatic about this new chapter unfolding. He comes to me numerous times a day to press his head and cheeks to my belly. His favorite thing to do is to ‘zerbert’ the baby (by zerberting my belly). If I laugh he reprimands me very seriously: “Don’t laugh Mommy. I’m not zerberting YOU! I’m zerberting BABY SISTER!!!!” He has many, many questions about how she’ll get out. We answer every question (and believe me, there are many!), trying to be as up-front and age-appropriate as humanly possible. His biggest concern is that I will “pee” on Baby Sister when she is being born. He tells me many times a day “Be careful you don’t pee pee on her! Mommy, you can’t pee pee on her when she’s getting born!!!” He also asks a lot about how she got in there. One of the first things he asked was, “You swallowed her?” We struggle with answering these questions, but we’re trying the best we can. It is so complicated with adoption added into the mix—they’re just starting to comprehend the reality of their birthmother… the idea of entering a man into the mix just seems overwhelming at this point. I’ve told Owen that “a man and a woman grow the baby –so tiny at first you can’t even see it- inside the woman’s belly.” He just looks at me dazed and confused. And then rams his head into my belly to zerbert Baby Sister again. Owen tells us about all the things he will do with the baby. He will “change her poopie diapers!”; “teach her to crawl!”; “read books to her!”; “help give her a bath!”; and of course… “HOLD HER!!!”

Kyle, as I totally had predicted, takes everything to a whole other level. He is very happy about the baby. But he articulates often his sadness about not having grown in my belly. “I don’t want to be born in another lady’s belly, I want to be in YOUR belly, with Owen.” I feel deeply sad for him; his grief over this is so genuine. He tells us that “it was scary” to be in another lady’s belly. We assure him that his birthmother was “so special” and that she was “so careful” and that he was inside growing with Owen. The solace this (that he and Owen were together in her belly) gives Kyle is truly indescribable. He is so comforted with hearing about this over and over—how two twin babies grow together in one belly. This seems to be the only thing that gives him relief- and it is a true deep relief for him. Most of the time, though, he’s grinning ear-to-ear about the whole thing. He cannot wait to get out his old crib from the attic and set it up in what will become the baby’s new room. He wants to know when we can do this. The sooner the better as far as he's concerned. I’m not sure how long we’ll be able to hold off on it because he wants to do it so badly. Kyle tells us about all the things that he’ll make sure the baby does not do. He is very clear about the rules! “She can’t play with our toys!!! Because she might try to eat them!” and “She can’t eat our food!!! Because she might choke!” and “She can’t read our books!!! Because she’ll be too little!”

We took them for our first baby clothes shopping at Baby Gap in Doylestown on Monday. It was so symbolic because this is where Braydon and I went to buy our first clothes for K & O the day after we got our referral. That seems like just yesterday and I can vividly remember exactly what we picked out for them. It was a sweet, sweet moment to go buy Baby Sister’s first two outfits with the Big Brothers. They each picked out one outfit. Kyle spotted a jean jumper and was very excited about it: “OVERALLS!!!” and that was it— he couldn’t look at one other item in the store (overalls are K & O’s favorite things to wear), so a tiny jean-overalls-dress with a pink t-shirt was what he bought her. Owen found literally the most expensive dress and sweater set in the entire store. It is an absolutely precious white summer dress with embroidered flowers, and a beautiful pale green cardigan that goes with it. What can I say? The boy has good taste! I found it very interesting that they both chose dresses – very girly outfits – and seem to totally embrace the potential girly-girly-girly-ness of Baby Sister. At age three I would have expected that they’d try to find clothes that they would like to wear, or that seemed familiar to them. But no, it was all about the dresses.

~~~

Driving home from the Gap on Monday I brought up for the first time what she might look like. “What color eyes do you think she’ll have?” I asked. They thought about this long and hard in the backseat of the car. Kyle said, “She’ll have brown eyes, just like me and Owen.” Owen thought even longer about that. “I think she’ll have dark blue eyes. Not light blue. Dark blue.” He said. “What color hair?” I asked. They answered this quickly. Kyle said, “Red.” Owen agreed: “Red.” (?!) “And what color skin do you think she’ll have?” This had them seriously stumped. Owen finally said “Yellow!” And Kyle thought that sounded right, “Yes, yellow!” he said. I pushed it a little. “Do you think her skin will look like Mommy and Papi’s? or like Kyle and Owen’s?” They thought and thought about this but never answered. “Yellow” they repeated… and then I understood (or at least I think I do)… yellow is sort of a mix for them, halfway between their brown and our white. So there you have it. The scoop on Baby Sister.

Starting to Grasp It...

Early this past summer Kyle and Owen went through a phase of being hyper-interested in their own adoptions and in concepts related to 'where babies come from' (click here for just one example of blog posts from that period of time). Over about a 3 week period they were like little sponges, thirsty for information. We gave them as many of the age-appropriate details we possibly could. However, during that time, despite our best efforts, they consistently insisted that they had come from "a nest" or from "an egg" (as in a bird's egg), or... their favorite: that they had come from "Haiti" (as in they were "born from Haiti" - with no acknowledgement of there having been any human beings involved). It seemed very, very hard for them to grasp, at that point, the concepts that we were trying to convince them of: that they "had grown in a lady's belly" and that they were "born from that lady" and that "she wanted us to have them" and that "then they were adopted and we became our family." Whenever they'd initiate it, we worked this from every angle, in the most straight-forward and simplistic ways. We followed the advice of all of the adoption literature. We followed the advice of other adoptive parents. We followed the advice of child development books. Still, they more-or-less ignored our information and plowed ahead with their own explanations. This is one of the interesting things that I've found about raising twins; regardless of what they hear/see/experience via Braydon and I (or any other person for that matter), they still have the mighty power of twinship... so, for example, if the three of us (K, O, and me) were talking about how they were born and I was insisting that they were born from a lady's belly, but they were insisting they were born from a nest, then ultimately it is 2 against 1, and it is twin-super-powers vs. wacky-old-mom and... to state the obvious (obvious for the twins at least): they win out. No matter how much their logic or rational (or behavior, as the case may be) is flawed, it is, ultimately, the two of them vs. the rest of the world. And, in our experience with our twins (who have a bond stronger than titanium), the two of them stick together through thick and thin. So when their explanations for babies' births come up super thin, those frail and flawed explanations still overpower the logic-of-another. Any other. In June, after going around and around with them about this baby-born-thing, I figured they weren't ready yet -- just simply weren't ready for the information. When they put it to rest, I happily let them. And waited for it to rise to the surface again. Recently, their interest has blossomed and we're in the thick of it once more. And now, just 5 short months later, they seem much more able to grasp some of the basics. Over the past couple of weeks they are suddenly deep-in-thought about it again. It comes up repeatedly, at any and all times. But this time around there has been no mention of being born from a nest or an egg or from Haiti. They currently seem to fully grasp that Haiti is a place (that you can be born in, but that you can't be literally born from), they understand that all human babies are born from human women, and... drumroll please... they 'get it' that they themselves "grew in a lady's belly." They can talk about how "the lady squeezed and squeezed" (Kyle needs to add that "she squeezed gently because she didn't want to hurt him"), and how then they "came into the world!" They also seem to understand that they then lived in the orphanage "until they were EIGHT MONTHS OLD!!!" and that then we came on a "big airplane!" to get them. They can tell the story of how we "held them!" and "fed them bottles!" and they know that we loved them so much right from the start. They also know that for our first days we stayed together "in the hotel in Haiti" (and if you leave this part out, making it seem like we went straight home from the orphanage, they will correct you), and that then we "took them on a big airplane" to "bring them home." Although I've begun to introduce the word "birthmother" to them, they have yet to take that on. They ignore it, and continue to call their birthmother "a lady" (with a strong, positive, upbeat tone), and for now it seems that they are not ready to go further than that. Which is o.k. With their newfound knowledge (or, I should say, their newfound acceptance of this knowledge), and their comprehension of the idea that they grew and were born from a lady's belly, K & O are now expressing what could only be expected: deep and profound sadness that they did not grow in my belly and were not born from me. They have told me numerous times "but I want to be born from your belly Mama." And it gets me each and every time. We hug and I tell them, "I know, know, and I wish you were born from my belly too, my baby," and I try to remind them of how much they were loved from before they were even born. They are particularly fascinated with the idea that they were both in "the lady's belly together." And, importantly, this seems to give them -- Kyle in particular -- great solace to know this. This tiny piece of information seems to mean the world to him right now. Which makes perfect sense. Three days ago the boys were playing with their dolls and I walked into the playroom. As Owen watched, Kyle walked straight to me, took his doll and carefully pushed it up under my shirt until it was tucked fully inside. He looked up at me and told me his baby was growing in my belly. I then slipped the baby out of my shirt and Kyle announced that the baby doll "came into the world!" Kyle held his arms out to me and said, "Now you give me my baby Mama." I handed him the baby, "and it was an adoption!" The next day during their rest hour I peeked into Owen's room to check on him. I saw him playing with a different small soft doll. He was pushing it up under his own shirt. He noticed me in the doorway and announced to me, "Mama, I am a lady!" I said, "Oh!" He then told me that his baby was "growing and growing, bigger and bigger" in his belly and that "soon it would be born!" He walked in front of his mirror to admire himself with his doll tucked fully under his shirt. Then he let the baby drop out and announced that it "came into the world!" He then handed me his baby and told me to "hold it gently."

A Question From Kyle

Tonight before reading bedtime books Kyle was talking on and on about when he was "a little baby." This is a theme lately for K & O -- I assume it is some sort of developmental stage; they are very consumed with thinking about what they were like as babies and how much they've grown. They know that they were adopted by us when they were "eight months old!" and often talk about what they were like at that age, etc. I said, "Ky Ky, do you want to see a picture of you when you were eight months old?!" "Yes!" he said (of course he's seen these pictures a million times but K & O never grow bored of them). We looked at a couple of the framed photos in his room -- a picture of our family when we were coming home from Haiti, and a picture of K & O when they were little babies in the orphanage. He was very interested in it all, so I brought out a little album that we keep in Kyle's room- an album of photos from when the boys were in the orphanage. As we were looking at the album (for the millionth time this year, but again, the boys never grow bored of it), Owen came and joined us too. The boys are recently very interested in the photos of the nannies at the orphanage, and want to know all about how the nannies took care of them "while our family waited and waited and waited for the adoption to be done." K & O don't like to call them "Nannies" because for them, their "Nanny" is Alex. So, we call them "Orphanage Nannies." We have several photos of different Orphanage Nannies feeding the boys bottles and holding the boys. K & O were deeply fascinated by these particular photos tonight. Then Kyle, who has never previously requested any specific information about his adoption or pre-adoption experience (neither K nor O ever has) asked very pointedly to "see a picture when I was in the lady's belly" (to see a photo of when he was in his birthmother's belly). I instantly felt heart broken that I didn't have such a photo. I never would have expected I'd feel this way, but I did. I just felt so badly that I could not fulfill this one (and first) very simple request from my son. It is not too much for him to ask. He simply wants to see a photo of his birthmother when she was pregnant with him. I told him that I was very sorry, but that I didn't have a photo of that. It felt like a black hole. I never would have thought I'd feel this strongly about such a little thing, but I did. It just feels like there are these pieces missing that create a void that I will never be able to fill. I said, "Do you want to know what that lady is called? It is your birthmother. Not your mother, but your birthmother." His eyes glazed over. This was not the information he asked for. It couldn't suffice. And I knew it. Why try to make up for it? The moment was lost. I couldn't give him what he wanted (needed?). I kissed him on the cheek and told him again how very sorry I am that I don't have a photo of when he was in his birthmother's belly.

One of those funny adoption comments

I was at school today dropping off the boys and we had all kinds of drama. Someone had smelled gas around 7:30 and called the fire dept. There were three enormous fire trucks that K&O&I watched. I held them up to look in side; they loved it.

Everyone was hanging around back waiting for the all clear and I met another father whom I had not met before. Heather sometimes gets comments like the following, but I rarely do. The conversation went like this (every one knows K&O of course):

Father: Which one is this, Kyle or Owen?
Me: This one is Kyle - his face is a little longer than Owen's.
Father: Oh. They're twins, right? I have twins - you have my sympathy! [jokingly]
Me: Oh, yeah - no kidding - how old are your twins?
Father: 7...
Me: Oh wow - Kyle and Owen are 3....
Father: Wow - 3??? - they are huge. I can't imagine what your wife went through!

I pause, not sure exactly how to respond.

Me: They're adopted.
Father: Ah, ok. My other son is adopted too.

Trauma and Healing in Adoption

I mentioned in my post last night a profound experience with Owen. I've decided I'm not going to blog anything specific about it because it is too private. It may seem to you, in reading this blog, that my/our life is an open book. It is not. I do blog about many things and I don't like "hiding"-- but there are also many, many things that I purposefully and conscientiously do not blog about. One of the categories of things that is off limits is anything too sensitive/private about my boys' histories. Before we even met Kyle and Owen, Braydon and I made a decision together that we'd protect certain parts of their life histories so that when they -- Kyle and Owen -- are old enough, they can choose whether or not they want those parts of themselves to be shared. It is a fine line. On one hand, we don't want to put a veil of secrecy over anything --- it seems to imply that there is something shameful to hide. We don't want our boys to feel shame. But on the other hand, we don't want to make public things that our boys may feel, or come to feel, should be kept private. And importantly, we do not want people to look at our boys through the lens of their traumatic past; we want people to see our boys through the lens of their transcendent present. It is tough. Not everyone who adopts has such complexities. But everyone who adopts from Haiti (or a place like it), probably does. We, Haitian (and others like us) Adoptive Families, are special cases. It is different for us because with only rare exceptions, our children suffered trauma. Deep trauma. Unthinkable trauma. Part of living our family lives is knowing that trauma and living a process of healing. In the Johnson-McCormick Family we are always conscious of that. Even though our boys were only 8 months old when we brought them home, their trauma (and their post-traumatic challenges) are very, very real. For Kyle and Owen it is still vivid. They have always expressed it to us in various ways. But now that they are so verbal, they have both begun to articulate that to us with words. Last night Owen told us about a memory that he has from when he was in the orphanage in Haiti. There is no way on earth my three year old boy would even have the knowledge to make something like this up. He's telling the truth. That takes guts. I'm so proud of him. In my pride for my son I've decided to not write about the specifics here. I'll let him tell that story someday, if he chooses to. Yet it is important to be real -- for the sake of all the other adoptive families out there who struggle in some of the same ways that we do (and in many cases, who struggle in ways so much more extreme than us)... so I want to say this: there is trauma and there is healing -- all mixed up together -- in adoptions like ours. I love my babies with a passion. As you know. So, I can't help but cry deep in my soul when I let my mind ponder their past. But I am focused on their transcendence and their incredibly promising future. Adoption is a miracle. In my mind, it is the truest miracle I know of or can imagine.

Owen (on left) & Kyle (on right), exactly 3 years ago,

in the orphanage in Haiti,

August 2004, age 3 months

Owen in the hotel in Haiti, our first week together,

January 2005, age 8 months

Owen on our "Over-The-Hump" Day

(same amount of time out of the orphanage as in it),

October 2005, age 16 months

Owen on our first Adoption Day,

on the hotel balcony, celebrating in Baltimore,

January 2006, age 20 months

Owen at the pool, last week,

age 3 years & 3 months