The Curious Case of The Bunny in the Nighttime- A Knuffle Kerfuffle.

Last April the Easter Bunny brought Meazi and Melese stuffed bunnies- that's Melese's in the photo. While not their most prized possessions, these bunnies appear quite a bit in Meazi and Melese's playtime. Packed among Pirate's Booty and Cliff Z bars in their backpacks, poised for a trip to 'Russia' or 'San Diego', these bunny companions are definitely loved by my kiddos. Like all of our toys, they also spend a considerable amount of time at the bottom of the basket, waiting patiently for M or m to deem them a worthy rescue in their latest firehouse scenario, or strap them into their imaginary car seats in their Plasma Cars.

This past August we threw a rather large ice cream social in our back yard. We got an enormous jumpy house and gallons and gallons of ice cream. We invited a family that we were hoping to get to know better. This family owns an Indian restaurant that we frequent. We like Indian food a lot. The owner, let's call him Raj, is super friendly, generous, and knows what it is like having small children. We first met him several years ago. He's watched us toast to finishing our adoption dossier, eat celebratory samosas when we got our referral, and walk through the door with two scared Ethiopians about to try chicken Tikka Masala for the first time. My very first impression of Raj was formed when we brought another couple to the restaurant for the first time. Our friend's son was having a meltdown and the one other person in the restaurant was shaking his head, and complaining about the noise. My friend took her son out for a walk. She returned when he fell asleep. Raj walked over to her and placed an appetizer on her plate "I know what it is like," he said.We had talked to Raj about getting together outside of the restaurant. He worked all the time, but asked if we would consider attending his housewarming party, "Of course," we said. We never received an invitation but when our party rolled around we thought it would be the perfect opportunity to have them over. He came with his adorable children, a girl 8, and a boy 7. They had jet black hair and big, deep, brown eyes that may have tied with our kids' eyes for biggest, brownest, and most beautiful. They heaped their bowls with ice cream, whipped cream, cherries, sprinkles, chocolate sauce, and m&m's. They ate and ate. It was a fun party, but I was a bit overwhelmed by how large it was. I wish I had hired a teenager to help out with the drinks, as I felt that I was too busy to really talk to all of our guests.

Raj had to get back to the restaurant and I saw him at the door. I was carrying Melese, and I hugged Raj goodbye. He was standing between his kids on our threshold. I bent down to say goodbye to them, and to let Melese say goodbye to them. All of the sudden I noticed that Raj's daughter was holding one of Meazi and Melese's stuffed Easter bunnies. Odd, I thought, Meazi isn't usually so generous with her toys and I didn't normally see her give toys away to people she had just met. I stumbled and said, "Oh". I looked at Melese and his eyes had become gigantic. He looked at the bunny, looked at me, and then back at the girl.

And then, I faltered. Mom Fail.

 I said gracious goodbyes as they hurried into their car. I closed the door and Melese stared at me with a look I hadn't seen before. "Melese," I said, did you give those kids your bunny?" He shook his head no. Hoping that Meazi had been so taken with the girl that she had presented her with a parting bunny gift, I smiled at him and said let's get back to the party.

Later, after everyone had gone home, and after the air had been let out of that monstrosity beside the house, I asked Meazi if she had given her bunny to Raj's daughter. She shook her head no, and began to cry.

And then sob.

"Buuuuuuuuuun Buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuun! My Buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuun Buuuuuuuuuun!"

Then Melese began to cry. His bunny could not be located either.

Steven and I sat Meazi down and tried to talk about the situation. We asked her to describe what happened, perhaps there was a misunderstanding and the girl thought the bunny was a gift? Meazi looked confused. Her face made us think that something weird was going on. I began to immediately try to diffuse the crying, "Just things! Just material possessions! Let it go Meazi." (This is sometimes a tricky thing with our kids with whom we worked so hard, encouraging them to form attachments to items. When they came home they were used to communal, orphanage toys. Early on, when they showed attachment with a toy, blanket, or article of clothing, we took it as a good sign! They knew they would now have their very own things! They didn't have to share.) "Just things Meazi and Melese!" I said.

Steven announced,

"We need to call them."

I recoiled in horror. The thought of Steven calling our friend (our friendship had just moved to a new level! We were ice cream socializing!) and asking him if his darlings were indeed kleptomaniac bunny stealers  was terribly upsetting.

"Please Don't Call Them!" I shouted! Let them keep the bunnies. Both Meazi and Melese were still whimpering.

Steven picked up the phone and called the restaurant. I heard him speak to Raj's wife, a beautiful, beautiful woman, who always wore intricate, sparkly, colorful saris, and had always been very kind to us. He explained the situation, and in a very diplomatic way asked, if perhaps there was a misunderstanding about the bunnies. He was very clear, kind, and managed to make it sound like it wasn't a big deal, and that he just wanted to know what the situation was so that we could discuss it with Meazi. He hung up.

Embarrassed, I said, 'I can't believe you called?" Steven shrugged his shoulders. I immediately imagined all sorts of horrible scenarios with Raj's kids getting punished for stealing. Did they spank in their family? What would happened to those big eyed beauties? What would happen to the bunnies? Would Melese ever forgive me for faltering at the door? Why, oh why didn't I say, "Oh those bunnies stay here sweetie! They are just toys to play with while at the party! Would you like a gallon of ice cream to take home?"

Raj and his family didn't call back. Weeks went by. I drove by the restaurant quite often, glancing in the window wondering how they were and when we were going to go back and have dinner there again.

Months passed. Now it was the elephant in the room. We didn't purposely avoid them, but when choices for a dinner out were suggested, we chose take out burritos.

Meazi added this incident to 'The Many Ways Mom has Failed Me' list, occasionally shaking her head and saying, "I still can't believe you gave away my Easter bunny mom!"

Steven and I speculated about what might have happened. Maybe they were angry with us? Maybe Raj's wife never told him that we called? Maybe we had failed at being friends too.

Six months later...

I am in the house getting ready for a rare weekday evening out. I am headed to see Lenny Kravitz in concert with my gorgeous friend Katerina. The kids are outside with Steven, playing in the yard. I hear some commotion, walk out and see Raj in our driveway. He is carrying a large bag of food; all of our favorite dishes, samosas, Tikka Masala, garlic nan, and rice. He is carrying a small plastic grocery bag tied in a tight knot. He is talking to Steven, and Meazi is running toward me shouting that he has brought us dinner. He hands me the small plastic bag and says, "I'm so sorry. I've had them at the restaurant for months. I lost your number when I lost my phone. I thought I'd just give them to you when you came to the restaurant next. I remembered you lived in this neighborhood, but I didn't have your address. I'm so happy to have found you."

I opened the plastic bag, and there they were, Meazi and Melese's stuffed Easter bunnies. One was a little worse for wear, having gained black streaks of what appears to be Sharpie marker. The other looked just as we had left her.

We stared at Raj. We thanked him profusely and told him how sorry we were about the whole thing, and about how much we missed him. He rushed off, needing to get back to the restaurant. The four of us stood there dumbfounded in our yard holding the bunnies, and our gigantic bag of food, the scent of curry wafting above us.

These Days

And I would go so far just to be where you are... would take no time bringing my heart to you. 

These days I am a really good mother...

While they are sleeping.

It's the when they're awake part that I need to work on.

I usually wake up around 5:30, giving me a full 30-45 minutes to get my shit together. This week was particularly tough for some reason. The kids have been bickering a lot. All of us have had numerous meltdowns. Three of our four kitchen chairs have been decimated by the two-year old. Not sure how we are going to have family meals anymore without chairs. I think Meazi is a little anxious because school is winding down. She is also sad that her dear friend Masha is leaving to go to Russia for the summer. This 'short four day' week has dragged on and on. I am depleted.

Before they wake up, I have it all figured out. I will not raise my voice. I will not nag her to get into the car so we can make the first school bell. I will listen to him more, and make sure he has a lot of my undivided attention.

I will cut down on the processed food. I will measure their feet again and make sure I have them in the right size shoes. I will schedule a dental appointment for Meazi. I will go through their clothes and take out what is too small. I won't cry so much in front of them. I will set a good example. I will teach them coping skills that they will use throughout their lives.

Doesn't happen. There isn't time. I am navigating meltdowns, and low blood sugar episodes. I am refereeing. I am asking them to put away their toys for the 13th time apparently in a voice so harsh that it causes Meazi to cry and say, "Mom you are scaring me!"

One mistake can go through this life so slow, want to keep myself from making two.

I don't want to keep making so many mistakes. One mistake can go through this life so slow.

But each sunrise, I get another chance.

And the sun will rise and we'll open up our eyes and see love showing what's really true.

I get another chance to remember to wear my homemade Mother's Day pin.

 I get another chance to give my undivided attention to his amazing Buzz Lightyear shoes.

I get another chance to be the mother that I thought I would be.

These Days is a song I am listening to over and over lately. It is on this album. It is a beautiful song. I can't find a video of Alison singing it, but I did find this one. Think I'll give it another listen.

Two

Two is harder than one. Terrible twos. I've heard the term. Melese and I have had a rough few weeks. In a real mothering low, I sat weeping in our desk chair while Meazi tried to comfort me by stroking my hair. She couldn't really, because her tiny hand was clenching some "Goddamn coins she'd better pick up before her brother eats them." I have been at my wit's end. He has been throwing tantrums, whining, crying, and literally destroying every item in our house. Steven has been working ridiculous hours, which adds to Melese's frustration. In an even lower mothering moment I barked to Steven on the phone, "He is being a real asshole!" Yep, called my darling, formerly docile son, an asshole. What a jerk I am.

I realize he is asserting his independence and that is good. I am realizing that I am not a very patient person. I realize that there are some things that he is absolutely not allowed to do, like hurt the dog. He doesn't respond to, "Stop that." He laughs when I put him in a 'Time In'. I have been yelling at him. I feel terrible.

Also, he has been sick. Since the fundraiser. Several times in the past I have taken him to the doctor for a cough and the doctor has said, "It's a cough. Nothing you can do about it. Ride it out." My friend Amy spent an hour with him the other day and told me the cough sounded bad. I took him in. He is on antibiotics. I am a jerk.

The saddest thing that I have ever seen him do happened this morning. He woke up, looked at me, looked at Meazi, and said, "Where's my daddy?" I told him that he had to leave early for work (5:30). He burst into hysterics, "I want him! I want him!" We called him on the phone, and Melese just held the phone to his chest for a half-hour. He whimpered and whimpered just listening to Steven working on the other end. It was heartbreaking. 

He is talking about Ethiopia. I don't know what it is going to take to make me step up my game on this stuff. Meazi's early revelations, and surprisingly early discussions about her past should have made me realize that Melese was going to want to talk about this stuff 'early' too. I am not trying to completely beat myself up about everything here, but I really have failed a lot lately.

Luckily, my beautiful son is forgiving. I believe we had a break-through today. He was on the potty and he said, "Africa, I have someone there mommy." I said, "I know you do Melese. You have many someones there." And we said their names together. How is it possible that these kids are so wise at such a young age? Is it that they have lived lives with huge events already?

My son is not a terrible two. He is a resilient, brave, beautiful being and I am going to do better.

I have to.

Am I the Only One ?

Am I the only one who goes to the pediatrician appointment fully prepared to decline most vaccinations for the kidlets, and then slowly caves as said pediatrician tells disease horror story after disease horror story?

Am I smart to cave? Or wishy-washy?

What kind of idiot am I for thinking a five-in-one shot was the best thing for Melese this morning?

On the way home Steven says, "Don't freak out but look at your son." Sure enough I look at the car seat and Melese is completely passed out and much floppier than I have ever seen him. "PULL THE CAR OVER!" I yell. I quickly get him out of the seat, see that he is still breathing and I walk him around in a not so safe shoulder of the road. Meazi bursts into hysterics, "What has happened mom!!!" I put him back in his seat, get her, and give her a hug. I tell her everything is okay, and that I was just concerned because Melese fell asleep so quickly.( I was thinking back to when I had all of those travel vaccines in one day and was sick for a week). We continue on our way home. Steven takes Meazi into Jamba Juice to get a 'good job at the doctor' smoothie as I place my hand on Melese's chest. I quickly Google 'five in one vaccine' and begin reading horror story after horror story about vaccine side effects. Steven asks me what kind of Jamba Juice I would like. I say, " The scotch and vodka berry blend."

I am now lying in bed next to a sleeping Melese. I am hoping he wakes up soon so that I can stop worrying. I am pretty sure though that there is no end to the worry. Last night I had school anxiety dreams about KINDERGARTEN. I have already graduated from KINDERGARTEN. I can't possibly remain this anxious for my children.

How do you people do it?

Mother's Day

Tomorrow is Mother's Day. I'm a mother. I can hardly believe it. I am a mother to two beautiful children. I have a four-year old, and I have a baby. I am a mother.

Meazi came out of school last Thursday smiling. She was holding something behind her back. It was a surprise she wanted to give me on Sunday for Mother's day. She hid it in the stroller. "Don't peek!" she said.

The other day I was walking, and another mom from her school said, "So what are your plans for Mother's day?" Out of habit, I hung my head and sheepishly mumbled , "Oh, I don't know." Every year, for the past ten years, Mother's day has been awful for me, the last few years harder than the first few years. Now that the day is here, I don't really believe it. I am not convinced that I am a mother. Really? How did that happen?

Yesterday my friend Amy sent me the two pictures in this post.

Don't M&m look different? They were just home. Right after this idyllic scene, Meazi threw a tantrum of epic proportion. I had to carry her screaming, over my shoulder, into the car. Her brother began howling as well. It was awful. We have come a long way, but still have miles to go. I am still hopeful that one day I will be the mother they deserve.

The thing that has struck me the most lately, in regard to Mother's day, is that there are women around me who have 'had my back' since we got home. I knew that certain people would be there for me for sure, but what has been a remarkable gift has been the realization that women, all around me, have been helping me, almost without my knowing it. There are several moms at Meazi's school who have done little, subtle, things that I now see as huge gifts.

These moms who have been doing small things around, and for me, are on my mind most this Mother's day. (These moms and a couple of moms in Canada but I'll get to that later). Moms around me have been helping me in ways big and small. Some moms I know well, some moms I just met in September, and some moms I don't know at all. Breast milk, door holding, medicine delivery, a side-by-side stroller pep talk, a "I'm at Costco, tell me what you need and I will bring it to you," a "Give yourself a year," a pizza brought over after the world's longest airplane ride, hand-me-downs, advice given in a way that didn't make it sound like advice.

Sometimes I feel like whenever I leave the house with my two children, a bucket of anxiety is dropped on me from my door frame as I step out. Will I lose them at the park? Will a car rear end us? Will Meazi have a tantrum? Will the car seat fail? Will Melese fall and cut his eyelid a fifth time? Do I have enough snacks? Will she listen? Will a car back into her from a driveway? All of these things run through my brain. A trip to the park is a minefield sometimes. That dog is going to bite him. That guy looks creepy. That kid just shunned her. She fell off the play structure. Sigh. Pass me a Valium.

I am constantly amazed by women with children of their own who can swoop in and also help my children when they need it. As I look around nervously making sure Melese doesn't walk in front of the swings, another mom has helped Meazi down the play fire pole. As I frantically search for a healthy snack in my cluttered diaper bag that is most times lacking diapers, a mother swoops in with apple sauce in a squeezer and whole milk in a juice box. Amazing moms everywhere. How are they doing it? How can they watch their kids and mine too? When will I ever relax? I am a helicopter mom, which I didn't want to be, and my kids get hurt anyway. It is inevitable I guess. Sigh. Pass me a Zoloft.

If I had more money, and if the kids hadn't just woken up. I would write a note to all of you moms who have helped me, in person and online. In the letter would be a generous gift card to a local coffee shop, preferably attached to an upscale nail salon. All of you would enjoy as many lattes as your body could handle, a luxurious pedicure, and a heaping dose of gratitude from me. Thank you for everything.

Now about those Canadian women.

Rana. Dear sweet Rana. This is the last one I promise. This is the last Mother's day that you will feel this way. (Rana received her referral for her son soon after we did, and is still waiting to pass court).

You too Carolyn. This is the last one. Please don't give up. Don't. Give. Up.

I'm off to peek at my surprise. Meazi says she has to give it to me soon because it needs water.

For the love of God, please don't let it be another pet. One more thing to worry about.
Sigh.Pass me a Paxil.

Happy Mother's Day.

Thoughts at Six Months Home...

We have been home from Ethiopia for six months. In many ways it feels like it has been six years, and in many ways it feels like it has been six days. I can honestly say that the best piece of adoption advice that I ever read (and I can’t remember where I read it) was:

Don’t evaluate anything in your new family for at least six months.

That and…

Sleep when they sleep.

Two very important pieces of advice.

The past six months have been intense. The whole experience, from the trip until now, has been ‘ier’ or ‘er’. Everything was just more than I imagined it would be, ‘heavier’ ‘happier’ ‘sadder’… you get the idea.

When you reach a certain age, you think that you have absolutely experienced every single emotion that exists. If you are a melancholy, depressive type, you might think that you have known the very deepest sorrow. You are sure that you understand grief and loss. If you are a person who has reached a certain age, you are sure that you have experienced happiness. Moments of joy may seem few in comparison, but you are sure that you have felt them, and that you fully understand what joy feels like. Having children changes all of that. I realize now that I really had no idea. I didn’t know anything about sadness. I didn’t know fully what joy feels like. I do now.


Being a Mother

I have always been a person who was a little bit good at a few things, but not really excellent at one thing. I think that I thought that ‘being a mother’ would be the thing that I would succeed at, that maybe I would be an excellent mother. Well, it isn’t, and I am not. I am not as good at this as I thought I would be. I fail repeatedly. It is much harder than I thought it would be. I am disappointed in myself, but realize I can improve. I will improve.

Marriage

Don’t evaluate anything in your new family for at least six months.

If we hadn’t followed this advice, I think that Steven and I would have separated. I don’t say that lightly. That would have been something huh? Get everything that you always wanted, after ten years of trying, and then fall apart. Those first few months were extremely hard on my marriage. I now see that this has been a huge transition period for all of us. As Steven is now most likely banging his head on his desk at work while reading this, let me just say that I think it might be helpful for other newly formed families to realize that it might not be a romantic, loving, happy-ending period in your marriage. It might be challenging-ier. You might be frustrated with each other. You might have different ideas of how things should go.

One thing that we have agreed on though is Attachment parenting. Our kids needed, and still need, this kind of baby-wearing, co-sleeping, attention. It works for them. They feel more secure everyday. They trust us. Meazi and Melese have now been with us longer than they were in care.

Attachment


I believe that attachment is something that you always deal with as an adoptive parent. Your kids aren’t all of the sudden ‘attached” to you. There will be an ebb and flow. As they change developmentally, their attachment will change too.


It took Melese nearly four months to make eye contact with us when we were giving him a bottle. I had read something that said, “Take the bottle away until he looks at you, then continue feeding him.” This seemed wrong to me. I didn’t want to force him to look at me. He needed time, so we gave it to him. Now he stares at us with those big, beautiful browns, and it was definitely worth waiting for. We still haven't left Melese with anyone. He cries if he can't see one of us. People say, "Oh good, he is attached to you," but he isn't. He is not secure in his attachment. If he were, he would know that we will return, and he wouldn't cry. I guess we would have to leave him for him to figure this out. I am not ready to leave him with anyone. I don't think he is ready either. So, yeah, not securely attached.


Meazi would have attached to a lamppost in Ethiopia. She wanted attention. She wanted love. She had experienced great trauma and loss. She had also fully developed what I call an orphanage persona (including a name for herself). When we first came home I read Amanda’s blog and thought that if Meazi had been in care as long, and had been as old as Samry, we would have been dealing with the exact same issues. Thank you Amanda for being so honest about what it was like for you. Meazi’s alter ego, which served her well at the orphanage (she got to wear the red sparkly shoes and the pink shirt) quickly faded as she figured out that she no longer had to compete with anyone (except maybe Melese) for attention, that all of the clothing in the closet belonged to her, and that there would always be enough to eat. You can tell when Meazi is feeling insecure now, she will crinkle her nose the way she did in Addis, and her voice gets weaker and higher. I still think she has a bit of ‘indiscriminate attachment’ lingering, but it is much, much better. She is very gregarious and friendly so it is a delicate balance, I don’t want to discourage her effusiveness, but I don’t want her kissing the UPS man either.

Health

(Meazi waiting to see the pediatric infectious disease specialist at Cedar's Sinai).

I wonder if other adoptive moms do this. I wonder if you ever say to yourselves, “Well yes, it is a better life for them here in America.” If you are like me, you may feel conflicted about taking your children from their birth country. You may feel that their losses are enormous. There have been three times where I felt like M&m were better off here. The first time was our first week home when Meazi’s pediatrician looked at me and said, “Yes, it looks like she still has her clitoris.” Meazi, unlike thousands of girls in rural Ethiopia, was not a victim of FGM. I breathed a sigh of relief at that moment. Life is hard enough as it is with a clitoris. I am making a joke here, but really it was something I was worried about, and it is something that should never happen to anyone, anywhere.

The second ‘better off here’ moment was the week before Christmas. That same pediatrician called me and said that after four months of treatment, Meazi was finally free of the six different parasites that had been ravaging her little body. Merry Christmas.

The third moment happened recently at the LACMA.Walking through the galleries I thought... Meazi and Melese will see things. They will travel. They will have opportunities. They will see art, maybe even play an instrument. They will go to school. They will go to college.

So, three moments in six months. Not sure these balance out the other moments, moments like Meazi asking to see someone in Ethiopia, or Melese kissing a certain picture we have, but we continue to try and navigate our way through this sea of joy and sorrow.

Holidays


The kids had met my parents. Meazi calls our room out back the “Nana Bet’ because on the day we came to America together, Nana picked us up and was living in her Nana house out back. They love their Nana and Papa. (In these past six months I have also been reminded just how incredible my own parents were/are. Nothing like instant parenting to make you appreciate your own parents).

Most of our relatives were only here for three days. The kids loved their Aunt Kate, and their Uncle Mark, and Kate's boyfriend Tarek. It has to be weird though right? "These people are now your aunts and uncles." After the first two nights of festivities (and truthfully this was a really fun, beautiful, longed for time, and the kids did enjoy it) Meazi said, “Mommy, tonight just you, and me, and daddy, and Melese.” I said, “Is it too much Meazi?” She said,”Yes, too much, too much hugging mommy." Uncle Mark, who had planned to stay for two weeks, noticed that we needed some time alone. He cut his trip short and returned to NYC. It took our kids exactly three weeks to recover from the holidays. It was too much. The change in, or lack of, structure (school was out too) really set us back. Both kids regressed, Meazi’s nose got crinkly, and they both needed carriers and bottles. It was a textbook regression. We regrouped, and holed up, and repaired, and reminded them who we were. Structure and Nurture, I try to remember Rebekah’s advice at times like those. I also stumbled upon this advice.


A Pound a Month or Don’t eat every time they eat unless you are trying to gain weight.


These kids eat a lot. Meazi has gained a pound every month, as have I. I realize that I did not have very regular eating habits before the kids came home. Steven eats a lot of meals at work, and I am a grazer. I like to snack and drink coffee. Sitting down to three meals a day plus snacks causes me some anxiety (and not just because I gave Melese a cup of sweet potatoes that had gone bad). I wish that I had spent less time blathering about waiting and more time learning to cook healthy delicious meals for my family. Every time I defrost a processed foodstuff from Trader Joe’s I think, Carrie would never give her girls this. Another area of parenting that I need to work on.


Our M& m’s
Steven, who really should take over the writing of this blog, told me the other day that he believes that these kids really are like M&m’s. They have a tough exterior shell, but underneath they are soft. The shell is very, very thin. This describes them perfectly.

They are also sweet and shiny like an M&m. (Dear the makers of M&m’s, right now would be an excellent time for you to make me an offer I can’t refuse. Please sponsor my blog so that I can put the monies into a violin lesson fund, or a “Travel to the Statue of Liberty” fund. Thank you).


Before we met our kiddos we noticed that all of the Ethiopian children we knew were tough, very tough. They would get knocked down, and get right up again. That is why we now walk around the house with our fake announcer voice saying to each other, “Today on The World’s Most Sensitive Ethiopian, Meazi’s eyebrow gets brushed by a shirt sleeve," Or “Today on The World’s Most Sensitive Ethiopian, Melese melts down because mom needs to pee." These kids are super sensitive.

Melese


Melese turned one on January 1st. I know, I know, sounds like a made up birthday huh? I don’t care. Also, we were going to call him Mel because Melese sounds like Melissa. Well, I just can’t. He is Melese. He knows his name; he has known it since we met him. He is Melese or Meles. People will continue to think that we have two girls I guess. Melese continues to be the ‘Bringer of Joy’. He is one cuddly, huggy baby, and Oh. Those. Eyes. He has eight teeth. He walks. He has started to utter words; dog, daddy, mamma, guitar, and this and that (which my friend Heather reminded me that maybe I am not always saying the name of the thing that he is pointing at and instead saying ‘this’ or ‘that’. Mother fail again). Melese loves the dogs. The dogs are very patient with him. Melese rips off all childproofing gadgets in mere seconds. He is like King Kong tearing through the joint, putting socket protectors in his mouth and turning on all of the gas burners.


He is obsessed with the vacuum cleaner and cries his eyes out when I put it away in the closet. He has given us stomach raspberries since the first month. Where does a baby learn to give a raspberry? He is crazy cute. He loves the color yellow, his dad’s guitar, and above all else, his sister Meazi. She is his touchstone and as Claudia pointed out in a comment that really stopped me in my tracks, “ It will be such a gift for her to tell Melese their story."


Steven and I continue to agree on one thing, waiting for siblings was the best decision we made.

Watching these two interact may be the most rewarding part of the whole experience. I am so relieved that they have each other.


Meazi

You’ve seen a bit of what Meazi is like. She amazes me. She is stubborn, or as her Nana puts it ‘determined’. She is sensitive. She is affectionate. Her Pre-k teacher told us that in thirty years of teaching she has never seen a child pick up language the way that Meazi has. Meazi remembers everything. Last week she reminded me about a disposable sippy cup we gave her in Ethiopia. She told me this elaborate story of how she brought it to the school in Ethiopia, how they wouldn’t refill it with water for her, how she brought it back that afternoon to the care center, about how the nannies kept it in the kitchen for her , and then gave it back to her the next day. We talk about Ethiopia a lot. We showed her her video lifebook when we got home, and she asks to see it every few weeks. We talk about adoption. There are a lot of questions.


My father visited us again in January. One morning, over breakfast, Meazi told her Papa the story of Ruby Bridges. It went on for some time. In her story were references to Rosa Parks and Martin Luther King Jr. My father and I just looked at each other in shock. Did I mention that she was smart?



Don’t evaluate anything in your new family for at least six months.

At six months the laundry continues to pile up in the unused crib, the dogs have been demoted to (gasp) dog status, there is more defrosting than there is harvesting, and there is more pizza than there are vegetables.

I wanted these children so much, and now I want so much for these children. I want to give them everything. I want them to be happy, and safe. How on earth will I keep them safe?

At six months we are a family. M& m’s story has become our story too. We are a family with two countries. We are Habesha. We are American. We are stubborn, (I mean determined), and we are sensitive. We love each other. We don’t always agree. We grieve and we heal. We laugh and we cry. We dance and we sing. We worry, and we let go.

There is sorrow and there is joy.

At six months...


We move forward.

The Care and Feeding of a Habesha Tortuga

A woman that I have never met before is breastfeeding my son.

How's that for an opening sentence?

She isn't literally breastfeeding him, but he is drinking her milk, a lot of her milk. Every day. Every night.

There is a woman I know, her name is Elena. I met her several years ago. We were in a Yahoo group for women who were trying to get pregnant. I was the only one in the group who didn't end up getting pregnant. Elena got pregnant with triplets. On March 9th, 2005, Elena gave birth to her sons Carlos, Rafael, and Loran. All three of them died in her arms. She eventually went on to adopt two children...

Xavier...
And Ivy...
Xavi and Ivy had breast milk too.

I had been really interested in the idea of breastfeeding your adopted child. I did some research a couple of years ago, and thought that I might be able to give it a shot. Unfortunately it became clear to me that I wasn't brave enough to try it. It seemed that most protocols for induction involved some form of estrogen or progesterone, and since I had had cancer, my docs advised against it. That combined with the eye rolls I received from almost everyone I mentioned the idea to, made me quite discouraged. Many people find it bizarre, or unnatural. Steven was not really supportive either. He didn't think I could do it, and he was right.

I had heard about places where you could get donated breast milk for your adopted kiddos, but I was in such poor shape when we got home from Ethiopia (physically, emotionally) that the last thing I could figure out was how to get healthy, disease free, breast milk for Melese. I had always wanted to do it, but I just didn't have the energy to pursue it.

When we got home Melese transitioned from the sugary Bebelac formula to one our pediatrician recommended. (Disclaimer: I am not knocking anyone for using formula. We use formula too. There is no judgement in this post. I just want to tell you this story).

Elena made getting Melese some breast milk her mission. As she told me, "Julie, this is my passion". She told me to set up a FedEx account for the shipping of the frozen milk, and she got busy finding us a donor. She followed leads, sent e-mails, posted pleas, and interviewed potential donors.

On August 28th, Elena sent me an e-mail,

"Struck gold. A friend of mine found some milk (a lot) for you."

Enter Kasi. Kasi is the middleman as it were. Kasi, a woman I had also never met, delivered fifty bags of frozen milk to my house. (I don't know why a total stranger would do something this nice for someone else, but she did tell me she was from Wisconsin and I am thinking that has something to do with it). The breast milk was from her neighbor, a woman named Nina. I don't know the exact details of why Nina has so much milk, I didn't want to pry too much. I know that she has a new baby daughter, and I think I heard that her daughter couldn't nurse for a medical reason. We continue to get milk from Nina, and Kasi continues to bring it (Did I mention that Kasi is eight months pregnant, and has a young son at home?)

The first time Melese had Nina's milk he looked like one of those pull puppet ornaments, his arms and legs started moving up and down wildly. He guzzled it. He loves it. He absolutely loves it.

(And yes you may notice Mother Fail #204, I have not yet transitioned from the disposable liner, plastic bottles I bought "Just to travel with," to glass ones like I had planned. Isn't likely to happen at this point. Oh, and I didn't make homemade baby food either.)

Melese is healthy, and if you will excuse my saying it, beautiful. He is strong. He has blossomed from a listless baby with a bald patch on the back of his head (from lying in a crib for months), to a very active, very chatty, chub-alicious, chunk of love. He will walk soon. He has four and a half teeth. His eyes are shiny, and his skin is perfect.

I struggled for weeks trying to write a thank you note to Nina. What do you say? I have never even spoken to her on the phone. I don't know anything about her.

How do I thank Elena? I hadn't seen Elena in several years. We scheduled a playdate for September 10th. She just brought Xavi over. I was pretty much a mess. Xavi and Meazi had a great time together. Elena brought me another carrier to use for Melese. Meazi pilfered it for her baby "Sito Mito"...


Elena looked great, but was using a cane because she had a weird pain in her hip. She thought it might be sciatica, or something similar. She had been seeing doctors in the weeks prior in an attempt to get some relief from the pain.

The day after coming to my house, Elena went to pick up Xavi at school and had a seizure. I found this information out from our mutual friend, Deb. I e-mailed Elena. It turns out Elena doesn't have sciatica. This is part of a note she posted on Facebook...

"I'm not going to beat around the bush. I have extremely advanced lung cancer with brain, liver, and bone metastasis. There is a bone tumor in my hip which is of course what has been causing all of this sciatic pain."

Elena has cancer. She is undergoing treatment. Heavy duty treatment. She has cancer. The C word. She has two children, Ivy and Xavi. She has a husband Mark. She has a full life, which now has become about Chemo, and Cat scans.

These three woman have changed my life. It's not about the breast milk. Melese would have been fine without it, I am sure. It is about the intention, the caring, the selfless giving. It is about these women who have much better, and more pressing things to do then think about me, and my baby, and his diet.

In a little while, I will shake Melese's bottle in front of him, the sound of the shaking will set off a smiling frenzy, as he knows the shaking signals that the milk is just seconds away. Mid-bottle he will take a break to smile at me, and nuzzle his big turtle head into my shoulder. We will take a breath together. Then he will continue to eat, and then slowly drift off to sleep in my arms. When this happens, as it does every middle of the night, I will take a moment to hold these three mothers in my thoughts and in my heart; One mother that I don't know at all, one mother who is about to give birth to her daughter, and one mother who is fighting the biggest battle of her life.

These three incredible women...

Nina.

Kasi...


and Elena...



Thank you.

Mother Fail

Isn't there a 'Fail' blog or something? I think I should start a new blog, "Mother Fail".

It is a tricky thing, blogging when you get back. Besides the fact that I am having an identity crisis of my own, it seems the blog will have one as well. There are so many things that I would like to write about. Since M&M are not the authors of this blog, I feel like I must guard so much of their personal information. (Ha! I am sure Steven just muttered, "Why is she so open about me on the blog then?") I am trying to figure out a way to write so that my words have meaning, but I also feel very guarded and censored as so much of what happens, just in the day to day, is probably a result of our children's very specific life experiences. I also don't want to be a rainbows and unicorns blogger now that I have my happy ending, because after a couple weeks home I really wanted to punch all of those people in the face, repeatedly.

Our trip. I don't even feel like I can write honestly about that. The main reason is that I have never been happier to come home to Los Angeles, and I don't even like Los Angeles. I felt like we were in Ethiopia for six months. That is a long story, and not as ominous as it sounds, but my opinions on our trip would be, I am sure, hugely unpopular. I was also pissed off at everyone when I got home. I thought that people should have told me just how devastating it was over there. I am not sure what I was expecting. I guess I wasn't expecting it to be that heartbreaking. Maybe I thought it would be just a little bit heartbreaking.

So, what would be helpful? What would prepare people who are about to do this? Here is the single most important thing to know, " It will be difficult". Maybe it is just me, but this has been hard, and wonderful, and awful. I certainly, also, don't want to bitch and moan about something that some people are STILL WAITING for. I just want people to know that it may be harder than they thought it would be.

Let's be specific. Things I wish that I had done before meeting my children:

1. Learned more Amharic.
2. Sat down with Steven to come up with a clear, agreed upon, method of discipline.
3. Read more detailed information about babies (i.e. What to Expect the First Year).

The first week home was amazing. Steven and I were both home with them, and well, just look at them...


Then the shit hit the fan when I got sick, and Steven went back to work. I don't remember ever feeling that sick. It was awful. I was trying to meet the needs of these two lovelies, when I could barely lift my head off of the bathroom floor. Luckily, I had help, and we muddled through.

Now they stir, and I must go. Quickly before I do, my biggest failure as a mother, (so far, who knows what today will bring) is that I cannot differentiate betweeen what is typical toddler behavior, and what is adoption related. This inability to decipher has made me a wishy-washy disciplinarian and has produced poor results. More on that later.

So, if this post wasn't hodgepodge-y enough, let me reach out here and mention that I believe, with all my heart, that daily tragedies (and I don't mean of the parenting kind) I mean of the life and death kind, could be prevented with food. Tomorrow marks the last day of Meghan's fundraising campaign for Doctors Without Borders. Please donate today, if for no other reason than that you may prevent more Ethiopian children from ending up with an inexperienced, geriatric, adoptive mother like me.