Microblog Mondays- Dear Aya

A co-worker is about to make the monumental trip to China to adopt a long awaited, longed-for child. Coincidentally, she is going to the SWI where Lotus was.  I have been writing and rewriting this letter for her to take.

Dear dear Aya.
That is the name that my daughter, (our child) called when she was scared in the first weeks she was with us. I hope it is all right that I call you that.

The little light you nurtured for a year is now looking squarely at her fourth birthday. She is bright, inquisitive, and affectionate.  She is a very wordy child---which means is that she tries to use her words and tries to process by speech what she is thinking and feeling.

A few days ago we were looking at her storybook (a book we put together with the pictures you gave us) and she saw a picture of you.  She stared at it for a while. and I asked her what she remembered.

"She smelled good." Our daughter said. "She was warm."

I knew she was loved.
I knew you loved her.

She is loved now--oh so very much. She lights our life with her smile. She makes us laugh with her belly laughs and her hugs are the best endings to long days.

I realize that I have not thanked you enough for giving her a safe place. I know you were firm, but you were affectionate. You paid attention to her--possibly at the expense of other children. I wonder if you were the one who nursed her from your body, and if you were I thank you for that.

I don't know your name--I only know you as her Aya--but I thank Gd for you every night.  I hope you have joy, comfort, and peace.  I'm sending pictures of our girl to you with this letter.  Please know that we will do everything for her, and someday we will bring her back to China to visit so you can see her.

Best,
Journeywoman

I wasn't going to blog about this

I wasn't going to blog about this. 

I really wasn't. 

Or at least I wasn't until I figured out how I felt about it. 

But it has been two days and I still don't know how to feel. I feel anger, fury, pity, and so many other emotions that I really can't get a handle on them. 

It started Wednesday night as we were putting Lotus to bed.  She was tired after an insufficient nap at school.  D had ben trying to get her nightgown on and she wanted to do it. We know this because the cry "I want to do it!" echoed through the house. D dumped her on our bed with her nightgown half on and half off.  He was having some bathroom issues and had to get to that room. I gently tried to righten the nightgown so she could better get it herself.  I got a shriek in response.  Great, I thought. Our nearly weekly going-to-bed tantrum. Finally she punched through the nightgown and I clapped. She smiled a bit and started to calm down. 

She then started to look so puzzled and then started to cry again, harder. 

"What is it, baby?" I asked. 

"He hit me." She said.

"Who?"

"Daddy." I knew this wasn't the case. I just knew because the three times D accidentally hit Lotus he was practically crying harder than she was. 

"Did he say sorry?" I asked. 

She shook her head and started to cry harder. 

"Daddy hit you?" I asked. "Are you sure? When?" I asked. 

She shook her head no when I asked if Daddy hit her. She started to cry even harder. Somewhere between sadness and sobs. 

"Honey, sweetie, what is it?" I said taking her in my arms and rocking her.

"Before." she said. The way she said it it had a capital B. She was sobbing now and I was rocking her back and forth. I started to get a glimmer of an idea.

"Before Daddy?" I asked. She stopped crying. The absence of sound was jarring. D walked into our bedroom sat on the bed and put his hand on Lotus' back. We were staring in each other's eyes. 

"Lotus-full-name, are you saying that before you met mommy and daddy someone hit you?"

"Yes." She said and started to sob again."A lot."' She was howling now and I was rocking her and D had his hand on her back. She reached out and I though she was going to throw his hand off, but she wanted to hold his hand. I met D's eyes and I started to cry. He shook his head and gestured to her.  

Right. She didn't need my tears right now. 

I sang the Tarzan song I sang when we first met. It helped calm her as it usually does. We got her quieted down and she went to sleep. I stayed up. 

Someone hit her. Before. Before she met mommy and daddy. Someone hit her a lot. 

People scoff at the idea that she remembers anything about that. I know she does. I know she has memories from before us. Scent memories, sounds. There is a chef at our favorite hibachi restaurant that she freaks out when she sees him or hears him. So much so, we don't go there anymore. Does he remind her of the person who hit her? 

Even now, typing this, a rage goes through me. I want to leap over continents and oceans to physically assault the person who hurt my child so much that over two years later she is still frightened. I'm not a violent person but I feel violent. I feel furious. 

She feels at home with us. She feels right with us. She loves us enough to trust us with these memories. I feel honored. 

She trusts me that I will not hit her. She trusts D that he will not hit her. Before she slept she gave a special hug to her daddy and kissed him. I feel humbled by this. 

More than anything I am in awe of her. She trusts us. She shows it in many ways. I didn't realize how brave it was for her to let herself trust and love us. So much bravery in such a little package. 

Two years ago--yesterday.

Yesterday we celebrated our 2nd family day.  I wrote this article about it and I thought I would share it here. 

It was the most important day of my life and all I could think of was, Would I make it to the toilet

My husband, Dave and I were in China in a van going to our hotel to see our child for the first time. We had been told that we would meet our baby, the day after our arrival in Nanchang. I had it all planned. I’d have a bag of Cheerios for the baby. I knew I would sing “Baby Mine.” I would wear red—the color of joy in Chinese culture.

Why I should have expected this day to go as planned when nothing whatsoever in my motherhood journey had done so, I don’t know. First we went through fertility treatments. The medical establishment has innumerable ways to take the “sex” out of “sexy”—leaving me to wonder “y?” Was I fully a woman if I couldn’t bear a child? How was my marriage to work when sex became a chore—and someone other than the two of us made the schedule? After yet another doctor’s office called to tell me that the latest procedure hadn’t worked, the decision to adopt wasn’t so much a decision, as a level of defiance: I was going to be a mother.  We chose China.

If I thought fertility treatments had been invasive, the adoption journey brought invasiveness to a whole new level. We cleaned up our messy home and prayed that a speck of dust wouldn’t take our dream away when the social worker visited. We asked our friends to write recommendations for us. How many parents today would have children if their friends had to write references for them? We were fingerprinted so many times that it might have been cheaper had we built our own crime lab. We were “Paper Pregnant” and remained so for close to seven years.

Then we got the call, an email with sporadic information, and a picture. A little girl who was born the day I had miscarried my only pregnancy, was to be our child. She was sitting, unsmiling, against an orange background. She was wearing a pink outfit with yellow socks. She was the most beautiful baby we had ever seen. Another three months of hacking through the bureaucratic red tape and we were in China, our daughter’s birthplace.

 The day before we were supposed to meet our daughter, Dave and I, and another couple that would be meeting their soon-to-be-adopted daughter got off the plane in Nanchang, China.  We were assured that our guide would find us—and it was easy to see how. We were among very few Caucasians there. Our guide, Claire, introduced herself, helped us get our luggage, and told us, almost parenthetically that our babies would be waiting at the hotel and we had to get into the van quickly.  I stared at her. Was she trying to maybe make a joke? The other soon-to-be mother smiled and made joyful sounds. She obviously processed this better. My brain was a blank. I looked at my husband and I saw he was just as scared as I was. Then, of course, my body got into the action. I needed to use the bathroom.

In most of China a toilet consists of a ceramic hole in the ground with a place to put your feet. This is supposed to be excellent for your colonic health. If you’re a Westerner needing to defecate, it is the devil itself. I had used one, but I wanted to go to a Western toilet in the hotel.  I was hoping I would make it.

I tried to imagine our baby, soon to be renamed Lotus in my head. Was she walking? Did she have a temper? The information we had was eclectic and maddening. It said that when she got sick she got well quickly—but not what she had recovered from. It said she liked music—but not who sang it to her. It had the measurements of her anus—and I had some degree of pity for the poor worker who had to record that bit. All that info and I didn’t know her. What did she like to eat? What made her smile? Laugh? What made her fist her hands? Would she like us? Would I like her? Would I make it to the hotel to use a bathroom or would I embarrass myself before I met her?

We arrived at the hotel and I ran full-out to the Western toilets—in time! Afterwards, I walked to the ornate lobby of the hotel. The sun streamed in as I looked for Dave. I’d be lying if I said I remembered the expression on his face—all I saw was the little girl he was holding in his arms.  She still didn’t have much hair. She was wearing a long sleeved striped shirt in 95-degree weather and, her face was very red. That might also have been because she was screaming her lungs out. She didn’t seem to be afraid, more pissed off. I ran to my husband and held my arms out for our baby.

He placed a screaming weight of about 20 pounds into my arms. I started jostling, hoping to comfort her, and she screamed louder. I opened my mouth to sing and every song I’d ever learned went out of my head. I would have been hard pressed to do the ABC song.  I jostled more and her crying got even louder. I held her closer and she screamed right in my ear. Finally I heard myself singing:

“Oh stop your crying, it will be all right.

Just take my hand, hold it tight.

I will protect you from all around you.

I will be here, don’t you cry.”

As the next words of “You’ll Be in my Heart” from Tarzan came out of my mouth, my daughter stopped crying. My blue eyes met her deep brown ones, and she kept eye contact. I tried to put all the love I felt into my eyes. My voice broke as I sang about how she would be in my heart. I felt Dave’s arms come around us as we became a family of three. 

Fail

I don't do internet rants.

What I mean is, generally if someone says something stupid or does something stupid I roll my eyes and click away. I plan to this time as well--except first I have to say something about it because, quite frankly I'm annoyed.

Buzzfeed posted this thing. 31 images that will take you back to the moment you became a mother.

I clicked on it and all there were were women who have just (as in recently)pushed babies out of themselves. As Seinfeld used to say--not that there is anything wrong with that.

Well, except where there is. Except when someone believes that this is all that is required to be a mother.

I'm a mother and I have a problem with that.
I became a mother twice.
First in the office where I used to work when I saw my daughter's face for the first time.
Second--and most important--four months later when I was handed a screaming child. I grasped her and started to sing and she stopped crying and looked at me.

I became a mother that day.

But this isn't only about me.

What about the woman who becomes a mother when she opens her door to a sullen and terrified sibling group who are carrying trash bags (!) of their belongings?

What about the woman who becomes a mother in a courtroom after a long wait. A family erupts in joy and even the judge can't stop wiping his eyes?

What about the trans woman who is handed a child created by consensus and science and the child  grasps his mom's hand?

What about the teacher who brings a new pair of shoes to a kid who desperately needs them--but pretends they are old shoes to save the child's pride? She keeps in touch with the child long after the kids leaves her classroom and is invited to the child's wedding? Isn't she a mother?

What about the aunt who always listened and is woken up at 2:30 in the morning because her niece needs to talk and no one else listens like she did?  Isn't she a mother?

Mother is not only a noun-- it is a verb. One of those definitions is "to care for or protect like a mother."

Please remember it.

And now I will click away, turn off the computer, and go mother my child.

Friday Five--Five things I know about my daughter's time in the SWI

Most of Chinese adoption, prior to "gotcha day" is shrouded in mystery. By going to visit Lotus' SWI (Orphanage) we were able to clear up some questions. We still have far more questions than answers but I do have some answers and I am grateful for them.

5) We know she seldom slept by herself.

One of the places they showed us was the crib where Lotus used to sleep. We saw her crib. One of the nannies suggested we put her into it and because I felt like they knew better than I did, I did so.  Lotus shrieked and lifted her arms to me. I snatched her up before she took a second breath and she quieted instantly. We left the room and I noticed one crib outside the room. I asked the guide what that was and she explained that the crib was for when a child was "naughty or sick". I understand why you would do that--especially if the child was sick, but it kept us from trying to get her into "her own" room when we came home. We didn't want her to feel like she had been bad.

4) We know she was premature.

They showed us the incubator in a corner of the infant room. They told us when she was first found they put her in there for nearly a month until she was strong enough to be okay in the cribs.

3) We know that she had a great doctor.

Lotus spiked a fever the day after we met her. I was a new parent and terrified and our guide suggested that we have her see the doctor at the orphanage. By then we noticed that Lotus never grabbed for our glasses. It didn't phase us, really, because we thought that there must have been a nanny with glasses who taught her not to. When we saw the nannies--none of them had glasses and we started to wonder. Then we met her doctor who had thick coke bottle glasses. The doctor picked Lotus up with gentle hands but payed no mind at all when she cried. She had the biggest DNFW (Do Not F** With) attitude I have ever seen. If I were Lotus, you couldn't pay me to try to take off this woman's glasses. The doctor gave her medicine. Then she asked for her back and kissed her on the forehead saying her Chinese Name. She handed Lotus back to us and smiled.

2) We know she could stand

Lotus could sit up from the moment we met her. She sat on the bed and played with Sophie The Giraffe giving us some amazing smiles. She didn't stand though and we thought she couldn't. When we said that to her second favorite nanny, she plucked Lotus out of our arms and put her on the little barre and she stood up. She was crying, but she was standing. I said, "She's crying." She replied through our guide, "Yes, but she's standing."

1) We know she was nursed and loved

Okay, technically I found out she was nursed away from the SWI.  I was changing to get into a bathing suit and she saw my breasts. Quicker than I thought possible she grabbed one and tried to latch on. We were able to deflect her because we had a bottle ready and fed her quickly. The next time  she saw me bare chested she was quicker and more determined. She latched on and I was thankful for all the times I had seen my non-bio sister break a latch so I knew what to do.

I talk about this because of the woman we didn't see. I knew her picture. I knew her face and I looked for it, Lotus was looking for her too. I had a picture on my smartphone and asked my guide. She asked and we were told she was sick today. It was on the way home when our guide said that since they knew we were coming, the other nanny couldn't say goodbye again. I understand that, I only hope that she knows how grateful we are for the love she showed her. So very grateful.

Microblog Monday: Musings About My Daughter's Mother

Dear China Mommy,

That's what we call you. I speak of you to our daughter as she realizes that she grew in your tummy not mine. I speak of you with affection, gentleness, and a debt that I will never be able to repay. 

Our daughter is nearing her third birthday. She is speaking English, but we plan to teach her Mandarin. Maybe we'll teach her enough so she can read the note you left her in Mandarin--not English. 

Thank you for that note. Thank you for telling us her birthday and the time she was born. She will grow up knowing that it is the correct date. 

Thank you for the great care you took in making certain she was found. 

She is getting more beautiful every day. You must be so beautiful--and our daughter looks like you. 

She is intelligent and quick. She has some agility and athletic ability--that's definitely your genes--not our environment! She loves to dance. Her voice is starting to be able to find and stay on pitch--I'm assured that it is early for that. Can you sing? Did you sing to her when she was inside you? Did you sing to her those five days between when she was born and when you made sure she would be found?

She doesn't ask many questions about you--yet. We will try--I promise we will try--to answer them to the best of our abilities. 

I know this. If you hadn't wanted her to be born--she wouldn't have been. We love you for her. We do. I think of you as I rock her to sleep, her head cuddled on my breast. It is my heart that she hears now-and you will always be in our hearts. So, in her own way, she is listening to the heartbeats of her mothers. 

May Gd bless you and keep you. 

Your daughter's mother. 

NiHao Kai-Lan, thanks for the window.

One thing about parenting that came as a surprise to me was the changes in children's shows. I grew up on Sesame Street and the Electric Company. I grew up without DVRs and VCRs showed up late into my pre-teen years. We did not have entire channels dedicated to children's programming.

This change is not a bad one I thought. I can park her in front of the TV like I was parked.

Well, except that there ware some kids shows that she doesn't like. There are some kids shows that I would prefer the tantrum than let her watch. Some though, after repeating and repeating and repeating, you would rather stick a fork in your skull than listen to it again.

Lately, Lotus likes to climb up on mine or D's lap and watch. We will often look at our iPad or computer but sometimes she says "Watch with me." and we do.

So her favorite show is NiHao Kai Lan. This has often been billed as "The Chinese Dora The Explorer" and while it is accurate, Kai Lan concentrates on emotions. You'll often hear her ask "Does Ho Ho look happy or sad?" Not a bad thing. I've found myself singing the songs to her. Like "Even when you're mad/hitting's always bad. Use your words." and it helps.

When we first brought Lotus home she adored Kai Lan. I imagine hearing the Mandarin made her feel at home. One deviation was when Kai Lan counted. I noticed it once, but didn't really think anything of it.

Another episode and Kai Lan counted to three and Lotus stiffened and looked around. The look in her eyes was terrified. She looked at me and held out her arms and I ran to pick her up. She was almost shaking. The look on her face was "What did I do?" Then I realized that Kai Lan had opened a window into her past.

We do it. Most people who work with kids do it. "If you don't do [blank] by the time I count to three you're in trouble." They must have done it at the SWI (orphanage).  Lotus heard the numbers and wondered what she did wrong. Once I understood I hugged her and told her what a good girl she was. How much she understood at the time I don't know but she calmed down.

I don't know what happened when the nannies reached three--which probably signaled (as it does with us) the end of patience. I hate the fear that was in Lotus' eyes when she heard it.

She seems fine with it now--with one exception. As Lotus' language has expanded she has added some of the Mandarin spoken on Kai Lan to her everyday vocabulary. Tuo-xie instead of the word slippers.

However when she counts--she counts in English, occasionally Spanish (Thank You Dora), but NEVER in Mandarin.

Who I Am Now

Hi,

This is for all the people who might not know me--and are arriving for IComLeavWe.

Who am I anyway?
Am I my resume.
That is a picture of a person I don't know.

I am, the mother of Lotus, the most beautiful child born in China--or anywhere else on the planet. We adopted her a few weeks after her first birthday. She is now nearly three, talking up a storm and refusing to nap with the best of them.

We adopted her after 12 years of infertility hell. This included IVF, IUI, and one miscarriage. That miscarriage happened, coincidentally--or not so coincidentally--on Lotus' birthday. We waited seven years to adopt a non-special-needs child from China. I have no issue with those who didn't choose to wait. I have no issue with those who adopt a special needs child. We are all parents.

I was let go from my job of ten years nearly a year ago.  Am I still bitter? Kinda. I'm trying to find where I fit in career wise and get money. So much of who I am was wrapped up in my career, I am still finding out who I am.

Mostly though lately, I'm a daughter who is grieving the loss of her mother. I didn't know how grief can touch everything. While I am much better than I have been, I still stifle the urge to call her to tell her something that Lotus did.

So, welcome to my blog. Glad to meet you.

More later.

Happy Year of the Ram/Goat/Sheep

Happy Year of the Ram!

Happy Year of the Goat!

Happy Year of the Sheep!

Since we're not so sure what to call it--I wanted to cover all the bases. 

Speaking about being unsure, I have to admit to not knowing what traditions to uphold and how to make Lotus feel good about this holiday when I don't really knowwhat I'm doing. 

When I lived in England, my British family had a friend who had raised his child as a Jew but the rest of the family was Episcopalian. Rick, had served his country in WWII and had been at Bergen Belsen when it was liberated. He met the boy, Art, who he would take home and raise as his own. (There's a lot more to the story, but I'll post that another time.)

One of the ways they raised Art, was as a Jew. They had a lot of issues with that. First, a lot of synagogues would not let Art join alone, but only as part of a family.  That would be understandable but the family was Christian, raising a child as a Jew. They didn't know what they were doing. So they became friendly with a couple that would often take Art to temple services. They celebrated the holy days with guidelines from plenty of books. Art was a grown man when I met him, expecting his first grandchild who was due any day. I made potato latkes for him and talked about being raised as a Jew with Jewish parents. He loved his parents and he felt Jewish, but he also knew there were some goofs along the way.  When passover came, they thought that he only had to abstain from leavened items for two days.  (I never understood why the people who took Art to temple didn't disabuse him of this notion.)

I realize that when Lotus grows up and starts spending Lunar New Year with more Asians she'll be full of the goofs I make. I know that I'll never be able to make her a whole fish--as I'm allergic to it. I wanted to dress her in her silks but she wanted her "Pretty Dress" and hey, it's her holiday and she's two and I didn't make a thing of it.

For those reading this who are raising a child born of a culture that you're not--how do you handle this? What do you do?

For everyone wishing you a  Gung Hay Fat Choy!  Joy, and prosperity in the new year!

February 4, 2013

It was two years ago today. 

Because of a wonderful woman named Rumor Queen and her website I knew that our wait was coming to an end. I knew that our "date" was in the referral batch. I had been calling our agency daily--twice daily to see if there was any news. The answer was always the same, "as soon as we know something, you'll know something."  It was said with gentle patience by a wonderful person, Julie, who had a kind voice and a sweet sense of humor.  

I had waited a weekend and it was a Monday. I was at work. I had already called the agency twice. The second time Julie said that the mail had come and there was no packet from China. She was so sorry, but it was going to be another day. I was polite on the phone, I said I waited six years, what was one more day. 

I hung up and I was so furious that I couldn't stay at my desk. I went downstairs and walked around the building so I could calm down. I cried a little bit. I got back to my desk and tried to concentrate on my work when my cell phone rang. I looked at it and saw it was the agency. What could they want? It wasn't going to be today. I was less than polite when I answered the phone. 

"Hey," I said in a grumbly tone. 

"Hi," Julie said. "Can I ask, is this your first child?"

What the ever loving hell did she need to know that for? I thought. 

"Yes." I replied in a growl. 

"Well, congratulations Momma, it's a girl!"

I'm told I screamed. I don't remember screaming. I remember falling off my chair to my knees.

"She's healthy." Julie said as if I wasn't turning into a blubbering wreck. "She's nine months old and she is beautiful." I cut her off because I promised D that we would see the picture together. I called D and screamed through the phone, "It's a girl! We got the referral!"  He said "I'm on my way home right now!!"

I ran and told my boss and got on my way home. Nine months old, I counted. She was born in May--around the time I had my one and only pregnancy and miscarriage. I got in the house and D was cleaning the kitchen so he wouldn't open his email. 

Together we opened the document and saw her face. As I'm going to try to maintain her privacy, I'm not posting the whole picture here--but I'm showing one of the things that struck me. Her little hand--it needed someone to hold it. From this day forward, D and I were to be that someone. We were going to hold her hand when she needed it--and sometimes when she didn't.  I also noticed her feet--this had been taken three months before, in December, when it was probably cold--and someone had put these yellow socks on her feet, to keep her warm. Someone cared to keep her warm. Then we looked at her birthday, she had been born on the day I miscarried. 

We called grandparents and siblings and friends. We were so over the moon that the paper pregnancy of six years had come to this conclusion. There would be new dates and a trip to China, but February 4th is when I became a mom.

My daughter

She is two and a half years old.

For one year and three weeks of those two and a half years--she didn't know I existed.

She was born in China and left to be found by one of the Half the Sky SWIs(orphanages) in that country. She was left with a note.

The nannies loved her. They gave us a load of pictures starting from when she was a month old; ending in the clothes she was wearing when she met us. We think they might have been taken that day.

She loved the nannies. Loved them so much that she trusted them enough to love us. When we visited the SWI we met them. Got to thank her second-favorite nanny. We didn't see her favorite--she couldn't stand to say goodbye to our little girl again. When the nanny put her into my arms she told my daughter that I was her mama. As we walked out she looked at me and said "Mama." An emptiness that had been inside me through eleven years of infertility hell, including a seven year wait for a non-special needs child from China was began to be filled.

Now, my heart is so filled with her I can't imagine life without her.

She has two laughs. One is what I call her polite laugh. I get this one when I pretend that her shoes go on her head as I help her dress.

The other is her full out laugh--I hear it when she's getting tickled, hanging upside down or something really strikes her as funny.

Her moods are mercurial as any two year old. Her favorite words are "MINE!" and "NO!" Her favorite sentence is "I do!" as she struggles to learn how to dress, climb, and all the things she needs to learn.

I will  call her Lotus on the blog--mainly to give her a degree of privacy. She's my flower, my darling, my daughter.