My happy adoption story

I haven't blogged in almost a year, but today is the Joint Council's We Are the Truth Adoption Blogger Day. So much bad news in the wake of the tragedy of Artyem, the young boy sent back to Russia by his adoptive mother, that JCICS asked parents to blog about their adoption success stories.

So here is mine.

Owen Loc has been home with us for a year and a half, and he is a happy, bright, beautiful little boy who brings tremendous joy to his family. We're blessed to have him. Every day is an adventure -- an exhausting but thrilling ride. I love the little person he is becoming, with his own opinions and likes and dislikes and worldview.

He's doing great. Doing well in preschool, happy most of the time, smart as a whip. He's growing (finally), healthy, and extremely active. He's incredibly verbal -- he has no problem expressing himself.

He's a mommy's boy right now, and I wouldn't have it any other way. We have a bond that feels ancient, not a year and a half old. Neither of us can bear to be apart from the other. And the three of us -- me, Ray, and Owen -- are such a happy trio. For the first time in my life, I truly feel like I'm part of something bigger than myself.

I don't profess to know what Torry Hansen was going through, but when I think back to our first six months with Owen, it wasn't a piece of cake. I went into this with my eyes as open as they could be. I remember an adoption medicine doctor telling us bluntly, "Kids don't end up in orphanages because they've been well taken care of. You've got to be ready for problems." It's so easy to forget, as you're pursuing your heart's desire to become a parent, that this whole process isn't about you.

So when I accepted the referral of a boy in the 0 percentile height and weight-wise, with little medical information and no knowledge of what he might have gone through before entering the orphanage at 15 months, I repeated my mantra, what I always come back to when I'm in a high-anxiety state and in danger of fear getting in the way of something I want. "I will move forward," I tell myself, "come what may."

We had a lot of challenges to overcome. He was terrified, waking up screaming and taking hours to calm down those first six weeks or so. He got out-of-control anxious indoors, particularly in small rooms. He spoke no English and didn't understand us. It started to get easier, but we had a lot to overcome. He had been in starvation mode for so long, he didn't know how to eat enough to be full. He was on such sensory overload that he bit me several times a day minimum, sometimes up to a dozen times a day. For the first 9 months he was home, he never slept more than 4 hours at a time.

But we hung in there. We worked hard. We got the help he needed, and the help we needed. We loved him like crazy, but we also knew it would take more than love to help him make the transition. I'm grateful for the therapists and other professionals who helped us, and all the professionals and fellow adoptive parents who prepared us.

Today, he bears so little resemblance to the frightened, underweight, nonverbal little boy I brought home. He's thriving beautifully.

I don't know what the future holds for us. Maybe there are challenges lurking under his placid, happy surface that will only reveal themselves as his world becomes more complex with school and friends and growing up. But I'm in this for the long haul. That's the promise I made to him when I accepted the referral.

He's brought us so much joy.

More popular than Jesus?

The Social Security Administration just released its 2008 list of most popular baby names.

Owen, No. 58.

Jesus, No. 79.

You know you're an adoptive parent when...

I've seen this on various adoption blogs...definitely can relate!

You Know You're An Adoptive Parent When . . .
1. The fact that there are 143 million children without a parent to kiss them goodnight has made you lose sleep.
2. You realize DNA has nothing to do with love and family.
3. You can't watch Adoption Stories on TLC without sobbing.
4. The fact that, if 7% of Christians adopted 1 child there would be no orphans in the world, is convicting to you.
5. You spend free time surfing blogs about families who have experienced the blessing of adoption.
6. It drives you crazy when people ask you about adopted child's 'real' parents.
7. You have ever been 'pregnant' with your adoptive child longer than it takes an elephant to give birth (2 years!).
8. You had no idea how you would afford to adopt but stepped out in faith anyway, knowing where God calls you He will provide.
9. You have ever taken an airplane ride half-way around the world with a child you just met.
10. You believe God's heart is for adoption.
11. You realize that welcoming a child into your heart and family is one of the most important legacies you could ever leave on this earth.
12. You know what the word 'Dossier' means, and you can actually pronounce it!
13. You have welcomed a social worker into the most private parts of your life.
14. You shudder when people say your child is so lucky that you adopted them, knowing full well you are the blessed one to have him or her in your life.

Bunnymen

Happy Easter!

Owen and Kyle suffer through the obligatory picture-taking while thinking, "We better be getting some good candy for this humiliation!"

Thunder 'n lightning

We had our first spring thunderstorm this evening, right at bedtime, and Owen was scared. I had to hold him and sit in the rocking chair until he fell asleep. (Yeah, tough job).

The thing is, I love thunderstorms. Or maybe I should say I find them fascinating. I surely haven't loved a flooded basement, or the time lightning struck my pear tree and took part of it down and I had to borrow a chainsaw, or even this evening's, when I only had the storm but most of my family 50 miles south was under a tornado watch...but I digress. It's just that I could sit at the window and watch the weather for the duration of a good storm.

I thought Owen might share my enthusiasm -- "Look Owen! Lightning!" Wrong. Instead, he cried and demanded "Up! Up!" out of bed, and hold me, Mommy, because I do not like this!

Madonna, Malawi and adoption madness - Los Angeles Times

Madonna, Malawi and adoption madness - Los Angeles Times

Another great article. Here's an excerpt:

The concerns about Madonna's latest adoption request seem to focus on such superficial aspects as what she was wearing when she toured the orphanage, her wealth, her race and her celebrity. What difference could these things make when weighed against the reality of the life the little girl she sought to adopt might face if left in the orphanage?

The questions that should be asked -- "Does a viable alternative to the orphanage exist for this little girl in Malawi, and does it exist now? Is there someone there who is willing and able to give her the love and care that is needed by all children?" -- are subsumed by ridiculous snarking about clothes and statements about what Madonna "should" do instead of adopting this child.

Meanwhile, a flesh-and-blood child waits for someone to come to his or her senses and consider her legitimate and immediate needs.

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Well said.

My adoption agency director posted this on Facebook today:

International Adoption Editorial
Barbara Adde
February 19, 2009


I entered the world of parenthood much later than most.

At the age of 42, in a stark, unfamiliar orphanage in a small, poor town, not even a dot on the huge mass of land on a map of Russia, I had the great joy of handing a dark-eyed infant girl I had just met to my husband and introduced our daughter.

By the time she came home with us 3 months later, she had gone from stranger to dearly beloved daughter. By the time she was 2, she could repeat with me that Mommy and Daddy would always keep her "happy and healthy, safe and warm."

Julia, and 4 years later, our son Benjamin, have become the light of our lives. They are as different as the 2 continents they were born on -- Julia from Asia and Benjamin, with his blond hair and pale grey eyes, from just over the border Russia shares with Europe.

Julia at 7 reminds me of a cat -- feline grace, mysterious deep thoughts hidden behind sleepy eyes, only to open with a sunny smile. At 4, Ben is a happy-go-lucky puppy, bouncing everywhere, stopping only to eat (often) and get a pat on the head.

Somewhere along the way between Russia and now, they stopped being adopted and became a part of me. They are clearly etched into my chromosomes -- each on their own, of course -- their internal continental divide.

And so it is with great pain that I read stories of children stolen from their birth parents to be sold to Americans, so desperate to become parents, supposedly, that they will look away from what is happening.

Perhaps this is true in some places, and it absolutely needs to be stopped, but these stories are affecting the lives of the hundreds of thousands of true orphans who will lose their one chance to know a family, because the fear that is being created by these stories is all but stopping international adoption.

Has anyone writing these articles stopped to look in the many, many orphanages that exist around the world, looked in the eyes of the children whose childhoods are passing them by? These aren't someone's living warehouses, storage for future sales. These are children whose parents, for whatever reason -- poverty usually, illness, personal crises we don't know -- have handed their children to the State to raise. And the orphanage women who struggle to do their best to keep these children fed, clothed and housed with the limited resources available to them.

Some of the children in these Russian orphanages are visited by parents and extended family; these lucky ones are identified as not available for adoption. The majority are never visited. These children exist -- or as one orphanage director told us -- "they do not live, they survive" -- until the day they are released to the street, with no home, no family, no hope. No past to give them roots, no future to look forward to.

Julia and Ben were among these children. It scares me how close we came to missing them. In fact, any one of these children could have been the one assigned to us by the Russian Ministry of Education. So each one is in some way mine also. And I had to leave them behind, with no mother to hold and comfort them, as I hold and comfort Julia and Ben. It is impossible to forget the children I met there and the multitudes each represents.

We can't leave them behind because of misinformation and politics. Those children who are truly without parents and family deserve their chance for a happy childhood too. Being born in the right place and time should not be a prerequisite for knowing a parent's love.

I don't know why my daughter and son had to be born to other parents on the other side of the planet -- I don't really think there is an answer. I don't know if there an answer to the pain I can only imagine those parents must still feel from a decision they felt they had to make -- or the pain my children will one day learn when they truly understand what they lost very early in their lives.

But I do know that the four of us are a family, bonded for life by much more than the pieces of paper that transferred their lives to our care.

I hope that the many waiting children reach the arms of the parents who can keep them happy and healthy, safe and warm.

Snowman pajamas!

Owen in his favorite snowman pajamas. He insists on wearing them every night, and he insists on wearing shoes with them to bed. The shoe thing is recent, and it's a bit of a regression -- in Vietnam and the first few weeks home, he wore his sandals to bed and would start to fret if he didn't have shoes on.

So, while he's going through the daycare transition...why not snowman pajamas and shoes to bed? How can I argue when he's smiling like that?

Show me your tears

Rough week, and it's only Wednesday.

Owen started full-time daycare on Monday. I want to believe it's getting better every day, but I think that's wishful thinking at this point.

The transition didn't go as planned. Two weeks ago, Ray started taking Owen to daycare for a few hours a day, gradually lengthening the time. We thought he'd only stay a few hours the first week and we'd increase the time the second week, but he was doing so well that he was staying through nap time by the end of the week.

Then, six days off. The second week, the provider and her kids got a terrible flu, and she closed from Monday through Thursday. So instead of five more days to get used to daycare, Owen went for one day, had the weekend with us, and then we dropped him off early on Monday, Ray's first day back after paternity leave.

Owen wasn't happy about this. I think it threw him to go so early, and the fact that Mommy and Daddy were both in the car for the drop-off, and clearly going somewhere together without him, was tough. He screamed and cried for a long time, the provider said.

Tuesday was a little better, she said, although he was hysterical when I left him. Today, he started crying as soon as we turned onto the provider's street, and was clinging to me and calling for me as I tried to hand him to the provider. It broke my heart.

When we pick him up in the evenings, we can hear him screaming from the driveway. The provider says it's because he sees us pull up, and he starts crying for me until I get in the house.

The provider is great, the setting is small -- only a few kids. I really have no worries about Owen's daycare. I think once we get over this hump, he's going to do great there. I think I found a good place for him.

But this first week...ugh. I feel like the worst mother in the world, walking away from him while he's holding his arms out and screaming for me to take him with me. I wonder if this is causing his little brain to recall, in some fashion, his first days at the orphanage, when he didn't know what was happening to him.

And now Ray is off in the morning to California for four days, throwing another monkey wrench in the transition. Owen will wake up tomorrow to find no Daddy in the house.

I feel like I'm asking an awful lot of the little guy these days.

Happy Year of the Ox

Owen at my adoption agency's new year's party on Saturday. Lots of good food, and it was great to see all the kids. I dressed Owen in his pinstripe suit, since I didn't buy him the traditional Vietnamese tunic and pants that many of the other boys were wearing. They all looked so handsome, I'll have to order one for next year.

Toto, I don't think we're in Vietnam anymore

First significant snowfall of the season. Owen played in it and caught snowflakes on his tongue.





He also made two tiny snowmen. Then he ate their heads.

Hatin' on the breeders

I had my court-appointed interview yesterday for the readoption. It came in the middle of a long day -- stressful day at work including giving a presentation, then rushing home for the interview, then heading back downtown for a working dinner.

The investigator was very nice, very personable. I really shouldn't complain.

But still.

I have never gotten used to the intrusiveness of the adoption process. I really hated having to answer so many personal questions, particularly about my relationship with Ray. I know we're doing this whole thing in a nontraditional way. So we're under more scrutiny even than a married couple. I know we have to 'splain ourselves to people appointed by the court who are only doing their jobs, and part of that job is looking out for the best interests of a child.

But still.

When breeders have to go through this kind of 3rd degree every time they pop a child into the world, I won't be so cranky.

O-ba-ma!

Owen watched Obama take the oath of office today. He can say, "Oh-bah-ma! Oh-bah-ma!" pretty well.

Then he had a meltdown because I wouldn't give him some candy. Then he took a nap.

Rock Lobster

Here's another photo from a few weeks ago. We had lobsters for our New Year's Eve dinner. Actually, I was flat on my back on the couch with a terrible cold I caught from Owen right after Christmas. So, he and Dad prepared a lobster dinner, and I dragged myself to the table. There was no Annie Hall moment -- Owen was very matter-of-fact about the whole thing.

Sharp-Dressed Man

Owen on Christmas Day.

Back to work

I'm almost through my first week back at work.

I can't say I'm very happy about it, but I'm settling in. This has been a huge transition for me. I miss all my "Owen time" during the day. The evenings are too short.

But Owen is doing great at home with his dad. They wave good-bye to me in the morning, and then do guy stuff all day. They've been to Ikea, they've worked on our big kitchen remodeling project, and today they baked a pie. Okay, maybe that last one wasn't guy stuff, but the pie was damn yummy!

This morning, for the first time, when Owen woke up, he called out, "Daddy! Mommy!" instead of just asking for me. That was great. This is going to be a wonderful few weeks of bonding for him and Ray.

Mommy, on the other hand, will have to adjust.

I've had the time of my life

This is it. It's over. I'm heading to bed in a few minutes, and when I wake up, I re-enter the working world.

I don't want to make too much of a drama about this. Millions of women head to work every day, leaving their kids in someone else's care. There's nothing unique about this.

Except that it's killing me. Owen's speech therapist told me last week that every mom cries the first day back, so I shouldn't be too hard on myself. And Owen will be home with his dad. He'll have a great time. Ray will have a great time. It's going to be hardest on me.

It really has been an amazing ride. We went on a trip and came back with someone we'll know for the rest of our lives. I went on a trip and became a mom. It still blows my mind how much has happened in such a short time.

Being at home with him taught me how non-linear time is. Sometimes the days felt endless, sometimes they flew by. The weeks and months disappeared before I knew it.

Owen went from being a scared little boy who barely opened his mouth to a little motormouth who can say probably 100 words in English and is starting to put two-word sentences together. Since we've been home, I've gotten him off the bottle and sleeping through the night (most nights). He's become very attached to his grandparents, cousins, and his parents of course. He's met so many people and done so many things, and he rolls with all of it with amazing flexibility. He laughs and jokes and teases all the time now -- things that were unimaginable in July and August.

We still have transition issues. Getting him to go to sleep is an exercise in frustration for me most nights. Eating is fraught with issues, but he's learning to regulate his food a little better. The sensory integration issues are still tough -- I got bit twice today, and badly. And while sometimes he's pretty good about getting his needs met, other times he's just a little too go-with-the-flow. When he doesn't protest about being hungry or uncomfortable, you can see how much deprivation has shaped him.

But he's done amazingly well, considering all that's been asked of him since July 22. I am in awe of how the transition has gone.

So now we start a new routine. At what point in the day am I going to miss him the most? I think naptime, when I'd be snuggling with him in the rocking chair, under a soft blanket, with his little head on my shoulder. That's pretty hard to beat. On the other hand, there's pretty much zero chance I'll have to change a dirty diaper from 8 to 5 tomorrow.

The sweetest and saddest time of day

T minus three days. I have three days of maternity leave left.

Owen's going to be fine. He's going to have a great time with Ray over the next few weeks. And once he's in daycare full-time, I think he'll be fine. He loves to play with other kids, so I think he'll have a ball.

But still.

The past few days, we start every morning with our usual routine. I'm up, drinking coffee, watching a little Matt 'n Meredith 'n Al, or trying to get a start on the day, when Owen sits up in his bed and calls out, "Mommy!"

When I walk in his room, he's calmly sitting there, waiting for me, with the biggest smile on his face. Then I scoop up him, his Capitals blanket, and his teddy bear, and we head to the couch. Sometimes he drifts back to sleep on my shoulder, or just snuggles there for a while. We sit on the couch together and cuddle and laugh. We might practice some sounds and words. We exchange a lot of tickles and kisses. Then we go have breakfast.

This week has been bittersweet. I keep thinking, we won't have time for this once I go back to work. Not at the leisurely, all-the-time-in-the-world pace we have now. I don't even know if Owen will be up when I leave next week. Will he wake up and call "Mommy"? Then what'll happen?

Every morning lately has been beautiful, and yet it has tugged at my heart unbearably.

How's that again?

We spent the day in VA so that Ray could get his car worked on and inspected, and interesting things always seem to happen over there.

1. We were in the library down the street, keeping Owen entertained in the children's section, when I looked over at a shelf of picture books. My eyes settled on these three book spines, all in a row: "Punk Farm," Bubble Bath Pirates," and "Annie Was Warned."

Now, I'm just getting back into children's books after a long absence (a high school job in a public library); maybe some of you are familiar with these. For all I know, they're classics. But the titles just cracked me up. "Punk Farm" could be the name of a band (and indeed it's about a hard rockin' band made up of a pig, sheep, cow, and horse). "Bubble Bath Pirates" clearly belongs in the women's erotica section -- except that this is Virginia so there's no women's erotica section. Obvs. And as for "Annie Was Warned," well, that's an ominous title for a book aimed at tots. It sounds like one of those after-school specials of my youth. Warned about what? And what happened to her when she apparently disobeyed? I was too afraid to find out.

2. Then we went to lunch, at the legendary Vienna Inn. While we waited for our loaded chili dogs, a cell phone starting ringing in the booth behind us, which was occupied solely by an elderly woman.

Buddy you're a boy make a big noise
Playin' in the street gonna be a big man some day
You got mud on your face
You big disgrace
Kickin' your can all over the place

We will we will rock you
We will we will rock you

Seemed like an odd choice for a ringtone for her phone. I did a doubletake while the lady tried to answer the phone...but then her granddaughter came to the table, bearing their drinks.

3. In the afternoon, Ray and Owen went out for a bit in the newly fixed car. When they came back, Ray said, "The whole drive back, I thought Owen was saying 'butthole,' 'butthole,' but then I realized he was saying, 'pretzel.'"

Reunion Day

Today, we had brunch with our travel group -- the first time we've all been together since Hanoi -- and with two families who recently returned with their new daughters.

It was great to see how the four kids have grown since August. Everyone's bigger with fuller heads of hair -- yes, good nutrition works wonders. The three formerly floppy babies are crawling and incredibly mobile. Everyone commented on how big Owen's getting and how much he's changed.

We posed the kids for a group photo just like the one we took on the couch in the lobby of the Somerset Grand in Hanoi. (Of course, we forgot our camera, so I hope I can get a photo from one of the other parents to post here.)

We also watched a short video that one of the dads put together from his trip footage. We all had cameos in it, and of course we all started groaning at the G&R footage, remembering how hot it was that day. Dan chose the most relaxing, soft music for the background, and we had to laugh at how that changed the tenor of the video, since we remember how hectic and stressed parts of the trip were (and don't get us started when the Halong Bay footage came on-screen). But it was so sweet, we were all wiping tears away by the end. Puts my little memory book that I made for Owen to shame -- I wish we had taken more video. Dan did it all with a Flip camera, and it looked terrific.

It was hard to find a weekend when all four families were in town, so I don't know when we'll all get together again, but we talked about an annual photo, on a couch somewhere, with all the kids in a line (Owen on the far right).