Letting Go

I started this post in November.  I came soooooo close to finishing it.  But inevitably I got called away or booted off the computer or horribly distracted by something else.  So this week I finally decided to finish it. For some reason I felt the need to add this disclaimer and make a big deal about it. Maybe because I start the post by saying that it’s Adoption Month.  Please know that I know that it’s no longer Adoption Month.  To most people, at least… in my world, it’s always adoption month :) Happy reading!

-Back on some cold (I’m assuming) and lazy (because I spent hours typing this and not cleaning the house or playing with Libby) afternoon in early-mid-November-

It’s National Adoption Month, for anyone that didn’t know :) There are beautiful pictures and quotes and stories flying around social media, and I especially appreciate those of you who have gone out of your way to send them directly my way.  This morning I watched some really touching stories on the Today Show.   I’ve been so caught up in mothering lately that I haven’t really spent much time in thought about ADOPTION.  About the actual process that brought us to where we are today.

As my blog is a direct reflection of my (often scattered) thoughts, it’s been quite a while since I wrote actual “adoption” post.  I’ve written lots about Libby and her unique challenges and general two year old problems.  And the joys.  Of course the joys :)  But in honor of adoption month, and the many of you who are in the process, considering the process, or are curious about the process, I’d like to go back there for the first time in a long time.

Generally my approach to blog writing is to wait until something is welling up in my heart, to the point that it’s about to burst and I feel I HAVE to write or I’m going to explode.  That’s why I seem to publish in “spurts.”  Some days (months) I’m just not feeling it. I’m just living life and my focus is almost entirely on the day-to-day.  During these times I might get a bit of a whim, and jot down some notes for a future entry.  But I have to be in a pretty hardcore MOOD to actually write and publish an entire post.  So if I look back and see the last time I felt THIS strongly compelled to share my feelings about infertility, it was Mommies-at-Heart written for Mother’s Day. That’s a long time ago! Which must mean that my heart, in that regard, has been pretty peaceful.  Content.  Maybe I’ve finally let go.

When something is bothering me, or I’m in the midst of a trial, it is my constant prayer that God would give me an answer or help me to let it go.  When He does grant that peace, it doesn’t come overnight.  It comes in little waves, as the hurt and anxiety lessen bit by bit.  Eventually I stop feeling that desperate need to let go.  I know I’m still not 100% healed, but I’m on the road, and I clear some space in my head for other things.  I can go a couple days without thinking about what had once been constantly on my mind.  Then a week.  One day I realize I haven’t thought about it for a month or two months, and finally, I can’t specifically remember the last time I about it.  And that’s when I know… I’ve let go.

Built into the essays and many steps of our adoption process was the requirement that we had “grieved” our infertility.  I get why they “require” that.  They want people who are serious about adoption.  They want people who WANT to adopt.  At the very least, they want you to put some serious thought into whether or not you have moved on from the dreams that have haunted you for years.

We thought we had.  We mostly had.  We wrote some pretty words and convinced ourselves and our social worker and pretty much everyone else who needed convincing that we had moved on.  But knowing you need to move on, and telling yourself that you have moved on, doesn’t always mean that you’ve actually, FULLY done it.  At times, the old feelings of jealousy and despair crept back to the surface. Now they carried an extra sting, more bitter than ever because I had been so certain I was over it.

Baby-naming was one of the things that would bring out the ugly.  In the final months of a close friend or family member’s pregnancy, I would start to get a taaaaaaaaaaad (that’s a large tad, which means “medium amount,” but flows more nicely than “medium amount”) territorial about baby names.  I could handle the pregnancy itself with just a touch of wistfulness.  And I was a Baby Shower Rock Star.  I had become a PRO at handling the awkward moments and personal questions.  But baby names… ooooh. Watch out.  Not that I ever bothered to TELL anyone “Here are the names that Tim and I have had picked out for our first children since before we were married.  Are they on your list? Would you consider saving them for us? It would mean a lot after all we’ve been through.” No, that would have been the rational, decent thing to do.  Instead, I would just keep all this baby-name anxiety and near-rage bottled up inside, sweating it out each time a new little one (whose parents were close enough acquaintances that double-naming would be awkward) came into the world.  I guarded those names FIERCELY as friend after cousin after sibling after friend continued to pass me up and crank out kid after kid.

These are names that represent years and years of dreaming about my own pregnancy.  These were to be our first children.  Sitting in a church pew the spring before I was married, I nearly jumped out of my seat when “Jackson James” popped into my head.  We had been thinking about names for months and this one was PERFECT.  I reveled in my cleverness for a few more seconds and then gave myself a silent yet stern talking-to about focusing on the sermon.  After all, this WAS the first time Tim, a first-year seminary student, had preached in church.  Later that day, I told him (not the part about losing focus during his sermon) and he loved it, too.  We never wavered in the years to come.  We dreamed of Jackson, a little blond boy with green eyes, mischevious yet strong and silent.  “Jack, Jax, or JJ” - I hadn’t decided.  

Our little girl’s name took a little longer.  It was settled sometime during the first year of our married life, but I waffled a few times over the years to other pretty names like Sadie and Nataly (I loved it with a “y”) and a few others I can’t recall so they couldn’t have been that great.  But we always came back to Kiera Leigh.  Eventually we settled for good, and only waffled on the spelling.  Tim was all gung-ho about “Kira,” something about Star Trek.  Don’t ask me.  I entertained “Kyra” for about a day and then realized it would probably be the most easily mispronounced version of the name.  I loved how “Keira” looked on paper, but was concerned about breaking the “i before e” rule… especially since our surname follows the rule.  So Kiera it was.  A little girl with brown eyes and pigtails helping me in the kitchen, who loves to read, write, and sing and has a big heart for puppy dogs.  “Kiki,” for as long as she’d allow it.

I know I’m not the only one.  At some point, most every mom dreams out her kid’s entire life before the little monster ever has a chance to live it. Once Real Life happens, some moms (and dads) are better at adjusting that plan than others.  When it comes to adoption, The Plan goes out the window by force.  You surrender all genetic control.  You agree that someone else will be your child’s first “Mommy.” Someone else will feel the kicks and hear the first cries.  Someone you don’t even know yet will be a part of your life forever, in a degree yet to be determined, in an ever-changing relationship that will sometimes hurt and sometimes heal  - for everyone involved.

There was nearly a year between the last time I filled out an adoption form or wrote an essay about how I had grieved our infertility, and the first day I held my daughter and kissed her sweet little forehead.  In an instant my thoughts flipped from “how will I love her as my own?” to “how could I NOT love her as my own?” and “how did I ever live without her?” I got so caught up in LOVE and mothering and baby showers and forging relationships with her birth family, that I had not a moment to even realize that I WASN’T thinking about loss and grief and people using “my” baby names.

Fast-forward a year and a half to November 2013.  I’m relaxing on the couch with a third cup of coffee because Libby decided to sleep until 11:00.  After watching live adoption finalizations out on the Today Show plaza, I enjoyed a quiet house and an hour’s worth of very pensive dishwashing.  It HIT me.  That moment when you can’t specifically remember the last time you thought about that thing that used to hurt you so much.  Wow, it had been AGES since I’d felt jealous or cried myself to sleep over the whole thing.  And it wasn’t because I was too busy, or too tired.  It was because I had let go.  It HAD to be.  Because the week before, when my cousin had told me her baby boy, due in December, would be named Jackson, I did not freak out in the slightest.  What I felt for her was 100% joy and pride and 0% possessiveness over the name.  Jackson (with a middle name of Lee, by the way, isn’t that the craziest?) would be hers, ALL hers. I was so relieved and excited that finally that dreaded moment had come, and yet I was feeling nothing but pure happiness for her. Somewhere in all the mess and madness and magnificence of the last 18 months of Libby, God has allowed me to let. it. go.

This post was a long time coming.  It is a farewell to Jackson and Kiera, the fantasy of our first children that we clung to, the shining hope that brought us through many bitter years.  They served us well.  They made us happy.  They helped us dream at a time when our dreams were all but stamped out.  But they are no longer our first children.  And it seems wrong to “save” the names for our future children, biological or adopted.  It’s like we’re pinning these huge expectations on them that go all the way back to our earliest years of marriage, when we were totally different people.  And it seems wrong to Jackson and Kiera.  They did a beautiful job and I will always love them for who they were.  And who they weren’t.

And it would be very, very wrong to Libby… almost like she wasn’t our first choice.  Oh, sweet girl, you are through and through my first choice, because you are GOD’S choice for my life.  And besides, wasn’t there also a story about the name Elizabeth?...

Tim and I dated for three full years before we got engaged, and it was another 20 months until we were married.  We had a lot of time together to plan our “future” before life actually became “our future.” But I KNOW it was long before we were even engaged, long before Jackson James popped into my head at the most inappropriate of times, long before Kiera Leigh had the spelling of her name finalized, that this most precious little exchange occurred:

“I really like the name Elizabeth… you know, for a girl someday.  It’s cute.  She’ll probably be cute like you.”

“You’re silly.  I’m not cute.  Hmmmmm…  Elizabeth…  Maybe.  I’ll think about it.”

Momming Through the Ugly

We read a Thanksgiving prayer in church yesterday that had this line in it:

 

And, as often happens to my sinful, distracted mind, my thoughts proceeded to take flight to other places far, far away from church and praying and thankfulness.

 

At first, I made a few jokes along the lines of “Ha! THAT’S a nice way of saying kids are CRAZY.”

 

Then I went to the wrong kind of thankful: “Thank GOD Libby doesn’t tear all over the house like Jacob and Lucas (my nephews, 3 and 1). I don’t know HOW Kristal and Justin (their parents) do it.”

 

Then I went to wistful: “Although… it sure would be nice if she WOULD, just once in a while.  I’d give anything for her to take some steps or show some enthusiasm for a new toy.”

 

Suddenly I was all gloom and doom and despair: “Seriously, are we EVER going to get through some of these milestones? Walking and talking and self-feeding and opening presents and general two-year-old joy and glee? Some days, God, I tell ya… I don’t know if I’m cut out for this.”

 

SO not the place God intended for me to go, with that one simple line of one simple prayer.

 

We all do it, though, don’t we? How many times per day do we miss out on opportunities to be thankful, because we’re so caught up in what we DON’T have? How many times have we completely lost sight of how good we have it, because we’re so busy checking out how good somebody else “seems” to have it?

 

Well, here’s a bit of news that’s not really news… because I think you already know it’s true.  NOBODY has it as good as they seem to have it.  The face we all put on for the world, the picture we paint for our facebook followers, is the prettiest one we can get away with before the ugly comes bursting through the seams.  We post our smiles and laughter and triumphs.  We admit we’re not perfect, and we share the lighter and more humorous of our shortcomings and frustrations.  But our deepest, darkest insecurities and fears, the moments that bring us to our knees in despair and pain and guilt… those moments we usually keep to ourselves.  Whenever you’re checking out how good somebody else has it, don’t forget that they’re hiding just as much hurt and humility as you are, deep down inside. 

 

We have been given SO MUCH on this earth that we don’t deserve. Despite that fact that our sinfulness screwed up the perfect world He created, God still gives us wonderful blessings to enjoy while we are here.  But those blessings, when placed in a sinful world, become tainted with sin themselves.  Sometimes those blessings make us crazy, jealous, and all kinds of other ugly. That’s the thing about this world.  Although it’s touched by God’s grace, and it has its moments of beauty and joy, they are only fleeting.  This world is not perfect, and it never will be.  It’s sin-tainted and ugly.  

 

Well, THAT’S reassuring.

 

Don’t worry.  There is an answer.  Hope in the form of a sweet, tiny baby, coming to earth in the most unassuming of ways.  Hope that soothes our pain and guilt. Hope that gets us through the darkest of days.  Hope that is for exhausted moms of insanely wild little boys as much as it is for worried moms of quiet, developmentally-delayed little girls.  Hope that is for ALL people.  Hope that is found in Jesus.

 

And Jesus promises us a place that IS perfect.  A place free from pain and guilt.  A place so bright and dazzling, we can’t begin to imagine it.  A place where nobody feels compelled to compare troubles with the next guy… because there ARE. NO. TROUBLES!!!

 

This place we live now is temporary.  Praise the LORD it’s temporary! Yes, it can be ugly.  But God wants us to take that ugly and USE it… to focus our desires heavenward.  To direct our thoughts to Him in prayer.  To share His message with everyone we meet, so that they, too, may enjoy the riches that He has prepared.  THERE. In that OTHER place.  Not here. Where sometimes, it really sucks.

 

I am a mama who worries constantly.  EVERYTHING new and different upsets my daughter.  Sometimes she just gets quiet.  Or the legendary pouty lip emerges.  Many times, it’s a total meltdown.  Because of this, we are hermits.  And even at home, we are not safe.  Pouring the dog food is scary.  Running the water too loudly is scary.  If somebody drops by and rings the doorbell, it is OVER.  And that’s just the start of my worry list.  It’s best if I just stop now.

 

I know a mama who has four littles under two.  FOUR. Under TWO. And ALL of them have endured or are enduring major medical issues.  One of them (six months old) is on oxygen and has an NG tube.  I don’t think this mama ever sleeps.

 

I know another mama whose 2-year-old had a major brain injury this past summer, and his development receded to that of a baby-baby.  After a month of hospitalization, and two more months of intense outpatient therapy (still ongoing) he has now mastered pulling to a stand and is using a just a few meaningful words.  Oh, and he has a twin sister.  Who is ALL the normal two-year-old crazy.  Oh, mama, how do you do it?

 

I know lots of mamas who are just. plain. exhausted. Because that’s what kids do to us.  These mamas go to work all day long, missing their kiddos and feeling guilty, and then come home to “enjoy” three hours of cooking and cleaning and sometimes yelling before bedtime comes all too soon.  Or they stay home and try (SO hard they try) to do these things during the day, and instead they spend the day refereeing and answering impossible questions.  And they never quite get to clean the messes that were there when the day began, because this happens:
 



 

Lol.  Many thanks to a great friend for letting me use this picture.  Because, as we've already established, I don't really have this problem with my kid who doesn't walk and hates noise ;)

 

Oh, mamas, it’s tough, isn’t it?  ALL our kids have “issues,” in some way.  So do their parents :)  And from time to time, we all play the “grass is greener” game, dreaming of the chance to live someone else’s life for just a day. 

 

But all the stress and gray hairs and ugly just reminds us where the grass is TRULY greener.  Not in your yard.  Not in my yard.  Nowhere here.

 

With Jesus.  Forever.

 

Talk to Him.  Share your worries with Him. Tell your littles, and everyone else you know, all about Him.  HE will get you through those awful days.  HE will rejoice with you on those good days, too.  And at the end, when you are weary and worn, HE will meet you with these words:

 

“Well done, good and faithful servant.”

 

So keep up the good work.  Keep on momming through the ugly.  Mama on.

 

Birthday Girl: 2

Dear Pumpkin Pie,

Ohhhhhhhh, can it be true? Are we really doing this again so soon? I know, I know, I’ve heard it from all the other mommies: time flies so fast, the years flash by and before you know it they’re walking and talking and graduating and placing grandbabies into your arms. And when the other mommies say that, I nod and smile, because it’s so true… of THEIR babies.  Their babies ARE growing so fast! Every time I see them they’ve grown about a foot and are talking circles around me about things WAY beyond their years.  Yes, other people’s babies grow so fast…

But not YOU! You’re supposed to be my baby forever. You’re not growing inches overnight, like those other babies.  You look the very same every morning when I get come to get you: sitting up in bed, surrounded by your favorite stuffed toys, thwack-thwack-thwacking your dolphin or your giraffe or your head against the back wall of your crib.  You smile big and bright because I’ve finally come for you.  You giggle a bit as you hear the zipper on your jammie-jams, and then the giggles dissolve into goofy chatter as I change your soakered dipe.  If I don’t move quickly enough, you let me know it.  It is TIME. FOR. MILK.  A nice, big cup of cold, delicious milk, as you sit in Mommy’s lap and she sips a nice, big cup of steaming, delicious coffee.

Sometimes we cuddle.  You sip nice and slow and slowly, sneakily worming your way off your tush and onto your back, cuddled into my arm and my side.  You smirk a little.  You know the rules.  You only get to lay down like a baby for your bedtime milk.  The rest of the day you’re supposed to sit up straight like a big girl.  But you’re so warm and squishy and cute, I just can’t resist.

Other times you’re a girl on a mission.  You gulp the whole cup in a matter of seconds, as if you’ve just traversed the driest of deserts.  In one fluid motion, you chuck your empty cup across the living room, wrangle your little body around in my lap to face me, and then slide down my front until your feet touch the floor, leaning against the couch.  You are ready to play.  Where’s Kitty? Where’s Turtle? Come on, Mom, get with it.

(Incidentally, it is REALLY time to stop throwing your cups when you’ve decided that you’re finished.  You’re doing much better in the last month at handing it to me or placing it nicely on your tray, but every now and then you forget.  Usually at a horrible time like during the middle of a sermon... crash!  Or over a concrete floor… crack!  Or on an airplane.  That lady was NOT pleased to have your half-finished bottle of water nail her in the head.)

But when on earth, HOW on earth, did a whole year pass us by since you turned one? It’s cliché, I know, but it SERIOUSLY feels like just yesterday.

Then I read this, from your first birthday. And I looked through photos. And just for good measure, I went back through my facebook timeline.

And what. a. year it has been! Your first Presidential Election was just days after you turned one.

 

You got Pink Eye.  You were still adorable.

 

You had your first night away from Mom and Dad.  Go Pack! (Mom now has Pink Eye)

Your first sled ride.

You celebrated Aaron Rodgers Day.  Hey, 12/12/12 only comes once in a lifetime!

You fell asleep in the tub for the first time.

Your first Minnesota Christmas.

You got a girl cousin!

 

You started sitting up on your own.  All the time.  At first you didn’t know how to get back down.  A couple times, you fell asleep sitting up in your crib.

You became an OFFICIAL Redfield.

You traveled back to California and got loved up by some very special people who had missed you a lot.

 

You peed all over Mommy for the first time.

You started taking steps with “Pusher.”

You started to wonder (in May) how long it would be until football season again.

You crawled.  Just the teeniest tiniest little bit.  And I cried all afternoon.

You forgot that you love swimming.

You re-learned to love swimming.

You went to a Brewer game.  It was hot.  It was loud.  You hated it.  But you  and your cousins sure were cute!

You got a birth certificate and social security number!

 

You started to be a “dramatic” eater.  That is the nicest word I can think of.

You learned to pull yourself up to a standing position in your crib.  And didn’t sleep for several days thereafter.

You loved being pushed in a swing.

 

You had to endure the Niners beating the Packers.  Again.

 

You traveled back to California.  Again.

 

You’re creeping along the furniture to get to your favorite toys.

 

Aaaaaand, I don’t have a picture, but you did AWESOME with your cousins yesterday.  You are getting better and better with crowds and noise and being around other kids.  You are growing into such a big, beautiful, amazing little girl!

So I guess it’s time to face the truth.  It’s hard to see it when I spend every minute of every day with you, but when I look back at a whole year, I see what the other mommies see.  Time really does go by in the blink of an eye.  You grow stronger and smarter and sweeter each and every day, and Mom and Dad and so many others grow to love you more and more each moment.  I pray God blesses us with many more years of blessings, watching you grow into the beautiful person He has designed you to be.

And maybe, next year, Mommy could bake cupcakes for you to EAT them instead of baking them just for birthday picture purposes.  And then you having a tantrum.  And then Mommy eating them all herself. 

 

Let’s work on that.  Eating cupcakes and not throwing your cups.

Other than that, just keep being you.  Amazing, miraculous, not-so-little you.

 

I love you, Pumpkin Pie!

Mommy 

Confessions, Part Two (Part Two)

I started this post earlier today, but, you know… the Packers. 

 

 If you missed it, here’s Confessions, Part 2 (Part One) from prior to demolishing the Redskins. 

TEN THINGS THAT ARE AWESOME ABOUT RAISING LIBBY, continued
Part Two - Added Bonuses: More Than We Bargained For

5.       Vacation Heaven.  Seven years ago we were newlyweds.  We didn’t have much, but we had dreams.  One dream was TRAVEL.  We couldn’t afford to dream of international travel, or even jet-setting around the U.S.  But we could road-trip with the best of them.  I could pack food and camping gear for an entire two weeks into our Chevy Malibu, WITH room for a 75-lb dog and all HIS gear, too.  I was just that good.  We wanted to see all 50 states.  SOMEDAY we would have enough money to fly to Alaska and Hawaii.  But until then, we would drive, drive, drive our way through park after park, landmark after landmark.  We hit Tennessee on our honeymoon, Arkansas for a family vacation, and Colorado for a friend’s wedding.  Even in our home states of Wisconsin and then Minnesota, we enjoyed fun adventures to Door County and the North Shore so that we could add to our “count.” I asked Tim to set aside some vacation and I started planning a nice, long road trip through New England for the fall colors.  But before it ever came to be, God blessed us with our little co-pilot.  Who happened to come from a pretty gorgeous part of a pretty gorgeous state.  SERIOUSLY, people, check out California’s Central Coast. 

       75-80 degrees year-round, sweeping ocean views, beautiful mountains, small towns and charming wineries, a comfortable drive from either L.A. or San Francisco.  AND we have free lodging, dining, and babysitting from Gene and Dede, who count the days until our next trip more carefully than even I do.  So we may never see all 50 states, or if we do, it’s going to take a good, long while.  Because California has won our hearts and has become our destination of choice.

6.       Have a Drink.  SPEAKING of wine, never in my life have I been so ENCOURAGED to drink as in the year since I became a mom.  I wonder if maybe I blow off steam and frustration a little too often on Facebook, because I’m constantly hearing “have a beer,” “have a glass of wine,” “go out for a drink,” not just from my mommy friends, but my from my own mom, and from my GRANDMA for Pete’s sake.  Not that I’m complaining.  When the family arrives for a visit with bottles of wine or a case of beer, I don’t argue.  I remember as a kid, telling my mom to relax.  I could tell when we were starting to stress her out.  I like that everybody's telling ME to relax now.  Last time my mom came, she brought wine AND the ingredients for an aromatherapy foot soak.I could get used to this.  #mommyperks

7.       Becoming Organized and Somewhat Clean.  Ask any of my former roommates, cleanliness and organization: NOT my strong suit.  Don’t ask my mom.  She’ll exaggerate :) Love you, Mommy.  It KIND OF helped when we moved from a small second-floor apartment to the large house I described in great detail earlier.  We had space to spread out and everything we owned had its place.  But that doesn’t mean it STAYED in place.  And also we bought more stuff.  So generally, preparing for company was a week-long ordeal of cleaning and re-organizing and cobweb destruction. 

As we began to prepare for a little one, we got a little better.  I set a cleaning schedule and “kind of” stuck to it, knowing that someday soon, a little one on hands and knees would be licking the kitchen floor, regardless of how long since I had last mopped it.  I cleared massive amounts of unnecessary STUFF out of our house during our adoption-fundraiser rummage sale.  Then we found out the little one would be blind.  And I had to take it to a whole. new. level.

We think seriously about structure and routine, placement and home organization.  None of these are strengths or gifts that come naturally to us, but they are essential when raising a blind child who is about to become mobile.  I have a feeling we’re closing in on walking before the end of the year.  Once that happens, the furniture cannot move.  It will become more than a layout.  To Libby, furniture is part of the floorplan, the permanent blueprint that marks her path from place to place.  So I better like the angle of my couch before she starts to walk, and learns to count the steps from that couch to her toy box.  We think all these creative ways we could organize her “touch-and-feel” closet, to give her the independence of picking out her own outfits with the confidence of knowing she doesn’t look like a dork.  We think about how psycho-organized the kitchen will need to be when she learns to cook.  Even her toys – I’m all Crazy Mama about what people call her toys.  I went so far as to buy an electronic labelmaker so that I can label her toys with the correct terminology that she is familiar with, and people don’t confuse her when they come over and play with her.  She has this sweet little mermaid doll whose name is (very originally) “Mermaid.” It drives me bananas when well-intentioned outsiders call it “Dolly” or something else.  Or her cat-shaped keyboard that she plays with all the time.  It’s called “Kitty Piano” or “Kitty” for short.  Not “piano,” to be confused with the full-sized upright in the other room.  Not “Cat Piano,” as she has no CLUE what a “cat” is.  Yikes.  I’m “That Mom,” aren’t I? :)

 

8.       Babying my Baby. When she first came home to us, I grieved a little for those first seven months we had missed, full of firsts and tiny baby snuggles. 



Still in the hospital

       She seemed to be growing so quickly out of the “baby” stage.  But as she approached 8-9 months and the developmental milestones begin to rely more heavily on sight, she started to slow down.  I panicked at first.  She had been doing so well with Gene and Dede! Why was she falling behind now that that she was with us? How could I get her caught up?  Between PT, OT, a full Special Ed team, and a growing collection of physicians, surely we could keep her on track with all the “What To Expect The First Year” babies!

It took a few months for me to calm the heck down and learn to go with the flow… Libby’s flow.  She is always going to dance to her own beat.  She’s going to be a little behind, maybe a LOT behind, for quite some time.  She might have to do school differently or more slowly than other kids.  And not only is that okay… it’s actually the answer to my prayers.  I may have missed seven months, but God has graciously stretched out the “baby” years extra-long for Tim and me.  She doesn’t walk, so I still get to carry and stroller her everywhere without worrying about her running into the street.  And she’s still a slim and trim 22 pounds at 22 months, so carrying a toddler everywhere is not as difficult as you might imagine.  She is JUST learning to stand up in her crib and has no interest in attempting to escape it.  She still loves to have her “baba” before bed, and I snuggle in with her on the couch, holding her just like a little baby, while she suck-suck-sucks away.  She’s still not very interested in or capable of self-feeding at mealtimes, so the high chair, surrounding floor, and Libby’s face stay relatively clean compared to the mass destruction I have witnessed other young children inflict upon the ten-foot radius around a high chair.  Yes, I still struggle from time to time with being anxious for her to “catch up,” but mostly I take advantage of our unique situation and enjoy babying my baby for as long as I can.

9.       Cure for Social Awkwardness.  Tim and I are both quite awkward in certain social situations, especially those requiring Small Talk Skills.  We are homebodies at heart.  Tim has gotten better over the years as he works with people more and more, especially visiting elderly shut-ins. I, on the other hand, feel I have regressed a bit.  Things get quite awkward, quite fast, if I’m conversing with someone who doesn’t know how to keep it rolling.  Although our busy lives force us into frequent social situations, that doesn’t mean we’re entirely comfortable. 

And then Libby came along.  Our little golden-haired golden ticket of small talk.  Earlier this summer we attended a small wedding and didn’t know anyone but the groom.  Entering the reception, not knowing who we would eat dinner with, thinking it didn’t really matter because I didn’t know one person from the next… I was pretty nervous.  But Tim saw me sweating it out, gave me a reassuring look, and took the lead.  We sat down with another WELS pastor and his wife.  We worked our way through the initial banter of “where do you serve, when did you graduate, who do you know in the WELS,” which usually lasts 10-15 minutes, at which time our past selves would panic because we were out of things to talk about.  But things are different now.  When the conversation lulled, Tim said something to me about an upcoming doctor appointment for Libby, loud enough for the other couple to hear.  “Oh, do you have children?”  Jackpot.  Once that river began to run a little dry, he brought up her adoption.  And later, our ace in the hole: her vision impairment.  We kept it up for almost two hours with ZERO awkwardness.  And best of all, we really don’t have to say much.  Once people hear her story, they just ask so many questions on their own.  We just sit back and let them fire away.  Thank you, Libby, for helping get through something on my own that I’ve never been able to do without the assistance of alcohol.

Part Three: Incredibly Blessed

10.   There is so much that is truly “awesome” about having Libby in our lives.  Notice I didn’t label this a “Top Ten Things” list, just a “Ten Things” list.  I assumed (correctly) that in the three days it would take me to write this, I would think of at least fifty other things about Libby that are awesome and don’t fit on a list of ten.  Like how she insists upon being blow-dried, not towel-dried, after a bath.  Like how we need this toy with us at all times. 

Every meal.  Every church event.  Strapped into her stroller as we cruise through Target.  People hear us coming from aisles away.  I can’t count the number of times I have been asked where I got that “cool musical stroller.”

But the final item that makes The List today is this: Our Growing World.  I’ve written about it many times, I think and pray about it constantly, yet there are still moments when I shake my head in wonder.  So. many. blessings have become ours that we never expected.  Our world has grown to include masses of new people to love: new family (and THEIR friends and families), teachers and therapists who make weekly visits, fellow adoptive or BVI parents.  We have deeper, more meaningful relationships with our friends who WERE already parents – we understand better what they have been going through, a connection we wanted to badly, but just couldn’t make until Libby. Because of Libby, we have grown closer to friends that we were nearly out of touch with.  We feel so blessed when we hear her story being spread beyond our tiny personal circle, knowing that she is touching and healing lives, and that prayers are being raised for her by people we don’t even know.  Yes, it is pretty awesome having Libby around.  Life is loud and crazy and challenging, but she also makes it full and complete and beautiful.

Confessions, Part Two

It's been about a month since Confessions, Part One.  August was one. tough. month.  But we seem to have moved out of the world of uncontrollable, inexplicable, all-day screaming into the realm of normal two-year-old moments of confusion, frustration, and self-expression.  Sometimes we even get entire days of happy, smiley nut-baby.  Those are the days I live for.  And the days that are a little more… um… SPECIAL, a little more “typical toddler”… I can handle them. 

 

 

The Bad Month taught me a lot! I learned that I can handle quite a bit, even more with a good pair of ear plugs, and anything with God at my side.  My love and admiration increased for my husband as he sacrificed sleep and sanity to co-shoulder my worries and struggles, despite also being a pretty challenging month for him professionally.  And I grew closer than ever to my little girl and in my understanding of her world… not to mention in my confidence that we made the right decision having me stay at home full-time with her.  Seriously… THIS kid in daycare? Ha!
 

So I figured it is high time we gave an update! I know our families worry, wishing they could “relieve” us more than once every couple months.  I also want to reassure friends who care deeply for us, and are praying for strength and wisdom for us as we navigate not only the challenges of first-time-parenthood, but also the other challenges unique to our story.  So it’s time for Confessions, Part 2.  Last month we covered the Bad and the Ugly… let’s get to the Good.  There is SO much good :)
 

 

For the past few weeks, I’ve been working on a list of the lighthearted, humorous, and truly special blessings that have become ours as Libby’s parents.  Those of you who are parents can relate to many of these on your own level, but there are a few that are truly unique to Libby and her own story.  And most of these will TRULY be “confessions.” I’m putting myself out there a bit… letting you know just how crazy and twisted I have become in the past 15 months of being Libby’s Mama.  So, without further ado…

 

 

TEN THINGS THAT ARE AWESOME ABOUT RAISING LIBBY

 

 

Part One - The Awkward and the Hilarious: Finding Joy and Humor in the Strangest Places

 

 

1.       “… But then after we got Libby…” Parents, you don’t even REALIZE how many times you have had the conversation about life before baby vs. life after baby… until you start counting the strange looks you receive when you casually drop the phrase “when we ‘got’ our baby” instead of the expected “when our child was born,” “when we ‘had’ our baby,” etc.  Oh, sure, I have others that are more socially appropriate, they’re just awkward and wordy (“when we became parents,” “when our daughter entered our lives”).  I try really hard not to use “got” with people that don’t already know, because more than likely, they will not come to the correct assumption on their own.  From the looks I get, I’m pretty sure they think I mean “got surprised by” or “got stuck with” my daughter.  But honestly I just forget sometimes.  We’re just so USED to the fact that she’s adopted, so USED to people knowing our story, that from time to time we forget and we say “got.” And then laugh on the inside as we decide whether or not to explain ourselves or let the curious stranger mull it over for a while :)
 

2.       “MEH!!!” Public Service Announcement: greeting a blind baby by grabbing her hands or rubbing her arm is NOT COOL. I know that sighted babies generally enjoy being greeted with touch, but that’s because they have already seen that you are approaching, smiling, and not trying to attack them or take them away from their mama.  But Libby’s eyes are her hands and ears.  They are her first indication of your presence.  So grabbing a blind baby’s hands while simultaneously announcing your arrival in a strange voice she wasn’t expecting to hear is pretty much the same as sneaking up behind a sighted baby and poking her in the eye to say hello.  And we encounter it ALL. THE. TIME.  One, because she’s a baby, and that’s just what strangers do, whether we want them to or not.  But seriously, it’s not just strangers.  People who KNOW she is blind still grab at her, like when we’re walking into church, or a large family party.  I used to really struggle with this one: either I have to put on my Big Girl/Mama/Libby’s Advocate Pants and tell people “hands off”, or (more often than not, unfortunately), I don’t say anything and allow her to suffer as I try to work my way as quickly as possible through the line of people waiting to touch her.  Well, as many of you know, Libby has – ahem – found her VOICE this summer, and has become more than capable of announcing her own discomfort or displeasure.  So I no longer have to worry about what to do.  Libby tells people off all on her own :} Just try grabbing her next time you see her in a confusing, noisy environment.  I guarantee she will glare at you, shout “MEH!” or some other loud, unhappy grunt, and (my favorite part) viciously slap your hand away.  And I will smile politely and say something like, "Hmmmmm, she must be tired." Hahahahahahaha.

 

 

3.       “I wanna wrap you up, wanna kiss your lips…” So I have always been an emotional basket case.  I cry when I’m happy.  I cry when I’m sad.  I once cried through miles 10-12 of a half-marathon, because I was thinking about meeting Libby for the first time (9 short days away), which made it REALLY hard to manage my breathing and keep my pace.  Music is a huge piece of that.  Songs on the radio can make me SOB at the drop of a hat.  This was okay back in the day when I was looking for love, falling in love, and simply living life.  Music is abundant, in any genre, to perfectly fit these moments of life.  Music I could relate to… music that must have been written JUST FOR ME.

 

       Even once we started veering “off road” a little bit, frustrated/anxious/wistful about not having babies, I found a song or two that spoke to me in my moments of loneliness or hopefulness.  Michael Buble’s “Haven’t Met You Yet” was a big hit about four years ago, and although I’m sure he didn’t mean the word “kid” or "baby" literally, it was my nearly perfect anthem as a Mom who wasn’t a Mom yet. 
 

I might have to wait, I'll never give up

I guess it's half timing, and the other half's luck

Wherever you are, whenever it's right

You'll come out of nowhere and into my life

And I know that we can be so amazing

And, baby, your love is gonna change me

And now I can see every possibility
 

      You can hear that jazzy beat in your head now, can't you? :)

 

             Christina Perri’s “A Thousand Years” was (and still is) a guaranteed tearjerker as we began

            the adoption process and wanted our future child(ren) to know just how long we had been  

            praying for and loving them. 

I have died every day
Waiting for you
Darlin' don't be afraid
I have loved you for a
Thousand years
I'll love you for a
Thousand more

And all along I believed
I would find you
Time has brought

[side note - when singing along, I substitute "God" for "Time"] Your heart to me
I have loved you for a
Thousand years
I'll love you for a
Thousand more



 

But then Libby entered the scene.  We turned away from lonesome longing and back to love and joy… but the songs don’t quite fit right anymore.  All the songs that “work” are pretty obviously man/woman love songs, not mommy/daddy/daughter love songs.  RIGHT as we found out we were getting (ha ha ha, “getting”) Libby last spring, Hunter Hayes came out with “Wanted.”
 

 You know I'd fall apart without you
I don't know how you do what you do
'Cause everything that don't make sense about me
Makes sense when I'm with you

The first time I heard it, I was in tears within 30 seconds.  Especially that “everything that don’t make sense” line. It’s PERFECT. All the years of waiting and wondering and life not making sense, now make PERFECT sense because of Libby.  But then the refrain starts in:
 

 'Cause I wanna wrap you up
Wanna kiss your lips
I wanna make you feel wanted
I wanna call you mine
Wanna hold your hand forever
And never let you forget it
Yeah I, wanna make you feel wanted

And I realize he’s singing to a girl.  A pretty girl he wants to date.  Not a blind baby girl he’s about to adopt and wants to take care of forever.  And I’m sitting in the car sobbing awkwardly at a teeny-bopper love song.  Sigh.

 

 

4.       The Secret Passageway.  This is the front of our huge, five-bedroom house. 

 

 

       Pre-Libby, the room to the right was a den/piano room/office for me (facebooking and bill-paying, really) because we just have THAT MUCH SPACE.  The room to the left was the church office.  It was a perfect spot for a church office because of the hallway between the two rooms, just behind the front door.  For the most part, Tim could leave the hallway doors open and come and go into the rest of the house as he needed more coffee or a change of scenery.  But if he ever needed a private entrance for a meeting or counseling session, he could shut the den door to the hallway and close himself up in his little hideaway.  The office did have one other door to our bedroom, just behind it, but we had blocked that door from the bedroom side with one of our dressers.

 

 

Enter Libby.  We needed a second bedroom on this level, much more than we needed the luxury of a “bonus room.” The den became the church office, and then I sold my desk for adoption money and started paying bills and facebooking at the kitchen table.  The former office became our new bedroom, and once we moved the dresser, it adjoined conveniently to Libby’s new room.  Our new bedroom did not have a closet, but since the front porch door is not a primary entrance, we decided to turn that hallway into a closet and permanently close the door to the now-church-office, blocking it with a file cabinet.  So.  We now have a bigger bedroom, adjoining to our precious angel’s room, with a walk-in closet.  Perfect, right?

 

 

Except that this precious angel has SUPER-HEARING.  And we’ve blocked off our hallway exit with a file cabinet.  So our only exit is through her room.  And SUPER-HEARING.  For about a year, we exited through her room.  We learned which floorboards were creaky and tried acrobatically to avoid them, while near-silently opening and closing two doors until we were safely through her room and into our living room.  Half the time we made it.  Half the time we woke her.  She does NOT like being woken.  Her hearing was getting stronger and stronger.  Winter was over and spring had sprung.  I was tired of accidentally waking her up.  I wanted ME TIME with coffee and HGTV before she woke up.  So I started using the front porch door instead.  Yup.  First thing in the morning, before even going to the bathroom, I would fully dress myself, walk OUTSIDE through the yard in bare feet or slippers (with two giddy dogs who thought this was really fun), and sneak back into my own house through the garage or side entrance.  All to keep Libby asleep.  It was well worth it.

 

 

 

Well, as summer wore on toward inevitable snow and cold, and sometimes I just REALLY had to pee, I contemplated how we could make use of the other hallway door.  We had a file cabinet on one side and a closet unit on the other.  After a couple days of serious thought, I realized I don’t really have all that many hanging clothes.  I set aside a few for a future rummage sale and rearranged the rest, leaving the bottom hanging bar empty.  Then I cleaned and rearranged the church office and re-opened the hallway door, exposing a two-and-a-half-foot “escape” hatch that we dubbed the “Secret Passageway.”

 

 

 

Some mornings, let me tell you, it is ROUGH crawling through a little hole in the closet first thing in the morning, especially when I’m stiff and sore after a long run the day before.  But it’s an INDOOR solution, and my sanity is worth a few aches and pains.  And little houseguests, like our nephews, are beyond fascinated by our Secret Passageway :)

 

*** Whew.  I need a little break.  I have the rest of the list written but it's Packer Game Time!!! and I need to wait until later to edit/add pics/add links.  Well, I think this should be plenty for now.  I do know how to go on and on, don't I? ***