Archive for January, 2010
January 21, 2008
Every moment of that day is forever engraved in my mind beginning with the flight from Beijing to Wuhan, including the trouble we had getting the car seat checked as oversize baggage on that flight, and ending with us holding Ava as she cried, seemingly inconsolably, in our hotel room that night. All night. We paced, we walked, we (I) cried with her, we took turns sitting and holding her upright since it helped her sleep. I remember wondering if this was truly happening after so long waiting.
I remember the snow and the ice and the fears that it would delay the babies’ trip from Qichun to Wuhan and the great relief J and I felt when we were told they’d made it there safely. I remember how my heart skipped a beat when we walked into our hotel room and saw a crib in there – waiting for Ava. A crib!! In our room!! That made it seem incredibly real for some reason. I remember the nerves, the heart palpitations, when it was time to board the bus for the trip to meet our daughter.
(Taken as we were boarding the bus outside the hotel. I think I was about to throw up at this point. Or cry.)
I remember seeing the Yangtze River for the first time as we crossed the bridge and spotting the Yellow Crane Tower. I remember driving by the Daoist Temple, picturesquely covered in snow, briefly thinking it was beautiful and then wishing with all my might that the driver would hurry up and our guide would skip the scenic commentary and just get us to our baby.
I remember walking to the door of the provincial affairs office with our group and feeling my heart drop when we discovered the door was locked and we couldn’t get in. I panicked for a moment because we’d been told the babies were there (everyone else panicked a bit, too) until our guide walked us to another door. I remember feeling like I wanted to laugh hysterically and cry all at the same time when we walked into the building because this was my dream. My lifelong dream getting ready to come true and I was petrified. And grateful. And unbelieving that this was actually happening.
And I remember the elevator. Tiny and full of smokers so J and I opted to climb the grand, marble staircase all the way to the upper floor where we were to wait. The stairs were slick from all the snow and ice outside and I slipped a little at the top, causing my already rapidly beating heart to thump a little harder.
They parked us in a cold conference room where some sat and waited and I paced and waited. J sat up the video camera, checking and double checking, to make sure he would be able to capture something of the day on camera. We listened to a brief speech from the provincial affairs officer, of which I have no real recollection of what she said, we signed some paperwork, and were presented with a few items from the orphanage. A photo album that was a total surprise and is priceless to us, some medicine (Chinese herbal and an antibiotic) since Ava was sick, baby formula, a one page summary of her current schedule, and a map of the SWI and surrounding area.
Ava was the last baby brought in. I couldn’t get to her because everyone else had their babes in arms and were blocking the way. I think I got a little ill-tempered and finally pushed my way through for the SWI director to hand her to me. He spoke to me about her being ill and I’ll always regret not taking a few moments more to speak with him. But I couldn’t. My every thought and action at that point revolved around her and J. I hope he understood and didn’t think me rude.
Ava wasn’t afraid. She was curious more than anything. Even when I look back at the photos now, after knowing her so well for the last two years, I don’t see fear in those first pictures. I see curiosity and interest. We’d sent a photo album in her care package and I truly believe her foster mom made sure she was exposed to those photos. When I look back at those photos I also see how awkwardly both J and I held her and how completely inexperienced we were as parents.
She was ill. Nothing major or long lasting, but she was slightly feverish and was sweating in the many layers of clothing. I remember how she was dressed in the same faded outerwear that all the other babies had on and how she smelled of coal – and how sweet that smell of her was anyway. I remember the long drive back to the hotel during a snow covered rush hour, and how guilty I felt at not having any juice or anything cool for her to drink.
I remember taking her back to the room and realizing that we had no freaking clue of what to do with this baby now that we had her. We decided to check her diaper and I remember being slightly amazed that diapers now had velcro tabs instead of tape. I didn’t know that. J got the first diaper change while I looked on. He did a good job. We stripped her down and rinsed her off with a damp washcloth, which she didn’t appreciate, before plunking her down on a blanket on the floor in order to overwhelm her with toys, the likes of which she’d clearly never seen before. Fortunately our guide showed up at that moment to translate our one page of info on what to feed her and to tell us what her sleep schedule was and to offer to get us food (Pizza Hut) since it had been hours and hours and hours since we’d eaten. J and I mixed her up a bottle (wrong on the formula to water ratio for at least the first couple of times) and managed to get her fed with only minimal collateral damage.
And I remember how grateful I was when she went to sleep. We’d had no real crying and could hardly believe our good fortune thus far.
Until she woke up in the night. Because our baby? She grieved at night, in the dark, when I can only imagine that she really grasped that her foster mom was no longer there and that her whole world had changed. I remember crying with her because I was helpless, truly impotent, to assuage her sadness. We held her, we walked with her, we slept sitting in a chair with her, doing anything and everything to let her know that, if nothing else, we were there. And we’d always be there. Always.
It’s been a good two years. Two of the best years of my life, and I’ve had a pretty great life so far, so that’s saying something.
And that’s why we want to celebrate our gotcha day. Not Ava’s gotcha day, but OUR gotcha day, because as surely as we ‘got’ her she also ‘got’ us.
She got to pick dinner. I thought for sure we’d be partaking of Chicken Mc.Nuggets but she surprised me with a request for pizza. Done.
There was cake AND cupcakes, homemade by Ava and Daddy. And icing (aka heaven) in a can.
And presents. Nothing big. And nothing I bought in China since I was in no way organized enough to shop for 16 or 18 or whatever number of significant gifts folks are doing these days. Just some small things to let her know that it’s a special day and that we are fortunate beyond measure to have been chosen to be her parents.
We tell her a million times a day that we love, love, love her. But even that’s not enough to convey the depths of feeling we have for this, for our, child. I don’t know if there is any way to do so, really.
As Ava gets older we’re trying to work out our family traditions on how we will celebrate our gotcha day – the anniversary of the day she was placed into our arms. I have lots of ideas but they all don’t feel right (for us) yet but, regardless, this wasn’t a good year for much of anything requiring too much planning or movement since surgery was only 9 short days prior.
But I did want to do something to commemorate it since it was one of (if not THE) best days of my life and I want to ensure that Ava knows that, despite any other feelings she may eventually have regarding that date. I do realize that although it was a day of exceptional gain for us, that gain came at a great loss of many things for her. I can only hope we can ultimately balance those things out by providing her with a family that loves her beyond measure.
At the very least there was going to be cake and presents – except there was nary an egg or a cake mix in the house – so a trip to T.arget was in order. I was beyond excited at the thought of getting out of my house for the first time in a week and a half. Way more excitement than a quick trip like that would normally engender but hey, you try being stuck inside with only daytime TV for company and see how desperate you get for a change of scenery.
Out trip was successful. Cake ingredients procured, as were some odds and ends gift-y things for her, and since I didn’t keel over in the middle of the store (although I felt like having J push me in the cart once we’d made about half a lap around the perimeter) we celebrated with Starb.ucks on the way out. Grande hot chocolate, skim with no whipped is my drink of choice (I don’t do coffee – ever) and Ava always gets a sip or two.
But since this was a special occasion we treated her to her very own cup this time. Whole milk WITH whipped cream – WOOT!
Her first Starbucks:
It was a hit – for about 3 sips. Then she ever so sweetly asked Daddy to hold it and refused to take it back again.
I’m okay with that. Much easier on my pocketbook anyway and she is always welcome to share mine.
By the way, frosting in an aerosol can? OMG – it’s even better than Easy Cheese.
A little mini one is lurking in Ava’s daycare.
One that munched on my kid while she was lying defenseless on her cot, deep in sleep. And the little beast bit hard, too. Through an undershirt and a fleece, it still left deep teeth marks that very nearly broke the skin and left a perfect, bruised outline on her left shoulder blade. It hurt her, too. She was favoring that side and had a hard time sitting or laying comfortably.
And no one knew who did it. There were two suspects, both new transplants into the 2 year old room, but no one actually saw the bite happen and Ava, as a reputable witness, is pretty unreliable (if she even knew anyway). For example, when J asked her who bit her she said, “Mama did it.” When I asked her who bit her she told me, “Emma did it.” Since I was still on lockdown and unable to drive and Emma is our dog who won’t go within 10 feet of Ava at the best of times and certainly didn’t head on out for a 16 mile round trip to sneak in and bite her I’m pretty sure that Ava’s testimony wouldn’t hold water in judicial proceedings of any type.
Since I wasn’t there, J channeled me and raised holy hell with them as to why the opportunity even happened since they were all supposed to be napping on their individual cots. And demanded to know why, if these two kids are known biters, they weren’t being supervised a little more closely during this naturally tumultuous transition stage. Ava was not the first, or even the second, child to be bitten in as many days.
Bottom line: An extra staff member was added to the room for assistance until things settle down and I’m so proud of J for pulling a me until an acceptable resolution was reached because I know, I know, that J was way nicer and more diplomatic than I would have been. My mama bear instincts were raging and all I wanted to do was hunt the little bloodsucker down with a stake at that point.
I guess we should count ourselves lucky that in nearly 2 years of daycare this is our first (and hopefully only) biting incident.
Would you believe I got NO flowers after my surgery? I got plenty of get well wishes and even a few get well gifts but not even one bouquet of flowers – which actually would have been nice seeing that I was pretty much confined to one part of my house for a long while. Apparently I protested too well to folks: “No, no – don’t spend your money on me” and “Flowers just die in a couple of days anyway,” I said. Hmmph, won’t do that again.
The get well gifts were very thoughtful. Spa sets, a cheese basket (still puzzling over this one a bit but I LOVE the basket it came in – it was repurposed right away to hold Ava’s hairbows), and even a snack bouquet.
The snack bouquet was very cute but I think J enjoyed it even more than I did. I had to near fight him for the KitKat bar and he somehow managed to snag the oreos when I wasn’t looking. Although, in all seriousness, food wasn’t even the slightest bit interesting or appetizing at this point anyway (except for KitKat bars). I love the snack bouquet idea though and will definitely use this in the future. It looks pretty easy to make – sticks glued on to the backs of the packages and stuck into florist foam with a little bit of green cellophane arranged to look like grass.
But the best gift?
My visits with this little thing (especially once she decided she liked me again):
That’s the best medicine on Earth.
So how did Ava do?
Well, that depends on how you look at it, I guess.
D-Day itself was fine. Despite our rocky start at daycare drop off (which is sadly not unusual when I take her) she was fine. She spent the evening with her friend, Izzy, and J had her home and in bed not too long past her normal bedtime. Thanks to an occasional business trip here and there she actually doesn’t freak out anymore when I’m gone for a day or two so it wasn’t a big deal when she didn’t see me that night or even the next morning.
We maintained her daycare routine in order to keep things as normal as possible – J dropped her off in the AM and picked her up at the regular time. Once she got home J would bring her into the room where I was camped out several times a day so she could at least see me but he suddenly became the sole provider of hugs, food, kisses, cups of milks, baths, books, and all the other things we both normally handle. I was either too out of it or too sore to do much for the first 3 days but she was always thrilled to see me when J brought her in for a while.
By the 4th day I was feeling a little better so I asked J to pile some pillows around me to make sure I didn’t get toddler tackled in the belly and to leave her with me for a little while so we could bond over some Sesa.me Street. She was thrilled to be able to lay in mama’s bed and watch TV since this is a rare treat for her. Thrilled, that is, until J left the room and all hell broke loose because she did not want a) J to leave and/or b) to be alone with me.
My heart sustained some permanent damage, I’m certain of it. She screamed so loud that J came running back upstairs to see what the problem was. I had him comfort her for a minute and then told him he had to leave so we could sort this out. She yelled some more, wept quietly once she figured out J wasn’t coming to save her, refused to let me touch or soothe her, and scooted as far away from me as she possibly could without falling off the bed. I tried really hard not to take any of this personally but this was the first time she’d flat out rejected me and it smarted a bit. Of course, I also had to worry that this might resurrect any latent abandonment issues and have a negative impact on all the work we’ve done to ensure that she develops a secure and confident attachment. While I think her attachment has been fantastic, there’s a tendency toward anxiety in her that I need to keep an eye on and manage and it scared me to death to see her reaction when J left the room. She was in anxiety overload and was struggling so very hard to control this situation.
Thank goodness for Elm.o, Steve Jobs, and whoever invented YouTube. Between the temptation of that little red monster and my web enabled cell phone I was able to coax her back over to my side of the bed and to forget for a little bit that Daddy left her to the evil, disappearing mama. A few more rounds of the lipdub version of “I Gotta Feeling” and she was putty in my hands.
Actually saying that I was putty in her hands would be way more accurate. I would have done almost anything to be back in her good graces even if it does involve annoying puppets and the Black Eyed Peas.