The Skin We're In

"Mom! Mom!! I'm in that movie!"

We were watching a short clip about Chinese culture a few weeks ago, and admittedly I was zoned out when suddenly I heard my oldest say he was in that movie. Before anyone jumps to the conclusion of negligent parenting and not screening what they watch, Derek and I had both watched the video previously and thought the boys might like it. They did like it (it was about food, after all)...but I can assure you, they also were not in it.

My son is three and a half, going on fifteen. I know I'm his mom, so there's a little bias, but sometimes he shows a maturity that I don't expect. He wasn't actually saying he was in the movie, but he was noticing that the people in the video looked like him, and that's how his three year old brain expressed that to us. Not having expected that comment, I simply said "No, you aren't in the movie, but the people in the movie are Chinese, just like you." End of story.

Since then, if someone is watching a clip on culture or looking at photos, both of the boys now ask "Is that me? Is that my brother?" and I know they know it's not them. Each time, I say "No, that man/woman/boy/girl is Chinese, just like you." And for a week or two, that was enough.

But like I said, my older son is very observant. He's starting to notice differences more than his brother, and it's just one more thing in a laundry list of items that have recently bothered him.

"Mom, are your eyes blue? What color are my eyes?"
"Mom, do I have a brave scar?"
"Mom, did I live in China?
"Mom, did you come get me?"

Three years ago, to prepare for international adoption, Derek and I took numerous required classes to equip us with answers for when these inevitable questions came. Some of the important takeaways were (1) to always be honest but also (2) to keep our answers age appropriate.

"Yes, my eyes are blue. Daddy's are light brown. Your eyes are dark brown. Judah's are dark brown."
"Yes, you have a brave scar."
"Yes, you were born in China."
"Yes, Mommy and Daddy flew in an airplane to China where you lived to bring you home with us."

The other important takeaway? To read between the lines.

"Mom, why am I different?"
"Mom, what happened to me?"
"Mom, why was I not with you?"
"Mom...you really love me?"

These. These are the real questions he's subconsciously asking and not even realizing it. He's only three and a half, but his brain is in overdrive trying to make sense of things that may never make sense. If you were to read a child psychology book about typical anxieties in children and the ages they start to present, these fears that he's displaying are above and beyond what he is capable of understanding at his age, which makes for even more fear and anxiety. 

And the answers? They change depending on what he needs. Sometimes the answers just mean extra play time or hugs. Sometimes we use simple picture books to help reinforce simple truths, like all the cool things skin can do and all the colors it comes in, or books that remind us that we're a family, and families stick together. And sometimes Derek and I know we are out of our realm of expertise and look to the professionals to help us help them. This has made us once again batten down the hatches a little, so to speak, to give him (and really both of them) time to adjust and find their footing.

Our boys have beautiful brown skin and the darkest, brightest eyes. One has a giant dimple and the other has the most mischievous grin. One has a brave scar with a unique heartbeat and the other has special and oh so very capable hands. Now, just now, they're starting to realize these differences...not in others, but in themselves. One little girl asked one of our boys what that thing was on his chest. A high five for the other turns into a fist bump, because the other has suddenly realized he can't open and close his hand. These were the moments as parents we knew were coming, but it still hurts to hear and see. Yet, when we hear answers simply stated like "my brave scar" and see the flash of a dimple when a fist bump turns into a super cool handshake...those are the moments we pray they remember: the victories in the differences.

Our boys need to be secure in their identity. Part of that is knowing their background, their history, their ethnicity and culture. However, a much bigger part of that is knowing where they fit in. That scary things can or have happened, but we, as their parents, will be there to help them to the best of our ability. That this family loves each other and celebrates all of our differences. That they will always, always be a part of this family.

That they can know that God gave them this skin they're in, that they will know who they are, and who loves them.

Adoption Doesn't End at the Airport

Leaving Hong Kong

Earlier this week I shared about the medical side of our life with Jet. Now, we wanted to share about the adoption side of our life this past year. In our last post I gave a quick cardiology lesson at the beginning; this one will have a quick grammar lesson so that there's no confusion. Jet was adopted, past tense. He is a member of our family, present tense. However, today I'm not referring to adoption as a verb. In this post, I'm referring to adoption as a noun. This is a hard post to write, because it's hard to admit that while things seemed to be going well, in real life it's been probably the hardest year of our lives.

Many of you are familiar with our story, either through this blog, through our Jet Landing Facebook page, or through our video testimony at church. In no way are we downplaying our gratitude for the help and support we received while we were in China as well as that first month home. We had people clean our house while we were gone, dry cleaning dropped off and picked up, the refrigerator stocked, freezer meals left for us plus meals dropped off for weeks, calls and texts checking in...our every need was met.

The first hours home

In a way, adoption does end at the airport, just like labor ends in delivery. You come home with your new baby, you celebrate, there's balloons, you have friends and family help, and eventually that tapers off as your life settles into your new routine. Except, with some adoptions (a blanket statement covering special needs adoptions, international adoptions, adoptions of older children, or even foster care placements), the time it takes to establish a new routine is seemingly endless. I realize that everyone's experience upon arriving home is different, so I'll just speak from our own experience.

One thing happened though during that first month still stands out for me. We have friends who came home with their son approximately a year earlier than we did, and she didn't sign up for a day on the ever popular MealTrain site. Instead, she just texted and said "We'll bring you a meal in a few months. Trust me, you'll understand." I was perplexed, but I wasn't going to turn down a free meal. I'm not crazy.

As most of you know, we adopted a child with severe congenital heart disease (CHD). His file said repaired. While we knew there would be tests and routine monitoring, in no way did we expect it to consume our daily life. I still couldn't tell you if this was an "ignorance is bliss" or if we were just not ready to admit the magnitude of a special needs adoption, but we truly believed the initial tests and appointments would taper off once the "newness" of everything wore off. In fact, for about two months following our homecoming, I was seriously regretting turning down a promotion and quitting my job. We spent our summer slowly but surely exposing Jordan to his new life with us, feeling quite confident in our abilities as parents, and as parents of an adopted special needs child, but then real life set in. With a vengeance. And then twice after we had been home for more than a couple months that adoptive family I referred to earlier brought us meals on two separate occasions. And both times, I got it. I totally understood what she meant. The novelty had seemingly worn off, and we were floundering.

This past fall was incredibly hard for our family, as I was suffering from acute anxiety and random panic attacks triggered by medications that were supposed to help the anxiety. Jordan was sick or in the hospital or having tests done weekly with seemingly no end in site. Derek was just trying to hold the fort together during an incredibly stressful time at work. Altogether, I felt like an adoptive mom failure, and I didn't feel I could ask for help. I couldn't relate to friends' with kids of the same age because we were going through completely different experiences, and other adoptive moms (and dads) seemingly had it all together (at least per social media). I also didn't want to exhaust our "resources" for help--our small groups, friends, and family--which I now know was and has been pointed out to me as ridiculous. It was especially hard because I wanted to be involved in so many activities and groups and do all the things that I was used to doing BC (before children), but either Jet was ill or had a test or doctor's appointment, or I physically and/or mentally
was unable to and didn't want to admit it.

A few weeks ago, while Jet was in the hospital once again (this time with pneumonia of all things), I mentioned to some close friends that I just wanted things to be normal again, and one particular friend who has dealt with similar anxiety issues just said, quite bluntly, "They won't. But you'll find your new normal." She was right. It's taken us months to establish a routine--and that routine actually was learning to not have a routine. We take everything day by day now, sometimes hour by hour. We've learned to just swallow our pride, because really that was the only thing holding us back from asking for more help, and tell people what we need and when. Those two meals that my adoptive mom friend had brought? I will never be able to express how perfectly timed they were. I now know what she was referring to, when she said I would understand.

Showing his brave muscles!

Very soon, Jet will be having his open heart surgery so we will once again be leaning on our friends, family, and church family for support. In fact, quite often adoptive families face the exact same struggles with bonding, night terrors, and clinginess all over again if their child needs some sort of major medical intervention within the first year of being home. Think about it: once again, as I mentioned months ago, we are not the ones who will be most affected here. As unsure and nervous as Derek and I are, even with the major life changes and adjustments we've made over this last year, we understand what's happening. Jet does not. He's just two years old. In this past year, he left one family, joined another, flew around the world to a new home, became comfortable with them despite the fact that he's been subjected to multiple tests and medical interventions, and now will be having surgery in just a few short days. That's a lot for anyone to take in, but for a two year old, it can be downright terrifying.

So here we are, more than nine months since arriving home from the airport. And we are just now learning how to respond when people offer help. I'm trying to give myself more grace, which I always felt was an overused phrase but it fits, because yes, I do not have a normal child, and yes, it is okay to ask for help. (And isn't normal overrated anyway?) And thankfully, we have a great support system in place now. We simply don't know what the next few weeks will bring. We pray that Jet will be in the hospital for less than a week and fully recovered by May! Realistically though, we know that we may need help with meals, with the dog (why do we have one again?), with help around the house, etc. We know we have a church family praying for us, and most of all praying for Jet and his surgery and recovery. We know that all we need to do is ask, and someone will be there.

If you're an adoptive parent, especially one with a child who has significant health needs, and you've felt this way, find someone who understands. Talk to them. A friend, a therapist, a counselor, someone who has a child with the same condition(s) as yours or someone who has gone through similar things. Find what works for you. It's normal. It's not embarrassing. It's nothing you should be ashamed of. Maybe your church has a ministry that can connect you to someone. Maybe you can find a church in your area that has this type of ministry if you aren't sure. Derek and I so happen to attend a church that has a ministry such as this, and we know that we have the support of our friends and family as well.

If you're a friend of one of these adoptive parents? Call them. Text them. Ask what they need. In some cases, just do it. Bring the coffee. Or a donut. (Once, a friend brought me two chocolate donuts on her way home from work after an especially hard day. It was awesome.) Educate yourselves on adoption. I recommend reading The Connected Child, just so you can empathize with what they are going through. They may say they don't need help, so sometimes you just have to be forceful (but not too forceful--don't break any laws). Also understand that they may not be able to go out and meet at the park or attend Tuesday mornings regularly or leave their kid with a sitter. Chances are, they are secretly wanting help, but don't know how to ask. Or when. Or even for what.

The care of orphans and vulnerable children is so important, but we can't forget to support the families who do so. 

As adoptive parents, Derek and I have learned a lot since we arrived home. Our faith has grown, our ability to communicate with each other and work as a team has grown, and I'm pretty sure we might be able to pass a few med school exams. People often say adoption is a process. Believe me, it was! I have a file cabinet full of paperwork to prove it. But it still is a process. It didn't end once we were home from the airport. It didn't end after we were home for a few months. For us, it still hasn't ended. Yet even after everything, the blessings far outnumber the negatives, and as long as God calls us to it, we can't wait to do it all over again.