"Fill Up My Cup"

   This post is a lot of thoughts combined over toooo many months. I should have taken more time to separate the thoughts, but here they are! :) I keep editing, because my thoughts were not complete when I posted, so pardon the changes!


  Kindergarten started and with it tears and tummy aches. I expected this. I worried about this. I dreaded this. I'd like to keep her here, cozy, for the rest of our lives. However, we thought we should try. Yet when it happens, when you actually regress 2 years in 2 days, the weight on my shoulders is very heavy.

  The last year has been up and down. Usually the ups were longer and the downs were shorter, but we still had so many questions. When she's so obsessed with being a baby, what do we do? When she gets into repetitive, obsessive behavior, do we correct or ignore? When she cries over nothing, how should we react? When she is with other children, but is immersed in her own world and not engaged in theirs -- what should we do? Is there some deeper pain? We have tried many, many things, and prayed many, many times but it seemed we were on a plateau. We felt we needed more help, especially with school looming right around the corner. The end of December we met with a therapist, highly recommended by the Nancy Thomas camp and we. are. so. thankful. for. her. Truly. So. So. So. Thankful for her.

   Our therapist helped us to understand her more fully. The months in the womb and the first 2 yrs is the most important time in a child's life. We missed that. Our therapist put her emotional age at around 1-2 yrs old. And THAT is exactly what has left us so confused. Learning to understand that the emotional age of our daughter is not the same as her physical age and treating her likewise. The more we learn to know our daughter, the more we realize her first 3 yrs probably were not pretty.

   As the saying goes: Therapeutic parenting is an attitude. After I had someone to ask every single question I ever had and could expect a knowledgeable, practical answer, my perspective improved. Instead of pounding questions, negative feelings, and confusion, I had arrows in my quiver! I understood. My job was to keep her filled up. Filled up with touch, with love, with compliments, with eye contact, with boundaries, yes, but so much love. Hugs, so many hugs. Rocking long and slow. Rubbing her back, her feet, her hands. Singing with her. Playing. Different games to improve her ability to focus. Time, so much time.

  Do you know how hard this is for me? Do you know how independent I am? Do you know how good this is for me? Do you know how this softens me? How this tests me?

  She comes running with her blanket and squeals, "ooh, my blankie, my blankie!". She says in a baby voice, "Mama, rock me." If I am busy with something, she gets right in my face and says,"
a-boo, a-boo, a-boo, a-boo" playing peek-a-boo with her blanket. Do you know how I want to shake her and yell "GROW UP". But. I. Can't... I. bite. my. tongue. I smile. I hug. I must be patient.

  

    Children act how they feel. Children who have missed the attention loved babies get, often crave baby attention. Yes, I've tried to get her to grow up. I've let my negative feelings about her baby ways take control. I've fought it. It does no good. I feel negative. She feels negative. No one wins. She has no idea what makes her feel and act this way. But when I accept. When I look at her with tender eyes filled with compassion. When I give in and fill her everything changes. She fills up. She feels strong. She doesn't crave my attention. She doesn't act like a baby. Everyone wins.

   It is scientifically proven that the "body keeps the score". I've heard it said..."at least she's a baby, she won't remember it". How wrong. No, their mind doesn't remember it, but their body keeps the score. Their heart knows. Babies or children who have endured trauma before they are verbal many times have larger issues than children who endure trauma after they are verbal. Because, they don't remember, but their body keeps the score. Trauma comes in so many forms. Drugs while in the womb can cause pain to the fetus. A pregnant mother smoking can cause a fetus to feel like she can't breathe. Depending on the severity this can be traumatic. Babies who endure many surgeries and pain. A home that is violent or chaotic is very traumatic to the fetus or baby. A mother with lots of anxiety, depression, or other mental illness during the pregnancy directly passes that on to the baby. Abortion contemplated can terrify the fetus. Trauma? Absolutely. Even conception is important. A child conceived of rape can have hurts. An unwanted pregnancy. Tragic. Many adopted children are the result of an unwanted pregnancy. The heart keeps the score. Our emotions are our unborn babies emotions. A birth mother's emotions are her baby's emotions. Trauma of any sort causes the fetus or baby or child to disassociate, to disconnect with reality, because reality is terrifying. They withdraw or act-out, because of their terrified feelings. They don't know WHY they feel this way. All they know is that they DO feel this way. Children act how they feel.
  Understanding what is trauma to a child, makes God's beautiful plan shine even brighter. A man who loves God, marries a woman who loves God. The man loves his wife and his wife respects her man. The home is in harmony. They bear children. They love their children. The children love their parents. A recipe so simple, yet so complete. It is when sin enters that children suffer.

   I have come to the realization and acceptance that adoption is not God's perfect plan, but a redemptive plan. It cannot be His perfect Will that any infant or child be separated from it's mother. This makes me cry; this broken world.

   We, adoptive parents, are unworthily called to be part of this redemptive plan. We are called to be the humble middle-man. We are called to give meekly. We are called to love doubly. We are blessed. We are able to give a happy childhood when so many wish they could. We are called to share. I share the children I call mine. I share them with a precious person. I don't know her, but I love her.
      I have also come to the realization and acceptance that adopted children need more. More love, more time, more compliments, more hugs, more consistency, more security, more and more of me.

     I used to fight with the popular thought that many adopted children have issues. It made me mad. Yes, it's true, if an adoptee is a good child or a secure adult, you seldom hear the whispers..."ummm...she's adopted". BUT if she's not being a good person, she is immediately tagged. No, it's not right. We, wemmicks, love to label with stars or dots. So I still fight for fairness. I still fight for compassion. The fact is many children who join our families through adoption have trauma somewhere in their little life. We may think our child had a benign beginning. We may claim no drugs, no alcohol, just a perfect baby. But friends... the loss of their birth mother is trauma and every adopted child has lost their precious mother. Someday they will face it, I think. We, adoptive parents, must be humble, meek, and full of compassion. Remember, meekness is not weakness.

  

   This school thing. Our other staying-at-home 5 year old has been hugely affected. Her insecurity pokes out everywhere. Sis going to school has knocked her off her secure pedestal and the crash has been hard. For mom, too. She needs more, too. More hugs, more smiles, more holding, more time.

    School's been going over a month now. It's getting better. But. It's midnight now. I just got done holding and rocking Miss Over-Stimulated School girl for over an hour. Merlin just got done cuddling and holding Miss Insecure Not-Going-to-School girl for just as long. We've had some tough weeks. This is not so abnormal! Just life.

  Weeks when I plead... "Patience. Patience. Kindness. Compassion. Breathe. More patience. Bite tongue. Be kind. Compassion. Compassion, Lord, please."

   Fill up my cup. Fill my cup let it overflow... My song sung over and over and over. I have found great strength in song. I read a sentence in a book. It said, " Singing helps impatience." I sang. And sang. It helped. Then we went to sing at the nursing home. A little old lady who saw my 4 children around me pulled me to her and huskily whispered, "SING! When you can't stand 'em, SING!" Surely the Lord was speaking through her, because she didn't know about my difficult month. So. I. Sing. And. Sing. It helps.