The Blog's Last Chapter

This blog started in the weeks before our referral from China, and it was my first attempt at a blog.  There was some experimenting going on.  Many times I wondered, who is my audience?  Is it Phoebe, who will read this years down the road?  My family, following us from afar?  Other parents who have adopted and navigating this sometimes complicated path?  Or is it nothing more than my own diary, a place to dump my thoughts and sort it out?  I'm not sure, but as things evolved, I watched the blog follow our family's tranformation into a family of four, as we turned two little girls into sister, and turned people born on different sides of the world into parent and child.  I thought it would be about both girls, but it ended up being more about Phoebe.  It followed her as she grew into her new life with her "Forever Family," with my ponderings on the effects of her cross-cultural toddler adoption on her personality and outlook on the world. 

I feel like the story of her transition is now over, and we are deep into regular post-adoption life.  She's getting older now, too.  Now that she's learning to talk, we are discussing adoption in a new way, since she has questions and emotions about it now.  It is time for her story to turn more private.  And so, this posting is my last one for the blog-- my final thoughts on adoption and our journey as a family.

I should tell you what happened after the first day of school.  The teacher called me the next evening and said, "I know there are no parents allowed in Children's House, but  I believe this child needs an exception.  When you leave, she feels it in a very deep way.  The reaction is quite strong."  In a world where adoptive parents often have to explain and educate, Phoebe's teachers understood immediately.  Since I couldn't be there every day, we opted to have our new au pair, Laura, do a "phase-in".  She sat in the classroom for about two weeks, until Phoebe agreed that she was ready to be there alone.  Drop-offs with Laura went well for a few weeks before Phoebe was finally well-established enough in the routine to bravely try drop-off with me.  We had a failed attempt in November, but tried again in December with success.  So finally, just before Christmas, I started dropping my kids off at school. 

Meanwhile, drop-offs aside, she's done beautifully.  She has many friends and does her Montessori "work" with great focus.  Last summer we had reached a point in our family where Miranda and Phoebe's ages seemed to have almost evened out developmentally, but since fall Miranda has leeped way ahead of Phoebe-- reading, doing multiplication, using an expansive vocabulary, and generally talking circles around poor Phoebe.  We are trying to remember to keep Phoebe involved in our advanced conversations.  I'm expecting a developmental leep from Phoebe soon, and I imagine it will be like this as the years go on and our "artificial twins" have their growth spurts independently.

I am aware every day of how lucky we are that Miranda and Phoebe are as close as they are.  Now, please-- there is plenty of bickering and tattling.  In fact, after I scolded Miranda for tattling the other day Phoebe immediately reported, "Miranda's tattling on me."  I wasn't sure if I should laugh or cry.  But they clearly love each other deeply.  There are frequent deals about switching one shoe so that they each are wearing a mismatched pair that matches each other.  Even on the playground or at swim class, when they could chose to be with anyone, they often are side-by-side.  Lately they have even taken to sleeping together in Phoebe's bed.

I recently made Phoebe a tiny "Life Book" and told her the story of her life as I know about it.  We have always told the story of the day we met Phoebe, of how she waited in the good care of her foster family until her Forever Family came, of how long we waited to meet our baby from China, of how her birth parents must be smart and funny like she is.  I had always left out, however, that little detail of how she came to be an orphan.  I think she was starting to get confused about just who this foster family was and how they got involved-- especially when I talk about how we'll visit them one day and thank them.  It doesn't really all make sense unless you tell the truth-- that for reasons we will likely never fully know, Phoebe was left by her birth family at one week of age.  So, on the advice of an adoptive mom who has taught me many things, I made a book with just four pictures-- Phoebe in a tattered wicker baby chair in her foster home at four months old, Phoebe in my arms looking confused and overwelmed during her first minutes with her tearful new mother at age 15 months, Phoebe on her papa's one knee looking at Miranda on his other knee as she meets her sister for the first time, and a family portrait of all four of us deeply happy in the post-transition life.  With the help of the pictures, I started at the beginning, and told Phoebe all I know about her first 15 months of life, with nothing left out.  My adult self thought Phoebe would be shocked.  Appalled.  Upset.  But no.  Her response?  She listened, then told me something about what dress someone was wearing at school, I think, or something about swim class.  But on some level, it seemed like for the first time she understand how it all flowed-- from her birth mother, to the orphanage, to the foster family, and finally to us, the last stop.  She carried her book around with great enthusiasm for a day or so, and since then hasn't asked to see it again.  I feel at peace.  It's all out there now, and Phoebe is okay with her story.  It's the only one she has.

Miranda, too, is thinking about adoption more.  A few days ago she announced she wanted to "play adoption."  I watched her line up 10 dolls and stuffed animals side by side on a long strip of papertowels on the floor, and then she started shouting out like a street vendor, "Babies!  Get your babies!"  Yikes, is this what she thought adoption was like?!  Some quick intervention was in order.  With Phoebe watching, I acted like the official in they mysterious placed known as the Matching Room in the China Center for Adoption Affairs.  "Hm, the baby here looks interesting.  I have so many folders here of families who are waiting.  How should we decide which baby will go with which family?  Let's see now.  This is pretty important business, you know.  We are about to make a family.  Ah, yes, I've got it.  This looks like a perfect match."  I then took the role of the waiting mother, going about my day unsuspectingly, then answering the phone to hear the words that would change my life forever.  Finally, I acted out the moment when my baby was placed in my arms.  And then Miranda and Phoebe, thrilled with this new version of "Play Adoption," took on the roles.  When Phoebe answered the referral phone call and acted out the amazing joy-- with huge eyes, a dropped jaw, a dramatic gasp, and then a shiver and squeal-- I couldn't help filling up with tears.  Then she held her new baby for the first time and said to her with great tenderness, "I am your mama.  ForEVER."  Oh, my.  I have to say, it was a great day to be a mother home with her children. 

Clearly the story doesn't end here.  Only the blog does.  Thank you for journeying with me through this great adventure of motherhood.

Back to School

Ah, back to school, back to issues.  

Not big issues, just the usual ones with separation & change, and the forever pondering what effect early transition and the trauma of separation has had on Phoebe.  Miranda this morning-- barely said goodbye to me, she was so excited to be back in her classroom.  Phoebe?  Well, yesterday was a one hour gentle introduction to her new classroom & her teachers, with no other students there.  I was supposed to give a cheery goodbye and then get some coffee in the lobby, but Phoebe started on her "I'm scared" routine, with arms wrapped around my legs.  The teacher is from Taiwan, and we requested that Phoebe be in her class where they will learn songs & traditions from China (not too mention how lovely it will be to have a positive Asian role model in her life).  But when I introduced Sandra to Phoebe, Phoebe looked right at her, paused, then gave her the Phoebe scowl.  Trouble with the Chinese face & accent?  Or just with the threat of a teacher who will displace her mother?

So, instead, I was invited to explore the classroom with Phoebe yesterday.  She did get out of my arms and explore a bit, but certainly didn't smile or relax, and didn't let me slip out "to the bathroom for a minute or two," no.  Then today, half of her classmates were coming, ages 3 to 5.  Phoebe started the morning at home by curling up in a chair and saying, "I don't want to go to the school."  She refused her rainboots, and when I told her, "Phoebe, you can make your own decisions, but you cannot make your sister late for her first day of school," Phoebe said, "You hurt my feelings!"  I carried her into school (a big Montessori no-no) with bare feet & her boots in my hand.  After dropping Miranda at her classroom (easy), we ended up sitting outside Phoebe's classroom on the bench while all the other kids arrived.  One kindergartner asked Phoebe, "Why are you out here?"  Phoebe said, "I'm scared."  As if she was paid to do it, the girl said, "It's fun!  I used to be scared too, but not anymore!"  

The teacher gave us a full 30 minutes on the bench, with kind invitations every few minutes.  Phoebe buried her head in my chest.  Finally, at the teacher's request, after promises that I would return right after storytime, I started in on the ritual goodbye kiss that Phoebe dreamed up & practiced at home:  nose kiss, one cheek, other cheek-- then with great effort, she raised her hand in a reluctant but brave high-five.  Sandra took her in her arms and entered the classroom.  I stood in the hallway out of sight and listened to her slow, mournful, sad cry.  Then had a good cry myself.

This is always the trouble, isn't it?  Phoebe, who finally has stability in her life, would like it if nothing ever changed.  If she could do the same thing every single day for the rest of her life, and wear the same clothes and the same shoe size, she would really be happy about that.  But her feet keep growing, it seems.  And I know it will be just days before she is loving Children's House and her new friends.  It's just the forcing her into the new beginning that hurts this mama's heart.  

Hello, Summer! (And Magic!)

Ah, Memorial Day weekend as it should be. It was a miserable spring, with nothing but chilly grey days, until this weekend. Suddenly, it was hot. Toes breathed in sandals, white legs poked out of shorts, the window breathed open all night long, and dinner moved to the back porch under the umbrella. We've been on the beach every day for the last three days, where the girls now dig and collect and build with little parental interference. It's going to be the summer of fairy houses and beach combing, I believe. This Pennsylvania girl still can't believe the beach is a few short blocks away, and it makes me very, very happy.

May was a big month for us. Miranda turned four, with a little yoga birthday party this year, complete with a zebra doing tree pose (her idea) on the cake. On Mother's Day, all of us donned beaks and marched in the Make Way for Ducklings Parade. We celebrated Family Day with our annual ice cream outing, marking the two year anniversary of Phoebe's life merging with ours. And yesterday, with a fabulous date that started with--what else?-- a long walk on a white sand beach without the kids, Mark and I celebrated our 7th anniversary. In between all the celebrations, we had visits from Mark's mom, my parents, and our au pair's parents from Germany. Busy, busy!

There has been a little magic in the this house lately. About three weeks ago-- sometime in the middle of Mark's mother's visit-- I suddenly thought, when did my two angels turn into whining, arguing, negotiating, entitled little brats? It wasn't good. I was spending all day giving lectures about kindness and respect, and even the classic "give 2 choices" approach was resulting in 5 minutes of questions and indecision and protests. One night when I was on-call, Mark reported that bedtime took over an hour due to prolonged requests and elaborate procrastination techniques. Our happy home didn't seem so happy.

So-- thanks to a Facebook cry for help, I ended up reading "1, 2, 3 Magic." First, I'll say that my father should have written this book, because he "counted us" all the way back then, before the book was published. Oddly, I can't remember what happened when he hit three, but I think that's because I never really got that far; the threat was enough. I had a little meeting with Miranda and Phoebe, and explained the new rules. We role-played an argument and the warnings-- "That's one. . .that's two. . .that's three, take five"-- and the time-out. They got it. A few minutes later, Miranda shoved her feet into Librarian Phoebe's book, and Phoebe shrieked. Calmly, I said, "That's one." Miranda whipped her feet back to herself and silence decended onto the room. Later that day, Phoebe earned herself the first time-out. Without anger or emotion, I carried her to her room, set the timer to 3 minutes, and walked out. She cried for a minute or so, then played quietly, and when the timer went off, she got a hug and a kiss, and a resumption of the usual activities. After that, we had a fabulous day.

I'm telling you, peace decended onto our house like you can't imagine. My kids, thank goodness, were "early adapters." On the second day, I said with mild sterness, "Phoebe, sit in your carseat," and she did, asking, "Mama, is that One?" Miranda always pushes it to Two, and sometimes complies with a resigned pout of "You aren't being fair," but she stops the action, and more and more now is just letting it go. There are several effects-- one, when conflict arises, I win the argument quickly and restore the peace, elimating the long negotiations and arguments that used to be the norm. But more interesting is that suddenly there are very few arguments to begin with. We only have to "count the kids" about three or four times per day. We've been doing this for 10 days now, and I have gone back to completely enjoying my pleasant kids.

There's another part of the book that talks about "start behaviors"-- getting kids to do things you want them to (as opposed to "stop behaviors", for which we count). So we have instituted a 20 minute timer for bedtime. They have 20 minutes to get it all done-- put on pajamas, brush teeth, wash faces, do all the things they use as procastination tecniques AND read books before the timer goes off. The quicker they do it, the more books they get to read. The first night the timer went off and Miranda immediately said, "But we forgot to feed the fish!" and Phoebe said, "Where's my teddy?" I assured them that I was quite sure they would remember those things tomorrow before the timer went off, and turned out the light. This has worked like a charm. No matter how early or late we are for bedtime, once we get out of the tub or get up the stairs, the timer starts, and I know the lights will be out in 20 minutes. Tonight with 8 minutes left on the timer, Phoebe said she was hungry, so downstairs she went-- and missed story time that Miranda got, but made her own decision and took the consequences gracefully.

Why do I go on and on? Because a few weeks ago, I was so frustrated with the kids, and right now (could it be the weather, not the book??) I am blissfully in love with these two. We are at a great stage, where there are constant learning moments, hillarious observations, and charming expressions of love. May this be the beginning of a whole new phase in our lives!

Closing Out Winter

That was fun, after a few months, to glance back at the last post, when I dreamed that sleep trouble was over. Not so. Enthusiasm over toddler camp-out waned after a few days, and Phoebe is famous for saying things like "I don't want a sticker, I want you to stay in my room." After a few weeks of resolutely avoiding parents in Phoebe's bed or Phoebe in ours, we were completely blurry-eyed, like parents of a newborn. We caved. Bedtimes now almost always have tears, with some nights worse than others. Miranda usually gets excused from her bed and allowed to climb into the quiet of the master bedroom while Phoebe cries herself to sleep with parent sitting quietly nearby in the dark. When all is quiet, we carry Miranda back to her own bed. Then when Phoebe wakes up for the first time, we carry her into our bed. It's a big game of Musical Beds. And back to co-sleeping. Somehow it seems that this current plan-- in place for about two months now-- maximizes the family sleep and minimizes the pain. We figure that before she goes to the senior prom, she'll come around. In the meantime, we'll do what works.

Phoebe was quite proud to turn three years old. While I thought the girls would be thrilled to be the same age for a few months, Miranda quickly moved into saying she is "three and a half" while Phoebe announces that she is "just three" when she is asked her age. We tried instituting some rules about being three-- for example, that three year olds don't sit on their parents' laps at mealtime, but Phoebe was so upset by this that we let it slide. In the last few months, I've started to see Phoebe as more needy than I thought she was. In the mornings, she wakes up grouchy, except for the rare days when she says with a smile, "I woke up happy today!" Often she asks for the Ergo while I putter around the kitchen and make coffee in my bathrobe. She often whines and cries, and requires constant instruction to ask again in with kindness, respect, and good manners." Was she always like this? Is it me who has become more sensitive to the negative things? Or it this just a phase, age 3.1? Maybe some of it is that for many months, I considered Phoebe's mood swings part of the normal adoption adjustment that she would grow out of once she was securely attached. Now I know that Phoebe is securely attached. It's just personality. She's moody. She pouts and whines, and then, in an instant, she decides that she's happy again (and charming!) and carries on like nothing happened. I just hope that as she gets older she notices that the world enjoys the happy Phoebe, but does not respond so well to the grouchy Phoebe. (In the meantime, I welcome advice and suggestions, friends!)

When I griped recently to Mark about "When can we just be normal?" he reminded me, wisely, that "We signed up for this. And really, we signed up for a lot worse than this." He's right. Phoebe, in her delightful moments, really is delightful. She has only recently started to look into my eyes when she is in feeling playful and cuddly to say spontaneously, "I love you soooo much." We recently went ot the doctor for her three year old check-up, and she charmed the whole place. The nurse called her name and Phoebe pranced right through the door independently and confidently, announced "I don't want any shots" instead of saying hello, and blew right by her. She peppered the doctor with questions and observations. "I don't have that kind of computer at home. Why do you have a small computer?" My favorite moment was when the doctor washed his hands and Phoebe warned him, "Be careful-- don't get your sleeves wet." Then when he took 3 paper towels she said, "Why did you take 3? I only take one." I was glad she didn't add her usual, "It's not good for the Earth!" He reasoned, good naturedly, "My hands are bigger than yours," to which Phoebe replied with a smile and a wrinkled nose, "Oh, yeah." She really got a kick out of knee reflexes (pardon the pun), and talked for days about how he made her knee jump with a hammer.

Phoebe now lags half an inch behind Miranda in height and half a pound in weight, and their shoe size is exactly the same. My "artificial twins." Still, the age difference has not yet dissolved. Miranda plays all sorts of word games with us that Phoebe can't keep up with at all. (Say, "Doghouse." "Doghouse!" "Now say it again without the house." "Dog!") At playdates, Phoebe plays if the little friend is from Toddler House in school, but if it is a big four year old from Children's House, she still hides in my arms. Miranda is working on maps of Africa, sounding out words, and planning for being the snack girl "next Thursday, the day after tomorrow." Miranda plays the Mystery Game with us at home, putting an object under a blanket and giving us clues to help us guess. Phoebe hides the object and, with a twinkle in her eye, gives us a clue like "It's a purple notebook!" The nine month different is really delightful, in one way, because it is a constant reminder of how quickly children grow up, and how much they learn. At the same time, I feel a bit sad for Phoebe, since part of me always wants her to catch up to her sister instead of staying little.

Miranda continues to be incredibly generous. One day Miranda asked me, "Where does Phoebe sleep?" I braced myself, sure that Miranda would want into our bed too once she realized that's where Phoebe gets to sleep. I explained that Phoebe gets scared in the middle of the night, so we let her sleep with us. Miranda's response? "Maybe when we get a little bit older so we don't bonk heads we can push our beds together, and then when Phoebe wakes up scared in the middle of the night I can just reach out my hand and touch her and say 'Sh, sh, sh.'" Sometimes we have to be very firm with Miranda to tell her, "You absolutely do not have to give that up. It's yours and you are playing with it right now. Phoebe can have it when you are done." And too often Miranda, with complete sincerity, says "That's okay. I'm done with it now." Should be interesting to see how this plays out when the girls are older.

After a long winter of snow, bring on the spring!

Graduation

Overnight, I feel like Phoebe has become a "big girl." Yesterday I brought her for her first haircut, to trim off the loose baby ends that have been with her since China. She now has a clean straight line of black hair, big girl. To celebrate, I brought her to the coffee shop for a cup of hot chocolate, served up in an expresso cup with a dollop of whipped cream on top.

Then last night was our first experiment with "toddler camp-out" in the master bedroom. Our sleep issues with Phoebe have waxed and waned over the last year and a half, but have never disappeared. After the nightmares of last October and November disappeared, we reinitiated "sleep training," and have finally returned to being able to say goodnight and walk out of the room, at least on most nights. But somewhere along the line Phoebe learned that when she awakens in the middle of the night she needs to shout out for us and cry a little. On a bad night, it is four or five times, and she'll cry hard if we leave the room before she is back asleep. While we've sworn off climbing in bed with her, I often end up curled up at the foot of her bed, or Mark on the floor next to her. This last week has been exhausting, and I'm thankful that Mark and I take turns so at least ever other night is something close to restful.

At the international adoption clinic back in the fall, they suggested this idea of a "camp-out"-- a mattress on the floor in the master bedroom where Phoebe can come to be close to us and feel safe, while still giving us our space. I borrowed a toddler mattress from a friend and set up a cozy space with blankets and a pillow. I walked Phoebe through a role-play of waking up and feeling like she needed to be close, then walking into our room and cuddling up in "toddler camp-out." She snuggled in a declared, "I like it."

Around 3:00 a.m., I heard pitter-patter of feet in our room. It was Miranda, who tested out the mattress for about a minute before deciding that her own bed was a warmer better place. Perfect. Around 5:00 a.m. (a remarkably late first awakening), I heard Phoebe's cry. I went to her room, and she readily accepted my suggestion to climb out of bed herself and get settled in toddler camp-out. No fuss, no crying. She snuggled in, and the whole family of four slept in this Saturday morning until a remarkable 7:00. Could this be the beginning of a whole new well-slept phase of life? Dare to dream!

And then yet another milestone today. . .Phoebe's ballet teacher invited her to step-up to the three year old class that Miranda is in. Up until now, Phoebe has taken the bring-your-adult class, and occasionally has a bad day when she does nothing more than scowl with her fingers in her mouth in her adult's arms. But after some discussion, Phoebe agreed to join the big girl class. She got into line and walked in on her tip-toes, then followed every instruction with joy. In a class of ten children, Miranda and Phoebe sat next to each other every time they formed a circle. When the other children danced across the room one at a time in line, Two Girls took their turn side-by-side; the teacher told us later that Miranda had asked if they could do so. Mark and I stood outside the glass window and marveled at what seemed like a graduation of sorts. There was Phoebe, secure and independent, without us. And those two sisters-- such good friends they are to each other. I hope they stay that way in the years to come!

Ponytails

From Phoebe's earliest days with us, we witnessed an incredible determination to complete whatever she set out to do. I remember at her very first Early Intervention assessment, just two weeks after arriving, her focused concentration as she tried to get a peg into a board with holes. Most recently, Phoebe started working on doing her own hair. We first marveled when she put a hairband on her wrist, smoothed her hair back into a ponytail, then pulled the hairband from her wrist and around her hair. We watched her work, work, work to get the next step. I remember Mark, two weeks ago, saying, "If she twists it, I'm calling Mensa." And then-- she twisted it! At age 2, Phoebe can now make her own ponytail, with most of her hair pulled back, with up to four twists for a total of five loops. I can't believe it. Ends up, her teacher reveals that this ponytail making has been a big part of her "work" at Montessori school. This e-mail from her teacher Pam is classic, and worth quoting in full. Enjoy!

"I have been watching Phoebe's progress in the art of pony tail making. I have been amazed from the start. She also does great with assorted barrettes. She practices with great focus and determination. With her pony tails, she doesn't want help, and exerts such effort. In the past she would work on it over time, with breaks in between. During these breaks she would work with classroom materials with her hair down, ignoring it. Eventually, perhaps an hour or two later, she would ask Paulette or I to put a new pony tail in for her. But, until she was ready to have help, she did not want us to help her in any way. With the barrettes, she has brought them to me to help her to put them in the first couple of times and then has done them on her own. Her success with the pony tails has gone from one loose band holding her hair in somewhat of a loop last week to your observation of the three twists with the band today. But, she has been building up to this for perhaps two weeks. Here's a photo of her working as she walks which is actually how she does it. Or actually one day she worked repeatedly to make one while sitting in an assembly. I watch her in awe. During the assembly I tapped the teacher next to me and pointed to be sure she saw . It was Diane. I think my jaw has fallen open more than once as I have watched her. I remember the first few times that she took out her hair band. She spent a great deal of time with her head slightly tipped back, giving an occasional shake, and her two hands combing through her hair on each side as one does in preparation for making a pony tail. She was so adorable. . ."

The Tough Part

For a while, things were really getting worse rather than better. Phoebe had been a securely attached kid, and then we spiralled down in the month of October. Suddenly she was wrapping her arms around mylegs and wailing "Don't go work! Stay with me!" complete with bigtears down the cheeks. Once she even said, as I tried to leave the house, "I scared." Bedtimes turned into disaster, and Phoebe was rejecting any comfort from Mark if I was in the house. There were up to six awakings in the night where the peaceful child suddenly shrieked in fear until I woke her up by gently shaking her shoulders. Twice she verbalized to me the contents of her nightmares, "I don't like that fish" and "I don't like those people scare me"-- what goes through her little head in the middle of the night? One night I heldthe exhausted Phoebe in my arms as she fought sleep with closed eyes and her fingers in her mouth, protested "I don't want go sleep" every few minutes. When I finally got a blessed day off of work when I wasn't post-call, Phoebe couldn't even enjoy the time together. She instead spent the day whining and clinging and generally beingmiserable. By the time Mark came home, I was pretty much just as miserable as she was.

So back to the old ways-- I read a book, the Connected Child, which reminded me not to get frustrated, but to meet her with kindness and respect as I teach her what she needs to know. I activated my support squad of friends we traveled with in China, and they offered an outpouring of suggestions. We gave up on the Big Girl bedtime routine, and pulled Phoebe back into bed with us, where she hadn'tbeen since last Spring. The Ergo came back. There was an intense weekend of playing on the floor, looking into Phoebe's eyes, and going nowhere. I let the girls visit me at work, where they got to see pregnant bellies and weigh themselves. I let Phoebe sit on my lap for dinner, and snuggle as much as we could. Back to giving her whatever she needed to feel safe and secure.

What I couldn't figure out is this: How much of this should I attribute to Phoebe's personality, how much to typical toddlerhood, and how much to adoption? And second, is this a bump in the road, or a major turning point towards a longterm attachment issue? My pediatrician told me, essentially, that I'm reading too many books. He said that children's memories are short and that at this point all Phoebe can remember is our family, so I should forget about adoption as an issue. I felt like I was walking this tightrope, not wanting to over-diagnose my child, but at the same time, not wanting to miss something important.

She responded really well to our efforts, and in less than a week after we hit bottom, we had a bedtime without crying. Admittedly, that was because I was in bed with her as she fell asleep, but at least the nightmares disappeared and the fear factor started to resolve. Last week I said goodbye and Phoebe barely looked up from her puzzle to say "bye" while I kissed her forehead-- like old times, when parting was just part of the routine instead of a traumatic event.

By the time we got to our appointment with our international adoption specialist, I think we knew that we had just hit a bump in the road,and that Phoebe was going to pull through just fine. Phoebe hadn't been there in a full year. They gave her a full developmental assessment, which delighted Phoebe. She kept asking, "More games, please, can we do more?" My goodness, she's learned a lot in a year. Last year the challenge was to lift up a hankerchef to find a little toy hidden under it. This year I watched her thread little beads onto a shoelace and point to pairs of associated objects picked out of aline-up. Rather amazing. At one point the doctor said something that registered in my mind as "Do you know how lucky you are?" My eyes filled up with tears. Yes. Yes, yes, yes. She closed the two hour visit by saying, "I don't think she has an attachment disorder. Come back if you need us."

So now, we are in recovery mode. Phoebe went to bed for Mark with no tears last week while I was on-call, and last night let Mark put her to bed while I was in the house-- the first time in weeks. We have back-tracked in many of the areas where we had previously worked really hard for progress. While I'm happy we don't have tears or fearat bedtime this week, we are now laying in bed with Phoebe until she falls asleep, even if that takes an hour or two, and the rest of the night is a game of Musical Beds. Last night I made Phoebe follow the old rule of "You don't sit my lap at the dinner table until my plate is empty," which meant that we enjoyed our pasta while Phoebe howledat my side. While it didn't make for a very peaceful meal, it did feel good to be returning to firm rules. A few weeks ago, Phoebe reacted to that kind of rule with a real fear of rejection and abandoment. Now she is back to being a normal toddler again. The next step is to start "sleep training" again, just like we did last spring, with the slow movement of the parental chair further and further from her bed each day. We graduated from co-sleeping once, and now we'll have to graduate again.

What happened? At the international adoption clinic they seem to think it was just too much change-- moving, losing our old nanny,adding our au pair to the house, starting preschool, changing the season (Phoebe hated the new fall shoes, fall pajamas, fall jackets),and having mama boldly go away for a weekend with friends. "She was letting you know that she's vulnerable," they said. "It won't be the last time. But each time it will be a little shorter than the last." At this point, we are pretty happy with that.