One Year

One year ago today, Mark and I walked into a conference room in the Gloria Hotel in Nanchang, China, and found little Phoebe looking very alone in the lap of a nanny who was a stranger to her. I lifted her into my arms, and took her into my life forever.

I think of those early weeks and months, when we thought that Miranda's Laurie Berkner DVD of kids music was just too much stimulation for this overwhelmed child to handle. If we were out of the house for an hour or two, I was eager to get home. We hunkered down. We refused to let anyone hold her but us. I snuggled with Phoebe in the Ergo while Miranda jumped away in the moon bounce on the Common. Phoebe cried herself to sleep, awoke from naps with shrieks, and slept between us at night. Visitors came to us, and all the usual summer trips and travels were off. We were busy doing much of nothing-- just being close, learning to trust each, and becoming family.

Gradually we added more action, and Phoebe now says "no home" when we call an end to hours of outdoor play. Today, she shouted in that very loud Phoebe voice "Hi, Steve!" to the neighbor as we headed for ice cream, and loudly declared, "I LIKE Captain Dusty ice cream." I-- her mother-- still sees hints scars from too many transitions in her early years, but overall she is a healthy, happy kid who trusts her parents and adores her sister. Yesterday we gathered with about ten of the families who shared our trip to China with us. One year is a tremendous time in the life of any small child, but these children demonstrate more than normal development changes. Whereas one year ago they had fear, doubt, and uncertainty, now they have confidence, trust, and love. Not to mention shiny hair, smooth skin, and chubby thighs.

Today we celebrate one year together, and just two days after that we will call an end to our year of laying low. We are moving-- just two miles away, but still, a move it is. We'll pack all that we call ours into boxes and unload it in our new home. We'll find new neighbors, new playgrounds, new story hours at the new library, a new YMCA, and new little friends. I think of how distressed Phoebe was months ago when we disassembled the cribs to make room for big girl beds, and I worry a little bit about how she will take it. But at the same time, I feel like it is time. I hope that through this transition Phoebe will learn that while many things around her change, her family does not. We go with her. Always.

Finally Final

We arrived at the Probate Courthouse this morning dressed up and smiling. At the security gate we passed our camera through the metal detector and the guard said, "Adoption?" On the way through the court house guards everywhere offered congratulations as we passed. Judge Blake invited us into her chambers with great fanfare. She let the kids bang her gavel and sort through her treasure drawer. Then she sat at her desk, did her best to pronounce Phoebe's full name, signed the official document, and declared our adoption final. Final, finally. Yippeeee!!

We started paperwork four and a half years ago now. It was one year ago this week when held Phoebe's photograph in our hands and saw her face for the first time. What a long journey it has been. What a beautifully happy journey!

Making Peace

In the excitement of Phoebe's party, Miranda refused a nap. Her grandparents were visiting and there was just too much going on, so we let us stay up for "Quiet Time" with the adults. She did fine through the party until she had a major meltdown in the bathtub later that evening. After a bath long enough to make prunes of her fingers, Mark insisted that it was time to get out. Some protests later, he resorted to our usual technique of "I'll count to three, and you can either do it yourself, or I'll do it for you on three." Miranda opted to dig in her heels, and what followed was one of the top 5 ever Miranda Meltdowns, with her poor grandparents in the house to witness it.

After about 20 minutes of sobbing and screaming, Mark took Phoebe to bed and I took Miranda. She finally stopped crying and settled into bed for nighttime reading. We snuggled and I wiped her nose. Three books later, when I tucked her in and kissed her on the cheek, she looked up and quietly said, "I want Papa."

I fetched Mark from Phoebe's room and told him Miranda wanted to talk. Sure enough, that's exactly what she wanted to do. In quiet clear words, she recounted the events. "I wanted to stay in the tub. . . I cried and cried." Mark explained why he did what he did and told her he loved her. He kissed her goodnight, and that was the end of that. He came downstairs looking a little perplexed and very touched.

If the rest of us would insist on making peace and talking it out before we turn out the lights, I think the world would be a different place. Two years old. Quite amazing.

Dedication

At long last, we had a party for Phoebe. In the words of the invitation:

"This party is for Phoebe-- to say Happy 2nd Birthday, and Welcome Home. Party day will be just around the time of our one year anniversary of getting Phoebe's referral-- the day when we finally saw her picture at the end of our long wait. It will also be almost 10 months since the day she was placed in our arms. So much has happened since then! She has learned to walk and talk, to laugh ("funny!") and sing-- and to love and trust. We want to celebrate the person she is and how blessed we are to have her as our daughter."

We dedicated her that morning at the unitarian church, surrounded by my parent, my sister and her family, and a congregation that has become our home over the last year. Mark and I made these promises to our daughter:

"We are your parents and we will care for you.

We promise to reveal the adventure of life.

We promise to learn from your challenges and inspirations.

We promise to tell you the simple truth.

We promise to pay attention to your small moments.

We promise to open our hearts fully to your love.

We promise to hold your birth parents in a special place in our hearts with deep gratitude for bringing you life.

We promise to teach you about our sisters and brothers around the world.

We love you with all our hearts, and dedicate ourselves to do all that we can to share with you the beauty and goodness of life."

When the white rose touched Phoebe, she gave a perplexed cockeyed look and promptly wiped off its wetness. Little Miranda, with her hand in her mouth for comfort in front of the crowd, managed to whisper "yes" when asked if she would do her best to be a good big sister to Phoebe. My parents promised to share their stories with her as they guide her on her path. And our family and congregation offered their support and encouragement.

We had great Open House party that lasted all day long on Sunday, with a brief intermission for naptime. We have been in Salem for just a year and a half now, and I am so happy to have a great network of friends who make this a wonderful place to be. My sister Lauren and her famil drove all the way from Pennsylvania to join us, which meant the world to me. Phoebe was able to be part of her party in a way she couldn't possibly have done last summer. She ambled about with her little friends-- neighbors, church friends, the twins who met their parents on our same trip to China, companions from storytime and Book Buddies-- thoroughly tearing about the playroom with nothing but glee. She looked a bit shocked and overwhelmed when 45 people surrounded her in song as the cake came out, but held it together in a chair by herself until we blew out the candles together. Boy does this kiddo have a sweet tooth! After 2 pieces of cake and a few cookies, I caught her standing on a chair in the kitchen swiping frosting off the leftover cake. When I interrupted her adventures she just said in the most polite voice possible, "More cake, please."

I am completely in love with this child. Oh, Phoebe Ling, I hope by the day you read this blog yourself, printed in book that you can keep forever, you will be able to say, yes, my parents kept those promises to me. We will do our best.

Signs of Spring

Winter in New England, not an easy thing. But this past weekend was a gift-- 56 degrees, not a cloud in the sky. By the end of the weekend, there were hints of flowers peeking up from the ground, and at long last the piles of dirty snow had mostly disappeared. The town came to life, with the playground crawling with kids burning off months of pent-up energy. I'm not naive enough to think that Spring has come-- this is early March, I know. I imagine there will still be another snow storm or two, and some very cold days. But it won't last. The worst is over. Soon we'll be walking in sandals and hanging laundry out on the line again.

The girls were giddy with excitement. First we got out the tricycles. Last Spring Miranda got hers, but by the end of the summer she still hadn't figured it out. This weekend she discovered that her legs are long enough to reach the pedals and she has enough power to propel forward. The Common has long straight paved paths through the middle, and after a few minutes of false starts and pedaling backwards, she figured it out. "Look! I can do it!" She was off, and so happy to be independently moving. Phoebe needs a little more help from behind to keep moving in the right direction, and some guidance with the handlebars to stay on track, but I promise if you give her another month or two she'll be on her way. So there we were, riding trikes to the Common. No stroller, no Ergo. Big girls on trikes.

And then on Sunday we took a bike ride to the beach about a mile from our house. Last year we tried this, but Phoebe was scared and intimidated and really didn't enjoy the outing at all. This time, it was great fun, with Phoebe narrating the whole way: "Motorcycle!! Bike!! Truck!! Water!!" We parked the bikes and had the beach to ourselves. The girls grabbed their shovels and buckets, and took off on their own little beach adventures. Mark and I, parents of girls who grew up over the winter, stood back with the sun on our faces and the quiet waves of the harbor before us. We talked about where we are now, and were we are going in the next few years. Spring does this sort of thing to people.

It's like coming out of the dark. When added Phoebe to the family, we spent a good deal of time hunkering down and being, well, a family of four. We walked on eggshells last summer, constantly wondering if Phoebe was overstimulated, insecure, scared, overwhelmed. I remember avoiding the Laurie Berkner music video-- Miranda's favorite-- because it was just too action-packed for Phoebe to handle. We kept outings short, our body contact maximized, and our separations minimal. And now, Spring comes, and suddenly, Phoebe is a well-adjusted kid.

It's a funny thing about adopting a toddler. Last year at this time, we were expecting a baby. I had saved all of Miranda's baby clothes from sizes 3-6 months up, and all the baby paraphernalia. Phoebe was older than we expected, and bigger and sturdier than we imagined. So here we are, less than a year later, with a kid who wears underpants, speaks in sentences, sleeps in a big girl bed, and rides a tricycle. Our baby days are over. There's great celebration as we hit each milestone. I love to hear Phoebe shout "I did it!" But when Miranda curls up in my arms and says, "I'm your little teeny tiny baby" when she wants to cuddle, I can't help but miss those early days.

Hurry, hurry Spring! I think we are in for one very fun summer around here.

Happy Birthday, Phoebe!

Birthday tricycle. . .
Sisters!
The official Phoebe at Two portrait on the red chair.
Yum, birthday ice cream!
Blow!

Phoebe is now two years old, which she will tell you with a very curt and definitive "tu" with her fingers held up. Miranda is quite pleased with the idea that they are both two now, and told me "I don't want to be three."

I think every parent of an adopted child knows about the extra layer of emotions that underlies their child's birthday. We sing and blow candles and Skype with grandparents and open gifts and celebrate. But at night, after our child is down, now one year older, we think about the day she was born. Oh, Phoebe. I so wish I had information to give her. We have books called "The Night You Were Born" and "The Day You Were Born"-- written independently, by completely different authors-- both which depict nature singing in celebration for the birth of a child. We read these, and I do think the great world sang when Phoebe was born. But clearly there was pain and sadness there, whatever her story was. I thank her birth parents for giving her life, and her birth mother for carrying her and birthing her. While I am so thankful to have Phoebe as my daughter, I can't help but to sting a bit at the injustice of the world that her birth mother can't experience the joy of this child. I don't know what happened-- maybe she didn't want to parent, who knows. But if it was poverty and politics that forced her to leave her child to be found-- in a country where putting a child up for adoption is illegal, so leaving identifying information for "open adoption" is never an option-- my heart breaks for her.

But on the celebrating front-- Phoebe's doing beautifully well. I was away all last weekend in Pennsylania celebrating my niece Claire's last dose of chemotherapy, and Phoebe did fine with my absence and return. She needed some extra snuggling the next day, but nothing more, and Miranda needed it, too. We did a third try at babysitting at the gym this week. The first time, Phoebe willingly stayed with no tears after I spent 30 minutes or so with her in transition. The second time, she cried when I left with a beeper and strict instructions to call me for more than 2 minutes of tears-- I never got paged, she did fine. This time, after much verbal preparation, Phoebe joined her sister in an excited dance at the gate to Kid's Club, saying "Bye-bye Mama" before I could kiss her goodbye. I spied a bit when I returned, and found Miranda and Phoebe in the company of a six year old who was leading them in Ring-a-Round-the-Rosy and Follow the Leader, crawling in a line on the floor. I watched Phoebe join both hands with her new friend and jump up and down laughing. When I called their names, my Two Girls came tumbling into my arms, happy to see me and ready to go. I nearly cried.

There are moments like that when I think, we've done it! Attached! Secure! And then. . .just two nights later, while Mark was working late, my cell phone rang during bathtime. There was massive obstetric disaster at the hospital, with one doc operating alone and the on-call back-up 35 minutes away. I live 6 minutes away. I whipped the kids out of the bathtub, threw on diapers and pajamas, tossed them in the car, and sped away. Miranda got it, saying from her carseat as we pull into the ambulance bay, "Mama, a baby needs your help right now? You have to help someone?" But poor Phoebe. I tried telling her all the things that worked at Kid's Club, "Mama is going to kiss you goodbye and then I'll come back in a little while. Your mama always comes back." But when we ran in to the hospital and I plunked her in the lap of the secretary at the nurse's station and kissed her goodbye, her scared little face melted in panic. Now, I knew there was someone potentially dying in the OR, and the nurses were pleading with me, "Don't worry, we'll take care of her, GO!" I paused, kissed her, looked her in the face, and told her I loved her. We've been so careful never to do this to her, never to leave when she isn't ready for it. I think it was the most painful moment I've had with Phoebe since I became her mother. Leaving Phoebe is not like leaving Miranda.

I left her. She cried, and then hunkered down in a stranger's lap with her fingers in her mouth while Miranda had great adventures with stickers, temporary tatoos, and snacks. The patient survived-- a miracle, given the situation. I came to find Phoebe an hour later, just before Mark showed up. She came into my arms, but in that quiet, finger-sucking, tear-streaked, withdrawn way. As we buckled the kids into their carseats, Miranda boasted "Mama, I did not cry!" and Phoebe perked up to her usual self. But the whole thing was a reminder, again, that Phoebe-- who has fewer issues than I ever dreamed a kid adopted as a 15 month old toddler could-- is broken. Our work is not done.

But on her birthday, I celebrate her! Her progress is amazing. I love to hear the conversations. After a sneeze: "Bless you, Miranda." "Thank you, Phoebe." "Welcome, Miranda." Phoebe is in big girl panties all day now, and falls to sleep happily in her own bed after I tuck her in. She sings the ABCs (with some mumbling around LMNOP), and counts to 9. She moved up to the big girl classroom (parents leave rather than stay) at Early Intervention school this week, where she is officially "a community kid" since she placed out of services. She can do one good Hokey Pokey dance. She's strong and healthy and bright. How on earth did we get so lucky?

Happy 2nd Birthday, Phoebe!

Vacation

I learned this week that "Stay-cation" is actually a word, and I suppose that's what we are doing. Since we came home from China eight months ago, we've been working, and at some point we decided it might be a good idea to give our nanny a break and take a week off. So, what have we done? Well, Mark and I both visited the dentist. I closed out a bank account and ordered the missing screws for our broken high chair. Bought new jeans. Finished a novel. Worked out several times. Sent Mark off to yoga class. Visited a few schools for the girls, and decided on Montessori. Took the girls to a local museum filled with model railroads and dollhouses. Bounced in a moon bounce and learned for the first time in my life how to keep a hoola-hoop up. But for the exciting stuff--

Number one, Mark and I went on a date. Actually, TWO dates! Shocking! The babysitter was a nanny of our neighbors, and the girls have always loved her. We instructed Dook on the bedtime routine, but told her that we fully expected that the girls would be awake when we got home at 8:15, especially Phoebe. But when we walked in the door, the house was silent. Both girls had gone down without so much as a sniffle. "Phoebe's fine," Dook told us. "She's normal. I think you can go out more often." In the morning, the girls woke up with no trouble at all and told us what a great time they had with Dook. Meanwhile, Mark and I had drinks at the historic hotel a few blocks from home that we had never been inside, followed the dinner at our favorite restaurant in Salem-- that we hadn't been to since, oh, the month we moved into Salem. Then later in the week the two of us drove in to Boston for a slow afternoon stroll through the Museum of Fine Arts. It was like old times. So nice!

Number two-- this is big news!-- we started potty training. Phoebe had a headstart in all of this, because I'm pretty sure she was potty trained in China. Every picture I have of her in foster care she was sitting on a beaten up old wicker chair with a pot underneath it. On our first morning together in the hotel in Nanchang, Phoebe woke up with a dry diaper. We put her on the potty and did the "shushsush" we had heard about, and sure enough, she peed-- but screamed while she did it with a panic that I didn't understand. Enough of that-- we put the diaper back on her and kept her off the potty after that.

We've had potties in the bathrooms for more than a year, frequently give stickers just for sitting on the potty, and occasionally check out the Prudence video from the library, but there had been very little potty action. So this week, I was changing Phoebe's diaper in the playroom while telling Miranda, "You, too, one day will tinkle on the potty," when suddenly Phoebe shouts "Potty!" She springs up and darts to the bathroom, sits down on the potty, concentrates, and poops! Oh, Miranda cheered and cheered. Since then, for four days in a row, Phoebe had pooped on the potty. She gets a great look of concentration, then whispers to me "coming" followed by "did it." Well, Miranda has been trying and trying, now that her little sister is doing it. We did a day of training pants, but she only wet them. We sat on the potty, and read lots of books. Nothing. She was very game to try, but after long patient attempts with a bladder that I knew was full, she couldn't figure out the coordination. She finally asked for a diaper, and it was wet in a minute.

Tonight, Phoebe's call for the potty came during bath time. That is a big improvement over the days when we had to evacuate Miranda from the tub on a regular basis after Phoebe's mid-bath accidents. Phoebe got out soaking wet, and did her usual productive thing. Suddenly Miranda yelled, "I have to tinkle!" and sure enough-- she did it, in the potty, with a great look of surprise and pride on her face. Lucky for us, just before dinner Miranda had discovered how to independently use the spigot on the water jug in the kitchen, so she drank about three glasses of water with her meal. So she proceeded to pee a total of four times before bath time was over. She got it! In between Miranda's moments Phoebe actually stuck back onto the potty for a repeat performance when we weren't looking. That was one busy potty! I couldn't stop cheering and hugging and handing out stickers to my big girls. Plan for tomorrow: training pants, lots of salty snacks, and a whole day at home learning that there is an alternative to diapers. Some people take a February vacation in the Caribbean. But for us, well, here's to Stay-cation.

(Oh, Miranda and Phoebe, I'm sorry to go public here. I'm writing this whole blog for you, you know, to chronicle our early years together. I can't help it here-- you can't imagine how wonderful it is to watch you two learn how your bodies work, and to watch you so quickly change from babies to little girls. You'll understand how exciting potty training is only if you have kids of your own one day. Until then, my apologies.)