The Truth About Addis (Part II)

Disclaimer: I have to apologize for the typos and embarrassing grammatical errors in advance. I want to get these memories documented before they fade - but I don't see my lack of time and fuzzy-headed-sleep-deprived mind letting up soon .... possibly for years. I pretty much have it in me to do a quick read-over then hit publish. Oh, and also, you can click on the pictures to view them larger.

A few days into our stay at the guest house, despite spending 80% of our day in the bathroom and/or in intense power struggles, Y and I were maintaining, but it was clear that she was trying her hardest to show me that she did not like me and I was gravely concerned in that I was not feeling very fond of her, either.

Besides that, there were other challenges. The one husband (that was to help out by getting food) was facing hardships of his own. My sweet adopting mama friend (his wife) became bed ridden with intestinal stuff (no thanks to the brave attempt of eating a questionable sandwich), so he was juggling infant twins and a 6 & 8 year old on his own. I didn't feel it appropriate to say, "By the way, mind heading out to get me some eggs and bananas in your spare minute?"  Pretty much all of us were facing our own set of challenges. Instead of those happy communal dinners, we were dodging each other throughout the crammed quarters of the kitchen and living areas, each on a mission to maintain our own personal crazy chaos. Because Y would bet set-off by seeing me eat food, my adrenalin kept me going just enough to focus on her eating and care taking needs in the daytime hours. The only nutrients I was getting was when I consumed my Laura Bar and a tequila shot/s at 10:00pm. Those mini bottles were the best thing I packed! I don't even like to take shots, but they became the only aide I had in helping lower that adrenalin and allowing myself to relax enough to get a few hours of sleep.

Thankfully she was a sound sleeper, so when I finally got her to sleep, I would frantically try to fix the situations that failed that day. For example, one night I had to move clothes out of her hand's reach up to a storage area above the closet. Having access to so many clothes triggered huge anxieties. She would have to change in and out of every single clothing item - then end up needing to somehow wear them all on her body. Understandably, this little one was just wanting to protect each new thing that was being established as hers, because she has had so little in life. When we left the room, just knowing that she had clothes (and other belongings) being left unsupervised was extremely difficult for her. No doubt she was used to coming back and not having them there anymore. Toys, books,  and photos were also a trigger for anxiety, so I had to strategically stash the toys where I could sneak a new one out on the sly - and at a rate that would not heighten her anxiety. She started to feel comfortable leaving a few things in a little drawer in our room, but besides that, she had a talent of stashing things in her tiny backpack, clothes, crook of her neck, armpits, between her legs, behind her ear. Pretty much every nook and cranny imaginable. 

Another thing that was very difficult for Y was my husband not being there. We were her unit, so when he did not show up with me on the second trip, the tone was set for challenges stemming from her confusion. One man, in particular, passed through our guesthouse en route to the north. He did resemble Husband and she was certain that he was Dad. It was very upsetting to her that he was not responsive to her and that I had to tell her that he was not her dad.

And as sort of an off topic side note, I can't leave out the fact that the weather was just the icing on the cake. Just scrap that visual of all of Ethiopia being hot and dry. Addis is actually the 3rd highest elevation capital city on earth! It was the rainy season and extremely cold! I did not bring appropriate clothing and because of the rain, laundry being hung out to dry never did dry, so we were wearing the same few warm (and eventually disgusting) clothes day after day after day and shivering most of the time.

After 4 days of all of this, I sent Husband an S.O.S email. Get. On. That. Plane. NOW! Thankfully he could bump up his flight a few days earlier.

Things got a little better when Husband first arrived. I could finally eat some food and even get us all out of the guesthouse confines for little walks. She was hysterical if either was out of her immediate range, but was manageable with one parent within earshot in the kitchen or bathroom.

 

The dynamic that was soon created by having him arrive started to turn problematic, however.  In those first 5 days, just the two of us had started to establish consistency and a routine. When husband arrived, he was understandably excited by her excitement of seeing him and the two of them went right at it with playing ball, chase, etc. In her eyes, he was simply now the entertainment while I was the provider and rule enforcer. Along with this came even more lashing out and rejection of me. I admit that this was the hardest time for me emotionally. I felt I was doing all of the hard work and getting the most defiance and abuse (bruises as proof!). It was equally difficult for Husband to see this happen, so when he tried to step up his assertiveness and she started distributing her defiance to us both - this is when we hit rock bottom.


One night, after a particularity difficult night, we got her to bed around 11:00pm, then the two of us literally laid in bed, curled up in a fetal position and bawled. Seriously. These random thoughts came out of our mouths between sobs: How could we feel so beaten down and defeated by a 25 pounder of a 3 year old? Had her life thus far damaged her for always? Does she have R.A.D? Are we going to be the best parents for her needs? Will we ever love her? Will she ever love us? Will she always reject me? Will she always be this hard? Was this a huge mistake for our family? Can we do this? We went in to the adoption knowing that this is the reality for some adoptive families, and we were certain that we got ourselves into a desperate situation.

But....

We did start to turn the corner. Hallelujah! A few days before we boarded the plane for home, I  attribute these 4 things to helping us start to move forward.

1) I started a crash course in Tingrainia. I overlapped at the guesthouse with a very smart and prepared couple that learned the language before they took custody of their two older girls. After I  face planted Y into bed gently lulled Y to sleep at night, I would meet this couple on the porch for my language lesson. Between tequila shots, I furiously wrote down in my little black moleskin book essential phrases (Bathroom? Poo? Pee? Eat this. Hungry? Careful! Danger! I don't like that, I really don't like that, I love you, this is not a toy, enough already, It is OK to do that, Great job! etc.). I would then stumble back into my room and rewrite these phrases in big writing on construction paper and taped them on the wall so they could be quickly referenced. Finding a common ground for us to communicate was essential. I eventually realized that much of Y's behaviors were due to her lack of understanding. I have also learned that she really wants to do the right thing - she just needs to understand what things are about and what is expected of her.

2) My wise and experienced adopter friend there with me - the one who landed herself in the hospital (and mended quickly!) - gave me words of gold in advise. "I think you are figuring out that this girl is smart and how she ticks. Your sweet and gentle attachment parenting approach (one that my social worker schooled me on as the only way to parent an adopted child) is working to an extent, but now maybe you should parent with your instinct. What would you do if your son were to spit at you? Would you gently say that it is not okay with you then just give him a replacement activity? That is part of it, but also make sure that she is clear of what your boundaries are instead of glossing them over. I think your little girl really needs this." I had wanted to act more like the parent that I really am with her, but was scared that it would be detrimental to our bonding . With her advise in mind, the next defiant act was met with a look in the eye and a pissed off stern voice, "I do NOT like that, that is NOT ok, and you need a time-out!" Her time-out (called a time-in) was a little different than my son's, in that I sat with her against the wall and cradle hugged her for 15 seconds. It then ended it with a smile, a cuddle, and a "let's try that again". Wowza - was this ever effective! After her first time-in, her stunned silence was followed by the deepest, most mournful cry. It was like she just then figured out that I was the real deal and someone to take seriously. It only took a few more time-in's to start to make progress. Toward the end (and even now), all I have to do is give a warning - "If you do that again, you will get a time-in" and she will almost always stop. In fact, this sweet child of mine will actually now smile and nod at me like ohhh.... so that is not OK, well, I sure am glad you let me know! At the time of writing this, she has only had one time-in in the last two weeks! A miracle!!

3) I taught her how to count to three. "1...2...3...Becca (enough, all done!)" She totally got this and this statement is still used to stop an activity.  After a reasonable amount of time with an activity (such as washing hands), a simple "1...2...3...becca" started to help our transitions nicely - turning those 1 hour bathroom trips turn to a smooth 10 minute routine.

4) Allowing myself (ourselves) to slow down so that we can give her independence within our routine. Things such as dressing herself, carrying the grocery bags, brushing teeth after every meal, and setting the table with the same place settings (fork, cup, spoon) can be painstakingly long and taxing on the patients, but it is so essential to her independent soul.

After almost 2 weeks, we were making strides with our attachment, but then there was embassy to contend with. I won't go into detail, but so many things had to fall in place with precision that last week so that we could get on our return flight. To make matters worse, our travel agent was sending us frantic emails stating that if we did not get on our scheduled flight that very day, we would be stuck there for at least 3 more weeks as every single flight was booked. I  badgered the embassy to push us through. Finally, we did reach the very end - the embassy interview. This is when we take Y to the US Embassy and meet with personnel to wrap things up and to get our travel documents. I thought for sure they would look at our lunatic faces deeply imbedded with stress and tear stains and prevent the adoption from continuing. We secretly thought... maybe that will happen and we will luck out?
 



THANKFULLY, they did process our paperwork and two days later, we boarded our flight home. I can't imagine anything going differently now. As I continue to document the truly amazing girl that Y is, I look forward to starting to share how the behaviors she displayed in Addis were simply glimpses into her brilliantly strong, loving, and resilient mind and soul. She was displaying those traits in very appropriate ways; such as showing her anger, fear, independence, confusion, and loss. We just had to learn about each other is all.

Stay tuned for the next post: Addis to Dubai, Dubai to San Fran, and our flight from hell.

The Truth About Addis (Part I)

It has been as hard for me to sit down and write about our time in Addis as it is equally difficult to comprehend. Was that really only two months ago? It feels two years. It is surreal the progress that we have made and the different little girl we have now - and the different parents that we are now to her.

As a friend put it ... of course it took us so long for this adoption to happen because SHE was not adoptable yet. This one is meant for us and we are meant for her. Each day we are falling more in love with each other and she is fitting more into our family like that missing piece of our puzzle. It is still work parenting this child, but the progress we make each day is remarkable.  It really just feels like we now have a toddler with an adoptive/attachment spin to it. There are now many more hugs and laughs than hard times, and when there are hard times, we are approaching these situations from a place of love and compassion rather than a place of fear and frustration.

The scared, angry, defiant little girl that she was in Ethiopia, however, makes sense. Being removed from the situation in Ethiopia now and having the time to analyze what took place, my heart breaks for her and how it all must have seemed from her point of view. She did what she does best and what has made her transition into our family so seamless. Survival. She is a fighter. She's an independent, smart, relentless fighter. She was fighting against us and now she fights for us and finding her place in our family. She continues to fight to make sense and gain acceptance into this new life of hers.

And then there was (is) grief. I think. Honestly, I wish I understood if and how she was (is) grieving - or if she has even needed to. Being able to process grief is an important thing, so I continue to try to understand what this is for her. From what is seems - and even from what her caretakers in ET mentioned - her life was hard. Very hard. They claimed that she was bright enough to verbalize that she did not want that life she had for herself. Hard to believe a 3 year old can think this way, but really, I almost think she did. ? . She has only had one night of crying a cry that resembles grief, but that is it.  Even then, I felt she was more grieving that her independence was being compromised more than the grief from a world she was loosing. Nine months ago this girl was on the streets finding her own food and shelter. Then, being thrown into a situation that was beyond her control, there was all of the sudden some weird lady with funny skin, smells, and clothes hovering over her and essentially dictating her life in a way that was completely foreign. I am sure that was hard for her! How could that not be?
 

Who Husband and I were in Ethiopia also makes sense. We were parents that realized our limitations were being maxed and were fiercely protective of our marriage and our precious son at home. She was fighting like hell not to love us as we were fighting like hell to love her. Really, it is so hard to explain unless one is in that kind situation, but trust me, it is a place of raw and scary fear.
 
 For numerous reasons, Husband and I decided that I was to go to Addis Ababa (Ethiopian capital) solo to take custody of Y a week before him. We would then all fly home together a week after he arrived (if all went accordingly with Embassy). We felt confident in this plan because we had left our sweet, kind, mellow, happy little girl just 4 weeks before. How hard could she be? Piece of cake! What made it even better was that I was going to go and join my new adopting mama friends as a sort of an in-country-newly-adoptive-family-support-group. We had decided prior to travel that we were all going get our children from the orphanage and stay in a guest house together while we worked on wrapping up embassy. We were discouraged to go out with our children beyond our little neighborhood in the daytime and anywhere after dark, but no problem! Two out of the three of us women had our husbands joining the week later, but one woman's husband came with her. They brought their two sons that they had adopted a few years earlier and were now adopting twins. Thankfully, as part of our master plan dictated, this one husband would be the sole food fetcher. It all just seemed fool-proof.  It would be just one big, happy two week bondfest with fun craft activities and communal dinners! It would be like a college trip with the roomies - only with our newly adopted foreign children on our hips. Yippee!

 Upon my arrival, I also had a well thought-out plan in the works. I would spend the night of arrival and the next day orienting myself, stocking up on food, and resting off some of the jet lag.  The day after my arrival, I would just make a brief visit to Y's orphanage while using translators to prep her of her departure the following morning. But as best laid plans go, it did not quite happen that way.  I got a ride to the orphanage at 9:00 am the next morning after my arrival. At 9:45 am, I was driving back to the guest house with Y on my lap! She was not going to have it any other way. The moment I stepped out of the van at the WACAP house, she saw me and we ran into each other's arms, hugged, quickly played a little game of catch the ball, then she disappeared.  A few minutes later she marched out of her room with her little backpack on (containing all that she owned), marched up to the van, looked and me, pointed to the van, and said, "Nay (come). Mama. Nay." So, that was that. She did a brief, unemotional good-bye to her temporary caregivers (only at this transitional orphanage for a month) and we were on our way to our new lives!

In retelling some of our experience and her behaviors in the guesthouse, from the outside looking in, surely it seems I might have been insensitive to the reasons for why she did what she did. As I mentioned early, I have emerged from the situation with great compassion for her experience. She was frightened and on hyper-throttle-survival mode. I wish more than ever that I could get in her head and tell this story from her perspective, but I obviously can't, so I will be sharing from the difficult perspective of our situation.

The first night was interesting, to say the least. It all started with our first trip to the bathroom. I mean, come on! A toilet that flushed, toilet paper, a sink with soap, and a towel?! All in one place? It was just too much! And from that first bathroom trip and then on forward, this is pretty much how the first three days went: Sit on toilet. Pee and squirt poo. Unroll entire toilet paper... but wait! Toilet paper was a scarce commodity, so mom had to control the toilet paper distribution. Through many hours of sweat and tears, we figured out that it was okay if I put toilet paper bunches in each hand (and then quickly hide the roll without her seeing). I then had to lift her up to the 4 foot high pedestal sink and let her take the soap from the dish, wash her hands, rinse, turn off the faucet, dry with the towel, and then turn off the light - all on her own. Sounds simple enough, right? Wrong! No joke - that first bathroom trip took one hour and ten minutes. From then on, the average trip was 40 minutes. That would be okay if she were to only go a few times a day, but rather, she would leave the bathroom to go and binge on food and water to then only have to go 10 minutes later. The last few days of our stay we got it down to 15 minutes, which was a cause for celebration.


Honestly, if someone asks what some of my most vivid memories of Addis Ababa were, I would have to say that it was the stuff that happened in those two bathrooms that we used. Major intense stuff happened within those tiled fortresses! It was always a delicate dance of allowing her independence and the establishment of our boundaries and expectations. As hard as it was, I don't regret the hours we spent there - as it was there that we figured some important things out.

 In or out of those bathrooms, if something was not done exactly the way she wanted it in the time she wanted it during the bathroom routine... or a play activity, how food was presented to her, how we walked down the stairs, what she wore, what I wore, how I looked at her, if we did not use the same cup, fork, hair band....the result would be a dreadful tantrum or an eruption of intensely defiant behaviors. 

 And then there was the testing. Her brightness shined as she figured out from day one, despite my neutral affect that I had mastered from teaching the kids I have taught, what triggered me.


"Mommy!" .... look at me hold this piece of china in the air. Now watch me smash it to the floor then laugh like a hyena as I walk on the glass shards with my bare feet.

"Mommy!".... come here now so I can kick you in the leg.

"Mommy".... watch me try and yank down this 5 foot mirror that's suspended by one nail on top of me.

"Mommy!"... watch me get into your chapstick and lotions and rub them all over your clothes.

"Mommy!" ... let me look at your reaction as I put poo on my hand and try to rub it in your face.

"Mommy!"... look how funny it is for me to take this fork and jab it down my throat. Don't care it gags me and makes my throat bleed as it is totally worth getting a reaction from you!

"Mommy!.... let me just catch a glimpse of your slight reaction of horror so I can laugh hysterically when you show me a picture of my brother and then I do the sign like I am going to slit his throat.

"Mommy!".... let me just see if I can spit far enough across the room and have it land on your face (which it would) and then wake you at night by leaning over your face and dropping spit balls on your nose.

"Mommy!" .... guess what? Pretty much if you try to hold my hand (down the slippery marble stairs - this house had about 300 stairs and was anything but child proof), hold me from jumping out the window, dare cut my hard boiled egg so I can't shove it whole down my throat, or basically do anything other than what I want, then I will glare at you in the eye and say, "Tit-tu-ma!" (I hate you!), kick you, spit in your face, then laugh like the devil. I will - just try me. I dare you.


Thank God there were occasional giggles and smiles in between to recharge our batteries. When I felt like her spirits were up, we would go down to a common area and visit with other adopters and their children. When I could see her run and laugh and interact with the others, then optimism would flood over me. I would see glimpses of the fantastic kid that she is and that we did have a good little chemistry about us.

Stay tuned for part ll....