The Answer I Didn't Give
Well, our newly expanded family has officially been home in the US for just over a week now.
We pulled into our drive a little past one in the morning, tackled overly excited dogs that were so very happy to see us, and then tackled overly excited kids that were wound up from the hours spent traveling and all the new they'd spent the day drinking in. I just wanted to collapse in bed, but instead I had kids opening closets asking, " Are these my clothes?" And, "I don't understand, where are my dresser drawers?" when they opened drawers that I tried to explain had clothes that were too large for that child, but we'd fix it...at some other point in time that wasn't 2 in the morning. But such is the brain of kids like ours, even at 2 a.m. they are trying to make sense of their world and put it into perspective that they can have some control over.
The next morning I woke up feeling disoriented and without adequate rest, but our littlest were up, so we couldn't stay in bed. The flurry of activity from the previous night continued with the opening every possible cabinet and drawer and closet. There wasn't an inch they didn't try looking into, pulling out things and asking if they could open this or that. I just wanted to get the 8 bazillion pieces of luggage out of my way. I just wanted all the clothes put in the drawers and for people to quit pulling things out and asking, "Is this my dress?" I just wanted to stop hearing the dogs' names said 5,000 times while the dogs tried to hide from overly touchy kids.
Friday bled in Saturday, and I continued to struggle, just wanting my home back, and no matter how hard I tried to put my world back into an order I could live with, I couldn't.
Before we left for CR, we discussed with our social worker what we thought the worst possible outcome would be once we had all the kids. Mike said, "Waking up in the middle of the night with a knife pointed at me." Um...okay...yeah, I hadn't thought of that, but sure, I don't want that either. Our social worker stated that's where men brains always tend to go. My answer, " If everyone fell apart at the same time and I had 5 kids in crisis all at once and only 2 parents to try and keep it together."
The answer I didn't give? Falling apart myself.
And that's exactly what I've done since we arrived in the States.
When I left for Costa Rica, I knew my home. We've lived in this house for 13 years, I know the layout, I've raised three kids here, this is my space. And when we were in Costa Rica, I didn't have any expectations on our house, because I'd never been there. So, we settled in and set up shop and learned how to live in our 3 bedroom house as a family of 8.
But when I tried to put the two together, the old and the new, they just weren't meshing. It's like my house and my life here doesn't fit right any longer. I keep squirming in place, trying to make it fit, pulling here, tugging there and I can't fix it. Instead, I spin my wheels and walk around feeling exhausted. A friend at church leaned in to hug me, and all I could think was, "Please stop. If you don't let me go, I'll start to cry and I don't know if I can stop crying once I start."
One friend said, it's the adrenaline surge you had from that long day of travel. And, you held it together all while you were out of country, but now you're back home and you just can't anymore. One experienced adoptive mama said, it's post adoption depression, another shared how she had to mourn her old life once she came home with her new kiddos.
Whatever it is, it's been hell.
My stomach is a wreck from the moment I wake up, often leaving me dry heaving at 7 a.m. My moods range from one low valley to the next. Appetite, non existent. I've lashed out at Mike, saying horrible things. I've cried in my bathroom. I've looked at all our children and thought, "what have I done?" I wake up only to want to crawl back under the covers 10 minutes later. Even a lunch date out with a very sweet, sweet friend left me drained. I've lost me somewhere in the midst of our new lives, and I can't seem to find her.
My first week mothering 8 kids in the US turned into my first week of being on autopilot. Wake up. Feed kids. Do laundry. Take kids outside and watch them play. Feed kids again. Give baths. Read story. Apply kiss to forehead and say, "Good night, I love you." Repeat every 24 hours.
So if you've been following us on Facebook, you know my updates suddenly became a stretch of silence.
We've still been busy over here, organizing drawers so everyone knows what clothes belong to them, enduring a heinous 3 1/2 hour doctor's appointment wherein everyone needed shots and blood work and urine testing, signing 4 of our 5 new kids up for school that they will begin in a few weeks.
There's memories being made as we go to church together as a family, venture to the park, take everyone skating, roast marshmallows in the back yard, and make chalk drawings out on our street. But, come sunrise, I'm still battling fresh waves of panic and it's like I'm back at square one.
Most of my experienced mamas say give it time and I am trying to do just that. I'm tucking myself into bed on time each night, using my essential oils, taking a multi-vitamin, taking the dog for a walk, all those things that you're supposed to do, and I do feel a little bit better. Thankfully our church family has been doing a good portion of feeding us at night, and Mike has decided to take another week off work. I felt defeated by that decision, as if I'm failing at being a mom and so he has to stay and babysit me as well as a house full of kids. But, he's happy to do what needs to be done for all of us, and we can enjoy a few more days adjusting to life here at home.
If I've learned nothing else from this, it's that newly formed adoptive and foster families are a fragile thing. There are so many emotions and stressors and demands and needs, it can leave you stretched tight, physically drained and weary in your soul. I cannot tell you how much you need to pray for those families, and how much they need to know you still think about and love and care for them. No, we may not always return your text message or answer your call, but we know you tried to connect with us and that means more than not saying anything for fear that you're somehow adding to the chaos of our new lives. Send a love note, send a piece of scripture, or just a 'hey, I'm thinking about you today.' We started this journey with a cheering section of friends and family. Just because the ink is dry on the adoption decree, it doesn't mean we don't need the encouragement, that we don't need you any less.
We pulled into our drive a little past one in the morning, tackled overly excited dogs that were so very happy to see us, and then tackled overly excited kids that were wound up from the hours spent traveling and all the new they'd spent the day drinking in. I just wanted to collapse in bed, but instead I had kids opening closets asking, " Are these my clothes?" And, "I don't understand, where are my dresser drawers?" when they opened drawers that I tried to explain had clothes that were too large for that child, but we'd fix it...at some other point in time that wasn't 2 in the morning. But such is the brain of kids like ours, even at 2 a.m. they are trying to make sense of their world and put it into perspective that they can have some control over.
The next morning I woke up feeling disoriented and without adequate rest, but our littlest were up, so we couldn't stay in bed. The flurry of activity from the previous night continued with the opening every possible cabinet and drawer and closet. There wasn't an inch they didn't try looking into, pulling out things and asking if they could open this or that. I just wanted to get the 8 bazillion pieces of luggage out of my way. I just wanted all the clothes put in the drawers and for people to quit pulling things out and asking, "Is this my dress?" I just wanted to stop hearing the dogs' names said 5,000 times while the dogs tried to hide from overly touchy kids.
Friday bled in Saturday, and I continued to struggle, just wanting my home back, and no matter how hard I tried to put my world back into an order I could live with, I couldn't.
Before we left for CR, we discussed with our social worker what we thought the worst possible outcome would be once we had all the kids. Mike said, "Waking up in the middle of the night with a knife pointed at me." Um...okay...yeah, I hadn't thought of that, but sure, I don't want that either. Our social worker stated that's where men brains always tend to go. My answer, " If everyone fell apart at the same time and I had 5 kids in crisis all at once and only 2 parents to try and keep it together."
The answer I didn't give? Falling apart myself.
And that's exactly what I've done since we arrived in the States.
When I left for Costa Rica, I knew my home. We've lived in this house for 13 years, I know the layout, I've raised three kids here, this is my space. And when we were in Costa Rica, I didn't have any expectations on our house, because I'd never been there. So, we settled in and set up shop and learned how to live in our 3 bedroom house as a family of 8.
But when I tried to put the two together, the old and the new, they just weren't meshing. It's like my house and my life here doesn't fit right any longer. I keep squirming in place, trying to make it fit, pulling here, tugging there and I can't fix it. Instead, I spin my wheels and walk around feeling exhausted. A friend at church leaned in to hug me, and all I could think was, "Please stop. If you don't let me go, I'll start to cry and I don't know if I can stop crying once I start."
One friend said, it's the adrenaline surge you had from that long day of travel. And, you held it together all while you were out of country, but now you're back home and you just can't anymore. One experienced adoptive mama said, it's post adoption depression, another shared how she had to mourn her old life once she came home with her new kiddos.
Whatever it is, it's been hell.
My stomach is a wreck from the moment I wake up, often leaving me dry heaving at 7 a.m. My moods range from one low valley to the next. Appetite, non existent. I've lashed out at Mike, saying horrible things. I've cried in my bathroom. I've looked at all our children and thought, "what have I done?" I wake up only to want to crawl back under the covers 10 minutes later. Even a lunch date out with a very sweet, sweet friend left me drained. I've lost me somewhere in the midst of our new lives, and I can't seem to find her.
My first week mothering 8 kids in the US turned into my first week of being on autopilot. Wake up. Feed kids. Do laundry. Take kids outside and watch them play. Feed kids again. Give baths. Read story. Apply kiss to forehead and say, "Good night, I love you." Repeat every 24 hours.
So if you've been following us on Facebook, you know my updates suddenly became a stretch of silence.
We've still been busy over here, organizing drawers so everyone knows what clothes belong to them, enduring a heinous 3 1/2 hour doctor's appointment wherein everyone needed shots and blood work and urine testing, signing 4 of our 5 new kids up for school that they will begin in a few weeks.
There's memories being made as we go to church together as a family, venture to the park, take everyone skating, roast marshmallows in the back yard, and make chalk drawings out on our street. But, come sunrise, I'm still battling fresh waves of panic and it's like I'm back at square one.
Most of my experienced mamas say give it time and I am trying to do just that. I'm tucking myself into bed on time each night, using my essential oils, taking a multi-vitamin, taking the dog for a walk, all those things that you're supposed to do, and I do feel a little bit better. Thankfully our church family has been doing a good portion of feeding us at night, and Mike has decided to take another week off work. I felt defeated by that decision, as if I'm failing at being a mom and so he has to stay and babysit me as well as a house full of kids. But, he's happy to do what needs to be done for all of us, and we can enjoy a few more days adjusting to life here at home.
If I've learned nothing else from this, it's that newly formed adoptive and foster families are a fragile thing. There are so many emotions and stressors and demands and needs, it can leave you stretched tight, physically drained and weary in your soul. I cannot tell you how much you need to pray for those families, and how much they need to know you still think about and love and care for them. No, we may not always return your text message or answer your call, but we know you tried to connect with us and that means more than not saying anything for fear that you're somehow adding to the chaos of our new lives. Send a love note, send a piece of scripture, or just a 'hey, I'm thinking about you today.' We started this journey with a cheering section of friends and family. Just because the ink is dry on the adoption decree, it doesn't mean we don't need the encouragement, that we don't need you any less.
Comments
Post a Comment