Wherever I am

Tonight held a BIG change for the kids. For the seventh time in the last 26 months a crib was taken down, moved, and reassembled in a different room. As our babies grow, sleep habits and attachment needs change, the cribs migrate from room to room with the promise This will be better or He's ready for this.

Brady moved in with Tsega this afternoon. This is a big deal. Naive parents of adoptive children think they will come home with a built in superhuman ability to sleep because, say it with me: They've had to learn to sleep with X number kids, they will sleep through anything! We are so lucky!

It may be in the top five lies pre-institutionalized-child-home-parents don't know they are telling themselves.

Many children from institutions were traumatized at night. Ignored by nannies, hurt by bigger kids, moved in the stillness of their sleep to a new location, once again losing every connection to comfort and someones familiar. These kids often self-sooth, rocking themselves to sleep, sucking on fingers, clothes, shifting in strange ways, tightening and relaxing their muscles as if trying to create for themselves the feeling of being snuggled and hugged.

Some of these kids can't fall asleep without lying on top of their new parents and wake if the parents tries to leave after an hour or so. Some can't fall asleep at all. Some sleep incredibly lightly, fearing the hands that are going to take them to a new place? Or listening for steps of someone who might come to help? The parents don't always know why but hyper vigilant is a word that describes how some of these sweet kids sleep.

After a week or three of fake out fabulous sleeping, it became clear that Tsega was very light sleeper, to put it, um, lightly. Creeping into his room to check on him has been a risk, as breathing can wake that child up even with a loud white noise fan on. The door creak or tinkling of the charms on my bracelet call him to a standing position in a fraction of  second. Long before I have time to hit the floor he's aware of my presence and it could be awhile until he's back to sleep.

By sequestering Tsega, giving him his own space and thus us eleven hours of Tsega sleep at night, the three other kids were together in one room. It's a big room, they didn't mind. But we needed a change for a very specific reason.

Oh, how do I say this?: 3-year-old Cookie Monster has been doing some interesting stuff lately. Unplugging appliances like the baby monitor, clocks, and using the cords to tie knots. I had the unwelcome thought recently, What if in an unsupervised moment he wrapped a cord around Brady's neck? He is young and not aware enough where he really might not know what he was doing.

 And then two days ago during what was supposed to be an afternoon nap the baby monitor was unplugged again without my knowledge, and an hour later I was summoned to find that Cookie had been in Brady's crib with him. It was full of blankets, toys, stuffed animals. Brady was stripped down, gone were sleep sack, clothes and onesie. He was also sans diaper. He was sans g-tube.

Cookie maintained through several interrogations Brady ripped out his own tube, and this certainly has happened before much to my gagging panic irritation. But this time I wondered. Did Cookie do it?

I felt like I needed to regain a little footing and control. The safety factor in our home is at an all time low, with the three boys withing a two year age gap making impossible, ridiculous, dangerous, thoughtless decisions all.day.long, in front of our Early Intervention people who watch with mixed horror and empathy. Moving Brady in with Tsega seemed a logical way to gain back some security, for a little while anyway.

Tsega watched as Hubs and I sweated in frustration trying to reassemble Brady's bed. He knew something was wrong and tried to communicate his feelings about his changed room the best way he could:  screaming bloody murder for thirty minutes straight. This was not going to be good... But then, shockingly T and B did really well at bedtime. Not too many tears. They let me sing to them while they both lay in their cribs, watching me. I hope this room sharing will foster their friendship in new ways and I am relieved it's been smooth sailing for the last five hours.

Somehow I forgot about my little wild card Cookie Monster. The Duke of Transitions. Bedtime did not go so smoothly for him. After a few attempts I tried to move on with my To Do list downstairs only to hear him continue to wail into the monitor. I told myself he's just tired. He will rub his blankie and fall asleep. In three more minutes he will be OK. 

I started cutting fabric for a project, loading dishes, gearing up for a long night ahead of me. And the crying continued. I sighed and on my way upstairs I decided this time I wasn't going to go in and tell them to be quiet.

I knelt down at Cookie's bedside and asked Do you need me to hold you for a minute?

Tearful nod.
I scooped a big, heavy Baby Boy Who-Is-Not and his blankie into my lap and sat with him in the dark.

I started to sing. Soon Samantha crawled down from her bunk and joined us. I lamented how long it's been since I sat with them on my lap, rocking, singing, giving them my undivided attention before bed. After a few warm ups I began singing our song. You've Got a Friend. Carole King sang it too, but in my head I always hear the James Taylor version.

When you're down and troubled
And you need a helping hand
And nothin'; oh nothin' is going right

Tears started forming in my eyes. My throat tightened. Samantha, who is syncing up to me more and more whispered Mom, I might do a happy cry. I held her hand tighter and kept singing.   

Close your eyes and think of me
And soon I will be there
To brighten up, even your darkest night.

You just call out my name and you know wherever I am
I'll come running to see you again.

I was crying. Cookie was crying, and I couldn't continue. I asked Samantha if she would sing the next part.

Her sweet little voice crackled with emotion as she belted out Winter Spring Summer or Fall, All you've got...

She had to stop. She began sobbing in earnest into my shoulder. It was like a dam bursting.

Winter Spring Summer or Fall,
All you've got to do is call
And I'll be there, yes I will.


You've got a friend.

We held each other close, promised to stay best friends forever. And Cookie was asleep before his head hit his pillow. I will never forget how it felt sitting in the dark tonight smothered in love and tears and the smell of the bigger two of my four Babies.

I will never forget feeling for the first time that they truly have complex, big kid emotions. That they had so much to process, and that they need me to love them excessively, emphatically and unwaveringly while they do that. I always be grateful for the miracle it is that they forgive me and love me despite my mistakes. Isn't that my job as their mother?

I will never forget my crazy pride listening outside Brady's and Tsega's new shared space as they settled in quickly.  Motherhood does this to me: relief, joy and pride overpowers my composure over something as simple as two boys being able to give in to their tiredness, close their eyes knowing everything will be OK in the morning.

Tiny, huge miracles. That is my life, every day.