One of the difficulties of living an off-grid life is relying on solar power...as we creep towards Winter Solstice, the shortest day of the year (and how we'll be celebrating when we cross that bridge!), there is less and less power. Today, after having four full fairly sunny days of charge, we were still only able to run a laptop for half an hour. Sooooo, while I've been itching to blog for ages and ages, it just hasn't been possible. In the days before LO came into our lives, I would've just popped into town to a coffee shop and spent an afternoon catching up on emails and blogging etc. there, but these days, well, that just isn't going to happen! So we succumbed to temptation and bought a generator - right now it is chundering away outside the back door and pumping out petrol fumes into the clean night air (guilt guilt) but I feel it is worth it to be in touch with the outside world...
Things have been wonderful: crazy, buckwild and wonderful. There have been moments when I've thought 'stop the world, I want to get off for a minute' and there have been moments when I've thought 'there must be ten million angels sitting up there waving their feathery wings over my life right now'. For years and years I have written about aspects of womanhood, including primarily pregnancy and motherhood. Now I spend a lot of time cringing about what I've written in the past... There is nothing quite like motherhood to lay you bare, to strip you down to your raw, real self, and take you crashing through a whole gamut of emotions in the space of just a few seconds. I have never experienced anything like it: the intensity, the adoration, the frustration, the guilt, the extraordinary love, the worry, the anxiety, the laughter, the wham-bam-knock-you-on-the-head immediacy of the whole shebang. Sometimes I wake with his little head beside me on the pillow and just stare at him, overcome by the incredible realisation that he is there: right there, my little bear, taking me by the hand and saying 'MUMMA, THIS IS LIFE!!!' (he can't speak yet but somehow when he does, I imagine this will be his first sentence ;-) )
Ah yes, the co-sleeping thing that springs up in the last paragraph. I always thought we'd be a co-sleeping family, it is something I'd researched and read about before and felt pretty strongly would be the right thing for us. But I didn't realise it would be a neccessity... When the bitter cold nights started here, the terror something would happen to our darling completely took me by surprise. A few weeks in and I began to get less fretful that some dreadful calamity would befall him at any moment, but there's no hiding from the fact that living in this house is freezing at times. When we came in after dark, I yearned for light switches and central heating, not a range that had gone out and stumbling around for candles. But kids are so adaptable, aren't they? Amazingly so. He is more entranced by the moon and the stars, by the first flickering lights of the candles, by the pure, deep velvet silence of night than he seems to be perturbed by the cold. That's the magic of off-grid living I guess. Nonetheless, as soon as he was settled enough, we moved him from the spare bedroom into a cot in our room, then gradually into our bed, starting with little stints in the morning. It was a reminder of how far we'd come when he slept quite peacefully between us; the first time we'd taken him on the bed for a lie down a few days into his being with us, he had cried furiously and angrily and would only settle when he was alone in the cot in the spare bedroom. Now, he starts the night in his cot in our room and when we go to bed we lift him gently into bed with us, usually without him stirring. He reaches out in the dark and touches our faces if he wakes in the night, and settles again instantly. He is so happy and cuddly when he wakes, and more than content to settle back to sleep for a nice lie-in after he's had some milk. I can't even put into words how special it was that first morning when he woke between us and turned his head from side to side to look at each of us, chuckles of delight and hands waving madly! I know that lots of people would say 'rod for your own backs' and all that, but I say rod-schmod. If you've wanted a baby with your whole heart, every moment is precious. If he shares a bed with us for years, who cares? We both agreed that we'd look back on this time when he's all grown up and flown the nest and only have warm, blissful, cosy memories.(Plus, we have a fold out bed in the living room for time just the two of us, if you get my meaning!)
As the weeks pass, our bond grows. At first he was happy to see us, but he generally likes people. Now, we are his Mumma and Dadda, he reaches for hugs and kisses (he is a blissfully cuddly baby), laughs with us, turns to us in times of need. I am amazed and full of awe at how far he has come. Suddenly, a few weeks into being here he began to bust through the 12 month milestones with a kind of feverish intensity. Every day, he did something new that had us squealing with delight. From being a fairly passive little guy, he was suddenly crawling, pulling himself up, walking with his push-along walker, clapping, making all kinds of different vocal noises...lots of achievements we got to witness. Eight weeks down the line and he's not the little person we could leave playing with his xylophone on the playmat, oh no, he's on the move! We spend a lot of time leaping about after him like mad rabbits trying to coax him away from the magnets such as dog bowls, wires, coal scuttle etc. etc.
It's good to come back and write again on some of the things that have been happening, and also reminds me of just how fast time has gone since he has been with us. All that feet-dragging on that part of Social Services, and the change of social worker, and the other ups and downs, seem like a distant memory. Another lifetime almost. Like I say, when I gaze at his sleeping face in the morning, I can hardly believe our luck.
Tuesday, 18 December 2012
Sunday, 11 November 2012
Learning
Every day I wake and remember this gift. Somehow my life has changed in so many ways it's impossible to express them. My friend who adopted ten years ago said she remembers feeling that she'd psychologically expanded - not by choice, but by instinct. I felt this summed it up, this incredible shift in who I am. I am more than just me, pottering through my life day by day. I am someone's mother. Someone needs me - ordinary me! - for all their needs. The choices I make impact this little being on a huge scale. It's awe-inspiring and terrifying in equal measure.
One of my more recent learnings, or at least one I can finally put into practise, is how we mirror one another. I have often recognised this in other relationships, and even read about it in motherhood, but wow! to see it before your very eyes is something else. When my friend gave birth recently I took round a big box of treats for HER with a little note saying 'Here's a little secret: a happy mother is a happy baby. Look after yourself and everything else will follow.' Hmmm, now I have to live my own 'secret'!! Both R and I made the mistake of not eating properly yesterday and failing to care much for ourselves. We have all been a bit poorly and both of us felt terrible yesterday, really achy and tired and generally out of sorts. And, of course, LO mirrored that right back at us!
Before having a child of my own, I would sometimes see mothers berating their children for not doing/being a particular thing, e.g. 'you're being so aggressive', or 'you're not listening to me' and I would think; 'look at yourself first'. I think this is true of most relationships: usually the accusations we level at others could equally be levelled at us. What you give, you get. But practising it every day as a mother? Holy smokes, that's a whole new level of learning! When LO is upset, I have to stop and think what sort of energy I'm giving off. Am I really attentive to his needs or am I thinking when he's settled, I'll be able to get the washing up done or make that phone call...or whatever it is that needs doing? I am so aware that when I feel narky or tired, surprise surprise, he does too! He mirrors my mood back to me in the beautiful, honest, powerful way kids do, and when I remember to stop and take a breather, it amazes me.
What I think amazes me most about this though is our connection. Here's this little being, born to a mother he can't be with, cared for for the first 11 months of his life by people he has had to leave behind...and here we are: mother and son. And he trusts me. He looks up in my eyes and says Mama. I look in his eyes and say thank you. For totally blowing my mind with the lessons you give me every day. For trusting me to care for you. For making this huge, unfathomable leap of faith that landed you right here, in my arms. Let me fulfill all your expectations and be the best mother I can possibly be. Because you're amazing.
One of my more recent learnings, or at least one I can finally put into practise, is how we mirror one another. I have often recognised this in other relationships, and even read about it in motherhood, but wow! to see it before your very eyes is something else. When my friend gave birth recently I took round a big box of treats for HER with a little note saying 'Here's a little secret: a happy mother is a happy baby. Look after yourself and everything else will follow.' Hmmm, now I have to live my own 'secret'!! Both R and I made the mistake of not eating properly yesterday and failing to care much for ourselves. We have all been a bit poorly and both of us felt terrible yesterday, really achy and tired and generally out of sorts. And, of course, LO mirrored that right back at us!
Before having a child of my own, I would sometimes see mothers berating their children for not doing/being a particular thing, e.g. 'you're being so aggressive', or 'you're not listening to me' and I would think; 'look at yourself first'. I think this is true of most relationships: usually the accusations we level at others could equally be levelled at us. What you give, you get. But practising it every day as a mother? Holy smokes, that's a whole new level of learning! When LO is upset, I have to stop and think what sort of energy I'm giving off. Am I really attentive to his needs or am I thinking when he's settled, I'll be able to get the washing up done or make that phone call...or whatever it is that needs doing? I am so aware that when I feel narky or tired, surprise surprise, he does too! He mirrors my mood back to me in the beautiful, honest, powerful way kids do, and when I remember to stop and take a breather, it amazes me.
What I think amazes me most about this though is our connection. Here's this little being, born to a mother he can't be with, cared for for the first 11 months of his life by people he has had to leave behind...and here we are: mother and son. And he trusts me. He looks up in my eyes and says Mama. I look in his eyes and say thank you. For totally blowing my mind with the lessons you give me every day. For trusting me to care for you. For making this huge, unfathomable leap of faith that landed you right here, in my arms. Let me fulfill all your expectations and be the best mother I can possibly be. Because you're amazing.
Tuesday, 6 November 2012
And our life begins!
One of the things our little boy's foster carer did was keep a daily record of his 11 months living with them. I was awed by this - there's not many birth children who can claim to have such a record of their early life - and also goaded into action! So each evening after he has gone to bed, I sit down and write what we have done today. The little things, the big things, the ups and the downs. It's a great chance to reflect on the last 12 days since we brought him home and will be a good reminder in years to come of these precious times.
It has been wonderful. It has been mind-blowing. It has been challenging. It has changed our lives forever. Each day he trusts us more and our bond grows. He is growing; physically and mentally, and is filling our home with his huge, radiant personality. There's never a dull moment!
The challenges have mostly been external: badly timed visits from social workers and health visitors when he's tired and fractious, and dealing with the fall-out. Getting my period for the first time since we met him and feeling incredibly exhausted but still doing the 4am wake-ups! Having to work alongside caring for him because I sadly don't qualify for maternity pay as an adopter (self-employed). And living in a house without electricity as the nights draw in earlier and earlier and it gets colder each day.
Now we're in a rhythm though, and I think we get closer each day to mastering the art of electricity-free parenting! Washing his clothes and nappies each evening and hanging them to dry on the range; making sure we have a good supply of candles (we ran out one night and if it was just us we'd have managed but trying to change a pooey nappy with a solar torch - well, kinda difficult!!). R has been amazing keeping all the fires going and the range burning and we have all decamped to our big kitchen - the warmest room in the house - and LO has a huge play area to mess about on. His Nana bought him a gorgeous cosy baby sleeping bag which has proved a godsend on these wintry nights. Yes, we're getting there, slowly but surely getting there. I've been sleeping in his room as he had bronchialitis when we first met him and on the first night here woke up with such a coughing fit, he was sick all down my legs, poor baby. Now he's so much better but I love to lie there and listen to him sleeping, and hopefully soon we can all sleep in our room but we want to take the transition slowly.
In reality, any challenges fade into insignificance beside the wonder of just holding this little being; letting him explore my face as he drinks his milk, gazing into his huge brown eyes and thinking WOW! You are the best thing that has happened to me, truly a gift from heaven. And listening to him burbling away, trying out different sounds and delighting in his newfound capabilities. R and I are more often than not in hysterics, he is a very entertaining little man and he knows it! Watching him play with his new furry friends who gather around him to patiently have their ears and tails pulled. Bathing him by the fire, his skin as soft as silk and his little hands splashing vigorously. Taking him for walks in the papoose and seeing him soak up these new experiences, the sights and sounds and smells all around. Even his first storm did not disturb him; he watched the waves crashing up against the house with a most equanimical expression on his face! These are all joys we've dreamed of, and boy, were they worth waiting for!
Part of me wonders if I'll ever get anything else done than caring for my darling, running the home and trying to hold down a job...but that seems plenty for now. At the end of this week we get to gradually introduce him to family and we can't wait. I have so yearned to see people and to share all this with those I love, and this chapter will really open up all our lives. Just imagining them meeting this long-awaited babe finally after all these years makes me shiver with excitement. Here he is! Our darling has arrived!
It has been wonderful. It has been mind-blowing. It has been challenging. It has changed our lives forever. Each day he trusts us more and our bond grows. He is growing; physically and mentally, and is filling our home with his huge, radiant personality. There's never a dull moment!
The challenges have mostly been external: badly timed visits from social workers and health visitors when he's tired and fractious, and dealing with the fall-out. Getting my period for the first time since we met him and feeling incredibly exhausted but still doing the 4am wake-ups! Having to work alongside caring for him because I sadly don't qualify for maternity pay as an adopter (self-employed). And living in a house without electricity as the nights draw in earlier and earlier and it gets colder each day.
Now we're in a rhythm though, and I think we get closer each day to mastering the art of electricity-free parenting! Washing his clothes and nappies each evening and hanging them to dry on the range; making sure we have a good supply of candles (we ran out one night and if it was just us we'd have managed but trying to change a pooey nappy with a solar torch - well, kinda difficult!!). R has been amazing keeping all the fires going and the range burning and we have all decamped to our big kitchen - the warmest room in the house - and LO has a huge play area to mess about on. His Nana bought him a gorgeous cosy baby sleeping bag which has proved a godsend on these wintry nights. Yes, we're getting there, slowly but surely getting there. I've been sleeping in his room as he had bronchialitis when we first met him and on the first night here woke up with such a coughing fit, he was sick all down my legs, poor baby. Now he's so much better but I love to lie there and listen to him sleeping, and hopefully soon we can all sleep in our room but we want to take the transition slowly.
In reality, any challenges fade into insignificance beside the wonder of just holding this little being; letting him explore my face as he drinks his milk, gazing into his huge brown eyes and thinking WOW! You are the best thing that has happened to me, truly a gift from heaven. And listening to him burbling away, trying out different sounds and delighting in his newfound capabilities. R and I are more often than not in hysterics, he is a very entertaining little man and he knows it! Watching him play with his new furry friends who gather around him to patiently have their ears and tails pulled. Bathing him by the fire, his skin as soft as silk and his little hands splashing vigorously. Taking him for walks in the papoose and seeing him soak up these new experiences, the sights and sounds and smells all around. Even his first storm did not disturb him; he watched the waves crashing up against the house with a most equanimical expression on his face! These are all joys we've dreamed of, and boy, were they worth waiting for!
Part of me wonders if I'll ever get anything else done than caring for my darling, running the home and trying to hold down a job...but that seems plenty for now. At the end of this week we get to gradually introduce him to family and we can't wait. I have so yearned to see people and to share all this with those I love, and this chapter will really open up all our lives. Just imagining them meeting this long-awaited babe finally after all these years makes me shiver with excitement. Here he is! Our darling has arrived!
Friday, 26 October 2012
Homecoming...
Oh my goodness gracious me...there are no words to adequately describe the enormous joy, incredulity and wonder of the last ten days. Meeting LO for the first time, I had expected to cry from the depths of my soul (with attempts to rein it in for his sake of course!) but instead I felt calm and centred, a magical feeling of 'there you are'. He is our son, and just as we dreamt him. So many evenings, driving back from the foster carers', we have looked at one another in wonder. We couldn't love him any more than we do. We couldn't have visioned a more perfect and incredible being to bring into our lives. He's amazing. He laughs from his belly, his eyes light up when we come in the room, he loves being tickled, he loves wriggling and leaping about in supportive arms, he loves crinkly crackly toys, he loves his milk and snuggling up...
It is so like falling in love. Last night, after we'd dropped him off at his foster carers' house for his 'goodbye evening' with them, we came back and sniffed the blankets he'd lain on!
In a few hours, we go to pick him up and bring him home. We are bringing our little boy home.
It is so like falling in love. Last night, after we'd dropped him off at his foster carers' house for his 'goodbye evening' with them, we came back and sniffed the blankets he'd lain on!
In a few hours, we go to pick him up and bring him home. We are bringing our little boy home.
Thursday, 11 October 2012
WE DID IT!!!!
Extraordinarily, blissfully happy today. Yesterday we had our matching panel - and we passed!! When they came into the waiting room afterwards and shook our hands, we both burst into tears...what a pair! Felt like so much was hanging on that moment - and now, finally, we can move into the next chapter of our lives. OH MY GOD/GODDESS/ALLTHATIS, we are going to be parents!!!!
We were both seriously nervous beforehand, firing intense questions at each other and fumbling to answer them. When we arrived at the meeting place, we were early and the sun was shining, so we went for a little walk to gather our strength, fearing an onslaught like the last panel. But it was our twelve year anniversary so it felt like an auspicious day. And everything was truly flowing our way. The panel members were warm and friendly, and we all laughed together. They seemed delighted with the match and hardly asked us many questions at all. In fact, when they asked us if there was anything we had expected to be asked but hadn't been, I looked down at the pages and pages of notes in my hands and laughed! It just felt right. The whole thing was so beautifully smooth.
Our friends went in straight after us and were successfully matched with their little boy. Afterwards we went for a drink and all sat there looking at each other in stunned surprise!
And the best piece of news? Our little boy - who for so many months of his early life was inconsolable - has become the happiest and most joyful child. All of the people at panel who had met him commented on it. When did he start becoming so happy? Around June time, when we found out about him, and began our nightly rituals of sending him love, imagining holding him, talking to him, visioning everything we would do with him. I'm sure so much of his contented outlook is to do with the wonderful love and care his foster parents have lavished on him, but part of me just feels that there is also a deep, deep connection there between us three, founded five months ago and growing stronger every day...
We were both seriously nervous beforehand, firing intense questions at each other and fumbling to answer them. When we arrived at the meeting place, we were early and the sun was shining, so we went for a little walk to gather our strength, fearing an onslaught like the last panel. But it was our twelve year anniversary so it felt like an auspicious day. And everything was truly flowing our way. The panel members were warm and friendly, and we all laughed together. They seemed delighted with the match and hardly asked us many questions at all. In fact, when they asked us if there was anything we had expected to be asked but hadn't been, I looked down at the pages and pages of notes in my hands and laughed! It just felt right. The whole thing was so beautifully smooth.
Our friends went in straight after us and were successfully matched with their little boy. Afterwards we went for a drink and all sat there looking at each other in stunned surprise!
And the best piece of news? Our little boy - who for so many months of his early life was inconsolable - has become the happiest and most joyful child. All of the people at panel who had met him commented on it. When did he start becoming so happy? Around June time, when we found out about him, and began our nightly rituals of sending him love, imagining holding him, talking to him, visioning everything we would do with him. I'm sure so much of his contented outlook is to do with the wonderful love and care his foster parents have lavished on him, but part of me just feels that there is also a deep, deep connection there between us three, founded five months ago and growing stronger every day...
Tuesday, 2 October 2012
Better...
 |
| My beautiful sister looking over the Atlantic |
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| Dad's beach stone colour mandala |
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| Me and my dog |
Last week R and I went away to Pembrokeshire, Wales with all my family, 12 of us. It was a week of walking, eating, drinking, laughing, dressing up and general uproarious silliness. One day a bunch of us went down to a beach and my dad made this colour mandala from beach stones - how gorgeous is that? My sister was looking out to sea wistfully and I captured the moment in sillhouette. And when I came home my dog and I went for a mega walk through field and forest and I took a picture of us together as I'd missed her so much. Pretty embarrassing when someone stumbled across me on my knees trying to capture me and the dog...
But happy days. These photos remind me, happy days in ABUNDANCE.
Yesterday we were sent a video of LO by his SW. He was gurgling and laughing and is beginning to look so grown up now with his little teeth. I can't explain how incredible it was to hear his laughter echo around our home, and see his face light up. We love him, oh how we love him. Not long now....
Monday, 1 October 2012
Separate
I am beginning to get a sense of just how vast the difference between adoptive and birth parenting can be. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't under any illusions about this before, it's just that some events have transpired to bring the reality home. Sometimes, it feels like there's a void between me and other parents. A rift has developed between me and my sister, someone I have never really argued with before or at least not for any length of time. Indeed, up until recently I would have described her as my best friend. But adoption seems to have changed all that. As the adoption situation became more complex, I found that there was no common ground between our parenting journeys and we drifted further and further apart as I tried - and failed - to articulate some of the emotions I was feeling. I wrote in a previous blog post about how I wished I was pregnant because of the different treatment of pregnant women to those preparing to adopt. I know that if I were pregnant, my sister and I would be talking about birth plans (I always said I wanted her around, or at least nearby, during my birth experience) and getting excited about the big day and the babymoon to follow. Instead, R and I are preparing for our matching panel meeting with heavy hearts, as we just have not clicked with our new social worker and feel increasingly alone. I'm not sure my sister even knows we have a matching panel meeting next week. I wish I could explain what this is all like without seeming to be doom and gloom about things. I am trying not to be doom and gloom, but sense that this is where I have lost connection with my sister, and others, as R and I struggle to ride the waves of our adoption preparation. Preparing for parenthood shouldn't, after all, be a doom and gloom period of your life. All the years I supported pregnant couples, I was caught up in the excitement, the deep personal transformation, the joy and wonderment of their adventure. I wanted adoption to have the same qualities. I knew it would be different, of course, but I still wanted to capture some of that magic. Until our social worker went on emergency leave, all was going so well....
From reading others' blogs, I know that this is just the beginning of a the sense of separateness that keeps adoptive parenting in a special category from other parenting. I am aware that I need to create a network of support around us as we embark on this new stage of our lives, but I just don't know where to begin. How to explain the ups and downs, the rollercoaster of emotions that come from knowing your little boy is just an hour's drive away but you're not allowed to be with him, let alone meet him, until the endless endless bureaucracy has been navigated? How to explain the sense of dislocation as you try to get on with normal life but find yourself frustrated and angry and powerless? How to explain what it feels like to read the letter your son's birth mum has written for him - the pain and anguish in her words and the realisation you're going to have to help him make a sense of that and the tragic truths of his birth family?
Spending time with friends and their families brings it home how simple parenthood can be - just getting pregnant ('it was a complete surprise!') and then getting on, in your own sweet way, with birthing, caring, mothering, playing and being with your children. There's no assessment of your capabilites, no questioning of your finances, lifestyle, life choices, relationships and no intrusion into your family life. There's no sitting in a room with a bunch of strangers who know the most personal and intimate (and painful) details of your personal life and have no qualms in asking you about them. There's no defending your right to parent, over and over again. There may be isolation and loneliness, but you can rest assured there's billions of parents the world over just like you. Even if you can't get out of the house, they're just a click of the mouse away.
I am feeling blue and missing our beloved social worker, so this has turned into a royal moan which I hadn't intended. I want to be happy and full of excitement and joy that in 17 days we will meet our son (maybe...though after last time and the last minute cancellation, we're less inclined to count down the days). Instead, I feel anxious about the matching panel without our social worker next week (they're going over our finances with a fine-toothed comb as I don't receive maternity pay as a self-employed adopter) and sad about the breakdown of communication with the people I love. I feel bad about posting when I feel this dreary, but sometimes it is just good to get it off your chest. Forgive me, most of the time I am a very happy camper.
From reading others' blogs, I know that this is just the beginning of a the sense of separateness that keeps adoptive parenting in a special category from other parenting. I am aware that I need to create a network of support around us as we embark on this new stage of our lives, but I just don't know where to begin. How to explain the ups and downs, the rollercoaster of emotions that come from knowing your little boy is just an hour's drive away but you're not allowed to be with him, let alone meet him, until the endless endless bureaucracy has been navigated? How to explain the sense of dislocation as you try to get on with normal life but find yourself frustrated and angry and powerless? How to explain what it feels like to read the letter your son's birth mum has written for him - the pain and anguish in her words and the realisation you're going to have to help him make a sense of that and the tragic truths of his birth family?
Spending time with friends and their families brings it home how simple parenthood can be - just getting pregnant ('it was a complete surprise!') and then getting on, in your own sweet way, with birthing, caring, mothering, playing and being with your children. There's no assessment of your capabilites, no questioning of your finances, lifestyle, life choices, relationships and no intrusion into your family life. There's no sitting in a room with a bunch of strangers who know the most personal and intimate (and painful) details of your personal life and have no qualms in asking you about them. There's no defending your right to parent, over and over again. There may be isolation and loneliness, but you can rest assured there's billions of parents the world over just like you. Even if you can't get out of the house, they're just a click of the mouse away.
I am feeling blue and missing our beloved social worker, so this has turned into a royal moan which I hadn't intended. I want to be happy and full of excitement and joy that in 17 days we will meet our son (maybe...though after last time and the last minute cancellation, we're less inclined to count down the days). Instead, I feel anxious about the matching panel without our social worker next week (they're going over our finances with a fine-toothed comb as I don't receive maternity pay as a self-employed adopter) and sad about the breakdown of communication with the people I love. I feel bad about posting when I feel this dreary, but sometimes it is just good to get it off your chest. Forgive me, most of the time I am a very happy camper.
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