Fireworm.

This morning, The Bee saw her very first real fire in the fireplace. R. built one when he got up, so that when The Bee and I struggled wearily out of the bedroom roused ourselves reluctantly got up and walked outside to the main building, the air smelled like shaggy-bark juniper. Which is very, very good. Seriously. They should bottle the stuff.

So I walked her over to the fireplace and got down to her level to explain that the fire was very hot (she signed this) and could hurt (she likewise signed this) her if she got too close. You should have seen her face when she first saw it. She just stopped cold in her tracks and stared and pointed. Then she signed “orange.” Then she signed “worm.” Um…huh?

Maybe I’ve been reading too much Harry Potter until too far into the wee hours of the morning, but “worm” is not the first thought…nor even the first metaphor…that springs to mind when I consider flames licking wood. But perhaps it should be. Out of the mouths of babes and all that.

In other news, I have been meaning to post about this past weekend because my best friend from college visited us from India, and we had some good walks down memory lane…I have been trying to scan some old photos to post, so that you can tag along on said walks. Nothing doing so far for reasons that involve…

our hellish week of appointments for The Bee…it is really saying something to realize we have driven into town, or will drive into town, every single day this week…yesterday twice. Because I rarely go to town more than once total in a single week. But The Bee had separate speech therapy appointments Monday and Tuesday; the dentist today; the pediatrician tomorrow; and then I have acupuncture on Friday. So, I have a lot to write about but not a lot of time to write. To whit, I will have to do better.

Matched!

Okay, big news here this weekend…I did warn y’all this was coming, so here goes…

We were officially matched on Friday by our agency with a little girl from Xuzhou with cleft lip/palate. She is currently eight months old. She was born on the only day of the winter this year that it snowed at the ranch, so I am going to refer to her as Snow for now, until I can think of something better.

Xuzhou is in the northern part of Jiangsu province. You may recall that The Bee is also from the northern part of Jiangsu, so the sisters will share a specific regional history with each other, as well as sharing their special need and the fact of their adoption. We hope that will provide them with some additional common ground, above and beyond growing up in the same family together.

Because we are just beginning all the paperwork for our second turn at this, we are thinking it will be late spring or early summer next year before we get over there to meet her. But we are very excited! The Bee has taken to carrying around her sister’s photos and signing “sister” continuously during meals (why this happens most often while she’s eating, I’m not sure…she demands to see photos of her cousins then, too).

I am posting some cropped photos of Snow’s eyes, but I won’t be posting her full photo and her name until we receive pre-approval from the CCAA, and then, only under a password-protected post until we meet her. Same as The Bee. I’ll post informational updates as we get them.

Our hearts are very full, and we are very grateful to…well, to just about the entire universe right now. And we are so thankful that The Bee will grow up having a sister to share joys and fears with, secrets and celebrations. That seems the rightest thing of all….

New Plan.

So, The Bee and I trekked down to the Valley of Death yesterday to have our post-op appointment with Dr. Paymealot. Actually, I have to say, he was much more human yesterday. He picked up The Bee, and she wanted to draw with his pen while she was in his arms, and the nurse gave her the pad she’d been taking notes on, and The Bee decided to add her two squiggly cents onto it, and everybody was grinning appropriately at her cuteness. So, the man has a heart.

I had explained to The Bee that we were going to the doctor so that he could “help” her with her mouth, and that she would need to open up real big when he came in the room. We started this line of talking at home, continued it in the long car ride, and then emphasized it again while waiting for him in the exam room. When he came through the door, she immediately dropped open her mouth very wide and greeted him that way. It was hilarious.

He looked at her fistula and said that “it happens” and that this one is in the absolute best position possible to fix. And because she’s having issues with food getting stuck up there, and because it’s right in the advantageous middle place, he’d like to do the repair sooner, rather than later. Usually, he’d wait 6 mos. to a year, but he said he would do this in three or four months, and not wait. AND he wants to do the lip repair (that we were going to wait two more years to do) at the same time, saving her an additional surgery. Hearing that made all the difference to me, as the fistula will not mean an additional surgery. She’ll have the same number of surgeries as we were originally anticipating, just sooner.

So, we’ll be back in the operating room in February probably, and he will close up the fistula and remove her external scars, so there will be no visible sign of her clefting at all.

And then we went out for MickeyD’s french fries. Because she is totally off her dietary restrictions. And her arm splints. And she got all her pokey toys back today, too.

Holes.

Vegas or bust?…Bust, mostly. Let’s just say the best part of the trip this year was the two hours we spent at the Shark Reef…now that was cool beans. In fact, I think I had what amounts to a spiritual experience–as close as I get anymore to said experience–way down in the “ship wreck” room, in the darkest hole of the reef tank. You walk into this Disneyfied room that’s made to look like a sunken ship, complete with hull-like curved glass walls and glass floors, and the ship prow “sticking out” into the tank itself…and so sharks and fish and sea turtles are swimming over, under, and around you. Oh, and there are sound effects. As if you’re under water. Which you are, of course, but it’s so disorienting that you have the momentary impression that you’re actually swimming with the fishes (so to speak), not just walking through them.

Anyway, so there I was, down in the deep hole, and the sandbar sharks are swimming by inches from my face, and their skin catches the light and is…surreal. Just. So. Beautiful. It’s silver and metallic and shiny soft gray, but with a very slight–slight–hint of pink underneath. It made me draw my breath in very fast. If I could, I would say sharkskin is my favorite color. But then you would think I sounded hungry (in an exotic locale sort-of-way). Or nuts.

The Bee had fun, too. This exhibit had a lot fewer people wandering through than the National Aquarium we visited in July, although it didn’t have dolphins. Just predators. Lionfish, jellyfish…

piranha, barracuda, water monitor, crocodiles. She got to be very close up to the animals for a long time…

Otherwise, the trip was stressful. Drive stress on the way there, involving some wackadoo who hit a utility pole and dragged it into the highway right in front of us. Work stress for R., including a weeping employee at lunch. Palate stress for Mama. It looks like The Bee has a tiny fistula, right in the middle of her palate. Sometimes these re-heal themselves. Sometimes they don’t. At the moment I am desperately trying to keep food from getting stuck in it. Can anyone say Water Pik? Saline drops? Squirting water bottles? Hot liquids?

Some holes are better than others.

The Bee, on the other hand, spent her hotel time lounging in front of her beloved Signing Time DVDs…

The Bee To Buzz Sin City…

So, we’re off this morning, on our annual trek to Vegas for the trade show (sellin’ those palm trees…). You’ll remember if you’re a longtime reader that I spent my 40th there last year…

No shoes like that this year…we spent my birthday yesterday in the big city down south, where it was only 96 degrees. Okay. So, the doctor’s appointment…

The Bee has totally normal hearing!!! Yippee. The tubes are looking great, no infection, no blockage, in place…and the hearing test put her completely in the normal range. One down. One to go (palate surgery follow-up is scheduled for next week…).

The best part of the day was that this was The Bee’s first day back on solid foods (albeit soft solid foods), and, boy, did she make the most of it! Mac and cheese at lunch, followed by chocolate ice cream, and then eggs and cheese and pasta for dinner, followed by coconut-cream pie for dessert (that was my birthday cake…I’m a pie person, rather than a cake person…).

She’s laughing hysterically in a post-pie haze and, also, because we made a little book together last night, cutting out graphic and colorful pictures from magazines–The Bee got to choose the pictures–and then fitting them into the pockets of this little photo book. She loves it.

So, we’re looking forward to some Lazy River sojourning in Vegas. The ENT doc said The Bee “can only go down in the water to a depth of four feet.” Darn. That’s really going to put a crimp in her scuba time. Heh.

Interesting Adaptation…

Because The Bee is having to wear the arm splints that immobilize her elbows, it has become much harder for her to sign in a regular way. Many signs require the use of your face and others are signed in the air right in front of the face, rather than at arms’ length.

The Bee has come up with a rather ingenious adaptation, which I thought I’d mention because it’s sort of cool…she is using MY face to sign on as a sort of human chalk board. Yesterday, we went to the Farmer’s Market in town, and I had told her there would be peaches and tomatoes there, so she turned around and signed “peach” (a full-fingers stroke down the cheek) on my face. And she’s signed “girl” and “papa” and “thank you” and so forth, borrowing my face to do it. Way cool.

We are technically done with the arm splints…10 days was up on Friday, but R. and I decided to go for two full weeks on the splints and liquid diet, just to be sure. And then maybe more splint-time just at night, when she’s more likely to suck her fingers, for another week or so. We’re being conservative, but the thought of a fistula (hole) opening up drives me to do it. So, she’ll get the splints off during the day and start eating soft foods on Tuesday–pasta and applesauce, here we come.

Yippee for working elbows.

Future Plans.

When I last updated the travel blog, I mentioned casually that we hoped to have The Bee’s sister home from China by next summer. You might have thought I’d revealed state secrets for the wholesale kerfuffle that ensued. I had quite a few people–both within the blogging world and without–contact me, asking if I was serious, asking if they had read it wrong, wondering what was up.

Well, this is up: we’re absolutely going to adopt again. She will again be a child with cleft lip/palate from China. She will be younger than The Bee because, knowing The Bee as we now do, we feel it’s important she remain the oldest kiddo. We will be doing this soon. This was never a secret.

One of the reasons we chose to switch to the special needs program in the first place was so we could be assured of a second adoption. Had we stayed in the NSN line and not received a referral until 2009 or so, we wouldn’t have been able to complete a second, SN adoption because R. would already be aged out of the program. I usually think of our adoption of The Bee only as intensely felt; a leap of faith; emotionally charged. We found her and were changed. But, in this one regard, it was also pragmatic.

We think it’s important that The Bee have a sibling with a similar life story, so that they can share experiences and fears and doubts and triumphs. Thus, we’re going back to China. Thus, we’re again adopting a child with cleft lip/palate, rather than another special need. We want to create some common ground for them, despite the unknowns that will also be a part of their lives forever. When they have questions about their birthparents, about what the adoption means in terms of their identity, about what it means to grow up Asian-American in this culture, I want them to have a partner with experiences close to their own, a peer–in addition to parents–that they can bounce their thoughts off of.

We wanted to get through The Bee’s surgery before starting the process again. And, now, we’re through it. The social worker comes to the ranch in a month for the standard six-month post-placement report. We will ask her to use that visit to start our new homestudy. And we will begin the paperchase a second time (a thought that makes my heart wiggle with discomfort in its cavity).

I have contacted an agency that may very well be The One. They have a new program that is expedited above and beyond the already-expedited Waiting Child Program, so it’s possible we could travel by late spring or early next summer. It would be great to get over there before the Olympics because I still have some angst about China suspending adoptions for a time while they’re busy hosting the world. Ahem.

So, stay tuned. We could be seeing our younger daughter’s face in a matter of days. Another thought that makes my heart wiggle, although with decidedly more joy.

Needing Dr. Spock to Pay Us a Visit.

So, when is it too early to teach a kid about little white lies?

‘Cause my girl received this gift today…

from an elderly couple who we know through the church we used to attend…(we resigned our memberships in this church last month when we discovered that the progressive and inclusive vision that the church claimed for itself was merely prettified wrapping, rather than substantive core…but that’s for another post….)

a bit saccharine-looking perhaps, but really a perfectly cute, lime-green gingham dress, with bows and embroidered flowers…something I might buy her myself for special occasions…

and when I asked her whether she liked it, she scowled and signed “don’t like” extremely vociferously, over and over. She shook her head. She frowned.

I tried again, thinking maybe she was just babbling. Sometimes The Bee babbles in sign language, just trying things out, rather than really communicating.

She again signed “don’t like,” pulling on her shirt and discarding the pull (that’s the sign), with particular vengeance. Shaking her head no, and pushing the dress away.

She wanted to play with the fake tatoos her cousins had just sent her.

I was sort of glad that we really don’t know these folks very well and don’t particularly like anyone associated with that church right now, and so I didn’t have to feel all that bad about lying in the thank-you note.

(And the fact that I’m posting about it means I won’t be re-gifting any of my blogging buddies with said dress any time soon. Ahem.)

Truth be told, I thought the whole thing was hilarious. I suppose that’s not very mannerly of me, but, well…the girl’s got opinions! About CLOTHES. Cool.

I wonder if it has anything to do with The Bee’s newly discovered hair trigger of emotion…because, I’m telling you, the slightest whiff of wind can send her into wails right now. And it isn’t the arm splints, I don’t think…when I take them off to give her a breather, she shakes her head, signs “no, no, no,” and hands them to me to put back on. WTF?

And, yesterday, she started asking me for MORE medicine at medicine dropper time…for seven days she resisted medicine dropper time with a raging, white hot hatred for all things cherry and viscous. Yesterday, which naturally was the LAST day of medicine post-surgery, she started standing there, patiently, with her mouth open like a little bird while I squirted the stuff in, and then begging me for “more, more, more.” Go figure.

So, they don’t come with an owner’s manual, huh?

Smooth Moves

We arrived home yesterday and have been adapting well. The Bee cries when she eats, but that is what is supposed to happen (according to the literature) because, after all, her mouth is scratchy and rough from the sutures, as well as SMALL. As one doctor put it, she used to be able to drive a train through there, and now it feels claustrophobic. Um, yeah. Okay.

The wound care is really nonexistent with this surgery–the sutures dissolve on their own, and of course there are no ointment or bandages, being in the mouth. It’s just a matter of keeping prying digits and hard food away. Last night, we had a concoction of parboiled chicken, sauteed celery, carrots, and zucchini, chicken broth and soy sauce, all dumped in the blender and churned into thinness. She seemed alternatively ravenous and dismayed, as she felt the way her mouth is going to feel from now on when she eats. This morning we had a banana, strawberry, apple, and yogurt smoothie…she finished the whole thing.

I know there are a few people adopting kids who are cleft-affected who read regularly, so I’m going to list the top five things I took along to the hospital that ended up being a Good Idea:

(1) Snuggle Wraps. I mentioned these already in a previous post, but I want to emphasize that these arm splints are far superior to the ones that the hospital will give you. All the nurses were raving about them and asking me where I’d found them. They are cooler, lighter, and more flexible (fit under clothing) than the puffy things with the strap across the back that the hospital provides.

(2) The Haberman Feeder. The Bee never used one of these before the surgery (they’re typically used for small babies with cleft issues), but it was invaluable after the surgery for squirting small amounts of liquid into the well, under her lower lip. This was how we broke the spell on Thursday afternoon that got her to start taking liquids. It is also useful to use as a cleaning agent, to swish some water around her mouth after feeding, to make sure no bits of chicken smoothie remain stuck around her sutures. Faster healing that way.

(3) This Doctor’s Kit. I gave this toy doctor’s kit to The Bee about a week before the surgery, and we practiced using all the toy instruments–the stethoscope, the blood pressure gauge, the thermometer, the syringe, the bandaid–so that when she saw the real things, I could just remind her what they were. I think it made a difference in that she was familiar with The Stuff of Doctors (and Nurses) during our stay. She was showing the nurses how to listen to their own hearts the day after surgery.

(4) I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again: signing makes a world of difference, whether you know your child is going to have surgery or not. The Bee was able to sign her emotions, like “hurt,” “scared,” “love,” “like,” “don’t like,” as well as “stop!” and “all done,” when she wanted the nurse to leave her alone. I actually wish we had brought the DVD player and her Signing Time videos with us because she just absolutely lights up, calms down, and watches closely when they are on the TV. It is like Calm Candy to her. I will say that I didn’t think about how the arm splints would affect her signing ability–and, thus, her ability to communicate, which all of us have begun to take for granted–but, of course, they do. It’s impossible for her to bend her arms to make certain signs, although with a little imagination, I can usually figure out what she’s trying to sign to me, in her current stiff-armed fashion.

(5) For mom and dad: bring slippers, sweat pants, old shirts, and a flashlight for your overnights in the hospital room. Bring your child’s favorite blanket, a couple stuffed animals, and some of his or her favorite books. They told us to bring pajamas for The Bee, but she never wore them–it was just so much easier to keep her in diapers alone, as she was hot and stuffy most of the time and uncomfortable enough that I think changing her into clothes would have been a nightmare. Apart from being a source of comfort, the stuffed animals also became a way for the nurses to interact with The Bee about the medicine–they could pretend-feed her panda bear, and then tell her (sign to her) “your turn,” and they actually got her to participate in the dosing that way.

Okay, that’s my assvice on this subject. Although no surgery is a walk in the park, and no parent wants to see their child upset or in pain, I would do this again in a second for the opportunities it represents to these kids. It is very doable, as I have heard other parents remark. I shudder–heart-shudder–to think that these kids are ever considered disposable, by anyone, anywhere. In fact, that idea makes me so sick to my stomach that my palms started to sweat, just thinking about it. This child has been such a dream of a child. So incredibly perfect. In fact, I hate that I even have to say that out loud. It shouldn’t be necessary.