The ten million dollar question--
What's been going on with me?
I debated about how much to share, and decided in the end that God gets absolutely no glory out of my silence, so here goes:
A few days before Oliver arrived home for good, I found out that I was pregnant. Long-time readers know that a) that was a totally random, yet very wished-for blessing and b) that opens the door to a whole lot of roller-coaster emotions due to my history of m/c. Because of that history, I immediately went for a blood draw to have my hcG levels checked and sure enough, they were in the low range. I had my second blood draw (to see if they were doubling) the day Jo had her tonsils out. How convenient, as I just so happened to be at the hospital that day. 
The results of those numbers were not good, either. Low range of normal, but still rising. Not doubling, though.
Last Monday, I began spotting. I had an u/s and saw a healthy, but small, sac and no baby, despite the fact that I was supposed to be around 7-8 weeks. That began a rough week where I would spot, then stop, cramp, then stop, spot some more ... and all the while, the numbers seem to still be creeping up. So there was still hope, in other words.
Finally, late Saturday night, I started to miscarry in earnest. I am going to be brutally honest and say that in a strange way it was almost a relief--I was praying fervently for something ... for the bleeding to stop and the baby to be o.k., or for it to all be over. I think I was nearing the end of my rope emotionally, and God answered in His perfect timing.
My husband has gone above and beyond over the course of these past 10 days. My precious Jo--who was never let in on what was going on as a way of sparing her further hurt--has been such a helper, such a blessing that it brings tears to my eyes. I am honored to be her mother. And of course, being able to lay my eyes on the four children the Lord has given me here on earth was immense comfort as I waited for another one to be received by Jesus.
God has been so good to us throughout this whole sad process. I have felt His hand in the tiny details (like a random opening for an u/s, and a meal delivered "just because" by an acquaintance) and the big ones, too. While anyone who has BTDT can attest that miscarrying is never anything short of a painful loss that brings you to your knees, I am awed to say that not only was the Lord there the whole time, but He made sure that I felt His strong arms at every moment.
I may or may not be up to normal blogging as I return to the world of the living. Thank you for your prayers and patience.
Due to personal health issues, I'm taking a short hiatus. Feel free to email me at this blog's name at gmail
I am overwhelmingly happy to report that for the first time since her surgery on February 27, Jo reported that her throat is at a 0 on the pain scale index. This was an unmedicated score, which makes it that much more exciting.
I think we can officially declare the recovery period a success, and move on.
We're almost finished reading one of my favorite books as a read-aloud: Cheaper By the Dozen. If you've only seen the Steve Allen movie by the same title, I have to tell you, you're missing out. The real story revolves around a real life family with a dozen children, run efficiently by a loving mother and father whose standards are high, and whose love is strong. Jo especially has gotten a kick out of this particular story. Don't you love it when you get to share a beloved book with your children? I find myself reading it a bit more carefully this go-round, and feeling inspired by what one family accomplished with far more children than I've been given.
Execution of plans seems to be this family's strong point. Not so here at Casa MG. For example, the "big kids" (which now include Logan, who prior to Oliver's arrival was not a member of that exclusive club) did a bit of schoolwork today. We experimented with Oliver being a factor during what has always been independent schoolwork time and found that nope, that's not gonna' happen. He's more than content for me to read aloud to everyone while he roams and plays, but bring on the math work and he is none too cooperative. That alone was enough to motivate me to revisit the idea of scheduling in blocks and rotating said "big kids" through playtime with the new baby brother. While I don't see a need to assign buddies to my four children, I am definitely seeing the wisdom in making sure that things are plotted out more clearly than they are in our current way of working.
A new wrinkle came to light last night. Atticus was delighted to hear that his baseball coach called to inform us of practice times. I was breathless when I realized that we now have a Monday and Friday evening obligation from 5:30-7 p.m. Since we already have a standing AWANA night from 6:30-8 p.m. every Thursday, that means a grand total of three nights a week when Oliver will not be getting to bed at a proper time. That doesn't factor in Logan's t-ball practice, which may very well kick it up to four nights a week. These plans were all made before a certain 15 month old little boy came on the scene, of course.
I'm sitting here asking myself what people with Cheaper By the Dozen families do when it comes to scheduling this kind of thing? Many, I know, forgo outside activities all together. I just can't see doing that with my brood. My husband and I both participated in organized sports as children and found it to be a valuable experience. My husband actually still plays in an over-30 men's soccer league. Sports and activities that allow children to follow their individual interests are a very big part of our learning philosophy. I just don't know how we reconcile that with a little boy that's bound to be cranky more than half the week because he's missing his bedtime so that his brothers can swing a bat.
As I've been saying all week, I know that we'll get it down to a science. I'm not worried about that. I'm just wondering how we make sure that none of our experiments blow up in our faces!
We had two social worker visits yesterday--further proof that finding the balance of the new norm will not quite be as easy as it was when we added to our family via birth.
Oliver comes to us 3/4 of the way through his wait for TPR (termination of parental rights). His placement is also through a private agency whose standards for worker involvement are much higher than the state's. Overall, both of these are very, very good things; we are blessed to be able to know and bond with Oliver now--without waiting months for his termination hearings. We are also blessed to have caring Christians holding our hands through the process and serving as our go-betweens with DSHS.
BUT--we also have weekly social worker visits to look forward to for at least the next month. I have set up the schedule for those visits already, and have tried to arrange them as best I can so that the lifestyle of learning my family has come to embrace can go on with as little disruptions as possible. Still, the fact remains that we will be hosting our friendly social worker N. each Tuesday afternoon for a couple of hours. I am a miserbale hostess, so a standing date is something akin to torture for me.
I've also waded into scheduling the evaluations that Oliver needs. He definitely needs weekly PT sessions, but I'm asking for OT assessments and a couple of other early intervention evals. The services are in place for children who need them, and if Oliver qualifies for any of them, we plan on taking full advantage. We are doing all of this through private providers thus far; we are blessed to live within driving distance to several wonderful children's centers that accept med coupons and therefore allow us to stay as separate from the local school district as possible. Granted, this means more time spent on our behalf (the school district would offer in-home services) but I really don't want anyone making mental notes of how our homeschool is or is not working in their eyes based on a an hour or two a week of observation.
After meeting with Oliver's state worker yesterday, we got more information on potential visitation, and advice on how much time to leave time available for that should it become a reality. Though to date his bio parents have been disinterested in having access to him, they are still legally entitled to two visits per week, and should they decide to take that, we need to have two set aside days that we can transport Oliver to a DSHS office for that. (DSHS contracts with people to do transport for you if you wish, but I neither dh nor I have a bit of interest in a stranger driving any of our kids anywhere.)
So that's three solid days--at least--that need to be set aside for the time being just to address Oliver's needs. Three days of no other plans, of no other obligations and no set in stone requirements.
Which leaves exactly two days set aside just for school here at home.
I'm going to admit that I'm not very good at having blocked out time that often. I'm a homebody by nature, and while I will most likely spend those potential visitation days just homeschooling my kids, the idea that I might have three days worth of appointments is enough to make me feel very, very tired indeed.
It's funny; I didn't expect that adopting--especially foster-adopting--would be the same as giving birth. But I guess I really did expect that life would just mold around the new child as it always has, scooping that child up and continuing to flow with the same ease that I've always experienced. And while that may well still happen somewhere down the road, it isn't as close as I thought. There are still quite a few hurdles to jump over before we regain a sense of the old routines.
Thankfully, Jo, Atticus and Logan are so happy to have a new little brother that they could care less that their normal fluidity of planning is being suspended. They actually much prefer staying home, too--it seems to make outings that much more exciting. They seem especially delighted to have skipped right over the whole boring sleeping newborn phase and straight into the smiley, into-everything crawling baby phase. I guess that's a fair trade for being scheduled meet-ups with friends for right now.
This journey has been nothing like I expected, and I keep wondering what each new day will bring. Jo seems to have gotten through the worst of her tonsillectomy recovery. Oliver's got an ear infection. "Did you flush?" Atticus wants to know when baseball is starting. Call to check on OT eval. How quickly my baby girl is growing. Logan is entering a Lego drawing contest. "Mom, I'm out of lemon popsicles." Cute big boy grins. The phone is ringing off the hook. Beloved friends are bringing by food and gifts. Physical Therapist on the phone! "Mommy, can I play with clay?" Atticus has a new joke. Is that my adorable baby crawling around? The dog is tracking mud on the rug again. "Honey, I'm running really late at work." Did I send out that email?
Ah, life. I am blessed. Drink it in.
The transition is going well. Sometimes, I think, a little too well; Oliver has not hit the wall that one would expect a fifteen-month old to crash into head-first when he realizes that the woman he knows as "Mommy" is gone and not coming back. Maybe I am underestimating the malleability that a 10 hour-a-day daycare setting will impress on a young child. I don't know. All I know is that while Oliver is not keen on letting me out of his sights, he's also not wailing in the corner ... which is precisely what Jo would have done. Atticus and Logan, not so much--that's the power of having an older sibling to hang on to, you know.
Oliver is learning the tough truth about sleeping, though. Turns out that he has had two deeply ingrained habits that we are in the process of (gently) breaking: number one is falling asleep in front of the television with a bottle and a blanket, and number two is being given a bottle every time he stirs at night. Because he slept in a bedroom with his fostermom and her two children, it was imperative that he be kept as quiet as possible. Having lived in an apartment with an infant, I know what that looks like--jumping to shush every whimper or threatening whine. In my case, I ended up with Logan sleeping cozily at my b**b for ten months while my husband and I got nary a wink. In Oliver's case, his fostermom filled the bill with one of the three bottles she kept ready at her bedside.
Seeing as how we don't have television, per se, there's no way that his habit of nodding off in front of the tube is going to be indulged. He's taken this quite in stride: Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See? is apparently a reasonable substitute for American Idol. In a pinch, at least. I've been deliberate about establishing a solid routine of bath, story, bottle then bed while he's still fairly lucid. He's cried for as much as five minutes when I've laid him down, but he tuckers out fairly quickly. And lest you think I'm an absolute monster, I am still letting him have his binky to sleep with. Even though that drives me nuts. See, I'm not such a witch after all.
As for nighttime wake-ups, we've only had one significant event. The first night he was with us, Oliver's cold was so awful that he coughed and snuffed and snubbed through the first half of the night. When 1 a.m. rolled around, he had had enough. I gave him a bottle per his fostermom's instructions, but did it by picking him up, rocking him until he finished, and putting him back in bed. Guess what? That was no good, no good at all! Mr. Man wanted a leaking nipple in his mouth for the next few hours ... and he was incensed that I'd offered a poor facsimile of what he was used to getting. We went back and forth for about an hour--me soothing and patting and inserting binky, him relaxing, dozing off and then getting hopping mad the minute he realized I had no intention of letting him sleep with a bottle. Dh did his turn at the helm, too, don't worry: he has taken up post as Adult in Charge of Medicating Tonsillectomy Victim. That means he's up every four hours, like clockwork. Poor him.
I think we're getting the hang of this whole older-kids-and-a-baby thing. It's certainly different than life with three under five was back in the day. I'm having to remember all the tricks of the trade and balance the demands of raising children who can actually think beyond their next meal. It's a whole new world. Wonder what next week will look like?
Thanks to Paula, who tagged me to do a 5*5*5*5*5*Book MeMe.
Here's what you have to do....
*1* Get your favorite book
*2* Turn to page 55
*3* From the top of the page, count down to the 5th sentence
*4* Write it and the following four (a grand total of 5 sentences)
*5* Tag 5 more people
So, here goes:
He wanted, even though he was just a boy himself, some babies. His heart melted around them, his spirit soared. He might not have been able to put it into words, but they made him noble, they raised him up.
And he wanted that little four-eyed gal, the one he had seen at a basketball game over by Gadsden on the Alabama side. There was just something about a black-haired girl with blue eyes.
Here's the fun part. Name the author and title of the book (no googling, people--let's keep it fun!) and I'll put together a little prize to send your way! :-) This one could be a toughie, so pass it on to people you think just might know the book I'm quoting from.
Here's who I'm tagging:
Sarah at Ponderings... because she runs a very cool book club
Kindred Blessings because she's a new blogger and avid reader
Anya at St. Udio just because I want you to visit her blog and congratulate her on her new little ones
Jana at The Joy Box because I am sincerely curious as to what her favorite book might be
and
Angi at Choice Central because I am still amazed that she has time to pick up a book to even flip to page 55, let alone read it.
