Some days Most days I just do not have it all together. I do try to be organized. I have the calendar in the kitchen to remind me of the days activities. I even highlight the important ones. Somehow, some days most days, even my best attempts at being organized somehow fail miserably.
Hannah-Claire came running to me find me in the kitchen.
She yells, “Mommy, Mommy, a lady is coming to our door”.
Two seconds later, the doorbell rings.
I see a lady standing there (through the glass). Mmmmm, I have seen her before, but where?
I open the door.
“Hello”, she says, looking at me like she knows me.
Think, think, think!!!! (She starts stepping in our front door.)
Oh heck, the penny drops—I KNOW who she is. Oh for goodness sakes, she’s our social worker (duh!)—and she’s here to do our Post Placement report. Of course she’s here today, right on time at 4pm. That’s because I scheduled the time with her! And what do you know—there it is, on the calendar (which, I’ll have you know, I did check this morning).
Needless to say, my house looked like WW3 had hit—the vacuum cleaner was in the middle of the living room (of course I never finished the vacuuming job I started 5 hours earlier), toys and stuff lying everywhere, dirty dishes in the sink, three naked boys in the bathtub and two half naked girls running around the house—we had just got home and they were covered in mud after playing in the creek. Husband was nowhere to be seen. I put in a SOS phone call telling him to come home ASAP. He still has a 45 minute journey to get home (yes, it is mandatory for him to be there). Ah, the joys.
Nope—absolutely no time to pretty anything up (including myself). The social worker arrived in the middle of chaos to do our Post Placement. I did try to kick a few shoes under the sofa, grab as many toys as I possibly could, AND wheel the vacuum cleaner away with my free hand—all as I was leading her into the living room. Futile, absolutely futile.
One good thing—she got to see us in our ‘natural habitat’—in all its
No, things are
very rarely never perfect around here—but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
(For those of you who don’t know—a Post Placement Report is a mandatory written report that has to be submitted to the country of your childs birth—it states how well they are adjusting to life in your family.)
The journey to find Haven the help she needs has officially begun. We have purposefully taken things very slowly with her. Especially in light of her regression at school. We quickly learned that we need to take things extremely slowly with her. Home is her ‘safe place’. Unfamiliar environments and doctors cause her a huge amount of anxiety. Baby steps work best for this angel.
Last week she had her first doctors appointment. It was hard, but she was a trooper. As expected, she definitely is a Hep B carrier—she needs more blood work to determine whether she is an acute or chronic carrier.
Our doctor diagnosed her with Failure to Thrive. She is not even on the percentile for her age, she is that tiny. She weighs the same amount as our four year old. Thankfully, there is no lead or mercury poisoning. Her growth is just stunted. We know she will catch up, it will just take time.
In two weeks time Haven will be diagnosed by a Speech Therapist, an Occupational Therapist, a Child Psychologist and a Pediatrician. Their initial testing will be to either confirm or rule out the Autism diagnosis she got in China. While I am so reluctant to “label” children, we feel that in Haven’s case we need a diagnosis. It is the only way we will be able to get her the help she so needs.
The journey to her healing has already begun. The last month has been incredible—we have seen her overcome fears, make more approximations (sounds out of her mouth), learn to dress herself properly, graduate from wearing diapers at night (PTL!) and just learn to do many more things on her own. We have noticed that her understanding of English is incredible—responds to instruction amazingly well. All these little things are victories—steps toward her healing. We are so grateful to the Lord for each one of them. What a treasure she is in our lives.
My sweetest, tender hearted little four year old boy is giving his mommy a cuddle. He is completely wrapped around my legs and sticks his little hands into my jeans pockets.
“Mommy?”, he says with the sweetest, most
endearing naughty little voice.
He melts my heart. “Yes, my sweetness?” I ask.
“Mommy, why is your butt so puffy?”
Zero, zip, nothing—absolutely NO opportunity for pride when you have many small children to keep you grounded and humble.
Out of the mouths of babes!