Oil and Water

I reached my breaking point.  After being a colicky baby and a tough toddler, Penn has grown so much in maturity over the last year.  Now, Everlee's arrival has him backpedaling and me losing my mind.  The two of them together is like oil and water.  They don't mix.  And my handling of his reactions to her show a side of me I hate.  I never wanted to be that mom.  Quick to temper, frustrating easily, whiny, and saying the word "no" nearly as many times as I breathe.  I am being that mom.  Where has the cheerful Jess gone?

I asked, well, more accurately cried... to three different adults in the middle of a mommy meltdown, to switch their preschool days.  They will start going opposite days after the new year.  That way they are not around each other constantly, and I will have one-on-one time with each of them.  It's a short term solution, obviously.  As Brent told me, "Jess, they are siblings.  We can't keep them apart for the rest of their lives."  Short.  Term.  Solution.  Penn needs me. Just me.  That is the only thing that will bring him back from the dark side.  I will be giving up my volunteer time and solo hours, but right now, regaining a sweet, loving son is far more important.  We've got to dig him out.      

E continues to have the smoothest personal ride.  But, we were not prepared for the shoving, pulling, taunting and all ways of bothering her that Penn conjures up.  Lord help me. I must maintain my sanity.

What Recovery?

I can't believe I have been so negligent as not to tell all you lovely people how E is doing.  Her recovery is non-existent. We expected the entire first week to be much like the first 36 hours.  It wasn't. She came home revved up and ready to go.  Back to herself by day three.  She was signing for pizza and other food she couldn't have.  Her appetite was back well before she was enough healed.  We mitted her with socks 24 hours a day for the first week.  We took them off only for meals because she refused to let us feed her.  That's the orphanage in her.  Stubbornly self-sufficient, because she had to be.  The second week through now we mitt her for naps and bedtime.  Thankfully, she doesn't fight us on putting them on.  And we do wrap them in surgical tape for a secure fit.  Although we did not aim to ween her from thumb sucking, I would bet she is cured of that habit since it's been two and a half weeks.  Her follow-up was yesterday and they asked us to mitt her one additional week, since she doesn't seem bothered by it, just for safe measure.  Her mouth looks nearly "normal" now.  The jaw bone is covered in pink gum tissue and the gaps have filled in.  All but a teeny tiny one at the juncture right of her front teeth.  While eating the other night, a pea came through her nose.  B figured there must still be a small gap since a single pea made it up.  Sure enough, the surgeon saw that tiny space not filling in.  She said it may not ever, considering that there was no gum or bone tissue in that space to  sew the palate too.  Makes sense.  It should not affect her blossoming speech, nor her regained diet.  Down the road, after her additional dental surgeries to build the missing bone and teeth, if the millimeter or two gap bothers her, we can connect it then.

Since home, she's celebrated her first Halloween (wearing the same lobster costume the boys each wore their first Halloweens,) met Aunt Krissy, brushed up on her Italian verbs, stepped in sand, gone to the beach for the first time, and grown hair long enough for pig tails.  What recovery?!

I've already sent her back to "school."  The teachers were amazed how she is herself.  She was ready to go back, and Mama was ready to be back into my routine.

I even headed south for an uber quick surprise trip to Florida.  My nephew had his 4th birthday party and my sister-in-law had a baby shower.  Since we move often with the Air Force, we try to make it to as many major events as possible while we live relatively close.  I drove solo to be in attendance since it was a quick turn around. Too many hours in the car for the kids for only two days. Brent stayed behind and appreciated me more when I returned.  *wink*

By the way, I don't know if mitted is a real word, but I'm using it.  She is beyond doing well!

180

Day two started off poorly.  Refusal of soft food.  Refusal of all drinks.  I'll save you all the details, but let's just say a staff member not involved in her case suggested we put a tube down her throat to get food in.  Ludicrous.  And when we told the surgeons, their eyes popped out of their heads. There was no way we were putting anything down her nose or mouth when she just received 70ish stitches there. That would compromise the surgery and IV fluids are enough.  It'd only been 24 hours.  Common sense.

You are your child's best advocate.  Don't ever be afraid to speak up or question things.

So, she didn't want to drink.  Who could blame her?!  We knew we'd be in the hospital for one more night anyways. We weren't going to push it.  But, once she was cleared for Motrin, her mood did a 180.  I guess you can't give it on the first day due to bleeding.  Within ten minutes of it kicking in, she ate ice chips and had drops of juice we tapped into her mouth from the tip of a straw.  By the next morning, she'd eaten two boiled eggs and a bowl of oatmeal.  Motrin was the golden ticket.

Friday night, we had visitors!  Thankfully, it was during her great mood.  She loved seeing her brothers.

And Brent wrapped his mother in the curtain.  (We take hospitals so seriously, huh?)

 Where are the kids?

Two nights were expected because of her age.  She is old for this procedure.  Usually, palate repairs are done within the first year.  She's nearly 3.  Her age worked against us in the sense that babies aren't as bothered by the No-No's (since they aren't using their arms as much as a toddler) and are still breast or bottle feeding.  She was old enough to be aware of the restraints, to throw or push a cup away, and actively mobile, not allowing herself to rest.  Two nights were needed for IV fluids and pain management.  They were looking at 3 nights had she not awoken a different child.

Saturday morning, she was jumping in the crib and singing to herself.

  
We were cleared to go home just under the 48 hour mark.
Victory stance.

She's a trooper.  Second major surgery in her 34 months of life.  Her bilateral cleft lip was repaired in China at 14 months old.  It looks beautiful.  Now here, she has a newly constructed roof of her mouth.  Though the palate was what was medically necessary, the lip was done first to get her (and like others) adopted.  Sad, but true.  At the risk of some feeling I am overexposing my daughter, I will share my own iPhone before and after pictures.  If you don't care to see them, don't look.  These are not the ones Brent received, as those were taken during surgery and are more graphic.  

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You can see in the before picture how the cleft goes all the way from her front teeth to the back of the mouth, on both sides.  The right (her left) does go all the way through, but is more collapsed.  She is missing teeth, maxillary bone, and gums on either side of her front teeth.  They can't grow because there is not bone or soft tissue to support them.    

They cut the gums from inside her back teeth, pulled the tissue to the middle, and sewed.  Filleting the gum tissue exposed a lot of bone, both her teeth and more so, her jaw. That's the white you see.  Her teeth didn't magically get bigger, they're just more exposed since the gum was removed.  That is what's painful, because bone doesn't like to be exposed.  The tan stuff is new tissue already growing. (Maybe a little oatmeal too.)  Behind her tongue is a triangular piece tightly sewn near the throat that you can't see in this picture.  The gap between her front teeth and this constructed palate will fill in with gum tissue.  Amazing!  

The dental work will require additional surgeries.  Bone graft.  Implants.  Years down the road.  She'll probably go through her elementary years toothless across the front. Brent jokes we can get her a "flipper" like beauty queens do.  

And your second-hand medical lesson for the day has ended.   

        

Morphine Miracle and No, No to the No-No's

She was awake when we went back to recovery.  Already awake.  They said she had a high tolerance for the sleepy drugs.  In true E fashion, she did not rest all day.  She tossed and turned, giving it her best fight.  She was understandably whiney and ticked off.  Her cleft was, in the doctor's words, "A big cleft, on both sides, that required additional dissection."  The surgery took four hours.  And they anticipated a huge amount of pain.  The surgeon took before and after pictures for Brent, to which he commented, "Imagine a chainsaw tearing apart your mouth and then putting it back together."

Though she drank initially, probably because she was still loopy, she has refused since.  She is calm in my arms, which is substantial on many levels.  For the first time since she joined us, she feel asleep in my lap.  It felt magical to rock my baby.  I talked the staff out of her arm restraints, also known as "No-No's."  They seem a bit inhumane to me.  We used socks and hairbands to give her mobility of her arms but enough bulk to keep those hands out of her mouth.  For now it's working.  She struggled in the afternoon and more into the evening, miserable.  They called in for morphine at 7pm. Within minutes of injecting it into her IV, the crying stopped.  Again, she climbed into my lap, curled up, and snuggled.  We rocked for two hours watching TLC.  She stayed awake, but content and out of pain (and arm restriction) for the meantime.  We looked into each others' eyes for minutes on end.  The positive of this experience is the emotional reliance and bonding that is taking place.  I just put her down for the night (hopefully) and she complied.  She keeps staring at her wrapped hands, wondering what she's to do.  But at least she can bend her arms and flip over.  Removing the No-Nos made a huge difference in her comfort.  No, No to the No-No's.  Glad the nurses listened to this mama.  Instinct always gives you the answer.

Drugs and Bubbles

Arrival time was 5:30 am.  First patient of the day!  It made holding her off on food and drink a non-issue.  The girl went to sleep last night happy as a clam.  Woke and drove down here happy as can be too.  She had no idea what was coming to her, and that ignorant bliss is exactly what we wanted.

While other children slept or watched a movie from their hospital bed, Everlee was up and at it.  Only child running a marathon and choosing the loudest, music dispensing toys before the sun is up in the shared pre-op room.  Oh, E.  Brent said he never believed in ADD before this morning, as she lasted less than 5 seconds with each toy or activity, moving from thing to thing.  In the car.  Out of the car.  Color the page.  Get back in the car.  Grab the binoculars.  Squeeze the frog.  Back in the red car.  Squeal.

Ignorant Bliss.

If the pictures are an indication of her happiness, imagine the same level of intensity from her morning breath.  It was enough to melt the paint off the hospital walls.  Hey, they said no fluids after midnight.  Brushing teeth requires water.    

Just glad she enjoyed herself and wasn't afraid.  They finally gave her some Versed, and within five minutes she had slowed down.  Fluid movements of her head with dazed eyes assured us it had kicked in well.  Then, she sat down and put her head on the play table in a drug-induced defeat.  The anesthesiologist plucked her from the chair with a blanket, she reached for me once, relaxed herself and waved bye-bye.  She was easily distracted by a nurse leading her down the hallway with a stream of bubbles.  I love children's hospitals.  They told us if a child has a hard time coming, they can drive that red sportscar into the surgery room.  They've got all the tricks.

Now, if you know us, we are not the pacing-the-waiting-room type.  Neither of us are nervous.  When it comes to medical stuff, we check our emotions at the door.  Maybe we are heartless.  Maybe we believe in medicine.  Maybe we are just realistic and don't over react.  Maybe we just trust our God.  I'll go with the latter three.  Whatever the reason for our lack of concern, it comes in handy at times like this.  She was taken back, and Brent and I went to breakfast.  Hey, 3-4 hours as a couple alone is a date in our books. 

And... I just got a call from the base with her lab results about that pesky, persistent, parasite.  It is gone.  Hallelujah. No more nasty tasting medicine or the battles that came with it.  Let the shared tubby times commence!

Now say this tongue twister five times:  (Courtesy of my dear team-teaching friend, Chris Kramer, in Minot, ND)

"Sweet and Saucy's" successful surgery and speedy recovery.  

Hooray for alliteration!

Honesty and the Gap

Baby blues aren't limited to moms after delivery.  I'm experiencing my own postadoption slump.  Everlee continues to do well, so well in fact, that I feel guilty for struggling myself.  The hard part for me is managing two so close in age.  I know moms have their kids back-to-back all the time, so I certainly am not crying 'Oh, woe is me.'  I know I'm not alone.  Many of you are pros at this, but it is a new, frustrating dynamic for me.  One I am trying to navigate with patience.  And I fail.  My boys are four years apart. There was never the competitiveness, the vying for my lap, fits over not having the same color popsicle, shoving for the same toy, wanting what the other has constantly... all the things that come with children close in age.  God Bless you mamas who experience this daily.  I was meant to have my gaps.

Had a heart-to-heart with my boys too, while I've been in this rut.  While E was napping a couple of days ago, we sat on the porch swing and talked.  I felt an overwhelming sensation to ask them if they felt loved.  

Beck said, "Not as much as I used to.  Ever since Everlee came, you have to take care of her all the time."  

"I'm sorry.  It's hard to share my attention... but do you feel loved?"  

"Of course Mom, but I miss you."  

Dagger to my heart.  I miss them too.  

Penn had a specific complaint.  "When I sit in your lap, I don't like how she always comes and tries to sit on you too."

I didn't want to taint their mind with the negative, but I did want to know how they felt.  Wanted to be real.  To hear them, their perspective.  So, after we shared our sad feelings, I turned the conversation around to the warm, fuzzy ones. (Because you do feel both.  Just like postpartum... Uncontrollable joy about your new addition in one moment; disconnected, wanting to cry for no reason the next.)    

"What is your favorite thing about Everlee?"

Beck loves her laugh when Daddy is silly with her.  Penn said playing with her.  (Which is ironic, because their playing equates to me refereeing.  Interesting.)  They smiled in agreement when Beck mentioned liking to help wake her from her nap.  They'll race up the stairs to partake!  They both do sincerely enjoy having her in our family.  

My favorites are her dimples and her mischievous smirk when she continues to do something I've asked her not to.  I also love her determination.  And in an appreciative way, I like how her arrival has slowed our pace down.  Certainly hasn't slowed my steps, but has slowed our family's pace.  

Now, we've always said four.  Four children.  And I still feel that.  But, give me a couple years.  I need my gap.  

  

Our Life in Pictures

I always feel like I need to write a whole bunch.  Not this entry.  I'll let the pictures do the talking.  I mean, we do take a LOT of them...

Daddy runs a few times a week, and E loves to go with him.  It's a great break for me, and a special thing for them to share.

Speaking of special time, my devoted afternoons to Penn are making a difference.  He is improving in his personal transition.  Less jealousy, less in her face, less whining, more harmony.  Yes, I just used my new favorite word: Harmony.  

Reacting to getting a "hit" in Battleship.

Built Radiator Springs, just like I used to for hours with Beck when he was an only.  

"Played" Catan and Goochy said he "won for the most houses on water."

Went to the park.  Tried to get E to cross the wood bridge, but she didn't like that it moved when she walked.  She clung to my leg, which I thought was sweet.  She is fearless, so this took me by surprise.

Dancing at Oktoberfest.

Learning to "cheese."  It looks so awkward, but hilarious.

Boy does she love Beck!

Obnoxious Selfie!

She looks forward to this each evening... pretend driving the car in the driveway.  When B pulls in, she runs up to the car with her arms out for him to pick her up through the window.

Mixed reaction to the boots.  She's gotten better about shoes, but it can still be a mini struggle to get them on initially.  

Good thing we had a superPenn to take Mommy and E out to lunch.

Getting into girly stuff.  Feeds the baby, strolls the baby, then throws her.  Two out of three ain't bad.  

Beautiful downtown Charleston.  Old school night of a picnic and freeze tag on the square.  The best kind of nights.  

Tried out local college football.  Everyone did well all the way through halftime.  We decided to leave on a high note, rather than wait for the meltdowns.  Beck enjoyed the game, and the others enjoyed the band, cheerleaders, energy of the fans, and kettle corn!  

Dancing to the Lorax soundtrack with Daddy.

Sporting neve/hawk.  I can't tell you how many people commented on her cute pants at church.  Thanks, Aunt Kris and Uncle Bob.  If you experience a surge in sales, you're welcome.  

Um, I had to include this picture because this homemade Optimus Prime costume is freakin' impressive.  All cardboard.  Bob's brother made it.  He did an All-spark hunt for his son's birthday.  My boys thought it was awesome. Everlee followed five feet behind...  Curious, but a little freaked out.  

As promised.  The picture I referenced last entry.  Beck nursing baby "Pelly" when Penn was born.  It's cool to think E plays with that same doll now.  It meant a lot to little Beck at the time.  It helped him through his transition then, and it's helping her through hers now.  Awwww.  

She's come so far.  We've come so far.  

In our training, they prepare you for interactions with strangers' curiosity.  In two months, we have only had questions twice.  And both times were totally appropriate and respectful.  They just wanted to know.  One was an elementary school boy at the playground.  He said, "Is she your baby?"  When I answered yes, he continued, "Well, she looks different."  It was so innocent and honest.  I love kids.  I thought I handled it in a way he could understand.  I told him she didn't grow in my belly, she grew in another mom's belly.  He thought for a minute, "Did she run away?" Ha!  She's two.  But that made sense to him.  I chuckled, "No, her Mom couldn't take care of her, so I am."  And with that, he smiled and asked her to play.  The only other encounter was a kind grown man who had a lot of questions.  When he asked how long she's been home, he was shocked to hear me say less than two months.  "You'd never know.  She seems so comfortable with you."  That made my heart happy.   

She really has become attached to our/her family.  I get tears thinking of how far she's come in such little time. When we met her, she couldn't jump or do stairs.  Now, she gets "air" and goes up the stairs like a champ.  Of course, she slides down on her belly, like her brothers.  She searches for me if I'm out of sight, and she is allowing herself to lay on my chest for ten seconds or so.  Every hug is now full on with arms around my neck.  This child didn't rest herself on me at all those first two weeks.  Now hugs and small snuggles.  Amazing.  And all she (and all these children) need is love and attention.  It's both heartwarming and sad to think that's all they need.