Searching for One in 1.3 Billion

When we were first matched with Sarah, we were told that she was living in a social welfare institute (i.e., orphanage).  A few weeks later, we learned that she had instead been in foster care for most of her young life.  We knew that meant she had likely received good care and developed a relationship with her foster mother, making it easier for her to attach to us.  It was welcome news.

Before we traveled to China, we sent a care package for her to the orphanage.  It included a bound book of questions we hoped her caregiver would answer to help us learn about her routines and preferences and the milestones of her first year.  The book was returned to us when we received Sarah, and many of the questions were answered, including the name of her foster mother.  The FM indicated she would like to stay in touch, if possible, and gave the orphanage address as her mailing address.  I was happy to hear it, as I thought perhaps we could send her an update on Sarah each year and maintain contact, in case Sarah wanted to communicate with, and perhaps even meet, her one day.

Soon after we returned from China, one of the other moms in our travel group hired a Chinese man via email to find her daughter's foster mom. He met with the woman and garnered priceless information and photos from the baby's first eight months. At the time, I was still overwhelmed with our day-to-day existence and under the naive notion that I would be able to communicate with Sarah's FM directly, so I didn't follow suit.  I thought there was plenty of time to act.

During Chinese New Year last year (February), I composed a letter to the FM and asked our local Chinese friend to translate it into Mandarin for me.  I mailed it to the orphanage, to the attention of the FM, along with some dried fruits and candy, which are common Chinese New Year gifts.  I included our mailing address and our email address, in hopes that the FM had access to the Internet.  And I waited....

There was no response.  I don't know whether the package was even forwarded to the FM, as it seems direct communication between adoptive families and foster families is frowned upon by orphanage officials.  For all I know, the orphanage employees enjoyed the food and the letter was discarded.

Last fall, I decided to give the guy in China a try.  I got his email address from the other mom and sent him a message with the FM's name and town.  He responded within hours and told me he could locate the FM and travel to Y*feng (where Sarah's from) to take her out to dinner and get answers to a list of questions I'd provide, along with photos from Sarah's first year.  His fee was several hundred dollars. 

It's a bit unnerving, especially for someone as cautious as I am, to make a deal via email with a stranger on the other side of the world.  I had one reliable reference for him, though, and, after posting a message on some of the China adoption Yahoo groups, I received a few more.  He told me he didn't expect any payment until he located the FM.  I knew this would be priceless information for Sarah, and there was no way I was going to tell her years from now that I let it slip away.  It was worth the risk.

I told him to go ahead and search for the FM and waited anxiously to hear back.  The next day, he wrote saying that he'd learned the FM had left Y*feng and traveled to Zhej*ang Province to take care of her grandchildren while her migrant son and daugher-in-law work.  He was confident that she'd return to Y*feng in February for Chinese New Year, however, and he would try to locate her then. 

The mobility of modern China was serving as a roadblock to our search.  I've read that it's common for children to live with their grandparents in the countryside while their parents move to the cities to work, but I haven't heard about the grandparents moving to the cities to provide childcare.  I wonder if this is a more privileged arrangement, as the children get to live with the parents, instead of seeing them only once a year, at most.

About a month ago, as CNY approached, I sent an email to "the searcher" asking him to be on the lookout for the FM.  He responded that he'd learned that she wasn't returning to Y*feng for the celebration.  Ugh.

Then, a week or so later, he sent a note saying she had indeed returned and asking me to send a list of questions I'd like her to answer.  Score!  I received the note in the morning and sent the questions that evening, awash in anticipation.  He wrote back an hour later saying that the FM had already returned to Zhej*ang Province because her grandson was sick and that he hopes she'll come back to Y*feng in a few months.  Double ugh.

While there is still hope we will find Sarah's FM, it's hard not to feel as though we're searching for the proverbial needle in a haystack.  Just how do you locate someone in a nation of 1.3 billion people that is an eclectic mix of old and new?  I can communicate almost instantaneously via email (in English, no less) with the searcher 10,000 miles away, yet he can't connect with a woman in his own country.  Modern China is a land of contrasts, and it seems we're caught somewhere in the middle.

Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

Sarah is now two-and-a-half, and she is noticeably more mature than just a couple of months ago.  She's progressed in all areas but still hits speed bumps.  The last couple of weeks have been full of new developments but also included some set-backs.

Sarah and I have had a couple of unexpected separations over the last few weeks, and I was surprised and pleased at how well they went.  She came with me to give blood at our church.   I thought she could stand near me the whole time, but after I checked in, the attendant asked if there was anyone who could watch her, because she wasn't allowed in the donation area.  When I said "no," he suggested she sit at the refreshment table with the volunteers.  I was skeptical but figured it was worth a try. 

I put her in a chair and showed her where I'd be.  I'm not sure she even heard me.  She caught sight of the tray of cookies, and three grandmotherly women swooped in to dote on her, and she was sold.  During my check-in, I kept nervously popping up from behind the privacy screen to see if she was searching for me.  All I ever saw was the back of her head and three smiling seniors chatting with her.  She was eating it up.  By the time I finished and joined her, she was charming the minister. 

Last week, I took her to a local school for a developmental screening.  We were ushered into the kindergarten classroom, and a nice young woman asked Sarah what she'd like to play with.  Another woman then said I needed to fill out some paperwork down the hall.  I had a moment of panic but decided to give it a shot.  I kissed Sarah and told her I'd be back in a few minutes.  Down the hall, I rushed through the forms and strained my ears for cries of distress but heard none.  When I returned 15 minutes later, she was happily playing kitchen with the speech therapist.  She immediately said, "Mama play."  They said she had asked for me a couple of times but was satisfied when they told her where I was and that I'd be back soon.  Huh....

She had her two-and-half-year Well Child Check-up last week, and you never would have known she was the same child who used to scream in terror at contact with medical personnel.  It may have helped that she got to stand on the big scale to be weighed and was measured against the wall, instead of being stripped and put on her back.  She walked confidently into the exam room and seemed more interested in what the nurse was doing than scared.  She actually wore a hospital gown for the exam, which I think she rather enjoyed, even though it was way too big.  She was terribly brave while getting her shot, grimacing but fighting back the tears.

Once we got home, it was a different story, though.  She limped around and whined about how much her leg hurt.  I gave her some Tylenol, but she still carried on.  I don't know if it really hurt that much or if she was just being dramatic, but she gave quite a performance.  She ended up in tears at dinner and had a meltdown afterward.  I'm sure it didn't help that she refused to nap that day, but she still tells me it hurts every now and then.

She officially weighed 32 lbs. 14 oz. (87th percentile) at the doctor's, but she had a heavy sweater on, so I think that's a bit high.  She is 37" tall (69th percentile).  I'm glad to see that she's come down a bit in comparison to kids her age, while remaining incredibly healthy.  The doctor estimates that she'll be about 5'6" in adulthood.

Sarah has had two developmental evaluations in the last month -- one through the county's Birth-to-3 program and one through the school system.  Both showed her to be age-appropriate for the most part, with some of her personal-social skills a bit behind (speech) and some advanced (counting to 10, knowing her letters, spelling her name).  Overall, she has caught up nicely and is on-target.  She talks a lot now, including some three-word strings, and seems to pick up new words every day.

Despite all of these strides (or maybe because of them?), the last couple of weeks haven't been all that rosy.  She's been irritable and controlling and sleeping poorly.  She seems to have nightmares a lot and cries and yells in her sleep.  She's refused to take naps six out of the last 12 days.  She has angry meltdowns and has started hitting us.  Although she had a great stretch of potty training (dry for 12 days), she's had a few accidents lately.  I'm not sure what's going on.  Did I jinx us by saying we were on our way out of the Terrible 2s?  Are all of the new skills and experiences she's acquiring stressing her out?  Is she processing some residual grief?

I get the sense that she's anxious and feels as though she has to do and control everything (I know that sounds like a typical toddler, but an adopted child can take it to the extreme, because of the losses she's suffered).  She is a rather serious little girl.  A couple of weeks ago, we had two toddlers who are a little younger than she is over to play.  One is from the same province as Sarah.  While they ran around and played with her toys, Sarah stood by me shaking her head, pointing, and saying ruefully, "Mess, mess...." 

Although I'm thankful that both Don and I have been home with her all the time, I'm starting to think Sarah could benefit from some time away from us with other kids.  On the way to church this morning, I mentioned to Don that, given how well she did when I left her recently, maybe we should try putting her in the nursery again.  She immediately yelled from the back seat, "No nursery!" 

On second thought, I don't think the nursery would work, anyway.  During the two recent incidents, adults played with Sarah and kept her focused on what she was doing.  That doesn't necessarily happen in the nursery, and I don't think she can overcome the bad memories she has of the place.  I'm hopeful that next fall, when she's old enough for Sunday School, the structured activities will distract her enough to keep her happy while away from us.

I've decided to try pushing back on her a bit to show her that she doesn't have to control everything.  I wonder if we've complied too frequently with her unreasonable demands, for example, allowing her to decide whether Mama or Dada puts her in her highchair and letting her put the cover on her sippy cup.  I've started insisting on helping her more with little things and telling her that it's Mama's job to take care of her, while still letting her do age-appropriate tasks.  This has led to more tears, but I hope things will improve over time.

All-told, I'd still say Sarah is a happy child.  She has four stuffed animals (two dogs, two bears) who are her constant companions.  She hauls them all out of bed each morning and positions them around the dining room table, each with a little bowl of Cheerios.  She hugs and snuggles them and laughs as if they've just done the cutest thing in the world.  She loves it when Don gives both of us a big bear hug and now asks for a "goop" (or group) hug.  A couple of weeks ago, she woke up, took a look around her room, and said, "Happy, home."  You can't ask for better than that.

Sarah when she's 6...

in the flower towel that Grammy gave her...

and trying out her new snowshoes

Bringing in the Year of the Rabbit

Last night, we attended our local Chinese Association's New Year celebration.  It was a potluck in an old dance hall, and it was even more fun than last year's event (which took place at a high school and was catered).  I was apprehensive about how it would go, since Sarah has been boycotting naps again the last few days, but she was a perfect angel.  We are blessed that she has never caused a scene in public, despite her demonstrations of will at home (knock wood!).

Because I really want to get to know our fellow association members, I boldly suggested that people wear name tags at the event.  Before I knew it, I was taking tickets and welcoming people, with Don and Sarah providing moral support.  The idea wasn't embraced by everyone, and it didn't go exactly as I'd envisioned.  I foolishly thought people would write their names in Pinyin, the romanized version of Chinese that I can read, but many wrote them in Chinese characters, which was no help at all (for me, at least).  Can you say "naive"?

Each family had to bring two dishes, and the food was abundant and fantastic.  I wasn't about to try to cook anything Chinese (although I hope someday to have the courage to do so), so my bean salad sat bashfully among the homemade dumplings, noodles, ribs, spring rolls, and kung pao chicken.  My chocolate chip cookies disappeared, though!

This year's event included a white elephant exchange, which added some fun and mayhem.  When it was Sarah's turn to either open a gift or take one from someone else, a teenage boy eagerly offered her the wind-up Tigger toy that he'd been saddled with, and she agreed.  She played with it on the floor for the remainder of the swapping, and fortunately, no one dared (or desired) to take it from her.

The only downside was a much-reduced entertainment portion.  Last year, there was an elaborate stage show of all ages singing and dancing in the school auditorium.  This year, a young boy performed a dance routine to "Ghost Busters," another gave a violin solo, and a teenage girl did ballet to "Somewhere Over the Rainbow," while many partiers continued to socialize.  The performers had heart, though.

After the distribution of the "hong bao" (red envelopes with dollar bills) to the kids under 12, the adults started singing Karaoke, and Sarah began dancing, even though no one else was.  She's really good at shaking her booty.  It was adorable, but unfortunately, it was also time to go.  Sarah has a knack for warming up just when it's time to leave.

I am thankful for this group of people and their warmth toward us.  Although the New Year celebration is nowhere near as large or elaborate as those you find in large cities, I value the intimacy and casualness of it.  Along with the smaller celebrations held throughout the year, it gives us a chance to get to know individuals in the Chinese community.  There are at least two kids Sarah's age whom we see each time, and I hope they will become friends as time goes on.  A number of the women have taken an interest in Sarah, and I hope she'll be able to establish relationships with them.  I want her to feel connected to her culture.  Don and I can't do that alone, but maybe these kind people can help.

(You'll notice in the photos that Sarah has developed a cheesy smile for the camera.)

Epilogue:  Sadly, Sarah had a rough night's sleep last night.  She was sobbing in her sleep three times.  I tried comforting her, but she continued with her eyes closed, making delicate gestures with her hands.  It was hard to watch.  I have no idea if it was related to the party itself (bringing back some unhappy memories?) or just to her being overtired.

Into the Light

After what seems like an eternity (but was more like six or seven months), we seem to be emerging from the Tunnel of the Terrible Twos.  Sarah is finally starting to let go of her need to control everything, and there is a noticeable change in the atmosphere around here.  She is more relaxed and happy, and, therefore, so are Don and I.

Sarah still treasures her routines, but she's increasingly flexible these days.  I can push up her sleeves to wash hands.  I can hang up the wash cloth after bath.  I can put the cover on the Cheerios container.  These sound like inconsequential things, but when added up over the course of the day, they matter, believe me.

She still has her irrational moments, but they are relatively fleeting now.  We no longer live in fear of her spiraling into a fullblown meltdown.  She cries and tells us she's mad, and then she usually moves on. 

Although she's mellowed a lot, she still feels the need to control her world, and I think this is due to her personal history, not her age.  She's developed a new coping mechanism:  when she's upset about not getting her way, she often insists that I put my hair behind my ears.  I think this is a last-ditch effort to gain control.  I'm somewhat torn about how to respond to this.  Sometimes I comply, to give her comfort.  Others, I push back, telling her that she doesn't have to be in charge; Mama and Dada are and we'll take care of her.  I try to show her that she can let go and everything will be okay.  

Much of Sarah's defiance seems to have melted away, also, thank goodness.  Lately, she's concerned about Don's and my approval.  When she's misbehaving and we start to lose our patience, she'll say, "Mama/Dada mad" and often do what she's supposed to.  She then announces, "Mama/Dada happy."  This is a great relief to me.  I worried at times that her lack of regard for our feelings was an attachment issue, but I guess it was more of a toddler issue after all.

Sarah's becoming more affectionate and offers hugs and kisses (to us and her stuffed animals) more readily now.  She's always been attached to us in the non-clinical sense, wanting to be held and played with, but she hasn't been what I'd call cuddly.  I get the feeling that she has moved to a new emotional stage with us and is developing what's called "secure attachment" in adoption lingo. 

Her favorite game to play with Don these days is "Whose Baby Are You?"  He'll rough-house with her and demand, "Whose baby are you?" to which she'll respond, "Mama's baby!"  He acts indignant, shakes her up a bit, and asks again.  She keeps answering, "Mama's baby!" laughing harder and harder until finally relenting and saying, "Dada's baby!"  I had her in stitches after dinner last night, when I picked up Sophie the Cat and asked whose cat she was, to which Sophie replied, of course, "Mama's cat!"

What a Mouthful!

In the last week or so, Sarah seems to have finally turned her attention to talking.  She's saying more words and is deliberate about putting them together.  I now hear "Mama play" all day long.  On Sunday, as she and I waited in the car outside a convenience store, she observed, "Dada buy milk." -- her first sentence with a subject, verb, and object. 

Of course, just last week I was getting concerned about her language skills again and scheduled a visit from the county's Birth-to-3 program coordinator.  She's coming next week, with a speech therapist.  I'm curious now what they'll say.  I know Sarah hasn't caught up to most two-and-a-half-year-olds, but she's making strides all of a sudden. 

I wonder if it was all the social interaction she had over the holidays that spurred her speech.  Or maybe it's watching Sesame Street every morning while Mom walks on the treadmill, which we started in early December.  We were careful to keep her away from the TV until she turned two, but now I think it may be helping her. 

It's also possible that she just wasn't ready.  Sarah is careful and thoughtful about everything she does, so it wouldn't surprise me if she was just taking her time.  Whatever the reason, I'm so excited to hear more of what she has to say!

A Trip to the Eye Doctor

A few months ago, we started seeing Sarah's eyes go out of alignment at times.  I first noticed it when she played peek-a-boo around a door frame.  When she moved her head out to see, the last eye to appear would be pointing out.  It's happening more frequently, and in other situations, lately, so we brought her in for a check-up (even though Don was convinced she just had a special talent).  Since I was born with a lazy eye and have suffered with poor vision in that eye despite surgery at age 2 and wearing a patch, I wasn't going to take any chances.

I was dreading the visit, after the nightmare we experienced more than a year ago.  That time, they put drops in her eyes twice, sending her into hysteria both times.  When they wanted to do it a third time because her eyes are so dark and hard to dilate, we said, "No."  The doctor was able to get a quick look into her pupils, enough to rule out any disease, and that was it.  We were out of there.

To my immense surprise and relief, this time was completely different.  Sarah was slightly nervous about being there, but she didn't even flinch when the drops went in (as we learned on the day we became a family, she can be very brave).  We had a different doctor, who obviously is more in tune with kids than the last one, and she seemed intrigued by what he was doing.  He showed her a short video of a mechanical chicken, dog, and elephant, and she kept requesting to see it again.  She even gamely looked into the machine that measures your prescription and, with much coaxing, was able to look at the balloon long enough to get accurate readings.

While she was a model patient, the results of her exam were less than stellar.  She has intermittent exotropia, which means the muscles controlling her eyes are unequal in strength, causing them to turn out if she doesn't work at holding them straight.  If she's tired or not concentrating, they slip to the outside.  As she gets older and does more focused work with her eyes, she won't be able to override the muscles as easily, and it will happen more often.  At that point, she'll need surgery on the muscles.

The good news is that this condition doesn't usually affect the vision in the eyes, so she won't have a weak one the way I do.  The thought of surgery scares me, but, after doing some research on the Internet, I'm not as worried.  It should be outpatient and done through a small slit in the eyeball, so it's not too invasive.  Thank goodness Sarah has gotten over most of her fear of doctors.  By the time the surgery takes place, she should be even more calm.  We need to watch her, and when we notice her eyes turning one-third of the time or more, it's time to take action.

The other disappointing news is that Sarah will likely be near-sighted when she's older.  It has something to do with the depth of her eyeball.  I guess it's a certain depth now, and it will deepen as she grows, which will cause near-sightedness.  I'm almost more saddened by this news than the prospect of surgery.  I had hoped she'd avoid having to wear glasses.  I always hated mine.  It's only been in the last few years that I've felt comfortable with how I look in them.  She's such a beautiful girl that I dread seeing her face hidden behind frames.  Obviously, these are my own issues, and I won't share them with Sarah.  I also know that there are some very cute frames available these days, and she will be adorable regardless.  This is a small thing.

It's ironic that Sarah has a condition similar to one I was born with (they're two types of strabismus) and will likely be near-sighted like her father.  Because she lacks our genes, it's natural to expect her to be free from our physical imperfections.  The fact that she shares some of our weaknesses, while unfortunate, tends to reinforce our sense of family, however.  It's evidence of the invisible red thread that the Chinese believe connects those who belong together.  We were meant to be a family, flaws and all.

Christmas 2010 -- Phase II

We flew back to M*ssachusetts to visit my family very early (6:20 a.m. flight) last Wednesday.  Following some excellent advice from my fellow China moms, I dressed Sarah in footie pajamas the night before, got her up at the last minute, handed her her milk, and loaded her in the car.  She was a good sport about it and requested "Jingle Bells" on the drive to the airport.

We're lucky to live 20 minutes from a small (two gates) airport, so flying is a cinch.  Don dropped Sarah and me off at the front door with the luggage, then parked the car.  To save on what I consider unreasonable baggage fees, we'd packed one very large suitcase to check.  Imagine my disappointment when we learned that it was seven pounds overweight and would cost us $90 extra.  Sometimes it just doesn't pay to be cheap. 

The woman at the counter suggested we move some things to our carry-on bags, and we set about the task, knowing it was futile.  After about five minutes, the woman's coworker walked over, said, "That looks about right," put the baggage tag on the suitcase, and pointed us toward the security station.  I don't know if it was the cute little girl in her pajamas watching from her stroller as her parents scrambled on the floor or just Midwest hospitality that motivated him, but I was happy to hang on to my $90.

Sarah did great on the airplane and seemed to enjoy sitting in the window seat while I catered to her.  We changed planes in D*troit, and she slept most of the way to H*rtford, CT.  She was excited to see Grammy pull up to the curb to pick us up. 

Auntie Heather, Uncle Brian, and cousins Forrest, Sam, and Kelley came for a visit later that afternoon, and Sarah warmed up to them all quickly.  We were fortunate to see them every day of our stay.  Although we didn't get to spend as much time with Uncle George and his fiancee Chelsey, Sarah also enjoyed herself with them.  For the first little while whenever she's with relatives she doesn't see often (which happens to be all of them), she points, looks at Mama or Dada, and says, "Eh?" as if she can't believe they're really there.

She was much more relaxed this time than during previous visits.  It was a joy to watch her play with her cousins and give hugs and kisses to everybody.  She even happily posed for pictures, which is unusual.  She loved it when Uncle Brian kept finding coins behind her ears (as only he can do), and she was interested in whatever the boys were doing.  After Auntie Heather told her to sit on her "bum" in a chair, Sarah adopted the new term and now corrects me when I say "bottom."

On New Year's Eve, we enjoyed a lobster dinner.  Sarah didn't care to try it, but Cousin Kelley indulged a bit too much.  He wound up on the couch with a stomach ache, and Sarah appointed herself his doctor.  She tended to him with great concern until he recovered.  She's one compassionate little girl.

While she was happy and even-keeled during the day, Sarah's anxiety surfaced each evening.  Getting ready for bed was a minefield, with multiple fits about brushing teeth, taking a bath, and going potty.  It was obvious that she felt uneasy about being away from home and was struggling to be in control.  She slept fairly well at night (especially after Dada moved to the other bedroom and she got to sleep with Mama instead of in the Pack 'n Play), and she even took naps most days.

In addition to seeing my immediate family, we got to have lunch with my Uncle Bill and Jane.  I'm afraid I didn't get to talk with them as much as I'd like, since I escorted Sarah to the restroom no less than four times as a result of her drinking milk on the way there and downing a cup of apple juice within minutes of being seated.  She managed to maintain her potty-going throughout most of the trip, which I found impressive. 

I also slipped away on my own to have coffee with my best friend from high school, Lynne.  It was wonderful to see her after many years, and for the first time as fellow adoptive moms.  I wish it could happen more often!

Our return flight on Monday was also early.  When I woke Sarah, telling her it was time to go on the airplane, she sat straight up and said, "Mama home, Dada  home, Cadi Dog home, Little Bear home, Vava home...." and proceeded to list each of her stuffed animals.  She was clearly ready to go.  The trip was smooth, and when we picked up Cadi at the kennel, Sarah beamed.  She let out a hoot when she saw our house from the highway.  She loves her little world in W*sconsin.

Although she's happy to be home, Sarah has struggled a bit with the transition.  She went to bed well Monday night and was asleep within minutes, due to missing her nap.  She awoke crying once in the night and wanted me to lie with her while she went back to sleep but then waited until 6:00 (house rule) to call for me in the morning.  She started out cheery but didn't want to get dressed and ended up in a screaming fit about her milk (which hadn't even spilled -- haha) soon after leaving the bedroom.

She had a good nap yesterday but was unhappy at bedtime, maybe because Don was at a meeting and couldn't kiss her goodnight.  After calling to me in the kitchen for a while, she started to cry and asked me to lie with her.  She was asleep in about five minutes.

This morning, she slept until 6:45.  When I went in, she pointed to herself and announced, "Happy."  She then said, "Mama happy; Dada happy; Cadi Dog happy; home."  She does indeed seem more content today, so I think we're on our way back to normal.

Sarah's made great strides in dealing with different places and people, but I expect she'll always be troubled by changes in her surroundings.  The last week-and-a-half has been awfully busy, and I think she's done terrifically overall.  We're all looking forward to staying put for a while and cocooning, though.  We all love our home.

Cousin Kelley

Uncle B

Cousin Forrest

Watching TV with Sam and Kelley

Reading with Cousin Sam

Exploring the farm with Kelley

Cutting fruit with Chelsey

All smiles with Grammy

Auntie Heather ("Heshy")

Lobsters for dinner!