Bye Bye Naps, Hello Little Bed

Sleep has been our focus once again recently, and the crux of the problem is Sarah's drive to give up naps and my determination to hold onto them.  I've fought a good fight, but I've decided to let go for good, and I think it might all work out for the better.

The Elmo sticker and Play-Doh reward system worked for a while, but that had run its course by early February.  I could no longer read a few books and leave Sarah in bed to fall asleep on her own because she wouldn't -- she'd get out of bed and into mischief.  I started sitting in the rocking chair in her room so she'd lie quietly and fall asleep.  I'd give her 30 minutes, and most of the time, she'd nap. 

That lost its charm a week or so ago, and she began taunting me -- rolling around, sitting up, dangling her legs off the bed, whatever she could do to get a rise out of me.  I finally decided it was time to give up, and yesterday we "officially" switched to quiet time.  She has to stay in her room quietly reading books or playing with her stuffed animals (or anything, really, since I can't control what she does) for half an hour.  She did pretty well, calling me only a couple of times.  I hope we can work our way up to an hour so that I have a bit of a break to get things (like blogging) done.

Meanwhile, our nights have been challenging once again.  As a result of my sitting in her room at naptime (I believe), Sarah started wanting me there at bedtime, too.  I agreed to sit in the hall while she fell asleep, which often took 45 minutes or more.  Soon, she was waking and crying during the night and insisting I sleep with her.  Before I knew it, I was back in her bed most nights and feeling resentful.  [Probably some of you are thinking that we're letting Sarah manipulate us and we should put our foot down, close the door, and let her cry herself to sleep.  I won't say you're wrong; I'll only say that's not right for us (and you might agree if you could hear Sarah in hysterics behind the  closed door).]

Through all of our sleep struggles, I've often heard from other adoptive families who co-slept with their children and believed it was the answer for them -- their kids felt secure, and everyone got a good night's sleep.  We had planned to do this with Sarah from the start, but she was such an active sleeper that Don and I would have gotten no rest with the three of us in our queen-sized bed.  Since a king-sized bed would barely fit in our room (and be a big expense), we've tried to comfort Sarah by my sleeping in her room whenever she needs me. 

When we moved Sarah to a full-sized bed in October, I devised a "nuclear option" for our sleep struggles.  I resolved to sleep with her when she needed until I started feeling resentful, then we would put her crib mattress on the floor of our room, and she could sleep there.  Having reached the resentment threshold, I hauled the mattress back upstairs and made a cozy nest between my side of the bed and the wall.  I showed it to Sarah and told her that, if she woke in the middle of the night, she could come in and sleep there.  You should have seen her eyes light up.

The first evening, she wanted to go to bed in the "little bed," but I held firm and told her she always has to go to sleep in her big bed first.  (I draw the line at putting her to bed in our room -- that's too disruptive for Don and me, and it seems as though it would only compound the difficulty of eventually getting her to spend the night in her own room.)  That night, she awoke crying at 4:15.  When I went in, she asked me to sit in the hall.  I asked if she wanted to sleep in the little bed, to which she responded, "YES!"  She settled into the nest and slept until 7:20.

Soon she was waking and crying between 11:00 and 12:00 each night.  I'd go in; she'd say, "Little bed;" and I'd escort her into our room.  After a while, I convinced her that she didn't need to cry (she was obviously faking it by then), so she now just calls for me.  I hope eventually she'll just quietly come in and go to sleep, but that might take a while.

Since the little bed appeared, Sarah is noticeably happier and more affectionate.  She is also less controlling and defiant.  I think she feels more secure.  She still has meltdowns and struggles to control her emotions, but she is improving there, too.  An unexpected perk of the little bed has been progress with potty training.  She's been good during the day for a couple of months but was still wet at night.  Now, she goes potty before coming to the little bed and is often dry all night.

With waking in the night handled, that just left sitting in the hall at bedtime to deal with.  While my iPad was a lifesaver for that situation, Sarah had become a wiseguy then as well and started challenging me by playing with her animals and getting out of bed.  She obviously was not ready for sleep at 7:30 if she'd had a nap.  The End of Napping has taken care of that.  I now turn out her light (after books, prayer, and massage) and go across the hall to our room, where I get ready for bed.  She's happy as long as our light is on, and she's usually asleep in about five minutes.  I can't tell you how refreshing that is.

I had really hoped that Sarah would nap until she was four.  I know naps are important for young brains and bodies, but I've tried everything I can think of, and I'm out of ideas.  With letting go comes relief.  I no longer have to structure my day so she doesn't nap too late, then spend 20 minutes on a pre-nap routine that was often followed by 30 more minutes of struggle, ending all-too-often in anger.  While Sarah can be a little whiny and testy by dinner time, she does surprisingly well without a nap, and bedtime is a breeze, which saves me another 45 minutes or more of sitting and waiting for her to fall asleep.  She sleeps 11-12 hours at night now, compared to about 10 when she was napping, which isn't bad, either.

And, finally, I can stop feeling like a hypocrite.  It was tough insisting that Sarah nap when I'm basically incapable of it.  I don't know how old I was when I stopped napping, but, as an adult, I've done it only a handful of times (when I was literally on a deserted island or remote peninsula).  Try as I might, I can't wind down during the day, no matter how tired I am.  I'm usually out like a light at bedtime, however, and, left to my own devices, good for 10 hours or more.  Sarah seems to be wired the same way.  Like mother, like daughter.  :)

Sweet, Sweet Spring(?)

On Saturday, we left our cozy cocoon and took a family outing to the "Sweet, Sweet Spring" celebration at N*rskedalen Nature and Heritage Center, about 40 miles from home.  Tucked into a tiny valley (or "coulee") off a winding rural road, the property includes an "authentic" 19th-century Norwegian homestead recreated from buildings moved from nearby properties, along with a nature center and hiking trails. 

It didn't feel much like spring, with temps in the 20s and winds gusting to 30 MPH, but we dressed warmly and had a great time (although I really wish I had a snowsuit like Sarah's).  Sarah loved riding in the horse-drawn wagon and petting the calf that was penned up within reach of small hands.  We all enjoyed a yummy organic pancake brunch with fresh maple syrup, scrambled eggs, sausage and homemade blueberry yogurt.  (Okay, I didn't eat the sausage, and Don and Sarah didn't touch the yogurt, but it all evened out.)

On the way home, Sarah talked about the horses (up until then, she called them "neighs") and the "BA-by moo cow" (pronounced the way you'd coo to a human baby).  After a short nap in the car, she lounged in the sunroom, enjoying her afternoon snack and her Wild Animal Baby magazine.

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!