he feels "yucky"

Alas, we're in the throes of our first honest-to-goodness sickness. Two weeks ago, we walked into preschool to see a little girl look up from the craft table and say (snotto-voce), "I don't feel so good." Seconds later, as she curled in a rocking chair in the fetal position, YoYo proudly assumed her craft-table post to make his mommy the finest valentine in the land. All I could think was, "Here it comes."

Sure enough, within 24 hours, it came. For both of us. I felt B-L-A-H. Meanwhile, captain snotty-nose seemed none the worse for wear-no fever, just a cold, right? I waited a few days and gave him kiddy mucinex for a week. I WAS NOT going to overreact. I was NOT taking him to the Doc to hear, "Yeah, not much we can do. Make sure he drinks a lot."

Until last night. It's been two weeks. He was sounding better, and this morning at 5-God-is-not-even-awake-yet-a-blessed-m, he woke up coughing. And the cough had that really nasty sound only little kids can get. And he was soooooo hot. 102, in fact. We headed to the Doc as soon as his office opened. PS, I won the lottery-it was Doc's first day in a new office-let's not talk about the havoc at the front desk, or how much they wanted to kill me for asking them to "work us in."

He is so pitiful. His antibiotic dosage is so large, it alarmed the pharmacist, who double-checked with Doc before she'd even let us take it home. We had to beg/bribe/threaten him to drink anything, and he barely ate. He slept a lot. While the nurse oohed and ahhed over his good behavior after an hour's wait, I thought, "Yeah, he must feel BAD to be this compliant." When he turned down gyoza (dumplings) AND McDonald's for lunch, I considered taking him back and demanding he be admitted to the hospital.

Instead, while he sleeps, I will pay tribute to our incredible little man. With photos.

These are from an installation he did in the living room the other week. He asked for little paper, scrawled a design on each page, laid the pages out in a serpentine line, then added a car to each page. It was so methodical. I don't know if you can tell from the detail, but he placed each car in an alternate direction. It took time, and I watched the whole thing. Christian Boltanski, we are coming soon.

Shane's cousin Eli (our other "Baby Boy") has been back and forth to our house from Cincinnati several times in the last few months as he makes college plans and prepares to move down here. YoYo loves him. LOVES him. Which delights me-I don't know if you can see E's gauges, but when YoYo first met him, those ear-bobs were accompanied by a nose ring and two lip piercings, and a tattoo gallery. Was our little guy afraid? Nope. In fact, he was inspired...

...and decided he should take up nudie-bear bongo drumming. I don't think I can post that one...yet.

Feel better, Little Bear!

This Just Happened

That title felt like a sentence out of a Tian Yo Pooh book when I wrote it.  You know, the sort of sentence where Piglet looks out of his tree at the rising waters and thinks I'm All Alone and I'm Going to Die Like This? What The Heck?  or Eeyore loses his tail and thinks Aftermarket Parts aren't All They're Cracked Up to Be.

But I Digress-and I hope you noticed that our book series is Tian Yo Pooh, not the inferior Winnie, because of course one of the ayis read Pooh to YoYo very often, each time pointing to ursa crocinus and calling him "Tian Yo."  That's going to be a letdown in a few years-I'm more worried about it than the "Talk About Santa" thing.

Anyway.

Here's the photo.  It looks innocent, to be sure, but it contains a meaning that has unraveled my life.  All the travel and prayer leading up to adoption, all the changes of heart, the struggles with the agency, the cliffhangers, the nights without sleep, the earthquakes (you knew I'd tag that again), the strategic appearances in government newspapers, it all was leading TO THIS. The moment when my son lines his letters up on the refrigerator, and in a make-two-syllables-from-one-syllable-words voice that's a dead giveaway for one of his preschool teachers, says, "Children, I have a surprise for you today.  Can you guess what it is?"  I turn from my laptop, filled with laughter (and terror), to see his head tilted JUST LIKE HIS TEACHER and his hands clasped in front of him JUST LIKE HIS TEACHER.  He is even mimicking her smile.  

I sneak the camera out, and he instantly has a dog "mask" on his head.  So Baba can see it in the picture.  He wants a costume, people.

Clearly I have underestimated this little bear.

New Kid in Town

So, it's about time.  I'm finally posting about my "little" sister's first baby!  I can't tell you how much we've burned up the road between Franklin, TN, and SC for this little girl!  The week of baby Reagan's arrival alone, we drove to my folks' house, then to Columbia and back three times, to Charlotte and back once, and to Asheville and back once before coming home.  Grand total?  Somewhere near 21oo miles in 9 days.  YoYo is a SAINT-that little boy never cried once, although he did ask, "Are we almost there?" roughly once per mile.  We listened to his Muppets CD nearly 32 times.  I kid you not.

He was a little concerned in the hospital.  When he saw Andrea (shortly before the baby arrived), he said, "I don't like baby Reagan.  I don't want her to come out."  When he saw her the first time, he said, "She's no good."  If you look at the pic, you can tell Andrea's the pretty one of the two Willard sisters.  

Uncle Craig (my "little" brother) surprised all by flying in from Boston-picking him up was its own adventure.  Needless to say, when he rode with us to see the young Seay family the day after Reagan went home from the hospital, Uncle Craig had to pull double duty.  He was doting Uncle Craig, tender with baby (I wish to goodness I could find the pic of him "eating" the baby), and wild Uncle Craig, tireless on the playground with a wide-open Tian Yo.  

Finally, YoYo came around--and around and around--as Uncle Tyson spun him in a chair.  Shortly afterwards, he said, "I love baby Reagan."  The spin therapy had worked.  When he finally let me hold Reagan without yelling, "No, that's MY Mama!" he stroked her arm very gently and whispered, "I don't want to break her."

PS-for those who wondered, YES, the three of us look ridiculously similar. 

Re-take

Ok, so I just re-read my last post, and yikes! The lesson is never write an entry at 4 am when you can't sleep the morning of a friend's funeral.  Seriously, you can't account for your brain, so do laundry instead.

Lots of backstory, but I'll sum up.  To begin, kids in YoYo's preschool class take turns going to the restroom.  YoYo has begun asking if he can go, too.  Currently, I pick him up at the end of four hours (school goes for 5 hrs.) to get him home in time to cath.  His teachers remembered my mention of reconstructive surgery a while back and wondered if he's be able to join the potty rotation soon.  Nothing wrong with asking that.  Exstrophy is largely correctable for many children--YoYo's an exception at this point.  But it threw me for a loop, and this is where having YoYo in preschool is helpful, because I can work through these things a step at a time.

YoYo knows he's different, but until now, he's always been surrounded by kids with medical needs.  His curiosity about others is growing.  I love every little inch of this squirmy boy, but I wish there was an easier way for him.  

Then last weekend, a friend from our Sunday School class died suddenly and tragically.  He was so excited about us getting YoYo.  When our class descended on our house, he and our realtor installed the pocket door to our laundry room and went a little crazy with redos.  I was told later the only reason they didn't rip up and redo the entire laundry room floor was my freezer full of half a cow.  When neighborhood kids were desperately nosy about what was going on at our house, Mike B. made them a bicycle ramp of scrap plywood.  They'd completely trashed it within two weeks, and he just laughed with delight.  We drove to Memphis for his funeral yesterday.

So I was a little distracted when I last posted.

This weekend will mark YoYo's first Lunar New Year with us--we're hoping to squeeze in to the Greater Nashville Chinese Association New Year Festival.  It's the Year of the Ox, y'all!

This is from my sister's baby shower, but its pink and red, colors for happiness, felt Chinese New Year festive to me.  These hung from the ceiling til the party ended, and YoYo dragged them around and danced with them for half an hour while we cleaned up.  

 

Kudos, sighs, and snippets

When we met YoYo, he slept with a catheter taped into the port in his side, and it drained to a small bag. Someday I may know why China has convenient tiny drain bags and America only has huge ones, but probably not. Anyway, when 4 out of the first 5 American bags pulled the cath out of our boy in the middle of the night and left puddles on the carpet and bed, it was time for a new system. 

So I stay up. YoYo has to be cathed every 4 hours, and though it slows at night, he still needs a cath somewhere in there. I do it around 2 am and again at 8. It was beginning to wear on me--I couldn't go to sleep and set an alarm, because I didn't want to wake Shane & I was afraid I'd sleep through. That sounds pitiful, especially when you read Superwoman's feats at gourfamilyadoption.blogspot.com. But I'd roll over at 8 am and think, "Can't do it." I'd do it-I was just beginning to feel a little overwhelmed. In the meantime, I was worried I was holding him back, because we're only doing 3-4 caths in the bathroom weekly--the rest are on his changing table.

Then we saw Dr. John Brock last week-YoYo's urologist. He did an ultrasound and checked urine. Turns out, he thinks we're doing a good job-the urine counts show we're cathing often and taking our time. He doesn't want me to rush the bathroom-the changing table is ok. AAAANNNNDD...YoYo's gaining weight! He's up to 30 lbs. now from the 23 he weighed in June. Sure, some 2T stuff still hangs tentlike on him, but we're moving along, and my fears of bone density and nutritional problems are fading. It's amazing how a little Dr. visit can kickstart your attitude.

I think one of the hard things has been that people have asked what can be done to "fix" YoYo or to make him "better." It's not a bad or wrong question to ask. It is hard to hear, however, that if we just keep praying, God can work a miracle that will astound the doctors and mend YoYo's body.

Now PLEASE do not read this and think you've done something wrong if you've thought or said anything like that; likewise, I hope you can afford grace to not judge anyone who HAS asked that. I would have done the VERY SAME thing before adopting YoYo. Part of loving one another, I think, is being free enough to not be afraid to ask those questions or to hope past what seems medically possible--it's how we help, it's part of community, and it is soooo ok. If we can't tell each other the things we dare to dream for each other, then how can we love and know each other? This is where we live! and these are the hands and feet we have!  Can I be free enough to receive another's brave hope for us without attaching strings to how it should be worded or thought?  

My idea of wholeness needs tweaking. The Author and Finisher of his little body SPOKE IT INTO BEING. I think I'm just now receiving that if He wants to change anything, He can, without secretly meaning that I think because He can, He should. If He doesn't? I don't think we'll fall out of His hands. If anyone who loves us or just hears of our sweet little man feels moved to pray for anything, far be it from me to set my face against that hope. For me, the miracle is that YoYo is our son, the waiting child for whom we waited so long. The daily care thing is so normal now that I don't think of him as "handicapped," I think of him as a 3-year-old whose energy and appetite for learning leaves me in the dust on the ground gasping for breath. He is formidable. That's funny, because I have to catch myself when someone feels sorry for him or can't believe how awful his condition is--it's like I've completely forgotten that just a few years ago, I would have only heard about bladder exstrophy through TV or charity appeals--like it would have been some sci-fi thing.


Enough! Now for the snippets...


Shilo is no longer mine. YoYo told me quite seriously, "Shilo is MY dog, MaMa. I feed her and pet her, but I can share her with you. You can pet her if you want to." So when the next vet bill comes, kid, what you're saying is...


We went to Barnes & Noble and discovered that some GENIUS installed a train table in the kids' section. I cannot tell you what this means to us. Suffice it to say, he's still got his coat on in the photo-when I asked him to take it off, he said, "There's not enough time, Mama." Apparently my priorities are all wrong.


YoYo wants to read. We've been playing games with letters in the tub, on the fridge, on blocks-when he initiates-but he does NOT want to spend time on the letter "B," people. He wants to know how to spell "BABA" right now! Yeah, yeah, these letters are all nice, lady, and I hear what you're saying, but what can I WRITE?! In the meantime, he channels his energy into color sorting. It's probably some cyrillic code.

boy of constant sorrow

And the saga continues

Happy New Year! 2009 has flipped a switch in our boy. Just as I despaired of never being on schedule again—it rocked my world more than it should have—we're back in a routine. But now, YoYo needs more. Not more stuff, but more stimulus, it seems. I can’t tell if this is a long unwinding from holiday chaos or if it's a new layer of his person growing into toddler-hood before our eyes.

He pretends to read all the time, desperately wants to write, and wants to either dance or draw nonstop. It sounds inspiring, but it is wearing me out. Each time I send him to play with his cars so that I can do dishes or cook or be sick for a minute, instead of crafting something that will offer him what he’s after, I feel as though I’m compromising his adulthood. It’s not about minimum wage job versus trust fund magnate, it’s about cramping his person—making him smaller to keep my world safe. I know I can’t take each moment that seriously, but I do, again and again.


This week, we’ll return to the urologist for the first time since August. Not sure what to expect. I think we’re supposed to talk about some reconstructive surgery options for his pelvic area—I guess more cosmetic than anything. It seemed the most sensible time to do this would be at the beginning of a new insurance deductible, and at naptime to boot. Oh, but we’re the smart ones!

I am desperately trying to upload a video of YoYo dancing while cramming popcorn into his mouth (he thinks I can't see it happening). PS, thanks again, Dad, for the GIGANTIC container of popcorn. It's the gift that keeps giving.