Today Mr. P returned to work. He had taken 3 vacation days from work to help with the transition. We joked that his real vacation would not begin until he returned to the office. Ha ha. No, but really.
In the months leading up to A’s arrival, I had scared myself silly by reading about other people’s first-month experiences with adopted older children. I read about children who spit food, threw feces, and screamed. Just… screamed. I read about sleeping problems, eating problems, toilet problems, and a little boy who took off all his clothes in the supermarket and then threw soup cans at his parents. So, all things considered, my little A is an angel.
But he’s not an angel. He’s scared, confused, and totally isolated by his lack of English language; he’s also a two-year old boy. He has no idea why I freak the fuck out when he runs out the front door and into the street. When I put him in the car, he has no idea where we’ll end up: One time it was the bank, another time it was a playground, another time it was the doctor’s office. I can imagine how insecure he must feel, and sometimes even my most patient reassurances can’t stave off a heart-wrenching crying bout.
On my end, I’ve been experiencing periodic stir craziness while staying at home. I’m on maternity leave until next week, when I will begin periodically going into the office and working at home. But today I had to subdue the urge to answer emails and work on a product requirement’s document as A picked at his bread and peanut butter. We paid visits to two different playgrounds today; as I watched A take endless trips down the slide, I mentally specced out an installation wizard.
I love the kid, though. Giving him a bubble bath is the highlight of my day. He had never taken a bath before Monday night; I had to bend his knees for him to force him to sit down in the tub, as he was accustomed to being sprayed with water while scrubbing himself down with soap. His pure joy and excitement about relaxing in the bubbles harkens my own childhood; it washes away any thoughts of the world outside our home, and makes my remember how innocent thiscrazy child truly is.
