Oceans

Having pregnancy hormones while simultaneously dealing with major regressive behavioral issues with one of my kids makes me want to scream and cry into a pillow.

Also, my 15-month old has started throwing epic tantrums where he screams, throws himself on the floor, throws things and hits me.

Good times.

I'm exhausted. I feel a bit hopeless regarding one of my kids.

Unprepared, beaten-up, angry, resentful, tired.

It's hard to explain to outsiders what it's like to live with a child whose medical diagnosis, psychological diagnosis, and trauma history combine to form the perfect storm of emotional and behavioral junk on a daily basis. Visitors and extended family see such a small snapshot of our lives, and oftentimes, kids modify their behavior for such occasions. I am so thankful for our community who lives life with us and sees everyday what we go through. I'm definitely not looking for sympathy, but understanding is such an appreciated support. I am so, so grateful for understanding, kind words, respite, and encouragement.

Even if I've said it a million times, I will say it again: If we didn't love these kids I would give up.

That's how hard it is.

And the reality is, it could be this way for a really long time.

I have realized (again) that I am not very good at self-care. And when I'm not good at making time for myself (which sometimes is literally impossible to do), my sanity suffers, and in turn, my children suffer because I lack patience, and grace, and understanding, and compassion, and all the things they need to heal and grow. I know I am in serious trouble when I dread seeing or interacting with one or more of my kids.

And I'm in a season of big trouble right now.

One of my children needs what feels like too much from me, and I feel adrift on a sea of never-ending sacrifice.

Rocky is so busy working to provide for our family and he's doing an amazing job at that while also trying to be as present as possible with me and the kids, but there isn't a lot of time on the schedule for him to relieve me. My mom is out of town for the next few weeks, and honestly, I hate burdening her with regularly watching the kids anyway, so I don't even take advantage of her help when she's here. My friends have tons going on, and lives of their own and medical issues and jobs and family stuff and they can't be available or expected to regularly take my kids off my hands so that I can breathe for a few hours (although they offer, ALL THE TIME because they're amazing friends.)

I am not overwhelmed by the number of children I have.

I am not overwhelmed at being a parent.

I am overwhelmed with caring for and raising a child that has life-long issues that I was not ready for nor wanting to deal with.

This is exponentially harder when the child is coming out of foster care and going through adoption.

Lots of emotions. Lots of anger. Lots of questions. Lots of big feelings and an inability to manage and verbalize them.

It's hard to constantly feel like you're in a position of having to give your all to one child who is a bottomless pit of need, when you have two other children (soon three!) who also need you.

It's difficult to feel like I need to defend and protect my other children from one child's actions, bad decisions, and mistakes.

Most don't understand how severe his issues are when compared to a "neuro-typical" child (as we're supposed to call them). I won't list all his issues here for the world to read; that's not fair. Those closest to us know what they are. It's the whole "need-to-know" list of people. But trust me when I say that his issues are many, they're real, they're debilitating to him some days, and they're exhausting and frustrating to us everyday.

And I'm just trying to get through the day with more patience and grace than the day before.

I'm trying to understand that I can't ask him, "Why?" because he simply does not understand that question and doesn't know the answer to "why?"

I'm trying to push my expectations for him and his future aside and accept him as he is, limitations and all.

I'm trying to be honest with my village and my husband about my mental and emotional health so that they can encourage and pray for me.

I'm trying to put myself in his shoes (this is so, so hard for me to do) so that I can grow in compassion for his struggles.

I'm trying to find a way to make more time for me, and my marriage, so that I can recharge and refocus and get cared for myself.

It's all so very hard for me sometimes because I'm here in the trenches everyday and I don't want to complain all the time and I certainly don't want to greet my husband after a long day's work with griping. There's a fine line for me between being honest and vulnerable and being negative. That line has grown finer the last few weeks, and I've crossed into the negative more time than I'd like to admit.

The truth of the matter is is that I didn't sign up for this challenge and so I find myself walking through the stages of grief.

What are they again? Oh yeah, denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance.

I think I'm in the anger stage right now.

I was probably in the denial stage for the first two years we had the boys. Denial of the depth of their wounds and the lasting impact it would have on them.

I'm angry at the boys' birth mother for damaging them so severely. For leaving one of my children with a disability of which he cannot overcome and will struggle with for the rest of his life.

I'm angry at my child (I know his disability is not his fault) for knowing the right choice and still making the wrong one, sometimes defiantly and deliberately to hurt others because he himself is hurting and he's unable to cope appropriately.

I'm angry at the loss of milestones and achievements that my child will not experience with his peers because he is considerably younger mentally and emotionally than his age and height would allow you to believe.

I'm angry at myself for being angry. For being disappointed in him so much. For wanting him to be different.

That's the hard truth of where I'm at. And I know I'm not alone in this...I have a small community of other foster parents that are in their own grief stage, knowing that the life they wanted for their child and their family will look much different from what they had hoped. And it's hard when you know it's not going to get easier, at least not soon and maybe not ever. That's a hard pill to swallow. I'm trying to swallow it, allow it to sink into my bones and become a part of me so that I can let go of what isn't and make a plan for gracefully handling what is.

One thing is for sure.

I need help.

I need prayers.

I need Jesus.

There is no other way.

Summertime

Summer is around the corner. Nearly 12 long weeks of sunshine, playing outdoors, swimming at pools and beaches, going to parks, and doing lots of arguing, inevitably.

My boys fight like Jack Lemon and Walter Matthau in Grumpy Old Men, only not nearly as subtly prankish banter. More like the knock-down, drag-out scene where they fight like boys, rolling around on the cold ground of the ice fishing village.

So. Much. Fighting.

And arguing.

And tattling.

And just general annoying behavior befitting three year olds as opposed to kids that are 7.5 and 8.5, respectively.

Such is the reality of trauma.

Reminding myself daily that I do not really have a 7.5 and 8.5 year old is hard work. They're more like 4 and 5 emotionally, 5 and 7 developmentally (on a good day). On a bad day they can range anywhere from infantile to 8.

See, kids without a trauma history have bad days, too. They might have a tantrum, regress a bit in behavior, act of of character. But for kids with a trauma history, who's brains have literally been wired incorrectly because of their environment and exposures, bad days look very different. They look like Mad Max: Fury Road. Fast. Chaotic. Violent. Relentless. Bad days mean attacking others but also self-sabotaging. They mean not being able to self-regulate and certainly not allowing themselves to feel safe or loved. And honestly, on those days, they aren't very lovable, which makes it even harder.

This family makeup of ours is strange. God knew what He was doing, absolutely. But some days, it is incredibly difficult to watch my one-year old exhibit better behavior than my big kids. It's frustrating to have to repeat myself over and over and over again, only to have it forgotten or ignored. It's exhausting to to have a child with special needs, although no fault of his own, who requires so much more attention, affection and affirmation than my toddler.

I have to constantly, minute-by-minute some days, remind myself of the positives. Remind myself of the truth.

They have grown considerably in the last 2.5 years.

Their speech was literally unintelligible when they came to us at 4 and 6. Now they speak clearly and have learned excellent manners.

Tantrums used to be the only way they could express their heavy feelings. Now they use their words and they understand their feelings (most days).

My oldest used to resent me- Now he calls me mom, tells me he loves me and asks me for hugs and extra time spent together.

My middle couldn't tie his shoes, count consistently or read at the beginning of the school year. He can now.

Both boys are wonderful to Owen. He loves them so much and they are so sweet with him.

The boys tell us we are the "best" parents and are starting to show appreciation for the way we show them how much we love them.

They know we are family forever, even if they forget it on bad days.

If I didn't recall these things regularly, I would despair because day-to-day can be really hard sometimes. Therapy helps. Having someone to vent to who can help explain my children to me makes me feel less crazy, and more capable. I struggle less with taking things personally. I can acknowledge their limitations most days. Sometimes I fail and expect way more from them than they're capable of delivering. On those days, I reap what I sew.

I'm learning.

I expect I always will be.

We have another baby due in less than 5 months.

Our house will once again be thrown into upheaval. Triggers will be pulled, buttons pressed. All of our children will have to adjust to another little person demanding of my time, taking away from theirs. I suspect we will experience some regression and bad choices, because sometimes a new baby is a reminder that they have been replaced before. A new baby means less love and attention from mom and dad. A new baby means mom drifts further away from being the mom she needs to be.

Only not me.

And I will have to remind them- not me.

I'm not that mom.

They can trust me. They can know they aren't being replaced, but are being added to. They will know they are the most important big brothers and that they are needed and valued. They will know that this baby simply means more love, more laughter, more joy, and more TOYS!

Hopefully I can count on that to distract them from their painful memories and hard pasts.

They don't live there anymore.