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Post and Run

We leave for Christmas holidays tomorrow, and since I was downloading photos to clear off our memory card, I thought I'd quickly post a few shots on Flickr.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Second Birth

November was a pretty wretched month in our household. Several difficulties converged to create the perfect storm of toddler misery in the first week: a bad cold, the time change, teething, wintery weather, and a resurgence of separation anxiety.

And then, the tragic loss of her puppy Yo-Yo. He fell out of the stroller when we were at the mall. It was bound to happen, since he went everywhere with Lia as her number one pacifier. I retraced our steps three times but wasn't able to find him. I felt positively sick about it. After sobbing "Yo-Yo!" all the way home--breaking my heart a million times--she asked for him once or twice the next day and then seemed to forget about him, but I'm certain that her disrupted sleep had something to do with losing her lovey. We have since acquired a replacement, but it's not the same.

(And did I mention I sprained my ankle. Yup, not a fun month.)

So, put all these misfortunes together and the days have been marked by screaming and crying, irrational demands (how am I supposed to make the bottle she wants if she won't let me put her down?), clinginess, biting, scratching (no, not by the cat), hair-pulling, and frequent use of the word "no" by all parties. Nights have involved frequent wakings, more irrational demands (why won't she let me sit down while I hold her?), and desperate prayers that the child snoring in our arms will stay unconscious long enough to move her into the crib. Oh, and I swear she said "no" in her sleep the other night.

Yes, after months of sweet docility from our darling Lia, we are getting our come-uppance. I'm reading Oneness and Separateness: From Infant to Individual to get an understanding of the psychological work our girl is going through right now:

Little by little, the toddler came to the realization that his mother's interests were not identical with his own. As the evidence of separateness mounts, the toddler's confusions intensify. His body movements lose their graceful dignity and sense of purpose, becoming unpredictable and often reckless. His body is electrified by an urgent need to undo the now incontrovertible evidence of separateness. At the same time, his sense of helplessness and deflated grandeur makes him desperate to possess his own selfhood, his body and all its parts both inside and outside. He is driven to own what is his and not surrender to the being-done-to, passive, non-self state of molding oneness. At last the child pushes himself out of the illusory orbit of oneness. The time of preparation is over. The second birth is at hand.

So that's why she abhors getting her diaper changed right now; why she clings and pushes me away at the same time; why she screams when we try to put her in her crib. Knowing a little about why she does what she does gives me more patience and empathy.

Of course, there are the picture-book moments. Lia has started signing "thank you" whenever she's given something, without any prompting. The other night I got up with her, and then Shawn brought in a bottle. She started sucking it back, and then paused long enough to sign "daddy" and "thank you." Aw, how darling.

We've been giving her some Advil lately to help with the teething pain (she's getting her top eye teeth right now). I gave her a dose in the middle of the night and then returned to her room to rock her to sleep. She laid her head on my shoulder for a minute or so, and then sat up to look me in the eye and say "num!"

Today marks ten months since the day Lia Na-Fei first laid eyes on us. That date is significant for me, because it means that Lia has now spent the same amount of time with us that she spent with her foster mother and at the orphanage. Thinking of the number of days that have passed between February 4 and today drives home for me how much life our daughter lived on her own, before she met us. I have to assume that her "second birth," the beginning of self-awareness, is painfully complicated by the earlier loss of her birth parents and foster mother.

The first nine months with Lia were like the starry-eyed blush of infatuation, when everything is wonderful and your beloved is perfect. Now we've had our first fight, as it were. I've finally admitted to myself that I'm kind of sick of her sometimes (and I'm sure she'd say the same of me). But I think it's a good sign for attachment, that she feels secure enough with us to act badly, trusting that we won't go away.

It's easy to love a sweet, docile baby. Now the stronger love has a chance to grow, the unconditional love that embraces the light and the dark. We can feel our hearts opening to that love, and to the wonderfully complex, unique, determined child who's birthing herself.