This is What Hope Feels Like

I don't know if you have ever read the penned words of an author and felt like she was using bits of your life to write her memoir, but that's exactly what happened to me today. I started and finished Everything You Ever Wanted by Jillian Lauren. It's a true story about adopting her son from Ethiopia and opening her eyes to the world of kids from trauma.

Granted there are some major differences in our lives... the whole being in a royal harem thing, the heavy drug use, being married to a rock star, plus her affection for lots of swearing and tattoos are a bit lost on me. But we do have one major life altering-identity bearing-cross in common: We are both raising difficult children.

I thought at first about hiding the identity of my difficult child in this blog post, but then figured if you are a regular reader and recall this post, or maybe know our family in real life, or have been around this child of mine for 5 minutes, you already know exactly who I am talking about.

This guy.
Known briefly as Pierre.  Followed by a short stint as P-Diddy. Loved by many a dear friend in Houston as Pip.  Affectionally deemed by his family as Squeak. And legally goes by Silas.

Just stop it with the cuteness

I met this adorable baby when he was three days old. The caseworker took off with him straight from the hospital,  traveled him by car seat, and then landed him next to our dinner table where we signed all the paperwork to become his foster parents.  I wanted to scoop him up the second his car seat touched down on our kitchen tile. I remember asking, "Bio Dad is white?" because he looked so fair, but she corrected me, "Nope. Black."

The next day I freaked because I found bruises scattered all over his lower back. Cory and I took pictures and immediately emailed them to the caseworker with comments like "He came to us like this. We didn't do this!!!" Turns out the guilty party was God. They are called Mongolian spots and are very common in babies of a dark race. They are simply areas of collected pigmentation that he has since outgrown. Little did we know it was only the first of many mysteries to come with this guy.

Those of you that know our family story, know that Silas was with us for about 11 months before he returned to Mom. We missed his first birthday and I grieved it, like really grieved it as though my baby had died.  But then six weeks later, at Mom's desire, my baby came back to me.

I call it a miracle. She calls it a necessary, but heavy loss. Silas' young brain calls it trauma.

In 12 short months he switched caregivers back and forth 3 times. He had been an easy baby the first 11 months. Any time we took him out he could draw in a crowd. He was so captivating, and happy,  and for lack of something more poetic sounding he was basically just gorgeous to look at. But he came back to me a different kid. He came back home more like this.

Those are tear stains on his shirt

He was irritable and angry and would lay on the floor screaming like he was being stabbed. He would refuse my comfort, but then other times cling to me. Not long after,  he started this weird shake thing when he was excited except that it took very little to get him excited. Something wasn't right.  He was always teetering between extreme emotions of fury or ecstasy. There was no middle ground. No peace, no empathy, never sadness just anger.

And, oh man was there biting. And tackling, and squeezing, and hitting, and climbing out of cribs and running out open front doors. In our old house I would flip out if I glanced up from the chaos of parenting our other five children and saw the front door open. I mean panic. I would begin screaming "Where is Silas?? Where is he??" We lived in a two bedroom house and I still couldn't keep up with him. 

Even to this day my heart races when a fire engine drives by our house or a car honks from the street. Because exactly one year ago while he was upstairs asleep, I snuck out to the back yard to (heaven-forbid) engage with my other children. I was snuggling Canaan on the hammock when I heard a car honking over and over again. I immediately knew in my gut it had something to do with Silas. He had woken up early from nap and gone looking for me. When I made it to the front yard he had already wondered back onto our driveway confused, but not scared. The driver of the car rolled down her window and told me that he had been in the street. I am indebted to her for her alertness behind the wheel. I can't even let myself linger on the fact that our house is located right at the end of sharp curve and "What if? What if? What if?" I just can't. 

Our last three years of parenting him have been some of the tiredest of my life. As I read through Jillian's memoir of her son getting kicked out of school after school,  being forced to leave events early due to meltdowns, and apologizing to others for his assaults- it made me nearly weep. I know that fear. I know that embarrassment. And it makes me so thankful that his teachers never gave up on him. (Shout out to Rickki & Chelsea from Peds Plus, and Tina from Westover Hills.) I know what it means to feel the burden that your child is a problem at school and you worry that his teachers will resent his presence. That's why I broke down in sobs this year at Meet the Teacher Night for his new school. This new school won't coddle him like the church mother's day out program or a hold him accountable like the structured developmental school which was equipped to handle kids with autism and the like-  Nope.  This year he was starting public school.  At Meet the Teacher night,  my tears snuck up on me as Cory and  I were purposefully over-the-top oohing and aahing at the book center or the smart board or the computer station...anything to trick him into liking his new school because the reality is he sure hates changes to his routine. Sweet Miss B thought I was just one of those stereotypical mom's nostalgic about sending my baby off to pre-K but that wasn't it. I tried to explain my tears to her, "He's just a difficult kid. And I love him so much. I want him to have a good year." She embraced me tight in her squishy bosom before I could say what I really wanted to, "Please love him. Please see through his behaviors. He's been through a lot. He's trying so hard. I know he is challenging. I'm trying to warn you here, but also begging you to love him. Delight in him. See his strengths."

Therapeutic listening program in OT

Throughout the years we have explored and continue to use so many different avenues to try and teach Silas to have a "calm brain, calm hands, and a calm body." We've done EEGs, Occupational Therapy, supplements, behavior charts, Connected Parenting, a tonsillectomy, essential oils, swaddling, skin to skin rocking, weighted blankets, Rhythmic Movement Therapy,  and I'm not embarrassed to say I even tried nursing him once. You know you are desperate to bring peace to your 2 year old when you've been dried up for years and he hasn't latched to anyone since he was three days old, but you still try.  FWIW,  I know you're wondering what happened. He had speech delays and the whole experiment only lasted two awkward tries before his non-verbal body language said loud and clear: Stop it. What is that? What are you doing to me? :)

Tonsils and Adenoids Out to alleviate Sleep Apnea

Out of everything, our biggest success has been making major changes to his diet by eliminating dairy and strictly following a program called Feingold.  Initially, we thought the diet changes were our miracle cure. Teachers were asking what we were doing differently and if maybe we had dropped off the wrong kid. After about 6 months the miracle faded, but we stuck with the changes because it definitely still took the edge of f him. Back in the Spring we were laxing a bit and letting him have strawberry smoothies (strawberries are high in salicylates and a no-no for him). His rages and defiance were skyrocketing and I hadn't linked it to the smoothies yet. My brother and parents had generously come into town to build a  temporary wall dividing the master bedroom into two bedrooms which would enable us to meet DHS regulations so we could adopt again. After witnessing Silas' behavior for one day, my own mother gently pulled me aside and tried to talk me into putting the adoption on hold because we clearly had our hands full. The next day I took the smoothies away and the following weekend when we saw my parents again they were delighted to see a calmer Silas. So yes the diet helps, but it's not enough anymore. We can do better than this. We can do more for him. He is getting older and is becoming aware that he gets in trouble more than the others both at home and at school. I want to intervene in a big way now before his self esteem takes the fall.

Weighted blankets
 (The giant box of milk duds was my therapy)

Two weeks ago we took him to a counselor in hopes of getting a diagnosis. She ruled out anxiety/depression/other mood disorders and labeled him with Disruptive Behavior Disorder and ADHD (surprise!). Then she referred us to a psychiatrist so we could start ADHD meds. We have joked for a while now that ADHD meds would be apart of his future, but never anticipated him starting them so young. But I know it's time. I've talked to lots of other mommas with kids from hard places and so many of them said they wished they had started meds younger for the peace it brought their child and their whole family. Our appointment with the psychiatrist is in two days. And while it should probably scare me that I need to take my 4 year old to a psychiatrist, what I really feel is hope. 

I hope that the chemistry in his brain just needs a little tweaking. I hope that our family can stop walking on eggshells around him. I hope that when I pick him up from school his teachers don't have to pull me aside for the daily report. I hope that our two new ones stop screaming when he approaches them with one of his intense in your face hugs. Cory hopes that the meds don't turn him into a zombie (But admittedly I would take a zombie for a week just to get a break!!) Silas hopes he can eat red popsicles again. My hope is that it's really just ADHD and not Reactive Attachment Disorder or PTSD. 

I also hope his older brothers won't have to scream his name to make him stop. I hope Canaan doesn't cry so much from all the assaults. I hope he quits calling me mean-ie and poopy. I hope I don't have to match his intensity to get him to obey. I hope his Kids Worship teachers will tell me that he fit right in.  I hope he will not freak out because of the orange straw when we are out of blue straws. I hope other moms on the playground will quit staring.  I hope his shake will stop. I hope he will make friends. I hope he will sleep past 5:30. I hope he will be proud of himself. I hope he will know we tried everything we knew to bring back the sweet boy we know is still inside.  

Silas, we know that you are in there. We see glimpses of the real you all the time. Come out, come out wherever you are. The rest of us are all safely waiting for you at base. Home base. 

READY OR NOT, WE ARE COMING TO FIND YOU!!!