Our Normal

It struck me today that "our normal" is so skewed in some ways from what a lot of families understand as normal. We always keep a container or two of Cheerios upstairs because that is the only "upstairs snack" allowed, and Maddie always wants to eat a little before falling asleep. To us, this is completely normal. She woke up hungry every night for almost the first 2 hears home. She never could eat enough to keep her tummy full all night, and so she had middle of the night bottles much much later than most kids. That has long since stopped thanks to various tactics we used (most successfully it was protein powder in her night time bottle to keep her tummy full), but she also likely spent much of those first 9 1/2 months in the orphanage NOT getting food if she was hungry at night. Babies in orphanages don't eat on demand, they eat on the set schedule. You'll eat when the other 39 babies are eating, not a minute sooner, not a minute later.

So in our house, having a snack before bed is not an argument. It's just a fact of who our child is and how her beginnings have helped to shaped her.

So today when Violet woke up from nap, I went upstairs to get her. We changed her diaper and as we walked out of the girls room, she wandered into ours. She wanted up on the bed and when I lifted her up there, she pointed at the container of cheerios. There was one on the bed so I handed her that and said "let's go get a snack". But...as I picked her up, I left the container on the bed. And that is when our "normal" popped right up. Violet's reaction to not getting the cheerios is what many people might think of as "spoiled rotten child not getting her way." Screaming, thrashing, trying to grab for the container, trying to escape from my arms... But It's not even close to that. For her, it is sheer and utter terror. You can hear it in her cries, you can see it in the look of horror on her face. For her, us walking away from that food means there is NO FOOD for her. Now now anyway. And who knows when she will get it. But we understand this- it's our "normal"- so I talk calmly to her as I carry the writhing child down the stairs, and I set her down and put together a snack of cheese and pears as quickly as I can, handing her the first piece of cheese as soon as it's cut. Instantly she is calm and happy and understands, "snack is coming, there is food." And order is restored in her world. She finishes snack, announces (with sign language) "all done" and off we go to play. Until the next familar feeling moment of terror swipes on by, when we do this dance all over again.

Right now, this is just a part of life with a child who has spent her whole life so far living in an orphanage. At some point, it will be a memory.