Dear Tiny Human,
You just had your tonsils taken out. You can’t eat potato chips.
Dear Tiny Human,
You just had your tonsils taken out. You can’t eat potato chips.
I find myself very torn this evening. Where is the line between anonymous documentation and over sharing? The reason behind starting this blog in the first place was to record our not so little family for the future. I fully expect to forget many things as time passes. I already consider myself lucky if I can remember where I put my keys. Birthdays must be written down or reminded via Facebook to have any hope of survival in my brain…and if you ask me what I had for dinner last night-you will probably just get a blank stare as my thoughts run a micro marathon trying to comprehend the question. If I were to take a BIMS test…I would probably fall somewhere below the threshold. I wish I was kidding.
Three of my Little Darlings were adopted from DHS. There are many many blessings that come with adopting from the state; No adoption fees, Attorney fees, Home Study costs, Fingerprint charges….you get the idea. Not to mention some pretty amazing kiddos! But like with most fantastic things that seem too good to be true…there is a flip side to that free pass coin. These tiny humans (Or not so tiny…teenagers need families too!) have been through things that would send most adults running for the hills.
I’m very sad to admit that I know first hand, every story has similarities. There once was a family. Something bad happened. Tiny humans were taken away…and not returned. As if that wasn’t heartbreaking enough…it’s everything between the lines that rips your heart into 10,000 little mini bits.
The lucky ones may only see 3-5 foster homes before finding their forever family. Sometimes those foster families are amazing. Sometimes…not so much. Lack of money, being too crowded, emotionally drained, emotionally unprepared….take your pick of a reason/excuse. Doesn’t make it right…and no sense in pretending this system isn’t broken.
We have been blessed to have these three Little Darlings in our family for the past three years. Three years of safety. Three years of love. Three years of happy. Oh how I wish that were enough to erase the private hell they share.
Anyone with a past will tell you…eventually, it comes back to bite you. Even if it’s not your fault. Tonight, I sat in the car like a helpless puppy as the past swooped in out of nowhere and took a big ‘ol bite out of one of my Little Darlings. There was nothing I could do. No witty comments. No jokes. No half-kidding about running someone over with my car. Nothing.
Prison is a place where they send very bad people to “Pay” for what they have done. Some people go away for a very long time. Some…for not nearly long enough. Some things….don’t have a price in my opinion-and therefore can never be paid for. I’m intentionally being vague.
A meeting of the minds is scheduled in the next few weeks…for a group of strangers who have never met my Little Darlings- to decide if an individual (That’s the kindest word I have for them) has “Paid” their debt. No warning. No heads up. No…”Hey…. this is when we are doing this thing-do you wanna’ come and say how horrible of an idea it is?“. Nothing.
So here we sit. One Little Darling with bits of information….two Little Darlings in the dark…and one very pissed off Mommy.
And now we wait.
Our Darling Miss N had her tonsils and adenoids removed Friday. Since technically it’s now Sunday, I guess that means we have survived day one. It also means I haven’t slept since Thursday, so you’ll need to forgive any piss-poor sentence structure, swears, or incoherent babble. I’m not even going to touch how many times spell check has needed to be a thing already. Nope. Leaving that one alone.
There were a few surprises on our journey to Unlimited Popsicle Land that I wish we would have known…she’s allergic to morphine, for one. That little tidbit would have been cool to know in advance. She’s also one of the several million lucky ones that get what is referred to (by the Children’s Hospital recovery RN) as a “Sleepy Gas Rash“. In non-tiny-human terms…you put her to sleep-she breaks out in red splotches all over her stomach. Fun times.
She’s on a strict soft diet for the next two weeks. That includes no pills. None. Ummm…..not even the 3 too complicated for spell check keep-mommy-from-taping-you-to-the-wall-with-pink-duct-tape medications that she takes on a daily basis. You would think her Doctor would have mentioned that one. Oops.
The waking her up every three hours to pour liquid pain killers down her very red mouth hole has been fun. The two Baby Darlings are in their 9th month now, and I had forgotten what the up several times a night thing felt like….so, good little refresher course.
Our oldest Little Darlings skipped town. I would be mad at them- but if I were a 20 year old girl with somewhere else to go…lets be honest-my ass would be gone too. Our Darling teens managed to escape as well. Funny how that worked out.
Bright side, she seems to be taking it like a champ. I’m not sure if she’s ignoring the pain because the opportunity to live in Unlimited Popsicle Land is just too fantastic…or if she really is the rock star of tonsillectomies. That one is about a 50/50 I’m guessing. I’m sitting here trying to talk myself into waking her up to give the next dose of medication. There’s a checklist you know…with times on it. Highlighted. In multiple different colors. Just in case the bright ass highlighter yellow wasn’t enough to get us motivated to follow directions.
Mr. Goofball is passed out. To be fair, he does have to take Darling Miss A to karate tomorrow morning and I don’t, so I guess that’s okay. He’s also usually the one to get the 3AM change-your-butt-here’s-your-bottle-go-back-to-bed mini bonding moment with the twins….which I don’t tell him nearly enough I REALLY appreciate.
That damn checklist is haunting me. Being fully comfortable in my bit of OCD skin, I know I’m going to have to look at that thing in the morning and see a missing check mark. I should be thinking about the pain Darling Miss N could be in if I skip a dose…but I’m pretty confident she’s okay. Not so sure I will be if there’s a missing check mark. Like I’ll loose my Mom badge or license to drive a mini van if it’s not there. Well, shit. I guess I had better go pour the goo and try not to fall on my face breaking through the minefield that is her room.
Just one more day. Just one more day. Just one more day.
First of all…no, this is not my desk. If I had a desk, it would probably look something like this one…so we will call this random picture I found while looking at organization companies good until I have the energy to go buy a desk. Kudos to the photographer here though…nice “Working Mom” vibe thing you’ve got going on.
So here we are. Another “Mom” blog that may never see the light of day. But you know what? That’s okay. I’m not really doing this for you anyway. Well….not right now. If this ever turns into one of those fantastically awesome mom things like “Woah Susannah”or “That’s Inappropriate” …I may have to re-think that statement.
For now, this is for my Seven Little Darlings. Yes, you read that correctly. I have seven children. Yes, I know what causes that…and yes, they were ALL on purpose.
I’ve noticed over the years as our family has grown that people give a look when you dare to admit you have more than 3.5 tiny humans running around your front yard. Quick side bar to say just how stupid that is by the way. Like anyone has .5 of a kid doing much of anything. Okay….moving on. A look that vanishes into thin air when we explain that 5/7 of our children are adopted.
“Oh! Well that’s different!”
But why is it different?
Why is choosing to adopt these children acceptable, but going through 40 weeks of pregnancy seven times is somehow seen as a questionable decision? In all fairness, re-reading that…I guess volunteering for 280 collective weeks of pregnancy does seem like grounds for a vacation in the loony bin. Not the point I was trying to make…..and ugh, I think I just used the lattice method without even meaning to. Damn you 4th grade math! Yes…I just said a “Swear“. I do that. I blame the Seven Little Darlings.
Two of my Little Darlings are 20. No, they are not twins. I also have a 17 year old, a 14 year old, a 12 year old, a 9 month old girl, and a 9 month old boy. Yes, the 9 month olds are twins. No, they are not identical. One has a penis. The other does not.
For my own safety from the majority of my Seven Little Darlings, I will not be sharing their names. Which is really too bad in my opinion… but not worth teenager wrath. My husband, who I haven’t exactly told about this little adventure (Yet)…..I will lovingly refer to as Mr. Goofball. That may be subject to change. He might not appreciate that come to think of it.
So that’s us in a nut shell. Not TLC reality TV material, but fairly confident blog worthy.