December 8, 1936 - April 29, 2008

Yesterday, Thumblini's grandpa, my father, died unexpectedly. He was an avid participant in our search for the little one, and he followed our blog religiously. He was able to share in 4 glorious months with his granddaughter, and theirs was already a special relationship. He was there for her first (delayed) Christmas and he was present for her first birthday. But, no, he will not get to see her graduate Gymboree, or perform her first (fill-in-the-blank) recital. He won't get to watch her grow into a beautiful young woman, and she will, sadly, know him primarily from the multitude of stories we will tell, the avalanche of photographs and video, and the legion of friends who loved him.

He was my best friend (my best-longest, friend, anyway - Curlymom is tops).

- DD

Thumblini & The Boothbay Beauty

When we entered into the adoption process, we could never have guessed how many wonderful things would happen to us. Certainly, nothing can top the experiences of meeting our daughter and bringing her home for good. She is quite spectacular and she has brightened our lives in ways we could never have imagined possible. We just could not have anticipated the other things, like the powerful life-changing impact of meeting other Kaz-adoptive families.

This past weekend, we had the opportunity to spend time with the Boothbay Gang. To think that we almost missed the chance to know and love this family - it is too horrible to imagine! We only discovered their blog during our last week in Semey - just as they were preparing to leave Astana with their precious daughter, (hereafter known as...) Beauty. 

Fortunately, we all found ourselves stuck in Almaty together (which, at the time felt only frustrating and nerve-wracking) and so we spent a few days getting to know one another - and had a great time. We even shared a gloriously fun Christmas Eve at the Hilton.

So, although we were seriously grieving the loss of our sweet doggy this weekend, we ventured out to the Cape to meet up with the Boothbay Gang and boy are we glad we did. It was a short visit, but it was full and fulfilling. They are very special people, and the bond we all share is profound.


We look forward to seeing them all again - we are even considering crashing Kazapalooza in June because it just really is that special to connect with families who have gone through what we have gone through.

One last thing: Thank you all for the tremendous outpouring of support about our loss. It helps a lot to know you are all out there caring so much for us. We are grateful.

- CM

An Unanticipated Goodbye

This is a post about our baby, us, and our dog, Holly. When we thought about bringing a baby home from Kaz, we had our worries: would the baby be allergic to the dog? What would we do? Luckily, we were confronted with no sneezes or wheezes, and Thumblini appears singularly in love with every dog she meets. Our worries were allayed only briefly, however, before it began to creep up on us that all was not right with the transition to a family of four.

We have come to discover that Holly has dementia. She barks at phantoms. She stares at walls. She lunges for things that are not there. Her eyes have faded, as has her hearing. Sometimes she stares at me, trying to place the face, even when I am calling her by name. Once diagnosed with dementia, she was put on Anipryl (15mg), but to no noticeable effect. She can no longer be redirected or disciplined effectively. She is motivated only by food and nothing else. It has been for the last several years that she has slid progressively into a ghosted image of that daring, fierce, loyal, lickety-split beauty who won Most Obedient at the Provincetown Dog Show 1996.

When she is not sleeping, she cruises the house for food. Oftentimes, this involves circling Thumblini's high chair like a shark. Twice, now she has snapped at the baby's foot while foraging for scraps. Once, she mistook the pacifier (in use at the time) for a tasty morsel, and was relentless in her efforts to get at it. That makes three close calls - two too many for most. Beloved Holly, so long the fur-baby, cannot be redirected or dissuaded from her quest for human/baby food (largely due to her diminished capacity and compromised sensory input). When sequestered (via dog door/baby gate, for example), she barks and screams in the feral-dog-in-a-trap way that is oh so unique to the Shiba Inu.

Holly, in her Golden Years, turns out to be a risk to our daughter. Holly has teeth. Holly lacks discretion. Holly is plagued with the dark anxiety of senility, a weakening grasp of her environment, and an intractable resistance to correction and redirection. Medication and behavioral interventions have not worked, and we have run out of options.

***

As you read this post, the fabric of our family, once a pack, has changed. Thumblini's safety and the ultimate comfort of the pet as well as her caregivers moved us to do what I have always anticipated in the abstract, but have now participted in carrying out myself. From the moment I met that tiny puppy, I knew I would have to face her demise, however it was to come, and this was that time.

I miss her terribly. And I miss the dog she used to be. While alive she was a touchstone to my 20s, and life before my two human loves. For CM and myself, she was present the entire length of our relationship, from the moment we met.

Goodbye, Holly. May you find fields full of rabbits to chase, may you eat birthday steak every night without side effects, and may you forever have a soft, warm spot to sleep in.

- DD

Spring Has Sprung

I have tried to write a post numerous times in the past month or two. What I have found is that when I sit down to write, I have so much to share, so many things I want to say, that I become overwhelmed and my post ends up all over the place. So rather than publish it, I trash it.

Here I go again. Only this time, I am determined to write something that we’ll publish.

This morning, while we were strolling by the water and feeding the ducks with Thumblini, I realized that today is only the 2nd time she has ever experienced the feeling of the sun shining down on her face. In all of her little life. She was never allowed outside while living in the Baby House, and the past 4 ½ months (since she became our daughter) have been total winter – it has felt endless. Thank God it is not. Suddenly, the birds are tweeting, the flowers are blooming and she doesn’t need a jacket! There is just something about this that hits me hard. My sweet little girl finally gets to see spring!

I guess what makes this such a big deal for me is how little I feel we can take for granted. I take T to Gymboree every week, and we are surrounded with moms and babies (many pregnant moms) and I am often struck by how much the people around me assume certain things about their children and about T. They are nice people and I think T has a great time tumbling about with their children, but I am constantly amazed at the fact that only a few months ago my little girl had never seen so much color and had no freedom whatsoever. The children surrounding us have had parents their whole lives and while I am happy for them, it breaks my heart for T. I love her so much and have become so profoundly attached to her, that even as we have a blast together, I find myself reflecting on how new everything is for her – having parents, being surrounded by fun and color, experiencing sunshine, playing on a playground. She is taking it all in beautifully – she screams with delight as she slides down the slide, she smiles from ear to ear as we “bounce and bounce and bounce” and she is overjoyed when the Gymboree teacher blows bubbles. I love watching her revel in the fun and yet somehow, I just cannot get it out of my head that she hasn’t had access to such joy her whole life. I know everyone is going to comment and tell me “but she has it now!” and that is true, but this is one of the things that makes being an adoptive parent different…there is a certain awareness that makes things both magnificently special and deeply sad all at once.

So, it has been 15 weeks since our return to the States. I’d say that for me, the first 10 weeks were brutally difficult. What an adjustment. Flying home for 28 hours and recovering from jet lag seemed easy compared to the intensity of what followed: hosting & introducing friends and family to T, reorienting our home to make it welcoming and safe for T, falling down the stairs with T in my arms, trying to learn how to cram work in while caring for T, trying to figure out how to be a wife and mother all at once and just not sleeping at all most of the time.

And then around week 11 or 12, something began to shift for me. I started to get a bit more into a routine and T started to settle in a bit more. I stopped focusing on managing the logistics of my new life and started focusing on building a relationship with my charismatic, engaging, ever-evolving daughter. I shifted over from being scared I would damage her if I put her diaper on too tightly, to having fun chasing her around the house and then at some point finding that she needed a diaper change. I am really getting to know this little person who is my daughter, and I am finding her to be a wonder. I am completely and totally in love with her. It turns out that now – just 15 weeks in - this little person is someone with whom I share my whole life, and I just happen to have to change her diapers and feed her.

After 5 ½ years of trying to become a mom, the shock of actually being a mom has taken me by surprise. I confess that I spent a great deal of energy avoiding thinking about what it would be like to be a mom. It was just too painful. But now here I am, I am coming out of shock and settling into my new role. And I love it. I absolutely and completely love being T’s mommy. It was worth the wait. It was worth everything I went through to get here. Everything. And now we emerge from a dark, cold winter together – and spring is here!!!


- CM