Perfect

Hello die hard blog readers.  I apologize for my lack of updates, but I'm certain you forgive me already.

Tallulah is fantastic.  We are in that vaguely familiar stage of toddler bonding.  It's been three years since we last did this, so I'm trying to remember the groove I need to be in.  It is so very different from bonding with a newborn infant, which happens almost effortlessly in most cases.  She is at the age where, developmentally, she should be separating from us and exploring her world.  She is definitely doing that (OHMYGODISSHEDOINGTHAT), but she also desperately craves to form a bond.  She wants to be held most of the day.  When she doesn't want to be held, she wants to explore, but not far from me.  And she wants me to watch her all the time and give her feedback and words for everything she's doing.  She's doing so well, but I still sense a little bit of guarding on her end.  Given what she's been through, this is so normal.  This is ALL good stuff.  VERY good stuff.  We've dealt with the opposite situation: where the child doesn't even recognize a need for bonding or understand any of the basics of a human relationship.  I'll take this brand new cute, little shadow any day.

She is also co-sleeping.  This is something that (in my infinite first-time parent wisdom with Gianna) I swore I would never do.  But after doing it with Evie, I learned there is a real value for children adopted at this age.  When she first came to us, she slept so fitfully and woke multiple times per night.  Now, she still lodges her feet deep into crevices they shouldn't be in.  And she makes her little baby noises all night.  But anytime she does wake up enough to open her eyes, she sees me, smiles her beautiful smile and goes right back to sleep.  The physical closeness and her immediate access to us is extremely important at this point.  I haven't done any research on this, but I also think there is something to be said about co-sleeping with an adopted toddler and finally connecting on a primal level.  For example, when you give birth to a newborn, what do you do approximately 20,000 times an hour?  Smell them, right?  You take whiffs of their head, their hands, their baby toes...all day long.  When they first handed her to me, Tallulah did not smell like she belonged to me, like family.  She smelled like any other sweaty, busy little toddler I've ever met.  But, on Friday night, I climbed into bed next to her and smelled something new: MY baby.  I can only imagine she is experiencing something on the same level.  So does anyone need a gorgeous cherrywood crib soon?  Because we won't be needing it.  At times (ok, all the times), of course, it all does get exhausting, especially given the sheer number of other humans who live here.  I could tell you some stories that would require you to put on a pair of adult Depends first, and maybe someday I will.  At this point, I'll leave it at: God bless the pizza delivery man.

Overall, she's done so incredibly well.  She was doing so well that I took her down to my sister's house for Easter (9 hour car ride with LA traffic) and to Disneyland & California Adventure without Nathan.  (He used most of his vacation time for China and has to save the rest for her surgery.)  She had a blast.  She took to her new family members she met like she's been waiting for them her whole life, and them to her.  My 7 year old nephew, Logan, said, "She's so cute that you don't even need to fix her cleft lip."  We really are so lucky.

The unlucky part is that my camera died on the trip down, so I only have a couple cruddy iPhone shots to share.

Loves her funny Auntie Yaya

Cutest Easter Bunny Ever?  I think so too.

Meeting Grandma and Papa

First ride at Disney--the Teacups.  She liked it once it started.  

Her fave ride by far.  It was too hard to capture a good shot with my phone while on it, but she LOVES "It's a Small World".  (It happens to be her Mommy's favorite ride too--for lots of reasons!)

We met with her surgeon on April 24th and decided on a May 22nd date for the first big surgery.  After seeing her in person, he is confident he can close her lip and palate properly and cleanly in one surgery.  He's REALLY good.  We have a lot of confidence in him, so we were happy to hear that.

Ok, that's what I'm supposed to say.

But what I really want to say is:  I love my daughter just like she is right now.  Very selfishly, I want to keep her just the way she is.  Her wide, trusting smile might be the most moving, beautiful thing I've ever seen.  It seems so cruel that she is finally feeling safe and comfortable and happy, but soon she will have to go through something so scary and painful (all at our hands) without even understanding why.  I was getting choked up even driving to her appointment to meet the surgeon the other day.  I know this is all for her long term benefit and that we signed up for it, but after holding her precious little body in the flesh, I honestly want to say "Screw it" and move to a remote, deserted island where she can grow up living and looking just like she does now in total peace.  (Do you like run-on sentences?  Good.  Me too.)  The only problem with my perfect plan seems to be that Nathan may not be able to convince his company to transfer him to a remote, deserted island anytime soon.  So...

We will do what we must.  Her surgery will be at least 3-4 hours (of which I'll spare you the details).  Her surgeon, Dr. Menard, says that most surgeons release these patients to go home the next day.  But he likes to keep them 4-5 days to keep them on heavy pain meds because it is such a painful, intense surgery.   He likened the intensity of it to being pushed to the bottom of a 10 foot pool and noted that rising to the top and gaining her bearings will take some time.  He doesn't want her to do that while in pain.  I am very appreciative of his sensitivity in this regard.  She will go home after that in arm restraints for a few weeks to keep her from putting her hands/fingers near her lip or palate and possibly damaging the brand new reconstruction.

I know we're going to survive and it's all for the best.  I love that there are medical advancements available and ready for her.  But at the same time, I hate them for her.  If you met her, you'd know instantly she doesn't need anything else to be just perfect.

Home Life

Tomorrow will be a whole month that Tallulah has been with us.

All I have to say is, I'm in awe at how well she's doing.  When she was put in our arms a month ago, she had no reason to trust or love another adult ever again.  All the most important adults in her life up until that point had put her down.  And walked away.  She had lost everything.  We didn't speak her language.  We did not understand her wants or needs.  We didn't know what comforted her.  We didn't know what scared her.  God knows we didn't know how to feed her!  We'd been through this process twice before, but every time it is completely different because each child is their own little person with their own history, so honestly, we did not know how to be this little girl's parents.

BUT.

Tallulah mustered all the courage a one and a half year old could and let us in.  And step by step, we've learned slowly about each other and followed one another's cues.  She's had to learn how to listen to and interpret our new funny sounding words and intonations.  She's learned to come and go happily in the car, realizing that every time, she ended up staying with us and not being dropped at a new location with a new set of strangers.  She learned to read our cues in new situations: on walks, at the park, at the beach, at the store.  Her eyes still constantly seek reassurance that these experiences are ok and that she is going home with us at the end.  We've tried to learn her cues as well.  She's a complicated little thing, so it hasn't always been easy.  I'm sure if she could, she would say the same about us.  And through it all, I've had to learn how to accomplish the most basic household and personal hygienic tasks with a new almost 20 lb appendage on my hip and how not to rear end people just because I'm distracted by my terrified new baby screaming in the backseat of the car.

My mind keeps going back to that day in the Civil Affairs Office in Lanzhou when the woman from the orphanage (with whom she was very familiar, according to Sally) kept trying to take Tallulah from me to hold her.  This was less than 24 hours after she'd met us.  But she would not go with that woman, and cried silent tears in my arms at the prospect.  I want to believe that somehow, she knew we were there for her and would always be there for her.  Somehow she already knew that we loved her with all we had and was willing to take the chance that we always would.

Overall, since we've been home, she's been amazing.  There was jet lag to get over.  There are orphanage behaviors to work out.  There are food issues to identify fully.  There are many, many medical and therapeutic appointments in her present and future.  But for the most part, Tallulah has embraced her new life full of crazy people, nonstop action, and different environments.

We've learned that she loves: being held, her bottles, her sisters, music, being outside, accessories, sleeping in Mommy and Daddy's bed (she's a great sleeper, so trying not to complain here) and trying to pry open the baby gate to sneak into the magical land of Upstairs.  She does not love: diaper changes, doctors, needles, her crib or vegetables.

I've been horrible at posting updates here or on Facebook, so here are a couple million pictures documenting the 2.5 weeks we've been home.  Forgive me?

First few moments home: "These toys are ALL mine?!?!"

"You have sugar here, too?"

This girl LOVES her accessories and usually insists on sleeping in them.

What toddler doesn't love ink?

We had our first successful beach trip today.  It started out with, "I told you last week that I didn't like this place and what IS this stuff on my feet?"

First unsure, independent steps on the sand

"Ok, you were right.  This place IS a little bit awesome."

She's already learning to perfect the fake "Cheese". 

Can you even stand that swim cap?

She wore it all day, but I slipped it off for nap time.

By the way, here is the reaction when it was time to leave the beach today.

I know people mean well when they say, "She's so lucky to be here!", and while I appreciate the kind sentiment behind that, I wish more people would realize that it really is her family who possesses all the good luck.  What we have ever done without this little face with us is beyond me.  Almost exactly one year ago, before we even know she could be ours, I fell in love with this pair of eyes before they even left my computer screen.

Today, having traversed an ocean to China and back, I get to look into those very eyes every single day.  Who's lucky again?

We meet with her surgeon on April 24th and the whole craniofacial team again on May 7th.  We should have a surgery date set by the end of this month.  I'm trying to soak up every minute of the smile she has now, which I think is perfect.

Thanks for checking in on us.  Stay tuned.