Parenting adopted kids is hard work, people. I knew it was going to be hard when I signed up for it. I am not surprised that it’s hard; I am just in the middle of it, and it’s exhausting both emotionally and physically.
The parts that make it worth it are when we get to the page in Mimi’s Toes with the belly button and he sits straight up in bed and digs his finger into my belly button. When he slides down the slide and laughs and laughs. When he feeds me a cheerio.
The worst parts, the hardest parts, are when other people tell me that all two year olds are like this. That he’s doing really well. When people expect us to be able to do the same things with our two year old as they do/did with theirs.
It was a pretty good day today. That means that he spent between forty five minutes and an hour lying on the floor face down screaming and kicking, and if we touch him it makes it worse and if we pick him up he hits and kicks and thrashes until we either drop him or set him down, and all we can do is be nearby and talk to him.
Bad days it’s multiple hours, some in the middle of the night.
This is hard, people.
What I say to him, and what I wish you’d all say to me, is, “This is so hard, and you are doing such a good job.”
When someone says oh, that’s normal, oh, all kids do that, oh, he’ll grow out of it, they are denying my experience, and it makes me want to talk to those people less.
This is so hard. Aglet is doing a great job. Matt and I are doing good jobs.
But it’s still so hard.