With adoption from foster care itās the small things, not necessarily the paper signing thatāve made permanency feel...permanent.
For instance, this morning, he was bouncing in the bouncy swing, a bouncy swing that heās probably too big for. Well. Actually, now we definitely know heās to big for it. He crashed to the floor and bonked his butt and....(drumroll!!!!!) I. DIDNT. CHECK. FOR. A. BRUISE!!!! I made sure he was okay, OF COURSE. And OF COURSE I held him for dear life. And, OF COURSE I felt bad that I hadnāt checked the weight limit in a while on a thing heās been using once a week for the past two and a half years. BBBBUUTTTT, I didnāt pull his pants down to look for a bruise right away - a bruise that wouldāve meant, regardless of if he was ok or not, an extra trip to a doctor during a week filled with home regularly scheduled home visits, visitations with birth family, etc.. A bruise that wouldāve involved the state because OF COURSE it should. Unfortunately, kids get abused in all the kinds of families. Later in the day, btw, I DID search for, and did not find, a bruise.
Let me explain the feeling another way. As a hospital clown Iāve had the opportunity to work at an awesome camp for kids with life threatening illnesses. A camp thatās dressed up like a camp, but is outfitted with a pretty intense medical facility and staff and the highest adult to kid ratio that Iāve EVER seen (and Iāve worked with kids everywhere). Yes, itās a camp, but the campers have some serious stuff going on.One day a neat thing happened at that camp. Donāt worry, this will eventually lead back to Ahmedās butt bonking/adoption revelation. One day, instead of being called in to clown with a kid whoād been isolated for days or for a kid who had to leave camp bc their situation was too much to manage, we got called in because a kid. lost. a. tooth. Besides indulging a proclivity for performing drag, it was SO awesome to dress up like the tooth-fairy and go bumble/celebrate A. NORMAL. MEDICAL. THING. GOING. ON. Instead of some big traumatic thing, they, and the adults around them got to yank out a tooth and give them a ātchotchke under their pillow.
Hopefully by now youāre picking up what Iām putting down. For those that havenāt yet: It felt so fucking good to hold Ahmed this morning and hold him tight and just know that his butt hurt bc I failed him, as HIS parent; ruining his life not as his state-placed foster parent but as his regular āold flawed poppy (that's what he calls me, btw). The responsibility is going to form into a dark cloud someday, Iām sure, but for now, it feels heavenly.
Also: I finally posted to FB after a 2.5 yr fast and was slammed with 300+ likes/111 comments. Posting to FB has made all this feel real, yes, but it was something else that happened at work that explains why. Last week weād just left a 7 year old girl's room. We'd knocked it outta the park and I was getting attached to this girl (who also had cancer, btw) and her mom (who was always at her side and was taking lots of pictures). Afterwards my clown partner says, āyou should go back and give them one of our social media cards.ā Our hospital clown program has little business cards for folks to tag us in their social media posts. So I go back in and playfully say something like, ātag! Your it! Tag us back!ā and offer the mom the card. The mom immediately goes from after-clown sparkle to dejected and says, āwe havenāt been on social media for yearsā and gestures around the room. I flush with embarrassment and identification. OF COURSE they donāt post their cancer shit on social media. Why would they? For 2.5 years, our family harbored tiny humans and all of the complex feelings/issues that came with raising them. All of your weighing in, even with good wishes would have just made even harder. In trauma-land, itās survival. Processing via social media takes level of energy.
Okay. Might have emerged from survival mode, however, they ARE still going to wake up at 6am tomorrow. Good night to you all...