Meeting Birth Mum...

The most dreaded meeting of my life was finally happening. We knew that at one point this meeting might happen, but we were hoping Social Services might deem it unsafe and cancel it. It got postponed a few times, but today we actually had to shake hands with that woman.

I have read a lot about how you guys felt during this super awkward meeting, but it's like with so many things in our Big Adoption Reality (BAR): knowing it and experiencing it is so very different! When we read the children's CPR there was no picture of her, but her life was there in great detail. Yes, she was in care herself; yes, she was very unlucky always getting mixed up with the wrong crowd; yes she was in a wrong place at the wrong time; yes, she has made several poor choices. BUT no, none of these justify why she was abusive towards her own children, why she inflicted physical and emotional pain on her little ones; no,  none of these are good enough reasons why she constantly refused help from Social Services. I can see her as a victim, too, don't get me wrong. But sharing a cuppa with her, having a very pleasant conversation with her, chatting and laughing about MY children... well, HER children... well, OUR children - you get the idea that it was very confusing, right?

We got there before she arrived. Oddly nobody thought about the sign in book we had to fill in. What's the point in being all secretive about names and locations if we put all our details into that book only for her to see it when she arrives a minute later??? So I signed us in as Mickey and Minnie Mouse. I doubt anybody noticed... We were sitting in a conference room with our SW and my pre-approved questions. The children's SW walked in and THE Mother was behind her. To be honest, we had no idea what to expect. Based on the description and the horror she inflicted on her children I did not expect such a meek, polite and pleasant woman, just the opposite. But she looked just like Goofs! I could have picked her from a line of 100 almost identical women! My brain still doesn't compute that the woman sitting in front of me is the same who caused all that trauma to the boys...

She was very civilised and we went along with it. She had a few questions about the boys and we responded sometimes in greater detail, sometimes in vague terms. She was very pleased to hear I signed up the boys to their respective after-school clubs, because she thought both were gifted in those respective areas. We did talk to her about some of the activities we did with them since they moved in and she said 'I am so glad they get to experience those with you, sadly I couldn't offer those opportunities for them.' I know I was supposed to feel compassionate about all that, but I kept thinking I spent only 50p on the pumpkin he carved for Halloween, she had spent a lot more on the pan she used to hit him with! We always have choices!

Sitting there listening to her stories felt very weird. She came across as a person, who KNOWS of the birth mother of my boys, not as somebody who IS the birth mother herself. I suppose that is her way of coping with this tragedy of loosing her children. She emotionally distanced herself from everything that happened and created her own new history in which they were a very happy family of X and everything was peachy. I honestly didn't expect her to say 'I was a rubbish mother' or anything along those lines, but I think I could have liked her a bit if she said something like 'I tried, but...' and gave me excuses. Choosing to focus only on the good bits is something I totally get and even admire in my/her/our boys, but for the boys it was the only way to survive those years while she is now conveniently forgets that she was responsible for most of the bad stuff!

Hubby and I managed to keep our cool and ask all the usual questions from the story of their unusual first names to their favourite foods and toys as babies and toddlers. She even talked about the father quite a lot. We did have moments when she shared something about one of the boys and I was smiling and nodding saying 'yes, he still does that' and vica versa. I said something funny and she added 'he was always like that, he got it from X'. The only time I almost lost it was when she admitted 'they witnessed some bad bits, but I am hopeful they won't remember any of it'. This was after we had said something about Snoops remembering a ball being kicked over his head when he was younger and BM said that his father had done that when Snoops had been 6 months old.

A few weeks ago after a very upsetting day Snoops decided it was time he shared stuff with me about her. The poor kid was shaking from top to bottom as he struggled to utter the words, he was choking on his own tears as he recalled some of the horror she subjected him to.

I so wanted to scream at her: 'Bloody hell, woman, did you just listen to your words??? They both remember every tiny detail! Of course they do! Why do you think they both have night terrors every night? Why do you think they are in constant flight/fight mode? Why do you think they have massive anxieties, challenging behaviour or lack of trust towards anyone? Why do they need years of therapy? Why do you think they HATE you? Because they remember! You created this alternate reality where you are all fine, but I have to pick up the pieces every single time! They are nasty to ME, violent towards us because YOU screwed them up!'

But I just sat there quietly looking at her. I thought if I loose it now chances are good she will contest the whole adoption process again. Instead I told her we will make sure the boys won't forget about her. She said thank you. We took a picture of the 3 of us, shook hands and she left. Hours later the children's SW called to say she thinks I was brilliant. Apparently BM is very pleased with us and how well the boys are settled. She also thinks we are wonderful and she promised not to contest the adoption order. So, was it worth it? Definitely. Will I be able to explain the boys why she couldn't keep them safe? I don't think so...

3 months into Placement...

I have not been blogging for a while and I am sure most of you can relate to me when I say it wasn't because nothing post-worthy happened or I had nothing to say; just the opposite! So many things happened on so many different fronts that my head is still spinning so this post might be a bit of rambling. Blogging sometimes helps me to organise my thoughts and feelings and I am hopeful it will do the trick again...

So, today we passed the 3 months mark - exactly twice the time the boys have spent with their previous adopters before they have given up on them. Is it a success? The SW seems to think so. Most of our friends agree. The boys are still too young to appreciate what a 3 months time period really means (for them a 5 minutes time-in is already 'fooooooreeever'). For us? Well... we are still alive. The boys are still alive. They still live here. Success?

It is impossible to capture what we have been through in the past weeks so I will not even attempt to do that. I was debating with myself while in the bathroom (yes, that is the only place I can get a few minutes of peace, though they still shout 'muuuuuuuuuum' through the door every 15 sec) what structure should I use for this post and for starters I thought stats with comments will do.

Number of times 'Muuuuuuum' was shouted in the house: 135*24*30*3.

The plus side is that both boys refer to us as Mummy/Mum and Daddy. Just the other day we were looking at some of their old photos, all 24 of them! Let's just pause for a second and imagine your 6/7 year old child and the number of photos you have taken of them over the years. Now throw away everything from the first 3 years, select one standard photo with a birthday cake for each year (never mind the different people who stand around them each time), pick a picture with each school uniform and classmates, pick 1-2 blurry shots where their other siblings are there too and a few happy moments from 2016 and THAT IS ALL YOUR MEMORIES. (for those in the know, their Life Story Books are still not done so here is hoping we will have some more pictures later)

But I digress; back to us looking at their pictures. There was one blurry picture of their birth father. Goofs was telling me the misadventures of that one photo and the fights he was in to keep it. So, that was 'dad'. Snoops was confused and asked 'which is daddy? This one (pointing at my husband) or that one (pointing at the photo)?' Umm, yeah, about that, kid... We agreed to refer to the man on the picture by his first name and hubby remained 'daddy'. This is convenient for us, it will make everybody's life easier in the future, but it also stripped away another piece of their past.

Number of pictures taken of them - mostly by me: ca. 1000.

I know it does not make up for the missed past, but maybe with time they will appreciate my good intentions. Out of these we used 24 to fill 2 big picture frames and put them on the wall next to our pictures - apparently nobody has ever done that for them before!

Number of meltdowns in the house (because that is the place both boys feel safe to have one! When others are around or we are out and about they are terrified and 'save it' till it's safe): 23*30*3

This also means some of our friends probably think we are liars or constantly exaggerating about how difficult our daily life is, because they only see 2 little angels...

Number of night terrors: 3*30*3.

Yes, that means we have them almost every night, often 2-3 times a night. Poor little boys developed a sad rhythm; Snoops would wake up screaming around 9 pm; by the time we get to him he is sitting up on his bed, face and pillow wet from a flood of tears, but he himself is not awake. We put him to bed, stroke his face till he settles down. Around 11 Goofs would cry in his sleep, which wakes Snoops up who comes to our room to complain about his brother and demand that we 'make him stop'. Again, I go back to help both boys to settle by stroking 2 faces with my 2 hands simultaneously. Usually around 3-4 am we get a loud knocking on our door; it's always a gamble which boy is there. Either Snoops wet his bed (and here I mean soaked it through completely as they both wet themselves every night but the magic DryNights pullups usually keep it all in) and he can't sleep until we change him and the bedding or it's Snoops again sleep-walking while crying.

Number of useful help/comments we received from professionals regarding the point above: ZERO

Number of fist fights and bruises on bodies (combined score of all 4 of us): 100+

Goofs is a very aggressive little boy with massive control issues and according to the play therapist he wants to punish every adult for his parents' mistreating him. CPV (child to parent violence) suddenly became a daily reality for us. I remember when a friend of mine was talking about it I seriously struggled to believe him, not what he said per se, but the helplessness he felt every time. Now I fully understand it and imagine MY friends going through the disbelieving bits. When Goofs attacks my husband (usually for something simple as 'brush your teeth') we all feel powerless. Me watching this little piece of xxx hitting my husband, his brother as he is just stands there being confused, Goofs as he doesn't do it because he is evil and wants to hurt somebody, but because he feels his control is taken away and his natural flight/fight mode kicks in and also mu poor hubby, who could stop the kicking/punching/biting with one swift hand movement... That would probably diffuse the situation, confirm in Goofs' mind that 'all adults are evil' and it would cause this adoption to break down as well. Naturally, we don't do it. But we can't do either what the play therapist suggested 'why don't you just keep your cool and in a calm and controlled manner tell him you love him and reflect back to him that he is sad and afraid now that is the reason why he behaves this way.' Riiiiiiight! :(

Goofs is also jealous of his brother who seems to have a slightly easier way of settling into his new family and again, his way of dealing with the situation is to punch his brother whenever he has a chance. His latest proof included slamming the car door onto his brother's hand - it's only by God's grace that Snoops' hand is not broken!

Number of play therapy sessions: 1.

20 min with each boy. Nothing to say at this stage except we are sure we will be seeing her face for the next many many years...

Number of times the 'A' word was mentioned: 200+

I am not referring to the general ones, rather to the 2 most common themes: 'Are you ready to put in the adoption order request?' and 'Mummy, when can I have my passport with my new name?' Naturally the first one is from the LA and SWs who keep reminding us that the placement is 'past the 10 weeks mark and is progressing so well that this is the next obvious step'. The second one is much much harder to dodge! The truth is, we don't know when; we don't know if ever (and yes, I appreciate what I am saying here and all the implications). We also don't know what should change that would make us say 'Now we are ready!'  

Number of times we were told 'we are doing sooo well': 3-4*30*3.

Depending on our mood and on the number of fights we already had that day our response varies between 'thanks', 'if only you saw the other 95%, which is usually ugly' or just a quick eye-roll then smile and exit left.

Number of arguments between hubby and me: uhumm.... loads!

They usually start from having slightly differing views on how to raise children, which I suppose is a daily struggle in any birth family, too. But agreeing on how much therapeutic tolerance is too much when he is stealing your money, when he is knocking down your favourite flower pots on purpose, when he threatens to call the police with an allegation because you told him no bedtime story tonight for bad behaviour... Let's just say we disagree a lot and add to this mix a healthy portion of lack of sleep and work related stress and you can understand our predicament...

I have so many more numbers to share with you and hopefully in time you'll get to hear about the number of happy moments that lasted at least 1 hour - I promise as soon as this happens I will write about it!