Stromberg's Adoption Dream

American Girl

We have been home for two weeks and I marvel at the fact that Lydia is an American. Just like that she became an American and now she has the diet and experiences to prove it. She loves mac n cheese, she enjoyed shopping at Target, she even ate a hot dog at Costco (well part of one). 🙂 She has seen some part of Star Wars Episode One, thank you Quinn and Albin for exposing her to America’s film culture so young. She is all-in. She’s even cheering on the American Olympians with us as we are enjoying the Winter Olympics. And she’s loving it. The food, the sights the sounds of suburban American life. And one day, much to her mother’s delight, she will have her very own American Girl doll. I’m already much too excited about that shopping trip, and even purchased an American Girl doll, Chinese silk dress while in China. Yep, that happened.

And while I am thrilled for her new identity as an American, I can’t stop thinking about China and feeling some loss for dear Lydia.

On the day we flew out of Henan province, leaving for Guangzhou, Lydia and I both had tears. Lydia sobbed for the first 20 minutes of the flight. Maybe it was her ears, maybe the loud sound of take-off, maybe she was over-done with the stimuli of the airport. Who knows. She finally settled as I held her in her blanket and then suddenly I was overcome.

I began to cry, silent heaving sobs the kind that took me by suprise. Lars leaned over asking if I was okay. I wasn’t but couldn’t figure out why. I continued to cry, and then it occurred to me, I was feeling a sort of grief. We were leaving. We were leaving Lydia’s province, her city, her very birthplace behind. All the things that were so tied to her identity, the things that made her distinctly Chinese, we were leaving. And the truth is no matter how we try, we won’t be able to recover her identity as a Chinese person. As someone from Xinyang. Because that is no longer who she is. And as much as I wanted to get to Guangzhou, have that consulate appointment and get home, I was so aware that something needed to be grieved. There needed to be a leaving before there would be a cleaving to a new identity as an American. So I cried. I cried on Lydia’s behalf as she slept in my lap.

Once we landed in Guangzhou, I had had my tears and felt a new sense of purpose – let’s get home. I didn’t revisit the emotions of that plane-ride after that, but in the last few days as I have watched the Chinese olympians compete with Lydia by my side, I have begun to wonder at how she will engage with her Chinese heritage and identity. I wonder at the complexity of her teenage and young adult years as she tries to understand her identity as an adopted Chinese American. Is that even the right terminology?

And as I have pondered these things, something occurred to me, that felt rather revelatory. Lydia and I are not so different. We are both Americans, who have to work to learn about and celebrate our cultural heritage. And just as my parents worked to keep our heritage alive, bringing us to visit both Sweden and England, Lars and I will one day do the same for Lydia. We will return to China. She will experience Chinese culture, visit Xinyang, possibly even see her orphanage.

And as much as my childhood was filled with markers of my heritage by way of a Swedish smorgesbord every Christmas Eve, dala horse decor and goofy British humor, Lydia’s childhood will be marked with Chinese Artwork in our home, celebration of Chinese festivals and New Years traditions and trips to ChinaTown.

And then there are our names. I am Katie Lyn, named after my two grandmothers, Carolyn and Gwendolyn, one Swedish, one English. Lydia’s middle name DanQing, was her given name in China, kept as a way to honor her heritage. Our very names call us to recognize where we came from, the heritage that marks us. And every time she fills out a form she will be reminded of her Chinese roots. Of the Chinese nannies and orphanage officials that cared for her and named her after the color combination of reds and blue-greens used in traditional Chinese paintings. How beautiful. We hope she sees her name as a gift, a way to honor the land of her birth. Or at very least a piece to her identity puzzle.

So as I reflect on my tears as we left Henan Province, I feel glad to have grieved on Lydia’s behalf, committed to keep her heritage alive for her as she grows and thankful for her new identity as an American. She is indeed our little American girl. An American girl who looks like some beautiful combination of her Chinese birth parents. And who will undoubtedly eat both Swedish meatballs and fried rice. A girl who will dance around a maypole at family Midsummer gatherings, and receive red envelopes on Chinese New Year.

And we are certain Lydia will do her own grieving and celebrating as she grows, but for now she is just a happy toddler with darling black pigtails running around in pink Osh-Gosh overalls. And life is good and simple for this little American girl.

3 week old

20 days ago a tiny stranger walked into my arms. She was tired from a long train ride, she was a little feverish and she had on five layers of clothing. This morning she lays in her own crib. Not metal and cold, but a soft Jenny Lind style spindle with a sweet bumper and soft balnkets. She’s home. Oh, and she only has on a onesie and some soft jammies. 🙂

We’ve been on a sleepy roller-coaster all week trying to figure out the time change and manage a 21 month old who is essentially really only a three week old to us. During our third night home when I was on the 11:30-1am shift with Liddy, feeling dangerously sleepy, it occurred to me, she’s really just a three week old. She’s only known us for a little shy of three weeks. Would I let a three week old cry themselves to sleep in their crib, now way. I remembered how my Dad, a Family Dr., always says that for the first 3 months of a baby’s life, you are on their schedule. They signal hunger and you feed, on demand. They want another nap shortly after the one they just had, let them sleep. You follow their cues. And you build trust. They learn to trust that when they signal for help or comfort or sleep or food, you will respond, every time. Thus building strong attachements. It makes sense.

So here we are with what amounts to a very large three week old. 🙂 She’s learning that we will respond to her needs, every time. Or maybe moreso, she is un-learning some things. When she was one of twenty other babies in one room, it’s certain that the nannies couldn’t respond every time she signaled for help. Even if they were doing their absolute best, it’s certain she was at times hungry, or too hot or too cold, or perhaps, lonely, just wanting to be held. So she is un-learning the idea that crying doesn’t always help. Fussing doesn’t signal, I have a need. She now has not one but, four people ready to hear and respond. And honestly I have somehow relished this idea. When she cries waking up from a nap, I run up the stairs, picking her up. Oh, and get this. She has started reaching. This is huge. Rather than just lie there, staring at the ceiling, with tears streaming down her cheeks, she stands up and reaches. Not every time, but it’s becoming more regular.

And then comes the best part. I get to pick her up, and say softly in her ear, “Mommy’s here, mommy’s here.” And she just rests. Her little body relaxes and molds and we rock together in the blue chair. I can’t remember how many times something must be repeated for it to become established as routine, or trustworthy in our minds. But I know that each time we respond to Lydia’s signals we are getting closer to erasing the idea that crying doesn’t signal help, and establishing the idea that it not only signals help but comfort and love.

We’re getting there. Three weeks in and we already know her fussy cry vs her mad or sad cry. We are learning this little girl and we are responding.

In other news she has experienced a lot of firsts. First trip to the Dr., did great. First trip to Target, first time in a shopping cart, did great. She is starting to understand stairs and that she can not walk up them like an adult. Hilarious/dangerous to watch. She is loving American food, pizza, pasta, stuffed peppers, mac n’ cheeese, gerber graduates baby food, chocolate chip cookies. Today she will watch her brothers basketball game. She is loving life with busy, loud brothers. She has yet to attempt to eat a lego piece and she is awesome at building with duplo legos. She has also had a tea party with her brothers and even joined in a wrestling match with the boys and Daddy. And it’s all feeling so normal. Except for all the pink-ness and ruffles, and hair-bows. That isn’t feeling normal for me yet, but rather, just plain wonderful. 🙂

So here we are with our rather large three-week old Lydia, and we are all loving life as a family of five. And the three-week old sleeping schedule is coming along. Last night was huge. We, actually, wait for it….slept through the night. Like, long enough for me to dream and remember it. (I dreamt I had dinner with the Royals. We shared favorite Christmas traditions, it was awesome.)

Lydia is still sleeping right now, in fact. And I’m just waiting to hear her whimper, her signal. So I can rush up there and respond. Responding is why I love motherhood. Each time I respond I get to build trust with the dear and precious little ones God has entrusted me with. And in turn these precious little ones learn that Mommy and Daddy hear them, we are safe and trustworthy and loving. The very things we want them to learn about their Heavenly Father. He hears them. He is safe and trustworthy and loving. And He will respond to their needs, every time.

Here are some pictures from our first few days together.