Sudden motherhood

A lot of people can say they had an unexpected baby – but most of them still have close to nine months to prepare. Me? I wound up with a 4 month old baby Amy* on about a week’s notice in April. Almost overnight, life became a chaotic whirlwind of bottles, rocking chairs, nightly swaddling, and coordinating visits with her mother Kim*, who was a recovering drug addict who pretty much hated me on sight.

Amy was a difficult baby. She was colicky, and cried all the time, at home, at daycare, everywhere. She was with me for close to six weeks, and I have to say, I wasn’t terribly sad to see her go. I thought it would be easier to attach, but perhaps Amy and I just didn’t click, or perhaps it was the fact that I knew exactly  how long she’d be in my house.

I spent a month and a half after she left wondering whether it was at all normal to fail to attach to a very fussy 4 month old child, despite rocking her to sleep every single night. Then I spent a while combing through profiles of adoptable kids online.

Then I got another call – for two siblings, an 18 month old toddler boy named Zac* and a 3 year old girl named Cherry*. For reasons unknown (perhaps because I am a masochist?) I said ‘yes, bring it on’.

Zac is an adorable little monkey of a boy who, at 18 months, had not yet spoken a word, and could barely crawl, let alone walk. Mostly, he got around on his elbows doing an army mud crawl, dragging his legs behind him. He was only 18 pounds – mind you, Amy, at 4 months, was 14 pounds – fit into one of Amy’s leftover 6mo sized jumpers the day I brought him home wearing nothing but a diaper. He was a sad baby, and did little but screech to make his needs known. He’d cry hysterically if I put him in his crib, but he’d stop immediately if I walked out and shut the door. I suspect the poor thing spent far too much time in his crib or car seat.

Cherry was almost four, going on fourteen. She’s smart, witty, sarcastic, cheerful, sneaky, helpful, and mouthy as hell. The first two weeks she was honeymooning, helpful, always doing what I said, pleasing as could be. Then she got comfortable, realized she was staying a while, and her ugly came out. Tantrums, kicking, screaming, raging tantrums… Backtalk, lots of it. Unexpected spurts of rage. Extreme bossiness. This is a child who never had limits set, and who doesn’t particularly like them to be set now. I spent one very long two or three hours doing the Supernanny bedtime technique of escorting her (carrying her limp, screaming body) back to bed every 2 minutes while she raged. I can’t count the number of times I almost gave in and bribed her with something. But I didn’t. And I’ve never had to do anything quite like it again. Score one for supernanny.

She also didn’t seem to know how to play – not by herself, not with toys. She was used to roughhousing with her brothers (they have two older siblings who are not in my home) and bossing them around, and mothering Zac.

I’ve had them three months. It seems like forever. It seems like barely any time at all.

Zac learned to crawl and walk holding onto things, and can stand unaided for a good twenty or thirty seconds before he realizes what he’s doing and hurriedly sits down. He can race up and down the steps like crazy. He eats everything in sight still, and can only say a mangled version of the word ‘mama’ and something that sounds like ‘hey!’ At first, I didn’t think he even understood me when I’d tell him things, but he understands a lot now, and can follow some instructions. He’s a very happy baby!

Cherry has been learning limits. She’s learning to obey on the threat of time out (or the threat of an enraged mother hauling her smart ass to bed early). She’s learning colors, shapes, and counting. She’s learned to play – with toys! – by herself for short periods of time. She’s learned to recognize her name when it’s written. She’s still very helpful, very cute, and very charming. And very mouthy. I suspect that isn’t going to change.

For all the trouble, I’m in love with them both.

*Note: Names changed for privacy. Photos of the children are not allowed, sadly, or I’d have a million.