Tomorrow is M's 14th birthday.
Last year on R's birthday I wrote a little about her life... about how much she has overcome, what an awesome kid she is, and how very proud I am to be her mom. I thought it was only right that I spend this evening, as the house slowly fills with the warm, sweet smell of "red velvet" cake (thanks Duncan Hines!) writing about M. I'll try not to write a book, but it's been an interesting 14 years...so this might take awhile.
M was our second foster baby. We got him when he was just 7 months old. Our first baby stayed an entire year, and it broke our hearts to lose her, but we really believed in what we were doing, and so we got the nursery ready and just a few weeks after she left, M came to live with us.
M was born a month early, weighing just a little over 5 lbs. Before he was a month old, he was back in the hospital with pneumonia. His first seven months he bounced from place to place. Birthmom was homeless, birthdad was bad news (and absent) and BM (birthmom) would leave M and his three older siblings with just about anyone, sometimes for days at a time. (She'd promise to be back in an hour, and drop out of sight) The older siblings remember abuse, M was too young to remember of course, but he was obviously neglected. BM tried to take care of him (when she was around) but was herself a product of the foster care system, and an extremely dysfunctional family, and really had no idea at all about how to take care of a child.
At 7 months he couldn't roll over (either way) or even begin to support himself sitting. His body was tiny, about the size my birth daughter's had been at about 6 weeks of age, and his head looked way to large for his body. I worried about hydrocephalus but the pediatrician explained that M was just malnourished. He'd been fed enough (thankfully) for his brain to grow, but not enough for his body to keep up. BM's idea of good infant nutrition was Strawberry Nestle's Quik poured into a bottle. His eardrums were scarred from numerous untreated ear infections, and he was so dirty that it took several baths to get him clean again. He wasn't able to digest able to digest regular formula (he vomited everything up!) and eventually needed a "predigested" formula. (Which was gray and smelled like chemicals! No wonder the kid has food issues now!!)
He was such a hard baby. He cried for hours at a time, several nights a week. This wasn't just normal infant fussiness, I already had lots of experience with tired, colicky babies. No this was much worse... M would literally scream for hour after hour after hour during the night. Nothing would calm him. I would walk the floor with him, change him, massage him, bathe him, lay with him... and sometimes cry with him... night after night. Many nights I loaded him into the car and drove aimlessly around the neighborhood... hoping the car would eventually lull him to sleep. When he screamed his body would get completely stiff, and his eyes would be just blank. He'd no longer recognize us during those spells, and it was impossible to reach him. Those screaming spells lasted until he was almost 2.
There were other issues as well. He could work himself into a frenzy if his bottle was delayed by even a minute (I slept with a bottle for him on my nightstand... knowing I wouldn't have time to run to the kitchen to get it before he'd be screaming so hard I couldn't calm him). He was hypersensitive to lights, sounds, smells, tastes, and touch and even the sound of a car driving up the street at night would wake him up and start the screaming again.
Those first years were rough in many ways, but he was a sunny little guy (when he wasn't screaming...) and although we had no plans to adopt, somewhere along the line we fell in love with him. Some time during the endless nights of trying to calm him, the many runs to the ER sure he must be in pain, the countless illnesses. and the constant worry of how to get enough calories into him for him to grow... he became our child.
BM left the state shortly after he was placed with us, and BD wasn't in the picture... so M was on his own by the time he was 9 months old. When we were asked if we wanted to adopt him, the answer was an immediate "YES!". He was 3 1/2 before the adoption was finally complete. ~
The years since that naive and optimistic yes have been filled with evaluations, diagnoses, and tears. But they've also been full to overflowing with lots of love hope, joy, milestones, beating odds, good friends, strong faith, and a few truly amazing physicians who love as well as they doctor.
M has been my education. From him I've learned the incredible strength of the human spirit. He's suffered with hallucinations for at least five years now, and yet he still finds joy in life. He never complains about the miserable side effects of the meds he has to take, and he's never cried out in anger or anguish at all that schizophrenia has taken from him.
From M I learned that we are all just people first, regardless of whether we have a "disability" or not.. and I've learned that "different" isn't bad or good. It's just different. He's taught me about unconditional love, and forgiveness. He's taught me about hope, about never giving up, and about giving to others, even when you are struggling yourself with huge challenges. He's taught me to never ever give up, and that even impossible situations are possible sometimes. He's taught me that I'm a better, and worse, person then I thought I was. And he's taught me that life is full of miracles, if we only open up our eyes to see them.
M's BM's drinking during her pregnancy with him has damaged his brain, and schizophrenia undoubtedly has damaged it more... but neither of those things have damaged his heart or his spirit. He's truly an incredible person... and I'm very blessed.
This is M at 3, right before the adoption was final. (The red splotches on his face aren't in the original photo, but showed up after being scanned)
And here he is now, meandering across the pasture with his nephew.
Happy Birthday, big guy...
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