Jump-a...Jump-a...Jump-a

Over the holiday weekend we spent some time at Middle Sister's house. Her boys got a trampoline and the grown up boys were putting it together. Once it was (mostly) set up Pie had to give it a try...think she liked it? Also ignore the outfit, we were just about to get in the pool. Pie's not normally in the habit of rockin' it with no pants on...at least not in public.

PYHO {Adoption. Why is it your business?}

Yup. Another adoption related Pour Your Heart Out with Shell at Things I Can't Say.



I was in a situation recently where I had to introduce myself, and I struggled to decide what to say. Hi I'm Sara, I'm married to my college sweetheart. I have an 19 month old daughter. Or should I have said a 19 month old daughter through open, domestic adoption? Why should I mention that part? Because I'm proud of the adoption? I am after all. Because I only think of my daughter as my adopted daughter? Not on your life. That kid is mine. Period. Because by mentioning it I might be able to provide some info to someone who hasn't had another source? Maybe.


I was lucky enough to have had my brother pave the adoption path for me. He was a resource (despite his adoptions being international and mine being domestic) about a lot of the basic process and general craziness that goes along with the paperwork, home studies, etc. But I know lots of people don't have a resource like that, so I almost feel like not mentioning it is removing a possible resource for others.

You never know what other people are going through, and you never know who may need help and not have anyone to turn to. I'm happy to talk about the adoption, both the good and bad. I'm happy to share my experiences with home studies, with paperwork, with judges. It's an overwhelming process not even taking into account the emotional or financial aspects. I have some knowledge, and I should share it right?

Here's the problem though. I don't ever, ever, ever (did I mention ever?) want my daughter to feel like my adopted daughter. She is my child. Period. End of story. Is she adopted? Yes. And we will never be anything other than completely transparent with her about that. But I don't want my willingness to share our story or help others to hurt her. At some point it really won't be my story to share as much as it will be our story. And when that time comes I fully intend to let her drive how much she wants to share with others. But until then...

Why is it always on a holiday?

It never fails that some house issue pops up on a holiday when you can't get any help at all. And plumbing issues are the worst! Thankfully we had somebody nearby who had some mad plumbing skills...or maybe she just looked like she should...

Squeaky Boards

Every night, every single night, long after sleep has carried you away to sweet baby dreams I sneak into your room. My steps have been choreographed over the days and weeks and months. I know exactly where to sway, when to dip, exactly where my steps need to land so that I don't hit a squeaky board and wake you.

Even in the hall outside your door I need to be careful...doors pushed closed pop if I walk to close, and those sneaky, squeaky boards lurk out there too. Every night I navigate my path and pause for just a second at your door to take a long breath. I don't want to take the chance that my breathing will disturb you.

Sometimes a quick peak is all I need. I just want to check on you. I want to know if your knees are tucked under you pushing your little bumper into the air, or if you are curled on your side with your feet crossed just so. I'm curious who has won your attention for the evening...is it Piggy or maybe Puppy or perhaps Dolly?

Other times I could  linger endlessly. I could drink in every single detail. I memorize the way your pjs look, the way your hair has gone all wild in the night. I stare and file away all the little things that make you who you are today...who you are in this exact moment. I stay beyond the breath I took at the door. I'm forced to take another. And for the briefest of moments I am alive solely with the scent of you.

Most nights I have to force myself to leave. Force myself to be away from you until you wake again. But every single night I sneak in to your room. Every single night I polish my routine, getting more graceful with each practiced step. Every single night I must see you one more time, just once more, before I can give up the day.

Wordless-ish Wednesday {Mean Teeth}

Sometimes you wake up late at night and your little mouth just hurts. The only cure is to snuggle with your puppy, your baby doll, your blankie, and your mama and watch Madagascar 2.

Say What?

My darling girl has started speech therapy. I know lots of people think it's unnecessary this young. For her it's not.

At our 18 month well check, our pediatrician suggested we get Pie evaluated. She doesn't have many words and a handful of the words she did have are now gone. Luckily Middle Sister has a friend whose a speech therapist, and an amazing one at that.

We had Pie checked out and she has a pretty significant expressive delay. Her receptive language* is advanced and is somewhere around that of a 2 year old, but her expressive language** is similar to that of a one year old. Because there is such a disparity she is getting therapy. She's already made some advances thanks to the wonderful therapist, and can now tell you what a kitty cat says. It is the single cutest thing you've ever heard. I'll do my best to get it on tape.

So while we wait for her language skills to catch up to what's going on in her little head, I guess we'll just have to make do with facial expressions...

* Receptive language is the comprehension of language - listening and understanding what is communicated. Another way to view it is as the receiving aspect of language. {source}

** Expressive language is the ability to produce language in any of a number of different modalities such as speech, sign or writing. {source}

Choppin' Broccoli

Lately we've had a bunch of stuff come up with Pie that I worry about (like her patch), but at least I never have to worry about her eating...

What? Do I have something on my face?