Adopting the Older Child - Part 5: Two Steps Forward; One Step Back

Our first day together -- I don't think I was worried yet.

There are days when I think we're making progress, and then there are days like today. I'm feeling discouraged, and maybe a little depressed. I'm tired of being rejected, tired of the arguments, tired of the opposition, tired of the defiance.

When did I first begin to think maybe we were in for more than we'd bargained for? I'm not really sure, but we met our son on a Saturday afternoon, and by Monday morning when we were scheduled to travel to the embassy, I was already concerned about what to expect from him behaviorally. He'd already exhibited enough signs of defiance that I was worried he might try to bolt, or refuse to go upstairs when we were called, or have some kind of tantrum if he tried to get into something that we had to say "no" to. Going to and being in the embassy went fine. I think he was excited to be wearing his new clothes that belonged just to him, and he was apprehensive enough to stick with us -- the beginnings of attachment.

As the days went on, the other children interacted appropriately and mostly happily with their new families. They read books, did puzzles, played soccer, drew pictures with sidewalk chalk, played simple matching games, played with each other, or just sat and cuddled. Our child climbed the junk pile, over and over and over again. We pulled him off innumerable times, then had the guard pull him off and tell him in Amharic not to do it. He disobeyed the guard. We had the nannies tell him not to do it. He disobeyed them.

He played with water spigots. He tried to climb through the fence. He tried to escape out the locked doors. He climbed the toy shelves. He closed the door to the guest area and wouldn't let anyone through. The guard went over, opened the door, and spoke to him. As soon as the guard walked away, T shut it again.

He had no interest in games, sidewalk chalk, books, or other toys for the most part, although one afternoon I did get him to do a puzzle with me. Sometimes we could get him to play soccer for a bit, but if the ball went off in a direction that was getting-into-trouble territory, that was it. When we pulled him away from whatever trouble he was causing, he threw himself on the ground and refused to get up.

Other families were taking their kids over to the main guest house for brief stays. We tried. As soon as our child got inside that compound, he turned around and kicked and scratched at the locked doors like a caged animal. We never got him inside the guesthouse. We had the guard open the door and escort us back up to the big kids house.

RAD, RAD, RAD. I searched my mind for what I knew about RAD, other than that it's virtually impossible to treat. I felt the sinking feeling of hopelessness that I'm feeling today. I knew nothing at the time about developmental trauma, so all I could think was that we had managed to get the one child from Ethiopia with Reactive Attachment Disorder. Had I known about developmental trauma disorder, and that a year later I would still be battling it, I would likely have felt equally as discouraged standing in the courtyard watching my child looking for any way possible to get into trouble, while ignoring my attempts to engage in play with him.

As I finish up this post, a little voice from upstairs says, "Mama, mama! Need a hug and a kiss!" I'm not deluded into thinking all will be well from now on. But it's a bright spot in an otherwise depressing day. And a reminder that there are good times too.

Hug. Kiss.