boys...

I am the middle child of three girls.  When I found out my first baby would be coming out a boy, I was apprehensive.  Of course, I already lived with a boy....my husband.  But, he was a grownup who thought for himself.   He did not need me to understand his boyness....not really.  I could openly display my bewilderment over his fascination with fast, loud, big things blowing up after they crash into each other because they are angry about something the other one said that was arrogant and insulting.  "That's so weird...why do you like that?  Are you really that twisted?  How can you you enjoy watching those people shoot each other?  Let's watch Sleepless in Seattle."

No problem, right?  My 20 something husband could stand his ground.  He did not internalize my disapproval and develop low self-esteem nor was he intimidated by my lack of appreciation for his interests.  When my eyes glazed over from my utter disinterest as he told me about a super cool video game, no problem.  He did not expect me to really actually care about his boring computer game.  In fact, I'm sure he would not have even bothered to brag to me about his gaming skills.

At age 26, I bore a son.  Initially, not a problem.   Apart from diaper changes, not much is different between a baby boy and a baby girl.  The first indication that things were heading into unfamiliar territory was his first word...."ball".  Maybe it was "Dada"....I'm not sure, but "ball" was at least his second word!  BALL.  Okay, no problem....he's cute and I can toss this little stuffed soccer ball back and forth with my cuddly little baby.  But, the balls got harder and his throwing faster.   Then he started hitting!  People!  It was his main form of communication.  My dearest friend gave birth to a girl four months before Jonah was born and her daughter was often his target.  Poor little sweet gentle baby girl didn't really like playing with my athletic little boxer (My friend's second child was a boy and my second child was a girl....so she understood the situation with boys eventually).  The mystery of my son has not ended....just evolved into new mysteries.  Pokemon.  What the???

I know my assignment as Jonah's mother is to pour into him so that he will internalize my love and approval and be secure in his own value.   What does "pour abundantly into him" mean?  For Jonah, it means showing genuine interested (at least my best impression of it) in how he earned 50,000 points while playing his computer game when he found the tools.....or weapons.....or powers....or something like that and then went to level 12 and now he can't turn the computer off...ever....because then he will lose his level.

Jonah needs me to show appreciation for what he values and be proud of his accomplishments doing the things he cares about.  I never new that would be so hard to do. I have hope.  First of all, he has a father who does not have to fake interest because they share this strange love for explosions and competition.  So, there's that....but there's more.

Yesterday, Jonah was snuggled up to me on my bed.  As he settled in, he squeezed my arm and told me I was the best mommy in the world.  With my heart swelling I asked him, "Yeah?  Thanks, Jonah.  Why am I the best mommy in the world" to which he replied, "Because you're gentle."

i have an attachment disorder

I went to a conference this past weekend in Chicago called "Empowered to Connect".  I learned about attachment disorder and strategies to build connections with my daughter.  Her reluctance to put her trust in me manifests itself, in part, through a constant pursuit of control.  In her short life, she has been given reason to fear the future.  She has had too many significant losses for such a little girl.  Living day to day with her is often difficult because she does not believe with certainty that I will continue to meet her needs.  Therefore, she resists letting go of control and allowing me to take care of her.

This is demonstrated clearly through the process of getting her dressed in the morning.  If I want to avoid a tantrum, I must select outfits I can live with, bring the choices downstairs rather than show her amidst the sea of clothing in her room and then act like I  really don't care what she chooses.  If I do all of this then maybe she will feel a sense of control and proceed to get dressed.  Her constant pursuit of control is motivated by her belief that she had better take care of herself, because other people are not dependable.  She has surrendered control to others in the past who have gone on to abandon her, so she is reluctant to surrender again. Like all children who have experienced the disruption of a significant relationship early in life, she has an attachment disorder. 

I was reading from Sarah Young's devotional "Jesus Calling" this morning.  In the April 24 entry she paraphrases the Bible saying, "I am always with you so you have no reason to be afraid. Your fear often manifests itself in excessive planning.  Your mind is so accustomed to this pattern of thinking that you are only now becoming aware of how pervasive it is and how much it hinders your intimacy with me."

I am afraid to trust God, so I try to control every detail of my life in order to create a feeling of security and safety.  God has adopted me as His child and has promised to always love and take care of me, but my damaged human spirit resists His invitation to be His child  and let Him meet my needs.  I think about the maddening frustration we experience when dealing with my daughter's behaviors, which are rooted in fear...grief...shame.  I think about how difficult it is sometimes to maintain a nurturing and compassionate attitude toward our little girl who seems to be doing her very best to push us away.  We often fail to be the parents she needs.  I am God's adopted daughter.  Despite His promise to always love me and take care of me, I resist Him.  I am afraid He will not meet my needs, so I try to control every aspect of my existence.  All my efforts to decrease my anxiety backfire.  When I try to manage my own life, I experience greater anxiety, because, like my 3 1/2 year old daughter, I am not equipped to handle the responsibilities and stresses of life on my own.

I pray that God will give me a spirit of humility as I continue to be my daughter's mother.  When I encounter her fear and resistance in my efforts to care for her, may I remember that I am just like her.  We are both adopted.  I pray that we will both learn to trust in our parents' promise to take care of us.