Leaving the orphanage

March 25, 2014 by Beth Shepherd

I will always be grateful for the care our daughter received, during the first year of her life, as a child in an orphanage. Whenever I talk with her about the nannies who watched over her, I make sure she knows they did the best they could. I’ve told her they changed her diaper, bathed her, made sure she was fed and put her to bed. But when she asks me if they read her stories or played with her, I tell her that they had a lot of babies to care for and, even if they wanted to, they couldn’t give her the kind of love and attention she gets from her mama and dada.

After we came home, and especially in the two years that have followed, I’ve come to understand how much I underestimated the impact of life in an orphanage. I thought–and people told me (even people who are deeply involved in the world of adoption)– “She won’t remember those first months in institutionalized care.” I believed, because she was so young, her transition would be relatively easy. I knew to expect that the first 3-6 months might be difficult, everything would be new to her (smells, sounds, tastes, sleep), but we’d have smooth sailing after that.

Then, when she started walking, I noticed she would approach strangers, climb into their laps or take their hands at the playground and walk off. At first I thought, “What a friendly child I have,” and indeed she is. As months passed, however, I felt more and more uneasy as I began to realize some of these behaviors weren’t helping her attach to our family, and even put her at risk.

It’s true: she will not remember spending her first year in an orphanage. She will only know the nannies who cared for her from the stories and pictures we share with her. She might learn their names, but she will not have any memories of them as “real people.” However, I now firmly believe that her experience of living in an orphanage is deeply imbedded in her psyche.

No matter how good orphanage care may be, it is not a healthy substitute for being part of a family. Our daughter did not experience the security of knowing the same person would meet her needs, or even that her needs would be met at all. It makes sense now, she might be reluctant to trust her parents won’t leave her, because all she knew was a constant rotation of caregivers, all of whom “disappeared” when we took her out of the orphanage. And it also makes sense that her brain would tell her it’s “in her best interest” to be really nice to that stranger who just smiled at her in the park, because that woman might be her next mama.

We have come a long way, literally and figuratively, in the past two years. When I look back on March 24, the day she left the orphanage, I remember feeling excited, terrified and filled with hope about our future as a family. I still feel excited (and sometimes terrified, though thankfully less often) and filled with hope for our family and the years together that lie ahead. At the same time, I am now much more cognizant that her life didn’t start with us. She carries within her the experience of life with three families: the family of her birth, her orphanage family, and now us.

Take the road less traveled, Beth

Through the blue gate

March 25, 2013 by Beth Shepherd

Two days after we became family in the eyes of the court, we went to take our daughter out of the orphanage. Other than a few weeks in the hospital as a newborn, this was the only home she’d ever had. The eight nannies who tended to her every need were the only “moms” she’d ever known.

I’d thought about this moment for nearly four years. Sometime I’d get teary contemplating the enormity of it, but the perspective I always imagined was how I would feel when my baby was in my arms and we were embarking on our first steps as a family. I didn’t spend as much time thinking about the loss her caregivers would feel, and I now know I also underestimated the impact this transition would have on our child.

We sat, waiting expectantly, on a bench outside the orphanage director’s office, waiting for one of the nannies to bring our daughter to us. I was excited and sad at the same time. Excited because we were about to become a family, 24-7, and sad because we’d spent many hours in this building during our two trips to Gyumri, watching the nannies counting diapers in the doctor’s office, seeing the same smiling faces of the children laughing as they ran around the playground. I knew that one day we would bring our daughter back to her homeland, to Gyumri, and to the orphanage where she’d lived, but I didn’t know when that day would be, or if the nannies or doctor who cared for her would still be working there. So this goodbye could be the last goodbye for all of us.

I felt like we’d been sitting on that hard wood bench for a long time, when down the stairs came a nanny holding Baby Bird. She was dressed in the clothes we’d brought for her: a long-sleeved cotton onesie topped with a matching shirt and pants—brown with colorful elephants, a lavender cotton sweater over that, a green cotton cap on her head, a pair of red wool shoes on her feet and a fuzzy leopard print jacket with a hood. It was cold outside, but we knew that in Armenia children are always dressed in multiple layers, and we wanted her nannies to feel confident we’d take good care of her and keep her warm.

As the nanny handed her to me, I noticed a pair of navy blue tights peeking out from under her pants. The tights were decorated with woven buttons. Tights! Of course, the one thing I’d forgotten to bring with us. I felt momentarily embarrassed and then secretly elated, because I’d seen those same tights on Baby Bird on a few of our visits and realized they would be the only belonging from her life here that she would ever have.

There were—and always will be—unanswered questions about her days in the orphanage. Who were the children who fell asleep in the cribs beside our daughter? What are their stories and how did those stories end? How did the nannies soothe Baby Bird when she was frightened or woke up during the night? Which nanny did she like the best? Were there memories, even visceral, that she would tuck away in the corners of her psyche?

I had planned to tell our daughter’s nannies how much it meant to us that she was so well cared for. We left thank you cards for each of them with pictures of Seattle, and a photo of the three of us taken on our registration trip. But in the end, we weren’t able to say goodbye to them in person We were told there were important visitors at the orphanage so, after taking a photo with the director and signing our names in the book the orphanage keeps to record the names of adoptive parents, we were led out of the building.

We took a few photos together, standing on the steps, and then we walked through the blue gate. I glanced over my shoulder. Sun streamed into the courtyard, and the crisp breeze whipped my hair. The greeter dog we’d seen every day during our visits lay on the steps leading up to the front door of the orphanage. Behind him were the buildings where our daughter spent the first eleven months of her life. Inside were the wonderful nannies who watched over her. I closed my eyes and silently said thank you. As our daughter grows, we will share their names with her in a book we’ve made about her adoption, and make sure she knows these eight women watched over her until we were able to be a family.

Our driver was waiting beside the taxi. We crammed two suitcases in the trunk and strapped a third to the front passenger seat. Big Papa and I climbed into the backseat and looked at each other with that deer-in-the-headlights stare, because there in the back seat, nestled between the two of us, was a baby!

Then we drove off, heading south towards Yerevan, on our maiden voyage as a family, and the first leg of the journey that, in two weeks time, would take us HOME!

Having a place to go – is a home.

Having someone to love – is a family.

Having both – is a blessing.

~Donna Hedges

Keeping the baby alive

March 4, 2011 by Beth Shepherd

Lately, when people ask us “Are you excited?” we respond, jokingly, “Yes, and scared too. Once she’s home we have to keep her alive.”

Big Papa and I are parenting newbies. We are clueless about most things baby-related. When does she sleep or nap and for how long? What does she eat and how much? How do we bathe her? On and on it goes.

I sent an email with a list of questions to our International Adoption doctor and his assistant responded, “Sounds like it’s time for you to buy a baby care book.” Um yeah, you think?

We needed help. So we called in the big guns, a professional—a postpartum doula. Postpartum doulas provide support to the mother and family following the birth and immediate postpartum period for a few days or several weeks, depending on need. Support may include assisting with breastfeeding support and newborn care, cooking, light housekeeping or errands. Doulas also offer education, companionship and nonjudgmental support during for the few weeks following birth.

Granted, I didn’t give birth to our daughter but having someone around, even for a few hours in the first couple weeks, someone who knows what they’re doing, seemed like a brilliant idea to me. Aside from our lack of knowledge and experience, Big Papa and I (and the baby) will be very jet-lagged (12-hour time difference) and don’t have any immediate family who live near enough to pitch in.

At a recent diapering class we took, one of the attendees approached us after class and told us that, in addition to being a doula, she is an adoptive mom. Bingo! We found our doula.

Next came the icing on the cupcake. Big Papa recently sent a letter to our nice neighbors who rent the house next door. I put nice in italics for emphasis–they are really nice. This is an enormous relief for us because the previous renters weren’t nice at all. Let’s just say there were many late nights where Big Papa was knocking on their door because their party was loud enough that we might as well have been hosting it. There were also two potentially vicious dogs who shared the home with them. And then there was the time when “friends” of theirs swore at us, threatened us and threw beer cans in our yard while we were gardening in our own yard.

Big Papa’s letter politely requested access to our driveway come April when we become parents. Parking is a premium where we live and people frequently park blocking our driveway. It didn’t bother us at all, until now. Once we have our bundle of joy, we felt it would be fantastic (particularly during rainy Seattle weather) to be able to pull right up to our house and not have to walk around the corner if parking is scarce.

A day or so after the letter was dropped off there was a knock at our door. I went to open it and there were two of the smiling tenants from next door carrying a lovely miniature rose potted plant. I let them in and we chatted about our impending parenthood, our houses and the neighborhood until one of the gals said, “We’re all nannies and babysitters. If you ever need any help, we left our phone numbers and email addresses in the card that’s tucked beside the plant.”

Honestly, I wasn’t sure whether I should hug the living daylights out of them or fall to my knees in adoration. Nannies! Nice nannies. Right next door!

After they left, I called Big Papa and told him: “We just won the lottery! Our nice neighbors are nannies.”

Then I gave thanks to the patron saint of motherhood. Life is good.