No glossing over allowed.

Ouch. How exactly was I expecting this to work? This is some tough parenting, let me tell you. I knew there would be adjustments. I expected her to grieve, in some sort of way, for the life she’s leaving behind. I knew it would be hard on her. But I wasn’t expecting it to be so hard to watch her go through it, or to figure out how to help her, or to figure out how to make the change from buddy to parent.

Let me explain, as I sit here drinking the world’s best grapefruit juice. (I love this juice, love it.)(Also, they don’t just have apple juice. The have juice from red apples, yellow apples, or green apples. And the green is tangy, just like you’d expect.) (Back to topic now, but one more set of parentheses for good measure.)

Last night it took about 2 hours to get her to sleep. It was 12:30 AM before she drifted off. And she spent most of those two hours crying. I tried to hold her, lay her on my chest, comfort her in some way, but it wasn’t really me she wanted. Eventually she rolled off my chest and lay in the bed beside me and cried herself to sleep. She slept through the night, and woke up around 8:00 AM (a good 1.5 hours after jetlag woke me up, thanks for that). She was in a decent mood, and ate breakfast, but quickly deteriorated. I think she was missing some sleep from last night, and as we got closer to her naptime (10 AM), she was acting ill. I knew she needed sleep, so back to bed she went. Again, her heart wanted to break. It’s so pitiful to hear her cry; she sounds so sad.

But the part I’m really having trouble with is discipline. She’s 12 months old, so she doesn’t require much. But there are certain things that she does, willfully, purposefully, knowing she shouldn’t. For instance: banging the laptop. The first time she did it, I told her no (in Russian and English). Then the second, third and fourth time, I told her no and moved her hands away. Then the hundredth and millionth time, I said no with some force and moved her hands away. But I can’t be too hard on her because she doesn’t know me, and she cries like all the world is on her shoulders.

On the other hand, she can’t be allowed more craziness just because she is adopted. I have every intention of raising her exactly as we’ve raised the boys. (And their lives are no picnic, let me tell you.) (Just kidding.) She shouldn’t get off any easier for misbehaving. Except for the simple fact that I have no idea how to discipline her. Even telling her no makes me feel like we’ll never bond and she’ll hate me forever. And when I tell her no, with any force at all, her lips stick out and her chin crinkles up, and you can tell her feelings are hurt, and she wants to cry, but darn that orphanage upbringing, she just can’t do it.

I guess it's all about balance. Enough love and cuddles to let her know that she is loved, and that I am now a permanent fixture. And enough boundaries to let her know the same.

She wants to be held absolutely 100% of the time, which I don’t mind, but makes the logistics hard, showering and so forth. These are the time that I really wish Keith and I were both here together.

So far it’s only Day 1 and I am already feeling like a failure! Cripes, it took me at least a couple of weeks to fail with the boys.

I remember when Ari was born, I made the comment to someone that at any given moment you might find all three of us (Owen, newborn Ari and myself) crying on the couch. That’s how it was when Ari came along, me feeling like World’s Worst Mother, Owen feeling weird with a new baby around, and Ari being all jaundiced and whiny. I thought I ruined everyone’s lives forever. I’m not feeling that with Eva, but I can say this: There is a couch in this hotel room. And at any given moment . . . well, you get the point.