I consider myself blessed to parent three beautiful little girls. Each of my daughters came to our family with very unique stories. Becoming parents presented an array of challenges, including infertility and adoption. Our youngest two daughters were adopted internationally, through the help of many experts. Anyone having gone through the adoption or infertility process knows that the journey to becoming parents is anything but private.

We’ve have been lucky to have the same, energetic social worker involved in our lives for the past six years. She is a source of support and encouragement to us. She guides us through a complicated process, and steers us toward information we need to be healthy parents to our children. Six years ago when we started the first adoption process, our social worker started preparing us for everything that would happen, as well as what could possibly happen after our children were placed in our arms forever.

The attachment issue was one that concerned us the most. While there is a wealth of unknowns, we know our daughters were abandoned and institutionalized prior to joining our family. We are not willing to ignore the time they spent before we entered their lives. However difficult, we recognize and validate that our daughters’ lives started long before they met us. We do not judge birth parents for their difficult decisions that led to the abandonment, nor do we condemn a society that pressures such decisions.

To understand the opportunities and challenges of parenting an institutionalized child, it helps to know how our parenting journey began. One of our daughters was abandoned two weeks after her birth. We have an estimated birthday, based on a medical examination. We will never know her birth date for sure, and it makes me sad. Someday I’ll have to explain this to her, and she will have to work through how this makes her feel. Our other daughter was abandoned the day she was born, and we know this based on her physical condition, circumstances, and evidence. Both girls were placed in orphanages the same day they were found. From what we know, they were not placed in foster care. Unfortunately, we can’t know this for sure.

We take comfort in having met some of the people who cared for our daughters their first year of life; one was in the orphanage until 14 months, the other until 11 months. We have some pictures and details from the first year, but it is minimal and sketchy. We hold on to each little tidbit, as it will be all they have in their life books to celebrate their first year of life. Somewhere across the world, I believe two birth mothers remember and celebrate my daughters’ lives with us. It is out of our shared love and devotion that I have a responsibility to parent them the best of my ability, even when faced with challenges.

The attachment process for both girls has been very different. The similarities that exist have more to do with how prepared we are and how quickly we are able to recognize signs. Our second daughter (first adoption) came to us screaming and crying, with a preference for sucking her clothes or blanket. She was scared, underweight, and lacked muscle tone. She was also sick; congested, fever, and perforated ear drum. Her situation allowed us to comfort her and help her feel better through food, medicine, and attention. She didn’t show a preference to either one of us, which made holding, rocking, and carrying her easy. Her father and I shared the responsibility and delighted in her cautious desire for attention. Before long she was displaying extroverted personality consistent with a child accustom to multiple care givers. She lack discrimination and had to be taught the difference between parents and strangers. I distinctly remember our first trip to Target. She toddled down the aisle in front of me; putting her hands up (indicated to be picked up) to a man I didn’t know. To others she was endearing and sweet. I, on the other hand, was dying inside. I was wracked with worry. I knew what was going on, that it wasn’t healthy, and it was inevitable.

We isolated about one month upon returning home. We wanted her to be with us exclusively. Telling grandparents was the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do in my life; you can’t see your new grandchild for the first month while we bond. Did I mention that this was smack-dab in the middle of the holiday season? We forged ahead with our plan to stay at home with our daughter, and she learned to trust and depend on us for comfort, food, sleep, etc. It made a world of difference, and we were glad we made this choice.

Children are born with medical issues every day and birth mothers embrace whatever comes their way, however, the difference with an institutionalized child is the lack of medical records and family history. Lacking medical records makes immunizations difficult. We are lucky to have a pediatrician with two internationally adopted daughters, who understands our challenges. We made the decision to test for immunities present and start over with any shots that seemed missing. Our daughter was diagnosed with asthma, allergies, and poor eyesight. She started wearing glasses at one year. She had a chronic drooling problem due to lack of suck; an infant in a Chinese orphanage is often fed formula through a bottle with a very large opening cut in a nipple. (The baby gulps the milk rather than sucks it.) She was also diagnosed with a severe milk allergy that resulted in stomach aches and a polyp in her intestine that was surgically removed.

The scariest incident happened when she was 20 months old. She started vomiting uncontrollably, became dehydrated, and was hospitalized. With no medical or genetic history, no knowledge of past illnesses or injuries, and no language to communicate, we fought to restore her health. She was in the hospital for a week with no one able to diagnose her. She slowly recovered, but we’ve never known what caused her to be so ill.

Another challenge is not knowing if something could be attributed to being institutionalized or if it’s normal. Would our daughter have had severe night terrors if she had been biological or placed with us at birth? We have no way of knowing. I spent months sleeping on the floor of her room, beneath her crib in case her sporadic crying fits were attributed to a fear of being abandoned. Slowly the crying stopped and she slept alone in her room.

She gorged on food for months after coming home. Afraid she wouldn’t get enough or that she couldn’t count on when the next meal would come, she would eat until she gagged. It was a struggle every time to decide how much to give her. We wanted her to feel safe, and eating too much food made her feel safe. Again, this slowly subsided and she was able to eat only when she was hungry. This was a difficult area for others to understand. They either remarked about what a good eater she was or reprimanded us for giving her too much. To parent an institutionalized child means having patience with others who don’t understand attachment issues.

As our daughter gets older, her perceived “extroverted” personality is diminishing. This tells me that it never was part of who she is, but rather part of her survival mechanisms. Our daughter is fun, spunky and bright. She is also quite introverted, quiet, and shy with those she doesn’t know. It is wonderful to see her true self shine through.

Our third daughter (second adoption) joined our family only three short months ago, at eleven months of age. We believe she was well-taken care of at her orphanage, but had little time with her birth mother. I imagine her as a newborn, listening to new voices and sounds from her crib. She developed many institutional behaviors at the orphanage to self sooth, including sucking her thumb.

She came to us calm and quiet. She didn’t cry when she was handed to me. The orphanage worker brought her favorite toy so that she could have some familiarity with us. I am greatly appreciative of this small gesture, as it made her transition just a little bit easier. She held tight to her toy chicken. After a short time with us, she cried inconsolably. After the crying stopped, she slept unnatural lengths of time. She wanted to sleep through her trauma, which scared us. Recognizing her coping mechanism helped us to allow her to sleep. When she was awake, she alternated between crying, refusing to eat, and staring at her hand. She also rocked herself and scratched her scalp bloody. I won’t lie; the first few days with her were rough and scary. She arched her back, pushed away from us, and refused eye contact. We responded by holding her, looking into her eyes the best we could, and carrying her with us in a baby carrier pouch. She quickly liked being carried in the pouch, and we caught her sneaking peeks at us. We didn’t know everything would be ok, but we hoped. We worked hard, and we had patience.

Our daughter had a very slow adjustment once we got home. We isolated even more than the first time. I never left her sight, which was very exhausting. I spent weeks on the floor so she could sit, lie, and scoot by me. She is a very sensitive, gentle, and shy baby right now. It’s hard to know if what we are seeing is still part of her coping skills, but I suspect it is.

She has come so far in just a couple months. She is very smart and smiley, loves to jabber, and is close to walking already. She has an intense attachment to me, which is such a blessing. She rarely goes to anyone else and is intensely afraid of strangers; such a stark contrast to our first adoption experience.

Our story is never ending, and each day presents new challenges. We love our children and couldn’t be happier. We appreciate our experiences and know that there are difficult days ahead. However, if given the choice, we would do it all again. My hope is that more people will find their heart for adoption.