Small Victories

I can't share everything about our little Bananas.  I'm not allowed to share photos, names, or identifying information.  So I won't.   But I can share some of what we are going through as a family.  We are working on patiently taking tiny steps forward. 
Baby Banana is nearly a year.  But because of "non-accidental" brain injury, caring for him is like caring for a six month old.  He can't feed himself a cheerio.  He can't sit up by himself.  He is tiny for his age; he is learning how to eat. 
Little Banana is a tiny bit older than Little Miss.  Like Missy, she is small, which is nice because she now has a closet stocked with outfits to share.  They play together and it is very sweet.  But, now that she has settled in enough for us to really see her whole self, it is heartbreaking as well, because it's impossible not to compare. 
Missy is potty trained.  She sets the table and sings the alphabet and spells Her own name. She has Her favorite stories memorized, She plays elaborate games of pretend involving family members She rarely sees and the names of friends from play group.  
Little Banana doesn't know her own name, or who she sees in the mirror.  She knows what a dog is.  But she can't recognize one in a book.  She can't recognize me in a photo.  She can't choose between water or milk, or tell me where it hurts if she falls.  She talks a lot, she is very engaging, so it's hard to notice at first.  But almost all of what she says is just parroting what someone else has said. She seems to be playing the same game as the Littles; She follows along and does what they do.  But if you ask her what she is playing, she says, "playing!" If they are being mommies and feeding their dolls, I tease, "are you pretending to be lions?"  She nods, "Ten-deen lions!" 
She seems to understand you- she nods when you ask a question. But it has nothing to do with affirmation.  She takes directions very well, and she's extremely compliant.  If I ask her to put away the blocks she's been playing with, she will jump right up and begin gathering them.  Only, even though she's just taken them out of the white box minutes ago, she can't remember where they go.  She runs frantically from room to room with one in each hand, repeating, "Bocks? Bocks? Bocks go?" I tell her to put them in the white box at her feet. She looks all around.  She looks right at it.  "Feet?" I have to point, to show her.  "Oh! There a is!"
She's nowhere near potty training; she has serious issues with both toileting and eating.  It's agonizing both from an empathy and a frustration point of view to watch her attempt either.  I spend half the day, it seems, coaxing- "Eat, Banana.  Chew it up, love.  Swallow your bite please, Banana.  Try a drink of your milk."  She will stuff her mouth as if she's starving, until she begins to gag.  Then just let the food sit there.  And sit there.  Forever.  She will forget what she's doing and begin playing with the spoon, begin rolling a pea over and over.  It can easily take her two hours to finish a bowl of oatmeal.  Amidst the many appointments we are rushing to these days, I am constantly faced with how on earth to get food into her before we have to pack up and go again. 
She scribbles alongside Missy.  Missy tells me, "this one the ship. See, looks like a tri-angle. A big sailboat! An' it's going aaaaaalll a way to Texas.  And here, is a crocodile! Going to get the sailboat to eat it up! And here come the mama, right here, to save it from crocodiles.  And here is a cow." 
I ask Banana, "And tell me about your picture?"  She looks up at me and cocks her head. 
"Pic-ure."  
"But what are you drawing?" 
"Drawing!"
It breaks my heart. In moments like those, I look at her and see a child who has been robbed of the very greatest gift we are each born with- unlimited potential.  I look at Baby Banana and see years of struggle for things that could have been a given, if they weren't taken right from him.  It breaks my heart. 
But I have to shake it off and remember that pity and anger and breaking hearts never do anyone any good.  That nothing can be done about could-haves and should-haves.  What we can do, is start from here, and do our best.  The hard work for me isn't to decide fairness or assign blame- that's not my job at all.  My task is to accept them as perfect.  As just who they are, just where they are.  And to do anything I can to just move forward...no matter the pace.  No matter how far behind we start compared to someone else.  To choose to see their potential as Limitless Anyways.
The eating is messy and frustrating, with them both.  The effects of "training intestines how to process food regularly" is messy and frustrating.  And gross.  For them both.  Learning to cope with delays, especially those that effect certain behaviors, is tiring and confusing at times. 
But tonight I want to celebrate the victories.
After a month of being in our family, our bananas are quite far behind their peers in so many ways.  But they aren't in a race; they are on their own tracks.  And I'm feeling happy with how far they've come so fast. 
Little Banana no longer runs and hides when she's scared or hurting, she comes to me with wide arms.  That's huge.  She has learned, after lots of work, to tell me at least sometimes when she is hungry or thirsty, or needs help.  This feels like a big hurdle jumped; learning to both identify and express a need.  Today, for the first time, she was able to identify both Littles by name. She has learned how to buckle her top car seat buckle, and she is so proud of this it makes my heart shine.  She ate her whole dinner tonight with silverware. 
For Baby Banana, it was a banner day.  For the first time, he rolled all the way over and discovered the incredible freedom of getting from one place to another.  This baby who used to be on the same spot on the blanket if I left the room and came back later- by the end of the day he was rolling half way across the room.  It's a new world for him! 
When he first came to us, if I put him on his tummy he would whimper a moment, then lay down and go to sleep.  After a month of tummy time he now pushes up on his hands and plays with toys, he gets his belly just off the floor.  Today, he even scooted forward a few inches!  He has learned to eat baby food, even with a few soft chunks, and decided that he loves it.  Today in fact, an amazing thing happened. 
He cried.  Because he was hungry! This is a baby who thus far has only cried if in real pain.  Who I have to feed a set amount on a careful schedule because he could not tell when he was hungry (and wouldn't fuss no matter how long it had been since eating last) or full (and when fed would eat and eat until he threw everything up).  Today he cried for food- he asked for food!  He has also learned to turn away when he is full.  He is learning himself, learning how to communicate, learning how to be cared for.  It's beautiful.  I've hardly been so happy to hear a baby cry. 
These children are amazing.  They have been given so little; I am stretched, I can manage just the basics most days.  But they have taken that little and used it to grow and learn and become bigger and better and stronger and smarter.  In such a short time, in such a hard, scary situation.  I am proud for them. 
They are proof of what human failure can do to damage.  But they are also proof of what the human spirit can do to overcome.  They haven't passed as many milestones as some their age, but they are achievers in their own right. They inspire me. 
If they can keep on, keep being better each day than they were yesterday, after all they have been through...well what's my excuse?! 
The truth is I have been feeling tired and stressed and rather maxed out lately.  But today especially these bananas remind me that I have a human spirit, too.  It means that the more I have to overcome, the more I will overcome.  If they can wake up each day and move forward on their own tracks, well so can I.  Tomorrow I am going to be be myself.  But better.