What have we done?

What have we done?  It is a question I would imagine goes through the heads of most adoptive parents at times, whether or not they share it with anyone. Adopting is not only a choice we made, but it is a tedious, pain-staking and emotionally exhausting journey just to get the child home. You put so much work and effort into it. And then, the real journey begins. 

For Fort, and for us.  And there are moments....oh there are moments when you just wonder, we chose this path, was it right?  Were we crazy? What have we done?

We finally arrived home after a brutally long and occasionally horrific trip of 32 hours. After an amazing reunion with our "first" kids, my husband, and my dear family friend - including Fort walking to the parking lot hand in hand between two new siblings- we arrived home around 10 pm. An overtired boy in a brand new house that is FULL of new toys does not like going to bed. There was much screaming and crying, a full on two year old temper tantrum with hitting and attempted biting. And it was only fair that I handled this- he needed to see that his mama would not leave him.  Steve put the other kids to bed, and I lay with Fort in his bed, picking him back up off the floor and putting him back in bed over & over. And over. Finally, I could see in his body that he wasn't as mad, only sad, and he let me take him in my arms and lay down. He sat up abruptly -"want brush"- and we went and brushed his teeth that he had refused to do an hour earlier. Then we lay back down, and whimpering, he fell asleep. 

After a bit, I got up and went to bed in my bed (oh yes, have I mentioned that I got strep throat and was entirely feverish and sick on the plane too?). Around 2am, my sweet daughter comes walking down the hall with Fort, hand in hand, leading him to me. He is awake. "Want toys". Big sigh. 

For the next 3 hours there is more screaming, some playing, some singing, some crying. There is no sleeping. This from a boy who maybe slept a total of 8 hours in 2 days. Around 5 am, Steve gets up for a minute. Fort starts screaming "Papa!  Papa!  PAPA!!". When Steve comes back, we agree that neither of us will leave the room without telling him where we are going. Sobbing, Fort climbs into Steve's arms. And sleeps. Until 8am. "Want toys!". Yes, Fort, now you may play. 

He has an amazingly great day. At 8pm, we are ready for bed. Fort is not done playing. He is crazy silly, laughing hysterically and barely able to get his pajamas on and teeth brushed. He does not want to sleep. I take him to bed and the crying begins- the loud screaming what-are-you-doing-to-me crying. he tries to take his pajamas off, testing me, trying to see what I will let him do. I put them back on, against his will. He is mad at me. "Papa!  Papa!  PAPA!!". Steve comes. He goes happily to Steve. They lay down. Fort sleeps. I cry. I sleep. 

At 2 am, I hear his door open and can see his lone figure walking wordlessly down the hall to our room. "Fort?". I go to him. He reaches up, and I carry him to our bed. He lays down on me, and without a sound, is asleep. 

What have we done?  Something, I think, I hope, good.