Dispatches from the Congo – A Journey of Love (Part 22)

By Erin Pohland

Returning to Alaska was hard, knowing that I would leave again for good. It was also overwhelming, as I attempted to pack for a cross-country move with a toddler. Poor Andrew had already been through a lot of change in his life, and he got increasingly clingy with each box that I packed. My boxes certainly weren’t anywhere near as well-packed or organized as they were when I had moved to Alaska, but I had more important things on my mind.

Saying goodbye was beyond difficult, particularly for my two closest friends in Alaska and their daughters Ruby and Ella. We spent every spare moment that we could together — going to the Alaska State Fair, to the park, out to eat, and just hanging out at home together. Hilariously, a little circle of love emerged. Andrew would chase Ruby around and tackle her for a kiss, while Ella did the same to Andrew. They had toddler dance parties and just bonded like crazy. We all cried as the last dinner party before I left broke up….not only would we miss each other terribly, but what would the babies do without each other? I cried the entire way home.

With my dad flying up for last minute packing assistance, I got everything into the shipping container with just a few hours to spare (and by “I got,” I mean the movers and my dad got everything done!). Two short days later, we headed to the airport for yet another cross-country flight — but this time with 6 checked bags, two strollers, a car seat and three carry-ons in tow (thank goodness I flew Air France to and from the Congo — in addition to purchasing three tickets solely with Alaska Air miles, I was also able to check all of those items for free). Having another adult on a flight makes quite a difference — it felt luxurious to have someone else to hold the baby and help maneuver everything through the airports. By this time, Andrew was quite an experienced flyer (approximately 25,000 miles since July) and was less impressed with just sitting on my lap. If I don’t fly with him again for another year, I’ll be very, very happy!

Arriving in Pennsylvania was a bit surreal for me. To Andrew, it felt like coming home. He squealed with delight when he saw my mom, and was over the moon to see his aunts. Regardless of how hard it might have been for me, moving back east was absolutely the right decision for Andrew. He was just the apple of all of his cousins’ eyes (strange moment: seeing the kids I used to babysit when they were babies, now in high school and holding my baby!).

He started going part-time to daycare (or as he calls it, school) to get him prepared for my surgery, and decided that falling leaves were pretty much the best thing in the world. A new love was found when we took him to Ohiopyle (where Frank Lloyd Wright’s Fallingwater is) — falling leaves AND rushing water! He was in heaven.

After my surgery, Andrew was an angel. He put one of his Elmo bandaids onto my splint, and was surprisingly accepting about the fact that I couldn’t hold him or play with him and spent most of my time sleeping. Once I was doing a bit better, he graduated to giving my “boo boo” kisses to make it all better. He was the hit at my surgeon’s office, where I’d hear cries of “He’s here! He’s here!” as we walked down the hall. He’d be whisked off by the various nurses (and sometimes doctors!) and would be returned to me after my appointment, covered in stickers and beaming from ear to ear. With me unable to care for him and my parents working, he went to “school” for 5 or so hours a day. I thought that it would be hard, given our attachment to each other, but Andrew barely looked back as he said, “Bye, Mama!” To say that he loves school is an understatement!

We had a lot of firsts over the past few months (or so I assume). In October, it was his first football game, first snow (which he LOVED) and first Halloween.

Andrew was a skunk for Halloween, which was very appropriate given his diapers (when you eat like he does, your diapers are not exactly pleasant-smelling). He wasn’t quite up to saying “trick or treat,” but did manage to hold his nose shut and say “P.U.!!” when someone asked what he was.

In November, Andrew had his first Thanksgiving (he was thrown off by the fancy tablecloth and china, and decided that running in and out of the dining room and announcing his presence to applause each time was more fun). He also started using the potty before he turned two, although we’re still working on that particular skill. His favorite part of the potty is that we cheer for him when he is successful; hilariously, he sits and chants his own name while on the potty. We’ll have to break him of that before he gets into high school.

Most importantly, Andrew turned two in November!! It was an amazing day. We opened presents, had a special breakfast (which included grape tomatoes from his aunt, one of his most favorite foods), and a big dinner and an Elmo cake. After dinner, we started a new birthday ritual: releasing a single balloon into the sky for his birth mother. At this age, Andrew doesn’t get it, but I hope that it becomes more meaningful as he grows older. I, of course, cried in gratitude. His birthday was a bittersweet time for me. Obviously, I was overjoyed for my baby, but I also spent a lot of time thinking about what his mother had been feeling on that day in 2009. Was she scared? Did she have any idea that she wouldn’t survive his birth? I doubt that I’ll ever know the circumstances surrounding his birth, but I hope that she was surrounded by loved ones and left this earth peacefully. She must have been an amazing woman.

Andrew also had a big party for his family and some close friends a few days after his actual birthday. It was a farm theme, because my little African boy can’t get enough of John Deere and all things farm! He wore his best overalls and bandanna, and his aunt Katy made him an amazing cake — complete with ducks swimming in a pond, sheep holding up a happy birthday sign, and of course, a little skunk for my little stinker. He was overwhelmed by all of the gifts and people, but quickly got the hang of it — perfect practice for Christmas.

To my knowledge, Christmas isn’t really celebrated in the Congo, and it’s certainly not celebrated like it is in the States. As best as I could tell, this would be his first Christmas. I slowly introduced him to the concept of Santa and being a good boy, preparing him for the day when my elementary school teacher mother would cover the house in Christmas finery. He was thrilled — walking around the house saying “ho, ho, ho!” As far as the actual guy, Andrew was less impressed; at a party at my aunt’s house, he wanted no parts of Santa. He gladly accepted gifts from his sack, of course, but then immediately told him “Bye!” He did have one particular present that he wanted from Santa: a robe. Yes, a robe. My practical little boy desperately wanted a robe like his mama has, and luckily, Santa found one at Baby Gap. To this day, if someone asks him what he got for Christmas, he’ll tell you, “robe.” (ignoring dozens of other presents, including cars, trucks, cooking sets and barnyard sets). Each night after his bath, he puts it on (hood up, of course) and runs around the house like a madman. He is so proud of that robe! I’d post a picture, but Andrew won’t stay still long enough for me to get one!

The so-called terrible twos have definitely arrived, although terrible is a bit of an exaggeration with Andrew. He’s still a generally agreeable little guy, but definitely starting to test limits and push buttons. His favorite words and phrases are now, “Mine!” “I do!” and “Go away!” Of course, he’s also started to say “thank you” without prompting, and knows exactly what I mean when I correct him with a gentle, “how do you ask for more milk?” (Reply: “More milk please, Mama!”). His vocabulary is astounding, particularly given that he heard no English until June of 2011. Now, he doesn’t respond to Swahili at all. Perhaps when he’s a bit older, he and I can re-learn Swahili together.

Andrew is still a bit young to talk about adoption, but he does tell you exactly where he was born — “Congo.” This started when my dad took him to a well baby check-up after my surgery, and the nurse commented on how Andrew has my 100% German father’s eyes. My dad said, “Well, thank you, but I don’t think that’s possible — he was born in the Congo.” From that moment on, Andrew will tell anyone and everyone where he is from — “Congo!” There is no question who his family is, though. I’ve never seen a child surrounded by so much love and adoration. He considers my dad his best buddy, and they are largely inseparable. Scarily, my dad is his style icon — if my dad puts on his fleece vest, Andrew insists on putting his on as well. If my dad puts on a brimmed dress cap, then Andrew better be wearing the same type of hat. I’ll need to convince him that perhaps his Granddad isn’t the most stylish man in the world before he starts pairing socks with sandals. He waits anxiously for my mom to get home from school each day, and every time the phone rings, he’s convinced it’s my younger sister, who lives several hours away (and she DOES call for him several times a day, so he’s not usually wrong). My older sister is his favorite playmate — no one else is as silly and fun to him as she is. He has become the very heart of our family, bringing so much joy and light into our lives (particularly during a very tough time for our family this fall and winter). None of us can imagine life without him.

For the final installment next week, I want to share a bit about Andrew’s birth family, the current situation in the Congo, and my plans to go back (which I’ve desperately wanted to do since August….). Thank you all so much for reading and sharing in this journey with us!

Love, Erin & Andrew

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