Attachment and Disorder

Before we began the adoption process, I don't think I'd ever heard the phrase Attachment Disorder, and if I did, I surely didn't pay any attention to it. In the adoption/fostering context, Attachment Disorder is the inability for a child to have a normal bond (attachment) with a caretaker. 

I may be exaggerating, but I feel like the phrase came up in every single adoption meeting, interview, and prep class we attended. It was drilled into us that we would likely be adopting a child who suffered from the disorder, since we'd be adopting domestically, through the social work system. Between this, being told we'd probably be adopting a kid with Fetal Alcohol Syndrome, and my being talked to in a way that made me feel I would not be a capable parent, there were many a day that I wasn't sure this was something I wanted to go through with.

Add to this, my sense of order in how things work in my world, and I didn't come off as the most enthusiastic potential adopter. 

When you're an adult who's not around kids much, you kind of do things a certain way - you don't notice that you have a bottle sitting at the edge of a table, you keep things where you want, you can listen to podcasts without being interrupted. You have a certain order to your life that a kid doesn't really fit into. Whenever we would have a kid visit, I would worry that they would break something, or do something to our walls, or floors, or carpet. I like my things orderly.

The thought of attachment issues and losing order in our flat scared the hell out of me when it looked like we were going to be matched up with a child. It scared me even more when we were matched with the child, and even more when we met one of the child's foster parents, and even more when we met the child, and even more with each day of the transition process of moving the child from the foster carers to us. 

We were told we were lucky. The kid we were matched with had lived with one foster family since birth and had a birth mother who didn't drink alcohol. This was very good, everyone said, but it didn't make me feel much better.

The night before we moved the kid into our place for good, I barely slept. On the 1.5 hour drive to the foster carers, I kept thinking it would be kind of nice if the roads got so blocked so that we'd have to turn around and go back home. Of course, this didn't happen and we were at the foster carers at the set time and brought the kid home.

At some point during the transition process I was talking to a social worker. I said I didn't see how this kid, who had lived with one foster family since birth, would possibly attach to us, random strangers who just showed up a few days earlier. The social worker said she was sure everything would be fine and I would be amazed at how well, and quickly, a kid who is attached to one family can attach to another. I smiled, acted like I believed her (I didn't) and didn't push any further on the issue.

I was very wrong.

The kid follows Lauren around like a puppy dog (me, not so much), plays with us like we've been around forever, and didn't just appear a couple of weeks ago. It's unbelievable, and almost a little scary how well the kid has attached to us, and how quickly we've become a family.

Last night, as I was cleaning up rice off the table (plates mean nothing to this kid), and the floor, and the chair the kid was sitting in, and finding random grains of rice all over the rest of the kitchen, I had to admit that I had lost my battle with the order of things in our flat, and my life. Things are now out of reach of toddler-sized hands, I'm waking up at times I only used to when I had an early morning flight, and all my pens have gone missing.

While we still have a way to go, I have to say that it's impressive how in less than one week, we have gone from where we were to where we are. We are well on our way to reaching a strong sense of attachment, which is an amazing thing. Our flat is starting to have a strong sense of disorder, which I'm not so amazed by, but will learn to live with.