The Importance Of a Good Infancy

Seeing former President Clinton losing it with Chris Wallace Sunday reminds me of the importance of infancy.

Presently we are caring for two foster children. One will be one-year-old on October 4, and the other will be one-year-old on October 29. Both are girls. The latter has been with us since March 3, and is strongly bonded to all members of our family. She starts each day with excited anticipation, knowing that there will be much to explore and lots of fun all day long. She did not come to us that way. She came into foster care because her biological father beat up her biological mother, who had a history of meth abuse. There are two older sisters who have mostly grown up in foster care. She was easily frightened by any loud noise. She often looked stressed. Now she seems to have undergone a complete rewiring, with the frontal part of the brain predominating over the brain stem of raw emotion. She knows she can trust us. She knows we love her.

That has not yet happened for our other foster daughter. We first got her when her mother broke her leg in February. We had her only a few days in February, because Human Services found a relative who said she could care for her. In June that relative said she could no longer care for her, and she came back to live with us. The mother still has a criminal case pending on the broken leg. She is also ready to give birth to her second child. The Human Services people want to see how she does with the new baby before deciding to return our foster daughter to the mom.

Unlike our other foster daughter who has been with us almost seven months, the second one wakes up each morning expecting the worst. Her favorite thing to do is to yell loudly, expressing displeasure much like former President Clinton did with Chris Wallace. She yells if we have to leave the room to answer a phone. She yells if we set her down to fold laundry. She yells if breakfast, lunch, or dinner is finished. She is grossly overweight. We believe the mom and the relative constantly gave her food to mollify her discontent. The mom always urges me to give her a bottle on the ride back to our home after a visit, so I no longer even bring a bottle. Mom and the relatives told us she would never crawl, because nobody in their family had ever crawled. After much perseverance on the part of some very good physical and occupational therapists, ignoring her deafening screams, she now crawls. Mostly she prefers not to move around much, preferring instead to yell at those of us who do. However, when I endeavor to change her poopy diaper, she kicks and squirms and tries to crawl away, laughing with great pleasure at the inconvenience she is causing me. We shall continue to greet her each morning with enthusiam and happy faces, hoping to get that rewiring started.