Charlie

Adjusting to having an infant in our home hadn't been that difficult, but now adding his 16 month old in that mix made things totally chaotic.
While Sam was happy to be home-he was bonded with us, Charlie was a different story.

He had been in foster care since he was 7 months old, when he went to the hospital with a week old broken femur bone. It was an abusive injury.
From there he went to his maternal grandmother, was there for several months until he was pulled because he was losing weight. So they put with the family friend for a few months.

While did better at that home, he had no stimulation at all. We found out later that they often strapped him (a toddler) into a bouncy seat in front of the TV with a bottle. At 16 months old, Charlie could barely walk or chew. His leg was healed, but when he tried to walk he'd fall. Over and over. He'd get back up-and fall again.
He chewed like a young baby learning to eat-almost a more sucking like motion. He loved to put anything and everything in his mouth-his comfort. We thought our house was baby proof until he came. He'd find the littlest objects in crazy places and put them in his mouth. Once he found marbles and had 6 of them piled in. We quickly learned to keep everything out of reach.
He was very small for his age. His hair was short and thin, he was pale, he was always drooling, and his nose never seemed to stop dripping. His eyes were dull and emotionless.
The worst was how uncomfortable he was being held. He didn't enjoy it-he didn't know what to do. You could hold him for a maximum of 15 seconds before he'd fight to be put down. Then he'd attempt to run away, and fall down. My mother often rocks all the young children and babies we've had over the years, and Sam was no exception. She tried to rock Charlie, and he was so uncomfortable with the whole deal. He'd squirm and wiggle and would not settle down. He refused to look anyone in the eye even at such a young age.
We avid readers in our house. He'd destroy any book he could get his little hands on. We'd try to show him pictures-he'd try to rip the pages. It was really a trying ordeal for the first several weeks we had him. We were told by a caseworker that his father had very low IQ and they believed Charlie would too. She told us Charlie always just seemed like a "sick baby". And that's what he was. He couldn't help it.
But my mother especially thought different. She saw a spark of something in his little eyes. He wasn't a stupid sick baby. He was a survivor.

And so we didn't give up on him. She kept rocking and reading to him. It soon be came apparent that while few things kept him occupied, watching my dad work did. Dad is a carpenter, and we built the house we now live in, so things are constantly in process. Little Charlie could sit and watch his "daddy" build counters in the laundry room for hours and as he got older, help by holding things. His legs regained their strength and he fell less and less, and before we knew it he could run. He learned that ripping things was a no-no and it's much funner to see what's in the book. The transformation was fast and slow at the same time. Playing outside and eating healthy have him a nice glow. He didn't get his 1st haircut until his 2nd birthday. And he went from hating being touched-to gladly giving hugs. He became outgoing and sweet. He loved vegetables and learning about farms. I remember the caseworker being amazed a few months in at how much he had changed. Because we gave him a chance.