Lesley (or Nino, as his parents nick-named him) was a Dominican little boy. He spoke no english but had an infectious smile and inquisitive spirit. I was very thankful that I had to take spanish in high school and college. I had about a 22 month old's vocabulary, so I could ask him if he wanted jugo, leche, o agua. We made it work. I quickly learned the difference between an immobile 4 month old and an almost-2 year old who never stopped moving and could lock himself in the bathroom. twice. To say that he was challenging would be inaccurate. Exhausting. Near- impossible. Patience-testing. Maybe that paints a closer picture. He did not like women (most likely because his abuser was a woman I think) but would be an angel when my husband was around. My forearms were covered in scratches and bruises from him testing his boundaries. Even with ever-growing circles under my eyes, I loved him like our own.
He quickly adjusted to life with gringos. We taught him how to count to ten and how to say grace before he ate. He was like a little parrot. This would be our lesson before each meal:
Us: "Dear God,"
Nino: "Diego,"
"Thank you for"
"five"
"Our food."
"food."
"Bless it to"
"Three"
"my body."
"body."
"Amen."
"Aaaaaameeeenn."
He would continually make us laugh. Although life was busy and difficult, having Nino was a blessing. I was too busy and distracted to even think about my pregnancy or if today was the day we were going to lose Josiah. I only had enough energy to make it through the day and none left over to waste worrying.
On one particularly trying day after struggling with Nino to change a diaper, and then chasing him to get his pants back on, he ran into my bedroom. All of a sudden his feet went out from under him and he hit his head on the floor. After drying tears and kissing boo boos, I saw a puddle of water on the floor. Then I looked at the ceiling. There was a steady stream of water trickling down from the bulging drywall overhead.
For months our air conditioner in the attic had been leaking and we didn't know it. When our house had been renovated in the 80's, someone had put sheets of plastic in between the drywall and insulation, blocking any moisture from soaking through to the wall. However, the plastic had also allowed the moisture to fester and fill the insulation and studs with mildew and mold.
As soon as Justin uncovered the array of colors hidden in our bedroom walls, I quickly packed up the kids and their clothes and toys and high-tailed it to my parents house so we wouldn't have to breath in the dangerous air. We had to call DYFS to let them know that the kids would need to be picked up at a different address for their weekly visitations. They flipped. They told us that they would need to remove the children from our care because we were no longer in an "approved home."
I just lost my house. Now I was going to lose my kids.
My heroic husband begged and pleaded for DYFS not to have to find another home for Josiah and Nino. They decided that they would allow us to get my parents' home temporarily approved. Crisis averted.
Atleast one crisis.
There was extensive water and mold damage in our bedroom wall and ceiling and the ceiling and wall of the downstairs living room. By the grace of God our homeowners' insurance covered the damage, but I was not a happy camper. All I wanted to do was "nest" and get ready for my baby that would be here in 2 months. And now I had no tree.
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