Mommy, I don't like my brown skin. I want it to be white.
I want to take my skin off.
I don't want this hair. I want hair like daddy.
I want to fix my skin so it will be white.
I want my skin to look like yours and daddy's and India's
and then, worst of all:
I just don't like myself
I tried so hard to listen, to keep from overreacting, to be empathetic, and to tell him how much I love him and his brown skin. But it was obvious that he has a lot of pent up feelings about this. I've wondered . . . especially watching the way he interacts with other kids sometimes. But tonight he left no question.
I am totally torn up about it. What do I do? We've read the books and followed the advice . . . but I'm just so sad because I know that there is inevitable grief in adoption, and this is a part of his life experience as a transracial adoptee. I WANT TO FIX IT. I want to protect him from pain. I don't want him to be sad. I want him to feel special and loved and secure and confident.
Mark and I talked about it for a long time tonight. Well, Mark talked. I sobbed and made word-like noises through my ugly-cry face. We were evaluating what we could do differently, if we've made a mis-step somewhere. We considered again, if we need to move to Austin, or Haiti, or a place with more diversity than Orange County. But we were mostly just hurting for our little boy.
It's so discouraging, too, that we want so badly to give him a sibling who looks like him. I wish so much that our Haiti adoption was not taking so long. I hate that he feels so alone in our family. I wish that he had just one face to identify with in our home.
UGGGHHHHH. Feeling sad tonight, and wishing I knew the answer.