Owlhaven's blog of a couple days ago on Attachment Parenting is an awesome account of how to nurture your little ones (or not so little ones if they arrive as older children). And just reading it brought back a flood of memories.

There is much I didn't know, understand or anticipate about LuLu and her many special needs when we adopted her. But there were a few things I got right. One was taking a "Sally Ride" sling with us to China. From day one, LuLu was perched on my hip (all 19 lbs of her 20-month-old body). Of course she wasn't hanging on (classic sign that she was at risk for attachment problems), but she was there anyway, with me chatting endlessly at her and trying to elicit eye contact. And back home she remained on my hip through most of the day, when I wasn't encouraging her physical development. She walked quickly after we received her -- it was pretty obvious she'd never been given the opportunity to walk or crawl in the orphanage. (Sigh - crawling being such an important neurodevelopmental step - as I later learned.)

But there was much I DID NOT know until we began our attachment work with LuLu. I didn't understand the importance of co-sleeping, or of treating her more like a baby in terms of feeding her, lots of infant play, etc. Some of this I instinctively did, but as she rejected it (another classic attachment disorder sign), I often allowed her independence (wrong thing to do!)

Once we were on track with an attachment therapist and I was learning strong attachment and therapeutic parenting, LuLu started responding. Albeit slowly, she went from a detached, rejecting toddler to a suddenly clingy anxiously-attached one. This indicated healing, but she stuck in the stage of anxious attachment for quite awhile -- much to Mom's exhaustion.

These are the memories that came flooding back with Owlhaven's blog. Memories of the Summer of 2000 when LuLu had been home two years and was nearly 4 years old. She was so anxiously attached that going to the bathroom or showering were next to impossible without her attached to my leg. I can picture her seated on the toilet outside my shower, either chattering nervously the whole 3-4 minutes of the speed shower, or crying, sure that I was abandoning her behind that shower door (even though she could SEE me through the door.) It was the Summer of Hairy Legs. I literally did not have time to shave my legs for the bulk of the summer. Occasionally my dear husband would be able to give me a reprieve and allow me the extra minutes needed for that personal hygiene moment. But at the time she was very rejecting of him (that attachment, too, has long since healed). But Summer 2000 was a long, hot, hairy summer.

The other personal care that was totally neglected for that summer, and many others since then, was the time needed to paint my nails. I'm not a particularly frilly gal, but having groomed fingernails and toenails is something I truly enjoy (especially during sandal weather). No need for expensive manicures -- I can do them at home -- when there's time.

These two things - hairy legs and unpainted nails, are my personal care barometers. So, the family joke over the last few years is to check Mom's legs and nails. If they are unkept then Mom is stressed. If she's looking good...she's feeling good.

Right now? Well the polish is chipping, but the legs are smooth -- hmmmm...not bad given all the hectic crises in my life at the moment.