In the orphanage there was a set of twin boys named Tsidesang and Tsedeso. They came to Baby Haven at about four months old and stayed there until about 18 months old, when they were adopted by an amazing family in the Netherlands. Even though they were twins, these two little boys could not have been more different, especially when it came to eating.
Everyone loved to feed Tsedeso. He loved food, and gobbled down every bite like a master. When you fed him he was so focused that he ate his food quickly and, because he didn't want loose even the smallest morsel of food, he was a relatively clean eater. (*sidenote- I have recently been informed from Judah's mother that, as a child, Jude ate this EXACT same way. Why am I not surprised that he loved food then as much as he loves it now?) Whenever it was meal time I always grabbed Tsedeso first because the only thing that I had to worry about was making sure that I was providing a steady stream of food to his mouth.
Tsidesang was quite the opposite from his brother. He HATED to eat. Every time he would even see the food bowl in front of him, he would start screaming and crying- big crocodile tears pouring down his face. It was heartbreaking and maddening all at the same time. The house mom's at the orphanage tried everything but eventually we were all advised that the only way that we could feed Tsidesang, while making sure that he got the nutrients he needed, was to just shove the food into his mouth- past the tears and screams. Eventually, his little mouth would fill with food and he'd be forced to swallow. Tsidesang also had what seemed to be a permanent head cold, and as a result, his nose was always full and runny. This compounded the matter because now we had to worry about making sure that he would eat, and that he didn't suffocate in the process.
Really, though, the biggest problem with feeding Tsidesang was that he had probably the most sensitive gag reflux of any baby that I have ever seen or heard of (due, in part, to his constant congestion). It was inevitable that no matter who was feeding him, or how patient they were, half of his meal would almost always come right back out. And we're not talking little, nice, compact, baby puke. We're talking angry, histerical baby, projectile vomit. This fact, coupled with the heartbreaking experience of trying to force feed a crying baby, kept me from volunteering to feed Tsidesang.
However, there were two orphanage workers who could always manage to successfully feed Tsidesang. One of them was the house mom who worked the evening shift, and the other, was Judah. I don't know why Tsidesang ate better for them, but my best guess is that their patience was a comfort to him. Judah would take upwards of an hour feeding that little boy, never getting impatient, and cheering him along the whole way. It was precious.
But that's only half of the story.
One day, after feeding our "designated baby" lunch and putting them to down for a nap, a friend and I were chatting over tea. Judah was sitting on the floor, still patiently trying to feed Tsidesang, who was slowly and torturously making his way through lunch. My friend and I were chatting, paying no attention to the fussy baby and patient caregiver in the corner of the room. All of a sudden, I hear Judah quietly consoling Tsidesang and saying "It's okay buddy, you're okay..." I look over to find Judah and Tsidesang both completely covered in vomit. My friend and I jumped up immediately to help but by that point Judah had been sitting in Tsidesang's vomit for at least two or three minutes. Afterwards I asked Judah why he didn't freak out or say anything to us. I knew that if it had been me, I would have yelled for help immediately, desperate to get the baby vomit off of my body. I couldn't understand Judah's reaction. He simply turned to me and said "He was so upset after he threw up and I felt so bad for him. I was just trying to comfort him."
It was at that moment that I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Judah was ready for fatherhood.
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