The Little Pill

It's been an emotionally draining couple of week.  Between never-ending illness for all of us, external job stresses, some expected and unexpected diagnosis for Little Bug, and having to fight for and then embrace some pretty big changes in our therapy approaches for Little Bug (most of which we had hoped not to have to embrace), I've become crippled with my own anxiety and pulled away from a lot, including blogging.

But this morning, I felt the plug pull, and I feel like I can write again.  In fact, I see the other side so clearly now, and it's a bright, happy, calm place.  It's a place our family is going to get to.

This blournal has really focused on late with Little Bug's needs, and that is because for about 9 months we've been working so hard and getting so sad and frustrated to see little to no results of the behavior therapies we have tried.  Desperation and insecurity are things I have had permanently weighing on my heart.  As a mother, I simply haven't know what best to do for my baby, and that insecurity when making choices is a poisonous feeling.

This morning I woke up and the first thing I thought about was the little blue pill that I needed to give to Little Bug.  The pill that I am terrified will steal the light out of my boy whose Korean name has "bright" in it for a reason.  The pill that Appa and I have tip-toed around for close to 9 months now, circling ever closer, but always hoping we could somehow avoid.

But we couldn't.  Little Bug's brain needs this blue pill.  And we'll be damned if Little Bug doesn't get exactly what he needs.

When I let a tear roll yesterday as the doctor wrote out the prescription, he told me that the first pill would be hard for me to give, but that it would be worth it for Little Bug and it would be okay.

Sure enough, my hands shook as I broke the capsule and sprinkled it over a small spoonful of apple sauce.  My voice wavered as I called him over to take him new "yummy" medicine.  And when I put the spoonful into his mouth, I actually buried my head in his glossy black hair and shed a couple tears.

I was scared I was killing his bright light.  I was sad he had to struggle daily.  I was sorry I couldn't help him enough on my own.

But I was also really hopeful and it felt liberating.  Having a good doctor and a rock solid diagnosis that includes months and months (and months) of rating forms from home, doctor, and school and 9 months of failed behavior therapy behind us gives me the peace of mind to know that this absolutely, 100% is what he needs.

And to know, as a mother, that I am making the very best choice possible for my child is a powerful, wonderful thing. A conviction that I think doesn't come along every day.

In the grand scheme of life, medicating a child isn't the end of the world, and I know that. In a few short days I won't even think of it other than to deal with the side effects (if there are any on this low dose) and watch my child start learning to help himself be his best.

But it's the start of a huge new chapter in our son's life, and although he is too young to understand the risks and benefits, Appa and I are keenly feeling them for him today.  But that's what we keep circling back to, the benefits that outweigh the risks.  This feeling of hope we both have.

Today we did the right thing for our son.

Adoptivus: Family

One of the most profound experiences of the whole trip was to spend the evening in the home of Little Bug's foster family.  As the driver took us into the heart of Seoul, I tried to soak in the sights, imagining the streets and sounds and colors that made up my baby little bug's world.  I didn't even think to take pictures or video, although I'd give anything now for some.  (Next time.)

There's always a moment, even in the most exciting and right experiences, where you think "Holy crap, what am I doing?"  As our car turned down a tight alleyway and started to slow, that moment hit me.

We'd met these people twice for a grand total of 2 hours over 2 years ago.  We don't speak the same language, we don't have the same cultural customs, and our contact has been been completely over the internet.  Yet, without the safety net of our agency, we were going to their home for dinner and catching up.  In that final moment before the car stopped, I felt my stomach plunge at the thought of this all going very wrong.

Then the car stopped and I heard a booming, warm, joyful voice welcoming us by name in broken English.  I was barely out of the car before being enveloped in a hug from my son's foster father, and I suddenly felt at ease.

This was family, and we were all going to make it work.

I struggle with how to share about that night.  It's tucked in my heart as one of the most beautiful evenings of my entire life.  It's so special that I find myself protective of it.  I thought it would just be about Little Bug, and while he was definitely the star of the show, the night was really more about our two families cementing a bond that went past a shared history of raising this little boy.  We celebrated and got to know each other, and by the end of the night, we felt like extended family.

What I can share is how humbling it was to see my son's first home, see the toys he loved and the clothing he wore.  It was affirming to see the walls covered in pictures of my beloved child and the other children who have been blessed enough to call these people family, even though years have now passed.  I can write about the honor I felt at the beautiful table filled with every imaginable Korean dish, prepared for days by neighbors and family who all wanted simply to honor the little baby with the beautiful smile they remembered.  And I can recall the delight and surprise when I was presented with a delicious traditional birthday rice cake and everyone sang happy birthday to me in Korean.

But the moments that stand out the most are the snap shots in my memory.  The way Little Bug's Omma and Appa gazed at him and brushed back his hair as he sat between them, so intimately a parent/child moment.  The moment when I happened to glance into the kitchen and see Little Bug fork feeding his college-aged hyung from his baby plate.  The moment when his beloved noona rushed into the apartment to scoop him up in a hug, having stopped by on her way to the airport as she was leaving to complete with her Korean national sports team but couldn't pass up the chance to see him again.  The quick glimpses of neighbors popping their heads in the door to catch their own glimpse of Little Bug.  The moment when Little Bug rushed over to give halmoni a big hug, he delight etched all over her face.  And above all, the pealing sounds of laughter, his and theirs, as they doted on him all night long.

We all claimed each other as family that night, as weird as it sounds. But it's no longer just the love of Little Bug that binds us to each other now, and that, besides Little Bro himself, was the most important aspect of our entire journey back to Korea.

We are so blessed with family.

Adoptivus: What View of What If

Seoul Tower is awesome.  The panoramic views of Seoul are seriously unreal.  I simply could not get over how far skyscrapers stretched in every direction.  I looked out over Seoul and imagined where my son was, where his birth mother and birth father were, where my older son grew up, and where his birth parents were.  With views like those, it seemed completely uncomplicated to imagine a world where we could connect with those special people and places.

That is not the memory that sticks with me from Seoul Tower.

Instead it was all the children from the school field trip that giggled and pointed at us or yelled "HELLO" before blushing and ducking their heads in laughter that kept capturing my attention.  I stared so often I started worrying that I was being creepy, actually.

I watched them joke and laugh or snark and grump at each other as only 10 year olds can.  I saw the popular kids and the studious ones.  I saw the giddy girls and the awkward boys.  I heard Korean roll off their tongues and imagined the type of lives they must go home to at night.  What they eat, what their parents do for a living, how to get home, what they watch for fun.

This was the life my sons should have had, and I was fascinated and so very heartbroken to see it playing out before my eyes.

I have never believed my sons were meant to leave Korea and live in America.  I love them and am so thankful to be their mom, but adoption blows in a million ways for them and this is one of the big ones.  The entire time I was in Korea I keenly felt the loss of their rightful chance to live in Korea as a cultural majority.  To see all those children who didn't have to loss their Korean culture, language, and traditions broke my heart for my sons and their field trip to Seoul Tower they will never get to take.

It was this moment when it crystallized for me that I would do everything in my power to help them learn Korean and bring them back to Korea as often as we could.  I mean, everything and anything.  I can't give them back the life they should have had, but I will try my hardest to bridge that gap just a little bit.

Adoptivus: 30

Many people consider their 30th birthday a low-point birthday milestone, but for me, I will always consider it the best birthday of my life.

I turned 30 in Seoul.

I spent the day on a bus tour seeing the sights of a beautiful city, visiting a Korean folk village, enjoying a delicious meal and panoramic views from the top of the tallest tower in Seoul, and shopping in local markets.  It was such a delightful day that I barely thought about it actually being my birthday, let alone the end of my 20s (which I was happy to see go anyway..I'm a big girl now, yo).

But Appa, ever the gentleman, carved out a little bit of time during Little Bug's nap for a private birthday celebration.  He bought me a sweet piece of cheesecake-cake, and we had a date in the lounge.  We talked about the big and small things happening for our family and flirted like high school kids, and I might have eaten all of my cake and about half of his.

It was perfect, and no party or gift will ever be able to top Seoul, Little Bro, and a piece of cheese cake.

Adoptivus: The Brothers Meh

One of the things I fantasized most about was the first moment my sons would meet.  Little Bug had been preparing for over a year to meet his brother, kissing his picture every night.  For him, Little Bro was already a part of our lives and the whole actually being in the same country business was just a formality. Meanwhile, Little Bro was happy being an only child.

When Little Bro came sprinting through the doors in our first glimpse of him, he stopped short in the middle of our merry little group, taking us all in with equal parts interest and wary.   Little Bug, on the other hand, stepped right out to meet his little brother and said loudly into his face "Hi, Little Bro." I held my breath, tears threatening as I watched what I knew would be an epic moment in all our lives.  I wished like hell my camera was already out, but wasn't about to miss the fireworks to fish for it out of my bag.

Turns out there was no need.  Little Bro looked once over at Little Bug and then turned back toward his foster mother and we were ushered inside.  There was nothing remotely special about the moment, other than it was the moment when these two brothers first met.

A total and complete meh.

Looking back on it, maybe moments like that don't matter.  I don't recall the first moment I met Appa.  The boys made their moments later with jostling for cars and toys and phones and pens.  Little Bug ate Little Bro's treats and Little Bro took command of Little Bug's balloons.  They both tried their hardest at making a family picture impossible without flailing limbs and arching backs. Those were the moments that started their relationship, even if they weren't the first.

And honestly, none of those moments really feel like mine, either, but I wanted to get them out in some form for the LBs to have when they are older and curious as to how their lives together started.

Adoptivus: Foodie Fail

After meeting Little Bro less than 15 hours after touching down on Korean soil, we fought the jet lag and lost by taking an obscenely long nap that ate the rest of our day.  Once we woke up, we really had little we were able to do but eat.

The hotel we stay at is attached to a large Korean mall and train station.  It's bustling, fancy, and very convenient.  As this was our first official night there, we knew absolutely that we wanted something Korean.  The little place with a seven sign menu of mandoo and soups looked like just the comfort food we were craving.

And it would have been perfection, if I hadn't have tried to get all fancy and order in freaking Korean.

Appa and Kim ordered by pointing to the picture of the soup they wanted, but I wanted to be adventurous, so I attempted to order a soup I was unfamiliar with and I ordered it in Korean.

Let's get it out of the way that when our food came it was apparent that we had ordered about five times the amount we could have eaten and must have looked ridiculous ordering the quantity of food.  We wasted so much at the end of the meal and it still makes me cringe to think about.

But the part that still leaves a sour taste in my mouth...literally...was the fact that the soup I ordered was, to my taste, disgusting.  I love me a lot of Korean flavors, but this was a cold soup and it tastes of fermentation and seafood, two things I don't prefer.  I truly did try to take a couple spoon fulls, but it was just too unappealing for me to stomach.  It didn't help that I was watching Appa and Kim happily tuck into some of my favorites.

I'd like to say we figured out a way to save some face in that small little mandoo and guk shop because all eyes were fixed directly on us, but we didn't.  We left that cold soup virtually untouched and despite our best efforts, made a minimal debt in the others.  I couldn't look in the direction of that shop for the rest of our trip without blushing in shame.


We finished the night with some ice cream from Baskin Robbins, and the flavor combinations were so interesting and daring.  I remember sitting at the table marveling over all the neat flavors and building a blog post in my head.  I'm sure it was the fatigue talking, but I remember just being totally blown away by the flavors in that shop.  I'd just met my son and yet my head you exploding from ginseng-flavored ice cream that I didn't even try.

That blog never got written and I have forgotten every flavor on that menu, including every flavor we actually purchased.

I am many things, but a foodie is apparently not one of them.

Adoptivus: First Date

Unlike meeting Little Bug for the first time, which was very much Mama meet Baby--Baby meet Mama, our first meeting with Little Bro was more like a hybrid play date/speed date.  And to be frank, he just wasn't that into me.

Little Bro is a tiny little boy with a personality about three times his size.  From the moment the doors opened and he came sprinting down the hall (not toward us, but rather away from his foster mother), I desperately wanted to be in his cool crowd.  He played hard, he grumped hard, and he loved hard, and this too-cool-for-school kid in his Captain Bitz tank top was a bit intimidating.

I remember being so focused on how torn I was.  I wanted to get to know his foster mother who was sitting quietly taking it all in, and I wanted to prove to them what great, "with it" parents we were and how our family would just click.  I wanted Little Bug and Little Bro to fall instantly in love with each other (the fight to the ground over the Cozi Coupe proved early on that wouldn't be the case).  Most of all, I wanted to touch Little Bro, to connect with him.  I wanted to breath him in and memorize every detail about him.  I wanted to touch his impossibly cute cheeks, kiss his sweet puckered lips, and brush back his whispy hair.

But he just wasn't that into me, and this adoption-savvy mama knew better than to force the love connection at this meeting.  So instead, I just kept gravitating toward him, inching closer and closer each pass he made around the room.  His sweet Korean voice was seriously the cutest thing I had ever heard, and I wanted to keep him talking as much as I could.

So I broke down and let him hold my camera....open and on.  A sin I paid for the rest of the trip with messed up settings.

But it got me my moment.  He sidled up to me to take some pictures and watch the monitor, and as he held the camera, his body almost close enough for a hug, I made my move and lightly rested my hands on his hips.

That was it.  On the first day I met the little boy whose lips and cheeks and toes and tummy and eyes I've kissed and studied and loved so completely for a year now, I could only muster up the courage for that small tummy pat.  Yet, I think back on our first meeting and that moment is still so vivid in my mind.  I can still feel the way his little warm body felt under my hands and how excited I was to be loving on my baby, even just a little.

There was no hug this day, no kiss goodbye.  I knew there would be plenty to last a lifetime later on.  It drove me to near distraction in the coming days and subsequent meetings when I still didn't get a chance to hold my son (and there might have been some threats requests to Appa that I for sure be the one to hold him in the car on the way back to the hotel).

But knowing what I know about my son now, I know this was absolutely his ideal first date.  This cool cat needed to be in control, and the give and take we played that day was the way our relationship would continue to grow.  And I am forever grateful for this one moment that got me through the next 6 days until I could properly hold him in my arms.