Looking for Rainbows

I don't want to be that person.

I don't want to be the person that shoves it in people's faces that my child was "found" on a waiting child list. I don't want to be that person who tries to convince others that they should adopt a waiting child instead of waiting for a traditional referral. I don't want to be that person who is pushing specific waiting children on other families.

Partly because I cannot stand those people, no matter how nice or well meaning their intentions are, and partly because if I, before having my gut feelings body slam me to the floor last month, would never have really heard what they were saying anyway.

So I am only going to blog about this once and all I am going to say is this (and I really debated putting this here because I try not to "talk" to people other than myself and my kids on this blournal, but it has been sloshing around in my head so much that I strongly that have to get it out):

It doesn't hurt to look.

9 times out of 10 that's all it will be. Looking. 9 times out of 10 your family won't be the right family for the children on that list.

But sometimes, that 1 out of 10, your child might be on that list.

Your baby....because there are young babies on the list. Many. There are teething toddlers and little children who are completely healthy and just need someone to take a chance on them (and their odds are often HIGHLY stacked in their favor). There are young children who, for whatever reason, slipped through the cracks, got hidden in the sea of cute pictures, and are completely healthy, hindered only by the fact they've already celebrated their first birthday. Many, if not most of these children, will flourish in the right home and the term "waiting child" will fall away immediately. Of course, there are many children on the lists with serious needs, but the families who are right for them are probably already well aware of how to find them.

I wasted almost 3 entire months of my son's life (and ours) because I didn't get that these children on these waiting lists are actually real children, flesh and blood like my Little Bug.....WAITING. To me, they were just cute pictures I looked at with objective enjoyment and morbid curiosity like I surf other people's adoption blogs. They were unattainable, not real.

Seeing my son's updated pictures, reading his file, sending items in a care package, this has made it almost painful for me to look at the lists now. Instead of little thumbnail pictures of cute kids, I see a baby with 4 teeth who has ankle rolls or a little child who likes to play with dogs and cuddle at night. I hear a foster mother ask each month during the well baby check "why wouldn't anyone want this precious child?" I see babies and children. Real, attainable children who would undoubtedly be some family's greatest blessing. They just need the families that are meant for them to look.

Maybe I am just an idiot, but I think, for as cutesy and colorful as the waiting list logos might be, they are just plain scary to really think about....to consider. It's like there is a stigma that hangs over these children that seem too good to be true (even though the absolute reality is that most of the time they are just that good).

You know what is scarier to me than a waiting child list...being a mom. It's all about bravery. It's all about faith. It's all about following what feels right for your family. Most of the time that won't be adopting a child from a waiting child list, but....

I believe that everything happens for a reason. I believe that Appa, Little Bug, and I needed to grow in the time between when I first saw Little Bro's picture and the time when I realized that we could actually inquire about him. The four of us have a long way to go, and it won't be anything near easy, especially in the months after Little Bro comes home, but at the end of the day, I am glad I looked for as long as it took.

Even if I had no idea what I was looking for at the time.

The Chickie Cheep Cheep

Tonight, after a particularly disastrous spoon practice with clam chowder, Little Bug and I spent our wind down time watching the Wiggles in just a diaper (well, at least one of us was just in a diaper). Wiggles is hit or miss with my boy, but tonight he was really in the mood for music.

One of the most ridiculous songs of all time came on, some kid version on the Chicken Dance with everyone dressed like chickens and flapping their pretend wings. What would a good mama do?

Flap her pretend wings, that's what.

I turned to Little Bug and got down with the Chickie Cheep Cheep. The way he got up on his little naked legs and bounced up and down with his most beautiful, genuine, delighted smile was my favorite thing about today.

Opening the Flood Gates

The last month has been very hard for my big mouth. I deal with my emotions best by writing them out, and this has been a very emotional month for me. The number of half written and completed entries is staggering. Some I will probably never publish (many just various forms of wailing), but the ones that I want Little Bro to one day have will be published as it feels right.

The last couple days have been divine. The referral high is different this time; instead of the jolt of excitement that came with Little Bug's surprise referral, Little Bro's referral has been a slow burn that has sometimes stung and has now settled into this really warm feeling right in the center of my chest. It's protecting me from what has become almost immediately bad news.

Little Bro isn't coming home for a LONG time. He's not going to be even remotely a baby when he steps into our home. We'll be waiting nearly and possibly entirely a year for him to come home.

A couple weeks ago this news might have been devastating. It might have even tried to worm enough doubt into our minds to sway our resolve to be brave and listen to our guts. We've never really considered an "older child" adoption. Yet here we are, not even 48 hours into our wait for our baby, and we find out he'll never be a baby to us.

And I am shocked to find I don't care. Obviously I care that he will have a harder transition and that we will miss so much, but the situation is not one that can be changed, no matter what anyone does. Somehow just the knowledge that Little Bro will come home is enough to make me dig in my heels, hire a Korean tutor, buy another Korean cookbook, reach out to other families with experience with older children transitions, and resolve to do whatever needs to be done. I would rather have him at 24 months than never at all. Hell, I'll wait as long as it takes.

Cheerfully explaining this to my surprised new social worker (who might think I have a hearing problem or a screw loose now) when she called the break the bad news reminded me of an entry I wrote on April 12 (which was a bad day all the way around). It essentially set the tone for our outlook on this new journey for our family (at least in my mind because I only recently shared some of these entries with Appa, who is definitely not a "write-it-out" sort of person).

April 12, 2010
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Little Bro. My big star. You are going to be a tenacious little thing, aren't you.

I don't know how else to put this…but it's would be so much easier to just pretend we never saw your face and move on with our "plan." You know, if we could forget you, which we can't, because you are 100% unforgettable. Even in this time of uncertainty, I write you notes and steal looks at your picture and get panic attacks when I think of any other child being my Little Bro. Because your mama is a huge geek, I have often come back to the popular phrase: "What is easy is not always right, and what is right is not always easy." Our sudden journey to you is not easy, but man, baby boy, does it feel right.

You're worth fighting for, and that is what your Appa and I are doing. Both in our own minds and hearts and with all the other external factors that stand in the way of getting you in our arms. We're being brave, having faith, but being realistic and careful because we only want what is best for you…and we know there might yet be a chance that we are not.

But we hope we are.

Written on March 29, 2010

Evan,

I don't remember the day I first saw your face. I truly wish I did. I vaguely remember it was late at night and your face was among many I saw...but yours was the one I came back to a number of times.

For months, when I would look at that list, I would always make sure to look at your picture. Sometimes I would go to the list just to look at your picture. There was something about your face that drew me in, fascinated me. Maybe it was your sweet lips or your chubby cheeks or perfect little ears. Maybe it was just that it was you...

For some reason, it never seemed to hit me that you could be a part of our family. You almost seemed unattainable, but that was just my fault for not listening to my heart sooner. I'm so sorry, baby boy.

Then today, while I was sitting at work, I got the sudden random urge to look at your picture. The minute I looked at it today I knew that I needed to do something. Immediately I felt like you were my son...I needed to protect you and take care of you and bring you home. I sent your picture to Appa with the short note that you had been on my mind for far too long and that I wanted to see if maybe we would be the parents you needed. From that moment on, my hand shook with nervous excitement and my face was set with a perma grin. It was so easy to imagine you as part of our family...I was shocked I had not realized it sooner.

This was not the journey we had to expected to take to get to you. But just like the pieces rearranged into place for our journey to your brother, so did the pieces rearrange to lead us to you. I'm humbled by the greater plan of it all.

At this moment, I am listening to your Appa and brother playing upstairs. I am dreaming about you joining us. To be honest, we've not even seen your file yet. We haven't learned all there is to learn about you, but already I just know.

I've finally found that piece of my heart that was missing. It's you, Evan.

Hi, baby.

Going With The Gut

I had the most fabulous, stress-free vacation of my life. It was filled with lazy contentment, warm air, good friends, and vibrant colors. I kept thinking that I would want to blournal the heck out of it, but I find now that I simply don't have the words and am okay with that. Jamaica, no problem, mon. I know I won't forget the way I felt, even without writing it down.

Instead, I want to publish a post I wrote a couple days before we left (there are quite a few that I have written but couldn't publish at the time). We headed out for our vacation still very much up in the air as to what my gut feeling was telling me regarding our "big decision."

I'll say this. In that place that will forever hold a special place in my heart, everything became as clear as the electric teal blue water. Gut feelings don't care about external factors like money or businesses or ease. Gut feelings only deal with the big things...the ones that matter. Once we has removed ourselves temporarily from reality, it was obvious to us that only one gut feeling remained.

So we went with it. The sense of peace when I think about those things that really matter is proof that we made the right choice.

I wish I could go back to April 12 and give myself a hug.

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April 12, 2010
I had a good cry last night about something a situation that turned out to be different that what I thought it was. As Appa comforted me, he kept asking why I was crying. In his mind, the situation was a bummer, but not anything more than that. Our most important goal was still attainable.

So why was I crying?

Besides anxiety (and perhaps because of it), I hate change. I use the word hate deliberately. As young as I can remember, when my mother would rearrange furniture in our living room I would lay on the floor sick to my stomach. (Needless to say, I don't rearrange furniture in my own home.) When we have moved from each apartment, I've been nauseous and weepy for days leading up to the move. Granted, I put on a good face and push through it and am fine in a few days, but change is something I will go out of my way to avoid, especially if it is something important. Part of the reason I am so loyal to things (big and small) is simply because I don't want to change my comfortable status quo. I wear the same clothes from the same stores and use the same services from the same companies because that is comforting to me. It takes an awful lot to get me to switch.

Lately we've been considering an decision that would result in some change. Not dramatic change to those around us or to those who know us, but dramatic change for us internally (to use a business term). My knee-jerk reaction to this is to avoid the change. Indeed, this would be the easy route and the one that logically makes sense. It causes me anxiety to think about making a change and I find myself subconsiouly trying to convince myself to huddle back into my warm status quo and just forget all about it.

But my gut is telling me to be brave and stay open to the possibility of change. So, I am trying to be brave, but it's making my nervous and making me second guess my gut feelings. Then I second guess my second guessing and get dizzy from my spinning, ridiculous mind.

I'm not always sure why I get the gut feelings I do. Some people would call it divine and some would call it coincidence and some would call it intuition. Me, I'm sitting on the fence and just calling it something I know I should be listening to. I certainly do know that it isn't always as clear cut as I think. A couple months ago I got a gut feeling to act on something that ended up causing Appa and I some heartache. I wondered later why I would have felt so strongly about something for such a short period of time, only to feel equally as strongly about it the other way later on. My answer came earlier this month when the things I learned about myself from the last situation clicked into place allow us to explore this new opportunity.
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That decision was to drop out of our agency and accept a referral for a little boy we found on a waiting child list. I cried this morning when I pushed send on the final e-mail that would remove us from what we had clung to for so long, but the sense of peace I feel reminds me that my love for the little boy who is going to be my son is much stronger than the love for my former agency.

Little Bro has arrived.

The Complex

This morning Little Bug woke up happily and turned on his music. He sat contently in his crib for I don't know how long until I opened his door. He jumped up happily to greet me, smiling and bright eyed. That hasn't happened in a long time.

Thanks for the lovely send off, baby boy.

For the past few months I have barely allowed myself to think about my trip. I'm crippled with anxiety over leaving Little Bug with his grandparents. Of course I trust them implicitly, but I have a bit of a control problem and letting someone else care for my kid is something that I've never been very good at.

The underlying issue is, of course, the adoption complex. A little under 2 years ago Little Bug was suddenly taken from the only parents he had ever known. He rallied better than a lot of kids, but grieved none the less. I don't like to really dwell on this because I feel at some point our children heal enough to not have everything they experience framed within their adoption traumas, but I have to be honest when I say that I worry something will bubble up inside Little Bug after a day or two of not seeing Appa and I. I don't think he remembers his separation from his foster parents, but I am positive that pain is still lurking and has framed certain parts of his personality.

I consider myself well educated and serious about attachment, and if I thought our vacation would harm my son, there is no way I would have agreed to it. There are a lot of difference between this trip and his first days with us. He's older, and has been with us for much longer. He understands the concept of leaving and coming back. He'll be with people he already knows and has a relationship with, a relationship built within the safety of Appa and I's presence. He'll be in his own school on a daily basis with people he loves and a routine that is familiar to him. He'll be in his own bed, with his own toys, with familiar smells and sounds and tastes. He'll see us every night via video chat.

I'm typing this out to make myself feel better because the adoption complex isn't something that Little Bug alone deals with.

There is a high chance Little Bug will be completely nonplussed about this whole thing. Sure, he'll cry because he misses his parents and he might act out a bit or have trouble sleeping, but that's normal 2-year-old behavior in these circumstances. I think the focus on the abandonment idea is something I will deal with much more than he will. I have the adoption complex.

I've talked about this with friends before, this questions of how and when and what should or should not be blamed or filtered through the lenses of adoption trauma. It's not clear cut and depends on the child, of course, but I do think that at some point the fact our children are just children, and not just children who were adopted, needs to carry equal, if not more weight. Is that time for Little Bug now?

I don't know. I hope so.

This morning when my little family cuddled in bed I cried behind Little Bug's back. I gave him extra kisses before work. I'm near tears now just thinking about singing one last chorus of "5 Little Monkeys" before we leave. I will, mark my words, be a complete and total mess the minute our car pulls out of the driveway. I will cry after we sign off every video chat.

None of those things are because my son was adopted...they are because my son is my son and I miss him when we are not together.

Leaving him is so hard it literally hurts, but I know it will be okay, even a good thing, for all of us. I'm just a sappy mama leaving her baby for the first "big" time.

That's called The Mama Complex.

The One that Almost Got Away

Two years into our struggle with infertility, we found ourselves at a crossroad of sorts. Not a huge one, certainly by infertility standards, but we were beaten down and sad. Medications and side effects, more uncertainty, more morning temperature checks, more negative test lay ahead of us, and we knew it.

So Appa came home from work one day and made me a deal. If we didn't get pregnant within a year, he would take me back to our honeymoon resort in Jamaica. We would celebrate each other and our time as just a couple, because we both knew with conviction even then that we would one day have our lives turned upside down by a child.

A year past and we didn't get pregnant, but the following year we ended up spending a month in Hawaii, which made it impossible for us to take our special celebration trip. (I know, I KNOW; a month in Hawaii, what victims we were.) The following year we had to push off our celebration trip again; this time for a little jaunt over to Seoul, South Korea. Last year we chose to celebrate our family by sticking close together as a unit of three.

But for our anniversary last year Appa made it clear. 2010 was our year to celebrate, not just each other, but everything we've been through. The bad, the ugly, and all the REALLY good. We were booking this trip, damn it.

So we did, and soon we will be laying in the sun on the same beach we laid on 7 years ago as we sipped "dirty bananas" and imagined what our lives would be like 5 years from then.

I have to say: our visions for our 5-year plan didn't quite look like our reality now, but our reality now is so. much. better. than anything we had dreamed up.

So this time we'll lay on that beach and sip "dirty bananas" and imagine our future 5 years from now. We'll raise a mini-umbrella-embellished toast to the most perfect little boy back home being spoiled rotten by his doting grandparents and the sweet little boy back in Korea being spoiled rotten by his doting foster family.

We'll feel bad for being selfish and miss Little Bug acutely, but we won't forget the purpose of this trip: to celebrate us as a couple, not just as an omma and appa. I'm really looking forward to long serious talks with my partner and silly water antics with my best friend. I'm looking forward to returning home to hold my baby in my arms rejuvenated in mind, body, and marriage....and for the positive impact that will have on our home and on the decisions that will be weighing hard on our hearts.

Honestly, the timing of this trip, almost down to the day, is nothing short of miraculous. We need this. I need this. Right. Now.

I'm scared out of my mind to leave my baby behind, but that is for a different blournal entry. Instead I'll end with a different sort of confession.

I'm really looking forward to the "dirty bananas." Not gonna lie.

Expectations

One of my constant struggles is with expectations. Growing up I pretty much always had my expectations met. I had a comfortable home and stable family. I was a good student who always managed good grades. I even married my high school sweetheart.

Then my expectations started to deviate from reality. Maybe it was just because I was older and more aware, or maybe it was because my expectations became more mature and serious. In the span of less than a decade some of my most convicted expectations didn’t pan out like I expected them to.

I did not become a teacher, even though I hold a teaching degree and spent a half year in the classroom.

I did not give birth to a child. Or two.

My child was not a child prodigy who was more advanced than everyone else.

That's not to say the realities of these unmet expectations are negative. I love my job as an editor; I took some fantastic trips during the time I had expected to be on doctor's ordered no-fly list and found I could care less if my child had my nose or my husband's hairy feet; and my child, while not more advanced than all the other little kids, is by far the best little kid in the whole world.

Although it's pretty unrealistic to think that you can avoid placing expectations on people and things, I am finding that what I can and need to get better at doing is remembering that failed expectations do not automatically mean bad outcomes.

Sure, this might not be the path you intended to take, but the view might be so much better just past where you can see from that crossroad.

In fact, if you play smart and be kind and muster some bravery and have some faith, chances are those failed expectations will be the best things ever. I just need to keep remembering this.

Peace Out, Omma

My in-laws are in town and my sister-in-law was also in town this weekend. Usually when we have people in our home, especially people who want to love on Little Bug, he gets a little weird or clingy. Honestly, it's always been a bit of an ego boost when people come around and he rejects them in favor of Appa and I.

Oh how the proud fall.

My little bug probably needs a new nickname...social butterfly. His activity level is usually on the low end of normal, but with his dotting grandparents and aunt around...he was ON all weekend long and was going, going, going. I'm pretty sure my wood floors have ruts from his constant mall walking back and forth between the three of them. There was just so much peek-a-boo, talking, teasing, tongue wagging, and sun glass wearing to be had and so many willing participants. Our walls are still ringing from his peels of laughter.

Sure, Little Bug included Appa and I in the fun, but it wasn't in a clingy sort of way I have been used to. He's more confident and comfortable (for a 2-year-old), and as much as I might secretly miss the cling, I was so proud to see him making relationships and truly engaging adults without any help from Appa or I.

The other plus....he tantrums a whole lot less in front of others. Gotta keep up the macho facade, I suppose. You never know when a pretty little girl might be watching...

Yours, Mine, and Ours

A good friend of mine is hours away from coming home with her new son from Korea. I've been thinking a lot the last few days about her and what she is going through and also about Appa and my own experiences...both in the past and what might be in the future. We blogged a fair bit from Korea on our family blog, and I think I accurately captured our experience there on a high level for our family journaling. But as I was going through my old posts this morning and reminiscing, I found myself thinking most about the little moments I didn't blog (and hence never captured in any written or video form because our blogs are the only form of journaling we do)...ironically, those are some of my favorite memories.

I wanted to get those moments down for Little Bug to one day enjoy as back story to his own story and for me to revisit some day when my memories jumble together from multiple trips to Korea.
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On our first day exploring Seoul, we went to an amazing old palace. The architecture and history was unlike anything we could find in the United States and I felt so very lucky to get the chance to explore something so wildly different from my own culture. As we took a break during our time in the "secret garden" Appa and I were taking turns making video diaries of our experiences. It was our first day in Korea, so everything seemed so interesting....right down to the shape of the canned drinks. As I was talking on camera, I was holding a can of what we had been told was the equivalent of Gat*raide, aptly called "Ion Supply Drink." I enthusiastically showed the can to the camera and took a big swig....and said to the camera "and, it's kinda gross." If I was ever to consider what pure ions tasted like, I think I would have imagined that mineral/chemical/element tasting drink. Dehydration be damned, we switched to water and Diet Coke after that. That drink was the only thing that I had the entire time we were in Korea that I truly could not stomach. Blech...just thinking about it...blech.
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We took the subway back and forth from our hotel to our agency. As we were riding over to meet Little Bug for the first time, I could barely believe that this was how the most important moment of my life was playing out. No drama, no fanfare...just a couple tourists on a subway train riding over to have their lives rocked to the core. It was so simple that it was ludicrous. When we rode the subway over to the agency a few days later to take custody of Little Bug....well, my mind could not even wrap itself around what was happening. If anything, taking the subway alleviated some nerves. It was just so normal for such an abnormal situation.
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The first moment I laid eyes on my son in the flesh was through a small window as we were sitting in a holding room filling out some paperwork. We were alone and there was barely enough room for the table, but I looked up just in time to see Little Bug's foster mother walk in with our baby on her back. Angels didn't sing and time didn't stop. In fact, time seemed to speed up. In the time it took me to somehow open my mouth to tell Appa that there.was.our.son, he was gone. It was almost like I had dreamed it happening, but I knew if I had dreamed it, I would have been able to hold that little baby and not just gape at him. It was a solid 10-15 more minutes before we actually got to meet and hold the child who would become our everything.
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After meeting Little Bug for the first time, Appa and I were really emotionally overwhelmed. We tried to shop and nap, but ended up in this amazing hotel lounge with floor to ceiling windows looking out over Seoul. We sat for a few hours at a secluded little table and drank wine, whispering about life and love and our future. Sometimes we would both fall into silence and then just look at each other and laugh incredulously at how lucky we were in that moment. That evening will go down in history as one of the most intimate and special "dates" of my life (and was the only night I got a decent sleep).
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On one of our free days, we decided to take a bus to Suwon, about an hour outside of Seoul. The subway was easy...we assumed the bus would be, too. I'm proud of us for sticking with the plan even after we realized we had no idea how much it cost to get on the bus, what bus to get on, or how we would get off said bus once we were on. I clearly remember how uncomfortable it was to be on the bus and not know how we were even going to know where to get off (a stop or asking the bus to stop), but it was an adventure and a little thrilling to get so outside our comfort zone. Not to mention how to find the bus stop and correct bus to get back to Seoul. (Thank goodness for my emergency flash cards!) The added bonus was getting to see South Korea outside of Seoul; rolling green hills, bright blue lakes, huge factory complexes, road tolls that looked like something out of Vegas, and amazing leafy forests. When I think of Korea, I don't automatically think of the hustle and bustle of Seoul. It's so much more than that.
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In Suwon we spent the day exploring the perimeter of the Hwaseong Fortress. Every so often you would find a gate or armor house or guard post. Unlike the palaces, those structures are left for you to explore on your own. We sat in the top level of a stone circular observation tower that was built in the late 18th century and had a snack as we marveled over our luck at being able to visit such a rare treasure, looked at pictures of Little Bug on our camera, sweat like crazy in the intense heat, saw a seriously freaky looking spider, and missed our tour car (which was shaped like a dragon). It ended up being a win/win situation because the 2 extra hours we were stranded in that portion of the fortress allowed us time to wander up and down the wall, exploring gate houses and ancient doors and hidden, secluded worship areas. We laid on the grass of an old archery range and watched the clouds pass overhead because even across the world in the most foreign of places, you can always find a cloud shaped like a dog.
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We went out for a nice meal one night, a shabu shabu meal. It was a nice place, but obviously not one that served many tourists. Our waiter pretty much cooked our meal for us and even turned off the heat long after we should have done it ourselves. It was a delicious and uneventful meal, until the waiter brought each of us a small white bowl with a cold, clear yellow liquid with small, white chunks floating in it. He bowed and left. It was like a movie moment where the country bumpkin doesn't know which fork to use during a fancy dinner....we had no idea if this bowl was something to eat or something to wash our hands in...they didn't give us a spoon. So we waited, pretending to make riveting conversation, for a good 5 minutes until another table received their bowls of liquid. They picked them up and drank them down like a drink. So that's what we did, too. The apple-flavored liquid with the fruit chunks was a refreshing and lovely dessert.
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In the hours before we took custody of Little Bug, we had a single-minded mission. Find Phung Phungie, an orange doll that farts. We knew from pictures his foster family had given us that he really enjoyed this doll, and we wanted to bring one home with us. We hit up the larger markets without success and decided to set out to find the toy district. I'm pretty sure we did not find the toy district, but we were directed to a plaza of three large high-rise stores. I enjoyed walking around the plaza and seeing the energy. There were lots of stages and big screens, so I think this place was probably pretty hopping at night. Too bad we were looking for an orange farting doll and not an evening entertainment venue. The first two stores were strike outs. We would ride the escalator up each floor (usually 12 or 13), get off and do a once over while teenagers openly stared at us, and then ride it all the way back down in defeat. If we had more time I would have loved to explore some of the floors we saw in more detail (especially the rows and rows of hanboks), but as we were escalator riding we received a call from the agency telling us they needed to push our meeting up a couple hours. As thrilled as we were, we knew this meant we had to admit defeat. We had a small window of time, so we decided to zip in and out of the last store, only stopping if a toy area was readily apparent. Wouldn't you know, there, on the 6th floor of the last stop on our way home, nestled in between hundreds of other dolls, Appa spotted Phung Phungie, the exact replica of the doll Little Bug loved, in all it's farting noise-box glory. After all this time, the picture I carry of Little Bug in my billfold is the picture taken from later that night, a cute picture of a child tentatively smiling for the camera with his good buddy, Phung Phungie, comfortingly close to him.
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After taking custody of Little Bug, he fell asleep during the van ride back to our hotel. I remember how it felt to cradle his sleeping form against my body for the first time as we walked through the huge lobby. I felt like every eye was on us, and indeed, many people craned their necks around to catch a look at our new family. I knew there were probably a lot of different opinions of us in that moment and in my fragile newness as a mother I felt momentarily overwhelmed by judgment. Yet, by the time we got half way through the lobby and passed the golden lions, I had my head held high and my heart and mind trained on the only two people that mattered in that moment, the man at my side and the baby in my arms.
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As our plane was getting ready to taxi onto the runway, it hit me square in the chest that this.was.it. Of all the moments, the moment the wheels left Korean soil Little Bug's life would be irrevocably changed. The magnitude of what he was losing and what we were taking from him, things that we had grown to love and admire and respect with gratitude that can never be expressed, really weighed on me. As the plane took off, I looked out the window and tears of sadness rolled down my cheek and thought as hard as I could "we will be back, we will be back, we will be back."
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Buggy, I hope you know how much we loved you from the get-go and how proud we are of the way we became a family and how much we love the beautiful country you were born in. As much as these moments are our memories, they weave another layer into your story. So enjoy. (But I would suggest staying away from the Ion Supply Drink...just take mama's word for it.)

Happy Birthday Day to Me

Today is my birthday. I'm 29....seriously.

Birthdays are a little anticlimactic for me. Appa and I never make a big deal about our birthdays (we save it all up to go overboard for Little Bug's). Pre-child we used to go out for dinner and Appa once bought me a Harry Potter cake that said "Happy Birthday, you witch," but other than that, birthdays have never been a big deal.

The biggest reason for this is because we are boring people and just don't have enough inclination to plan or execute anything big. But as we started dealing with infertility, birthdays became slightly annoying reminders to me that someone somewhere had a baby when I could not...nothing like being jealous of your own mother to enjoy your special day. There were a few years where I stopped sending cards or gifts to people on their birthdays and just allowed myself to get in funks...oops.

That period was short lived, but it still pops into my head every birthday now, although it doesn't upset me and is more of just a reminder of what a different space in my life and emotions I am now. On birthdays I also inevitably think about my son's birth mother and how she must think of him on his birthday. I think of her birthday and how we will never be able to think of her on hers. I try to think about my mom and what she went through on this day to bring me into the world, but I must admit selfishly I just don't really get that because I don't have a reference for that. I do wish her a "Happy Birth Day" each year, however, because I know I didn't make it super easy.

I also think about presents and having my husband bring home a bottle of champagne and how I am going to make him wish me a happy birthday at least once an hour, so don't think it's all seriousness on my birthday. In fact, the seriousness and reflection is a very small part of my birthday experience...one that will most likely live solely on this blournal from now on.

For today I am just going to enjoy telling people I am 29 and not actually lying about it.

And the champagne...I hope Appa comes through with the champagne. Maybe he will even bring me a Twilight-themed cake that says "Happy Birthday, you blood sucker."

EDITED TO ADD: Two dozen beautiful roses sent to work....nice touch, Appa. I'm a lucky gal to have such a thoughtful husband.

The Great Outdoors

I didn't realize how stir crazy I was until we had some nice evenings where Little Bug and I could go outside. Our evenings together seem to stretch out when we can play outside until dinner and then play again outside after dinner. Usually our nights feel so routine...so boring.

But there is always something new outside. A new bug, a new plant, a new rock, or a new plane in the sky. It's hard to be bored when cool fresh air is pumping newness into your lungs.

So Mother Nature, 'ole buddy, old pal. I really appreciate the pick me up last week, but I should give you a piece of advice...no one likes a tease.

Bring the nice weather back. I'm already addicted to the joy it brings to us, and I am already so over the pathetic sight of my baby staring forlornly out the window into the rain and begging "owsi, owsi."

Going Home Does Not Have To Be A Tragedy

This weekend I went with some girlfriends (who also have little boys who were adopted from Korea) to see a screening of a self-narrative film by a 21-year-old who was adopted from Korea and returned with the hope that he might be able to meet his birth family ("Going Home" by ThirdCat Productions). I think it is important for me to access different points of view from people who have essentially lived the life my son will live and learn from their perspectives with the hope I can be a better parent when/if my son encounters certain issues. With that being said, I didn't really leave the theater with any earth shattering parenting tips....because the movie was in no way made to "teach" or "educate" anyone, especially someone like me.

Instead, I left in tears and complete awe and respect for this young man, his birth family, his parents, and everyone around him.

Adoption is tragic. A child loses their birth family, a link that is inherent and unbreakable to us as breathing. A birth mother loses her child, a child she will spend every day thinking about and loving for the rest of her life. Brothers and sisters lose each other. This alone is tragic.

International adoption is tragic. On top of all the loss that comes with adoption, the child then loses his or her birth culture, their chance to be a majority anywhere, their language (which I just now am realizing is truly tragic), and their customs. They lose a connection to themselves.

Yes, the child gains a loving home, loving family, a warm bed, a good education, etc. That is not tragic; it's the best outcome for a tragic situation, but it doesn't change the fact that the situation is tragic to begin with.

This young man was able to meet with his birth mother and birth sister. Their reunion was a positive one and their relationships are starting to grow. But, it wasn't rainbows and kitten; his birth mother was ashamed and nervous; his birth sister was blindsided by the revelation that she had the younger brother she had always wanted but never knew she had who would only be in the country for 2 more days; and he found himself having to readjust his vision of what he presumed his identity was.

It was emotionally exhausting to watch for me; I cannot imagine what it was like to live through.

Yet, something his father said to him the day after the meeting with his birth mother has echoed in my ears since. He was musing why, after all the tears and sadness over the years for everyone involved, the meeting was emotional but not upsetting.

"It's not tragic anymore. There is finally closure and a chance to move forward."

I'll never forget the images in this movie: the way the young man cried as he heard his birth mother would not be able to see him initially, the way his mother brokenly thanked his birth mother for putting him up for adoption in the same breath as apologizing brokenheartedly for her having to give him up...the way his sister broke down in racking sobs in the middle of the airport as she embraced the brother she had only met once and who she could only communicate through pointing out the word "family" in a dictionary.

I'll also never forget the young man who stood before us in the Q&A, brave and proud of the story he openly shared and the hope and peace he clearly felt as his relationships with his birth family continues to grow.

His story is tragic...but his ending is not.

I can only hope for that for my son. I can only hope that if he wants to search for that part of his life he will be able to find some sort of closure. The reality is that he might not, but I can hope.

This film showed me that I cannot erase or compensate for the tragedy that brought my son into his lime green nursery and my waiting arms, but I can do whatever it take physically, financially, and especially emotionally to give him every chance he needs and wants to change how that tragedy ultimately plays out.

Just in case he ever needs to go home.

A Sign of Things to Come

My kid is a hardcore tantrum-thrower. You tell him "no" and there is about a 75% (depending on his mood) that he will launch into hysterics or throw his body on the floor and bang around to get his point across (and add to his impressive collection of bruises).

I've made peace with this and am patiently waiting until the day he turns 3 and his halo reappears and the pumpkin turns back into carriage....

Anyway, two tantrums this week caught my attention and have made me think that I've had it easy so far, which scared me a bit.

Tantrum 1
Little Bug woke up at 5 am, which is common for him. We usually bring him into our bed at this point where he curls up between us and sleeps for another hour or so. On this morning, I stumbled into his room and picked him up, but instead of cuddling into me, he started flailing around and throwing his body backward while screaming "uhzahhhhhhh" (his word for his security items, burp cloth rags). I figured he just needed to lay down and realize he was already holding a raggie, but once he got into our bed he really started into hysterics and Appa and I could not calm him down. Finally I went back into his room and collected an additional 5 rags. The minute I threw them on top of him he popped his thumb in his mouth and went to sleep.

Seriously, Little Bug? After 18 months, suddenly the rag with the cars on it is so abhorrent to you? In the pitch dark of early morning?

Tantrum 2
During the school week, Little Bug earns his reputation as "Mr. Nap" because he sleeps like a champ. On the weekend....not so much. We've developed a routine that works for us where I rock him to sleep (he won't go down for Appa), and then we transfer him to his crib. I actually love this because it is one of the only times that Little Bug consistently prefers me over Appa.

Today...not so much. When we went to sit in our rocking recliner, Little Bug started freaking out. He was distraught and angry as he kept pointing to our couch and screaming "ON, Mama, ON." Finally I moved to the couch, positioned myself in an awkward half-recline, and my son quietly fell asleep on me within 5 minutes; long before the tears even dried and the hiccups stopped.

The reason these two tantrums stick out at me is because Little Bug isn't just throwing tantrums when he doesn't get his way anymore; now he is attaching demands to his tantrums. Demands that seem a little on the ridiculous side to me, but hey, he is just 2.

Somehow I have this feeling that I might have it all wrong and this halo I am waiting for is going to look very different than I thought it would.

.....

Sometimes I have SO much to say that I literally can't say anything at all. In the past few days I have started and scrapped no less than 5 blournal entries.

I'm hoping getting this out will fix the block I have with sharing any of my feelings.

I hate being patient. I hate secrets. I hate anticipation. I hate fear and uncertainty. I hate placing my trust in others. I love secrets. I love the thrill of anticipation. I love having people around me that I can trust. I love learning to be patient and overcoming fear and uncertainty...okay, I'm still working on the last one.

I got on my knees last night and prayed...hard. The naked truth is that I'm a person filled with faith, but I'm pretty confused sometimes as to what my faith is in. But last night I prayed and was filled with an overwhelming conviction.

My life is good. So good.

So buoyed with that reminder and conviction, I'm feeling lighter and ready.....

I'm also feeling ready to start back in with my deep musings on toddler bodily fluids, so things are definitely clearer now...