First Day Blues

Oy.

Seriously, Oy.

Yesterday Little Bug said goodbye to the school he's been at for the last 3 years.  They have played a huge part in his life and therapy and helped built him up into a pretty confident boy.  I tried to write about it last night, but sobbed my brains out, so the letter I wrote them will have to suffice for his memory book.  That and the book the teachers wrote him, each page filled with a letter from someone special in his life.  They shared memories of his first step, his leg braces, his first slide, his first bike ride, his first sentences, etc.  The messages were filled with pride, love, and hope.  They were beautiful and heartfelt and I've sobbed every time I have gone through it.

Moving on as tears threaten...again.

Yesterday was also emotional because it was the open house for Little Bug's new school.  This school is specifically for children with significant special needs and it is full time.  (He'll be going half day to this school and half day to a developmental preschool elsewhere in our district.)  Appa and I fought against this school for the last 2 years, but we finally agreed to this half day program when it became clear that Little Bug needs this one-on-one ratio to really focus on his education goals.  Our eye is on Little Bug being in GenEd Kindergarden at least part time next year, and that just won't happen without this school.

So recap...this school is a good thing for him.

But it's very different than anything he's done before.  The classroom is pretty bare and drab since some of the students can't handle too much stimulation.  Most of his classmates can't talk and about half can't move without the aid of a wheelchair.  There isn't a lot of fluff...it's down and dirty life skills and learning.  I actually look at these things as good things.  He'll be making friends with kids who are different than the other kids he knows, and that is always a bonus to me. But it's different and a bit intense right now.

Yesterday as we walked into the school, Little Bug told me that his tummy hurt and he was feeling like throwing up.  Classic signs of his anxiety.  Seeing him experience and identify nervousness made my heart sad.  Scared is one thing, but nervousness just seems like such a grown up emotion that I wanted to shield my baby from, especially when it comes to school, which he normally loves.

The open house was intimidating, even though all the teachers and students seem awesome, and Little Bug latched onto me and refused to interact with anyone and was asking to leave...very NOT Little Bug behavior.  After about an hour he started crying and begging to leave.  He clutched my hand the whole way back to the car and kept saying "No go back to Ms. Dxxxxx school tomorrow."

I cried for the millionth time after dropping him back off at his beloved traditional preschool. 

And this morning he woke up sad because he knew he was going back to that school.  He acted out all morning and begged to go back to his traditional preschool.  I packed him a favorite lunch and decked him out in his favorite Thomas shirt and firetruck shoes.  I clapped and cheered and acted like school was going to be the coolest thing ever...because it will be soon.

And he stood stock still for 40+ "first day of school" photos with various shades of concerned and worried looks on his face.

The bus came and he bravely gave me kisses and waved goodbye.  Because THAT is the kid Little Bug is.  He's brave and strong and will do what he needs to do, even when he is nervous or sad.  And Little Bug is also the kid who falls in love hard and fast and would much rather smile than frown, and I have sincere hope that those qualities will help him find his groove at this new school soon.

This is a good thing, but man, it is hard to watch your baby battle through their fears.

Textbook Mistake

Last night we hosted a family birthday party for Little Bro.  As is tradition for us, our family parties are small, intimate affairs with around 10 people, some pizza (or in this case, Beebimbap), and a couple hours of family time.  Because Little Bro has been doing so well for so long, we felt that just days shy of 3 months home, it would be safe to have these important people in our home and interacting with him in a meaningful way.

Oh.My.God. What a nightmare, or rather, in Little Bro's case, night terror.

I blame us, totally.  We let it all slide last night with people holding him, playing with him, comforting him, and generally getting up in his face.  Our social butterfly ate it up happily, and everyone left an hour past his bedtime feeling like this was the beginning of a beautiful new chapter.

And almost immediately the meltdowns began.  It was initially a perfect storm of over-tired/over-stimulated, but morphed into the grieving night terrors we haven't seen in a long while.  He didn't want us near him at night, but sobbed and could not be comforted without us.  All night long.  Anger, fear, rage.

And I knew it was my fault for letting my guard down and piling extra stressors on him (lack of sleep, us being on the other side of the room, etc.)  As the hours ticked on throughout the night, I was once again humbled by how huge this trauma is that my kids carry within them.  Although each day snips a little of the hold it has on their heart, it is still there lurking silently, especially for my little one still so newly home in the grand scheme of things, ready to come to the surface in moments of stress.

So we regroup.  He woke up happy and "normal." We'll step up attachment activities and pull back on the social interaction for a while.  Because it's my job to make sure he is always in situations where he feels safe and secure, and I dropped the ball this time.

Fear of Tears

When we had our first meeting with Little Bro, his foster mother told us through the translator that he would tantrum sometimes, and that when that happened, we should ignore him. While I was not offended, I remember later telling Appa that it felt like she was telling me what to do as a parent, which clearly I already was. His response was that she WAS telling me how to parent.....THIS child.

A month later, I replay her words in my head daily.

Little Bro had a period during his initial transition where his tears were loud and hard and super intense. And although those tears haven't made an appearance in a couple weeks, he still sobs and glares at me with what I imagine is a mixture of hatred and despair sometimes.

Like when I took a package if Rollos out of his hands today.

And in my head, as I watched his freak out and glare at me, I remembered what his foster mother said....ignore him.

Classic tantrum response for a classic toddler tantrum. No brainer. Except as a new mother to this child, still twitchy from the hard grieving and conscious of attachment, any tears from Little Bro strike fear into my heart and have me rushing to placate him.

"Don't cry! Mama will meet your basic needs like Rollos candy and playing with the dinner knives! Here small child, carry on with whatever it was you wanted to do."

It is a hard line, walking between promoting attachment and getting played by a toddler. Although Little Bro already gets a wide berth in behavior right now, his free pass is starting to get smaller and smaller as he clearly starts to act more like himself....the self that his foster mother said to ignore during temper tantrums.

Although no one can tell you how to raise you child, I am grateful she had the thought to give me permission to ignore these little things.

Besides, Twix are way better than Rollos.

Productive

In the last week I've felt the anxiety and obsession with the wait reach a new level.  I decided instead of writing about it, I was going to sit in silence.  Instead of stalking the forums and message boards (although, don't get me wrong, I've still got my finger firmly on happenings there), I channeled my energy into making a dent in the things that were stressing me out.

And there are plenty.

So this week, instead of blogging, I painted Little Bug's new big boy room after he went to sleep and wrote letters to my son's birth mothers.  I shopped for gifts.  I wrote three blog posts and didn't push publish on any of them just because I wasn't feeling it. I watched Little Mermaid with Little Bug over and over.  I didn't catch up on e-mails and I didn't pour over videos and pictures of Little Bug or highlight sentences in my toddler adoption book.  I didn't respond to many blog or Facebook posts. I read Rainbow Valley by Lucy Maude Montgomery and watched the train-wreck third movie in the Anne of Green Gables series.

All in all, a productive week spent doing something other than obsessing.

Panic

Note from me: If you are a waiting mama who is having a rough time with the wait right now, please don’t read this. I want to be sensitive to everyone who is still waiting, but also need to document my own feelings to stay true to the ultimate purpose of this blog. I worry this might be construed by some as complaining about having my baby come home soon, and I know that could cause a lot of pain to people whose babies are not.

With Little Bro’s paperwork actually moving, with a time frame actually happening, I’ve experienced something unexpected in the last few days.

Panic. Sheer, consuming, anxiety-attack producing panic.

It started hours after we got our EP submittal call. I was walking into the big box store to buy some celebratory champagne and happened to see one of those double child shopping carts. It was big and bulky and looked like a pain in the butt to navigate. It was also front facing.

And I started having trouble breathing.

In 8 weeks I will have two kids and need to use that very shopping cart. Two little kids. Suddenly all around the real life adjustments started staring me in the face. Two is not just one more than one. Two is TWICE as much as one. That can’t be easy.

Appa and I sat down Friday night and made a list of things we needed to do and buy. We’ve spent so long thinking Little Bro was so far away that we’ve never actually physically prepared for him to come. Sure, we have a double bike trailer and stroller and matching Jamaica shirts, but is that really what’s going to be our basic survival needs in our first days and weeks as a family of four? Probably not.

Instead, we dropped serious dough we probably should have been spacing out over these last 10 months on another baby carrier, another table booster, and two new car seats. We also realized that the bathroom gutting/remodel that needs to happen sooner rather than later (think cracking, molding tub) should probably happen before we cocoon our family in Little Bro’s transition period. Switching Little Bug into his new room? That went on our list, too. As did actually painting and converting our guest room/office into his new room. Oy.

And my whole “prepare for the long end of the wait” plan has sort of put a cramp in my project schedules at work. It looks like they are going to need to hire a temp to cover my editing. Not totally my fault, but it’s stressful to rework our plans and for me to turn over projects I had been planning on starting.

And then there is just the panic of a new mother facing an unknown. Appa travels…..a lot. We’ll have 2 weeks to move our nights to some semblance of survival mode before I have to go it alone. Although I won’t be alone. I’ll have two kids who won’t want to go to bed. Our sleep training for Little Bug just took a new and less desirable twist. During the day Little Bug’s life will continue to be normal. He’ll have his school and friends and teachers to give him some semblance of normalcy while Little Bro and I try to get to know each other, and for that I am grateful.

And Little Bug. My little one who I see as half gentle giant and half baby. Being a big brother is going to change something inside of him. He’ll grow and develop so much once his little brother is home. All good changes, I am sure, but it makes my heart hurt a bit to know that soon he’ll never be the only apple of my eye, my only little love. He’s going to have to grow up a little bit, and as much as I want that and as much as he needs that…..being the big brother means he’s not the baby. That’s exciting and sad.

And our extended family, who are all so supportive. I’m starting to write the letters I’ve been putting off, because things will be different this transition. Not in a popular different way, I think. I dread having to spell out some of the things that we feel are necessary for this transition (a 22 month old versus a 10 month old), especially because our family simply wants to cloak the four of us in love. It’s stressful to have to ask your wonderful family to please phone that cloaking love in…for a while.

All these things don’t even have to do really with Little Bro, who is the BIGGEST and most important part of this transition time. At 2, he’s going to come to us with a personality we didn’t have a chance to help mold. What if he’s the natural alpha? What if he is mean to Little Bug? What if he and Little Bug don’t get along? What if he’s a bully or thinks Little Bug is boring? What if Little Bug is mean to him? Little Bro has been the only and oldest child for the last 20 months of his life….transitioning into the little brother might not be something he is really keen on doing. I know that most of these things will work themselves out, and I do truly think Little Bug and Bro will end up being very chummy. Little Bro seems like an outgoing and friendly child, and even if he is the alpha, if that’s what works for them, that’s fine with me. But part of me, as an oldest child myself who doesn’t totally understand what it’s like to live further down on the sibling chain, it feels a bit like I’m cheating Little Bro out of the chance to have my every thought and action focused on only him, like it was on his brother. What if he needs more than I can give?

A million dollar motherhood question that has nothing to do with adoption, I am sure.

So basically, I’m freaking out. But as sweaty as my palms are, I am still insanely grateful for this chance. I never thought that we would have Little Bro home in April, and the feeling that rises above all this panic when I think about it is one of total joy. In 8 weeks, for better or for worse (but I’m betting for better), my family is going to get the supreme honor of having this amazing little child join our family. If that means late nights and stressful conversations and crazy remodels and big expenses…bring it on. Little Bro is so, so, so worth it.

Bee Bim My Head

This week things finally started moving again in the adoption world….things that actually impact Little Bro’s time lines. The door that has been shut since April is finally creaking open. It’s been so long since it closed that I find myself surprised to see it actually opening again (not that I ever thought it wouldn’t).

And it’s driving me to distraction.

Heaven forbid I attempt to work this week, even though we are chasing a big print deadline and I have hundreds of pages left to proof. Heaven forbid I be required to do anything that forces me away from the computer for more than a few hours….what if someone else hears something about anything!?!

Besides the cautious but genuine interest in how the process in Korea plays out over the next few weeks (and I know I do it to myself by getting invested in message boards), we recently heard that our agency is going to be getting a real update on Little Bro soon. One with development information and medical information and all sorts of stuff that actually makes a difference in how we go about preparing his transition (because how many teeth he has really doesn’t). For the record, we’re not worried about him, nor do we think that anything is amiss, but the last time we officially heard anything more than what pictures can tell us was in April 2010…when he was 9 months old. He’s 18 months old now, so it’s be nice to get a check in.

I have no idea when this information will come to me. I don't know if it will be a week or a month. It could be either. I'm prepared for either.

But one thing I have learned about myself is that I can be very patient when I have low expectations, but when I have high expectations (for example, when I know I am going to be getting some information), I'm about as patient as Little Bug is when he wants his blasted motorized train to "GOOOOOOOOOOOOOO."

Poor, patient Appa. He's living in a house full of lunatics.

So I sit this afternoon. Unable to really commit to work or whatever when my head is mushing around with excitement and impatience. The high will wear off soon enough. The information will either come quickly or it won't, either way I'll get over it. The EP situation will lull for another month. My proofs will get done....

And someday none of this will matter.

Except for the proofs, of course. As good as I am getting at being a crazy time lines stalker, I'd like to keep my day job.

A Selfless Love

Little Bug's foster family has always been a big presence in our lives. We got the unique chance to spend a significant amount of time with them while we were in Korea, not just interacting with Little Bug, but together as adults. I'll never forget sitting on the floor as our social worker translated all the things the foster family had brought and made for our son, sobbing as she pulled out a little white baby gown, mits, and socks tied with a green bow that she told us was the outfit he had come to them in, lovingly preserved. A tangible symbol of how much he was loved and cherished from the moment he entered their home. Little Bug's foster mother gave me (another) tissue and grabbed my hand, holding it tightly as our hearts both broke and rejoiced. That was the moment when I knew this woman and her family were going to be part of our lives forever.

Since then we have shared pictures and e-mails and gifts and messages. They've cheered Little Bug on through all this therapy, sending messages of encouragement and pride. They've even met Little Bro (in passing at the agency)! We've had a chance to see and share the joys their family has continued to experience.

They are, in every way but blood (and that seems so insignificant anyway), family to us.

Last weekend they sent us a video that was aired on Korean television promoting fostering. It was a "Day in the Life" video of their family. Appa, Little Bug, and I excitedly watched it over breakfast.

Within the first 2 minutes tears were rolling down my face. It was so overwhelming to see Little Bug's first home "in action" instead of just in pictures. To recognize the toys and clothes and pillows and couches and green tub from his pictures. To see the outside of the building I have always wondered about.

Within 5 minutes I was openly crying. Pictures of Little Bug were popping up all over the place, both as a focus and in the background. It was clear that his family still had pictures of him (and their other babies) all over their home. Especially touching were the number of pictures from our home...proving that their love and interest didn't end the day he left them.

Within 7 minutes, around the point where the video showed a picture book I had sent as a gift, I was trying hard to stifle the sobs that were threatening. Little Bug was starting to look at me oddly.

At 10 minutes, when the video ended, I excused myself and went and sat on my bathroom floor and sobbed, racking sobs that shook my body. It was overwhelming to see the places and people that made up so much of the first year of my son's life, but to see the continued heartbreak these people who I love face willingly, over and over, was too much for me to bear that morning.

It was inspiring and terribly sad and an amazing gift.

It also opened up a raw nerve that has been tingling for months, ever since Little Bro's foster family send us their gift of pictures. I've poured over those pictures and videos, and while I love the ones of Little Bro, the ones that speak most to me are the (hundreds) family candids. The love Little Bro's foster family feels for him as a son is evident....and very reminiscent of Little Bug's foster family. Watching this video, I saw Little Bro's foster mother's daily life, her commitment and total devotion to this little boy she knows she has to say good bye to. And she does it anyway.

And it kills me to know what's coming for her. Not only the moment of the goodbye, but the weeks and months after. It's been making me ill for months when I think about it.

There's nothing I can do about it, really. I can't stop the pain from coming, but I can make sure she never has to feel the pain of the unknown once he leaves her. This quote from Little Bug's foster mother comes to mind:

"I always speak with my husband that being a foster mom is a blessing to me. ...One day i hope that I can meet these children again. Because I want to say to them, "Thank you for growing up well.""

In just a few+ months, she will finally get her first chance to see one of her babies again when we bring Little Bug back to Korea. I'm so excited about that. Although continuing a relationship with my sons' foster families is important for them, it's equally as important as a way to honor these families and the sacrifice they have made.

And, quite simply, I love them, and I want them to know that.

A Freaking Awesome Hyung

Someone very wise reminded me last night, somewhat out of the blue, that less than a year ago Little Bug was still almost 2 months away from even being able to stand up by himself. She reminded me that he's only been walking independently for 9 months.

IN FACT, 8 days from today will be the anniversary of his first step ever.

I've been thinking a lot lately about having two little boys and a part-time gig as a "single mother". I get a little nervous when I think about some of the challenges it will bring, especially with Little Bug's needs.

And then, thanks to someone wise, I remember that we still have a while yet before that time comes. A while that will see all of us growing and changing.

In my heart, I don't believe we'll meet Little Bro in less than 7-8 months from now. I just truly don't see it being possible.

So I look to how much has changed with Little Bug in less than a year and I know the big brother who will welcome Little Bro home in May or June will be leaps and bounds more amazing than he is now.

And he's pretty freaking amazing right now, so I'm thinking I don't have much to worry about on that front.

My Favorite Stress Reliever

Yesterday was a bad day.

I was home, not feeling well, dealing with work stuff, pushed publish on that adoption manifesto, and was having these crazy panic attacks all day long. I haven't had panic attacks like that in years.

Of course, like most anxiety, it was over very little.

But it was consuming me, making me ill, freaking me out.

When it came time to get Little Bug from school, I spent the whole drive over swearing that I would not let our evening be consumed by my distraction. I didn't want Little Bug to feel my stress. Honestly, I wasn't sure I could actually do it, but I wanted to try for him.

As super cheesy as it sounds, seeing him was like a balm to me. His smile and laughter over the flute section of "Hello, Everybody" as it played in the car CD player broke something in me that was wound really tight. We ended up having a fabulous box-cooked and steamed veggies meal and enjoyed spending time outside on a glorious Fall evening.

Occasionally it would creep back into my thoughts, this anxiety I was feeling, but it was surprisingly easy to fall right back into step with my boy.

We rounded out the evening by cuddling together and reading four books (something that hasn't happened in a while) and a charmed and unicorn/kitten/rainbow early bedtime. I even allowed myself to drop the sleep training nazi hat and cuddle him all the way to sleep.

I needed him last night.

Being a mama is stressful. We give and give and give, but I usually forget how much Little Bug gives, too. His toddler antics might increase my anxiety sometimes, but his toddler adoration is also one of my biggest stress relievers.

My baby woke up in a fantastic mood this morning, and I agreed to his request of "up on Mama." We watched cartoons for a couple minutes together, my hair dripping wet as my brain wound up for today. I found that, although so many of the stressors were still there, I'd pushed passed the silly panic portion and gotten a handle on things. Thanks in no small part to my awesome son.

Today has actually been a stressful, but pleasant day.

Suck on that, anxiety.

Here's a Tip

On Friday morning I got on a 6 am flight with my 2.5 year old son. I was running on about 3 hours of sleep, but I had my act together.

Snacks, check.
New toys to stagger as distractions, check.
Favorite books, check.
Extra seat, check.

But let me repeat, 6 am flight, one parent (who hates flying), 2.5 year old child.

Little Bug was, I'll admit, whiny. BUT, in the grand scheme of aggravating baby/plane experiences, this was nothing. His whining was intermittent and not very loud. I was doing a diligent job keeping him from standing on the seats or bothering anyone else.

Apparently I do a crappy job.

About 30 minutes into the flight the woman behind me said, very loudly, "Excuse me, is he going to take a nap sometime soon? I was hoping to get some sleep on this flight."

I was blown away. Her tone was completely hostile and I was mortified, on top of already being frustrated with my kid on my own. I stammered an profuse and humble apology.

Apparently I do a crappy job at apologizing, too.

She went on to ask if I had any medication I could give him (I had heard her telling a stranger before the flight started that she always medicated her step kids and never once had them bother other people on the flight) and told me "he hasn't stopped talking since we stepped on board."

Let's recap.

6 am flight, one parent (who hates flying), 2.5 year old child (in speech therapy).

Instead of the second, even more mortified apology, I should have said, "F You, lady."

But I didn't. Instead, I apologized a couple more times and turned around and burst into quiet tears. And I cried, on and off depending on Little Bug's volume level (which, for the record, was never really loud, but pretty consistent for the 4-hour flight). The mean woman drank three mini bottles of vodka (recap: 6 am flight) and made sure everyone knew it was because she was being driven to drink.

Here's the thing. I HATE imposing on others. I get that little kids can be annoying. I try my very hardest to make sure my family isn't causing other people discomfort. I was alone and trying SO hard. This woman's comments, especially so freaking early into the flight, terrified me. And truly, my kid wasn't that annoying to anyone but myself.

When the flight ended the woman told me "Honey, I'm sorry. I am just really tired. You're a great mom and didn't lose your cool the whole flight."

I just stared at her and gave a mumbled thanks. What did she expect me to do? Scream at him? Drink myself into a stupor. Give up and let him throw stuff at her (as tempting as that was).

Yes, I am a good mom, and I worked hard and did a really good job on that flight. It wasn't easy or fun, but I am proud of the way I handled it. I did not, however, need her to tell me that.

Little Bug wasn't the only one on that flight who needs to learn to keep their mouth shut.

Bracing Myself

I'm not exactly sure if a recent realization makes me a monster or a saint....or perhaps just human, but the truth is, I'm slightly disappointed that Little Bug isn't going to be wearing leg braces anymore.

He's been graduated out of them, which is an amazing accomplishment because our goal was to have him transition to smaller braces by kindergarten, so to have him transitioning (and skipping the mid-sized braces entirely for just a small insert into normal shoes) before age 3 is nothing short of a miracle.

I'm thrilled, of course. Proud, happy, relieved, etc. etc.

But honestly, there is a part of me that isn't all those things. I realized I have used those braces for a number of purposes.

1. I use them as a nonverbal cue to strangers that my kid has some special needs. People look at my kid all Forrest-Gumped-up and make allowances for him, allowances maybe they should or should not make. This used to annoy me, but now it honestly makes it easier when out in a larger group setting.

I'm not saying I'm all for kids who have special needs to have a label stamped on their forehead, but the reality is that it's easier to assimilate in a social setting if people know going in that there might be some extra care needed with my kid. Have the big braces do the introductions is a lot easier than me saying, "Hi, Little Bug has balance issues and might not play at the same level as your kid. Please make sure your child doesn't push mine over, because mine will hit yours in the face.....Nice to meet you." I'm pretty sure this isn't 100% morally okay to feel this way, but it's the truth.

2. I also realized that I look at Little Bug's braces as a badge of honor. I'm so tremendously proud of the hard work he endures daily to get where he is, and the braces are a visual manifestation of that. People can see that he has physical limitations, and yet, watch him chase after a goose or walk through the aisles of a store. I want people to be impressed with my kid, because I sure as hell am. I'm pretty sure that is not 100% okay, either.

Without the braces, I worry that strangers will see my big-for-his-age son and expect him to act like a normal 3 year old would. I worry they will make assumptions about him that I'm not comfortable with once they start interacting with him or see him wobble with his not-quite-all-there-yet balance. Even more, I worry about the reactions he'll get. The surprise or confusion on the face of a stranger playmate or parent at the children's museum or swimming pool when he trips over his own two feet or can't follow his new friend up a set of stairs. I worry about when he gets old enough to start feeling self conscious.

I know these concerns are contradictory, but the truth is Little Bug won't be the only one adjusting to a world without leg braces, and that makes me feel a little ridiculous. Or human.

I'm not sure.

From the Desk of Your Bug-Bitten Mama

Dear Little Bug,

As you slumbered in your car seat while we drove home from a natural element-taxing weekend of camping, your daddy and I were nearly speechless with pride.

You've come so far.

This weekend you held yourself together through grueling heat and a nighttime storm that even had your parents on edge. You wore sandals instead of leg braces all weekend long and held your own. You busted out numerous new words. You ate at an adult-sized picnic table. You skipped your nap and were completely off schedule, and you handled it with 2-year-old grace. That is enough to get a gold star from your adoring parents.

Even more, you proved how much you have matured emotionally and developmentally. You played close with other little boys without hitting them in the face (although we did have some time outs, but those were for pretty normal 2-year-old behavior sort of things, so you get a "time served" in my mind). You played with your friends, not adjacent to them. You clearly enjoyed the interaction. You practiced sharing. You even held hands and tried to run with them.

It's always been a secret fear of mine that your social skills would be something you would struggle with for a long time. My heart would break at the thought of your bright spirit not having friends to share it with. You still have work to do, but all 2 year olds do.....you're in good company, my sweet boy.

To see your hard work pay off with the chance to play with little friends and enjoy their company was the VERY best part of a fun camping weekend for your parents. As your Appa said tonight,

"I love being his dad."

That's ditto for me.

Riding in Cars With One Boy

I think I have become a lot more laid back in my mothering in the last few years. Once over-vigilant to the point of obsession, I'm now more apt to let my kid go ahead and eat that cracker he found under the couch....if it has dust on it, he'll spit it out. I let him plop his butt in mud....shorts can be washed, usually with the hose like the rest of his body. I let him run sans clothes (but with diaper) in our backyard...I never quite figured out why I was so opposed to that one for so long.

But I'm still struggling with one area of unwavering resolve....leaving him in the car.

When I was little, I was left in the car while my mom popped into the gas station or pizza place. I'm confident that leaving the air conditioning on would protect my son from cooking inside out while I take 2 minutes to buy a DDP and a chocolate milk on our way to a park date or drop a library book off inside the library.

Yet, I cannot do it. I tell myself as I pull into the parking lot and gather my things while leaving the car running that he will be fine in plain view for a minute or two, but at the last minute, I chicken out and turn the car off, unbuckle my kid, and drag him into the gas station. Neither one of us is super thrilled with this decision.

I'm not sure if it is because my anxiety of the horror stories you hear of babies in extreme heat gets the better of me or if I am somehow envisioning someone stealing my car and my kid, or if my phobia of a car slipping out of park and into traffic is at play, but I cannot, despite my best attempts, leave my child unattended in the car for longer than it takes to run the video into the rental drop box or return a shopping cart.

Just a small look into the inner workings of a neurotic mama-in-progress.

Growing a Pair

Sometimes I err so far on the side of caution to not inconvenience someone that I end up driving myself wild. One little e-mail could clear it all up, but NOOOOOOO, I would prefer to suffer in anxious anticipation/worry for a full week instead of putting myself out there just a teeny, tiny bit. This in turn makes poor Appa have to suffer through my "suffering." Trust me, I am not a pretty sufferer.

So today, after two DDPs and one too many e-mail dings from a social networking site that was most definitely not my SW sending me an update on Little Bro, I grew a pair and sent off a polite, one line e-mail just asking if she had anything for me.

I feel a bit better now. Either way she answers, I'll soon be able to stand my e-mail dinging without going into nervous twitches.

And that is a good thing, because I am not a pretty e-mail twitcher, either.

If You're Happy and You Know It...

Little Bug,

Mama has had a bad week. You know this. I know this. Appa knows this. Pretty much any poor soul who has come in contact with Mama knows this. Yesterday I was determined to make myself be happy when I got home from work.

Thanks for doing for me.

That dance party you started, complete with your two new moves I like to call the "old man shuffle" and the "pop and lock," as well as your Bob Marley-inspired move we call the "peeing dog"...that was one rocking party. Those belly laughs of mine and my springing step as I did my "lame mama dance" were completely genuine. The fact that we did the whole thing in the rain made it even better.

You had me literally squealing for joy when I sang "Itsy Bitsy Spider" to you and, for the first time ever, you actually did all the hand movements with me. That was one proud (and shocked) mama you heard shouting praises in your face. Capping it off with a couple silly smiles and silly eyes...inspired.

You even made my heart smile a bit at 1 am this morning when you came into my bed, snuggled in, and then instead of whining, just gently grabbed my face to wake me up and tell me you needed a drink. The fact that you signed "thank you" (while saying "welcome" because we've confused you linguistically) and then went to sleep peacefully was the icing on my cake.

Today, instead of waking up with a pit in my stomach and an ache in my heart, I woke up happy to be your mama and thrilled to have the whole weekend to spend singing and dancing with you.

Thanks for making it easy, buggy.

Putting on the Game Face

The last few days have been stressful for me. I'm slammed at work. Appa was out of town. I'm overly anxious for an expected update on Little Bro. Things are completely stalled with Little Bro's adoption paperwork and the implications of the stall (and the lack of support from those whose help we sought) are heartbreaking. Yesterday I sat at my desk and cried.

I'm not a crying at work sort of gal.

The one thing that keeps running through my head is to put on my game face. I don't really see any other choice.

I have to put on my game face at work. I can't ruin my reputation of being even-headed and calm and professional over personal stress. And yes, the amount of work that fell in my lap this week is unholy. But I can either turn it into an opportunity to show that I can handle the pressure or I can turn into the girl that cries at her desk when things get tough.

Game face.

I have to put on my game face for Little Bro. Amid my heartbreak and frustration and fear over the stall in his paperwork, and more recently, my hurt, confusion, and sadness over the growing fissure of a relationship I had counted on to advocate and support our family through this process, I have to stay calm and get my questions answered in respectful, yet satisfactory way. I owe it to my son to do whatever it takes to make sure he is not waiting longer than absolutely necessary. Tears and anger are not going to get me anywhere.

Game face.

Most of all, I have to put my game face on for Little Bug. He doesn't care about my work, nor does he care about his brother's paperwork. All he cares about is that his mama is there to play with him after being away all day. That she is there to laugh at his new dance moves, sing his favorite songs to him, and play our new favorite game, "silly eyes." Over the last few days, I've caught myself frowning as I mull over all the stressors I'm dealing with. I catch his eye and see him falter, confused as to why I'm unhappy with him. He's way too young to know anything of stress or to understand why I might be stressed. All he knows is what he senses and sees from me.

Game face.

More to Love

For a long time I have been really panicked when I think about having two children. Sure, the massive pile of diapers and the nighttime serenades of dueling crying babies is stressful to imagine, but honestly, the deepest worry was if I could really love a second child like I love Little Bug. Little Bug is such a special child, and my love for him has developed in such a special way that I worry sometimes that my love for Little Bro will be appropriate, but maybe just not quite as much as my love for my first born.

Seriously, how could I love two children equally and be all-consumed by them both?

Before we got our referrals, we would say "I love you" in messages, but those words were merely promises, not actual declarations. I loved the idea of him, the construction of a child I held in my heart. Even after we got Little Bug's referral, the pictures of the child we had been waiting years for, we loved the picture of the boy, the idea of him, the essence of him, but still, he could have been taken from us, and we would have moved on with the clarity that he was never really ours to begin with. We loved the idea, the image, the promise; we couldn't, however, love the soul we did not know.

Since accepting Little Bro's referral, I have felt a shift very different from our waiting post-referral with Little Bug. Little Bro feels more like a (my) real child and less like a picture. I think this is in part due to his brother, who is living proof to us that pictures really do equal children and part to the fact that we are going to have more communication (well, one-sided) with Little Bro before he comes home. We are sending him videos of us and pictures of us. Somewhere, on the other side of the world, a little boy is going to see the video of Little Bug doing "Itsy Bitsy Spider" and laugh the same laugh that he will one day laugh when he is sitting on my lap singing the same song. We are going to see videos of him playing and breathing and growing and wearing clothing we sent to him. He is not a myth, not just an image.

More importantly, I feel my heart expanding. When I think of being a mother, I think of both my boys. Sure, I love Little Bug with an intensity that realistically cannot be rivaled with a child I have never called MINE and meant it, but I've been surprised at just how naturally maternal I feel toward Little Bro without feeling like it's all just sweet lip service. My love and concern and hopes for Little Bro don't seem to compete with the love and concern and hopes I have for Little Bug. They both feel very real to me.

Instead of my heart feeling full or tight, it actually feels more open and expanding. I know that my love for Little Bro is nothing compared to what it will be like when we are truly his family, but I feel much more confident that I can love two children equally and deeply.

And with my two big boys...there is just more of them to love.

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.

.....

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...

Bravery

Ever since I became a mother, I've found myself changing and growing in significant ways. Among many changes, I've found myself becoming more brave. Not brave as in jumping out of a plane (which I would do, but only because I hate planes and would be more afraid to stay inside one), but brave emotionally. Having someone's health, happiness, safety, emotional wellbeing, and morality entrusted to little 'ole you makes someone shape up…fast. In the 18+ months Little Bug has been in our home, I've found myself becoming more and more brave with my emotions and dreams. Things that seemed out of the realm of possibility a few years back seem almost normal now.

That's a good thing.

This subtle bravery has helped me in my career. I'm going for things now, more than ever. I'm seeking new knowledge and skills and am not afraid to stand up for myself. Doors are opening and I'm walking through confident that I will have the support at home and at work.

Even more important, I'm becoming braver with my emotions. I'm opening myself up to sometimes scary or uncertain possibilities in the hope of something truly great. If I had been told 2 years ago that I would be the mother of a child with special needs, I would have been terrified…seriously crippled with fear and doubt. Now, I'm not only confident in my ability to parent and advocate for my child, but can see Appa and I maybe doing it again. Every kid is different, so it's much more about being brave enough to face a new unknown than it is an inner confidence. Heck, weeks after Little Bug came home, I wasn't sure I could be a mother, period. Now my mind is filled with thoughts of two or three kids filling my home. Emotionally, I am shocked at how brave I feel now when faced with the need to trust things and processes out of my control. It's pretty empowering to be able to talk yourself off that cliff of anxiety.

Speaking of two or three kids or children with special needs or trusting a process that has no defined end, bravery is the ability to be scared out of your freaking mind and still press forward with the things that you know in your heart, if not your mind, are right. Bravery is opening yourself up to being hurt and disappointed. Bravery is following your gut when you have no other reason. Bravery is readjusting expectations and plans and letting go. Bravery is holding on when you don't want to. Bravery is patience.

Life is exhilarating when lived bravely.