To My Little Moon

Written on Sept. 21, 2012

To my Little Moon,

I didn't expect to be writing this to you...ever really.  I really thought this letter would start out "Dear Little Miss," but it isn't and I find myself grinning widely at the thought.

Just like your brothers before you, your appearance in my life was sudden, unexpected, and filled with a deep sense of peace.  And just like your big brother Little Bro, I have to apologize for the months I have spent pouring over your bio on the waiting child list, praying for a family to find you.  I kept coming back to you, daily; I even started showing you to Appa regularly with a tut tut why can't a family see what an amazing child this is?

Why indeed could I not see, could I not listen to my heart that kept drawing me to you?

Unlike your brother, I didn't wake up one morning with the conviction of a mother than you were mine. Honestly, I didn't even ask for your file.  But life/fate/divinity/karma helped push a bit and a week ago today your file was in my inbox.  I gasped at your cuteness (oh the cuteness!) and tried to imagine life with three boys close in age.  And although I didn't get a "no," I didn't get a "YES" either.

But I knew you were special, and so Appa and I were careful.  We were careful to make sure we could be the family you deserved.  Careful to make sure we could still be the parents Little Bug and Little Bro deserved.  Careful to make sure the dream of Little Miss was one we could let go of.

When I realized I could let go of that dream easily and with finality, that's when I started to believe I could really be so lucky as to be your mama.

And in the last 36 hours I have felt my heart expand.  You went from a sweet little boy to my sweet little boy. I started missing you.

I woke up this morning and I knew.  I knew you were going to be my son.  And so when Appa agreed this evening, I knew this wasn't just a "next step" step but the pivotal step towards you.  We're still months away from sending an acceptance to Korea, and yet tonight I feel like I just did.

From this moment on, no matter the status of our paperwork, I have three sons in my heart.  And I know that someday I'll look back on this night and find it hard to imagine a life without my Little Moon.

To my Big Star on his Big Day

Dear Baby Big Star,

You might only still be wearing 18-24 month shorts (2T if it's a bad laundry week), but you are every second of your 3 years old today.  Today was your first day of preschool.  That "in Seb-teb-er" day finally arrived.  We've talked about it so much and teased you with a year's worth of Little Bug school pick ups that I don't really think you believed this day would come until I pulled out the Elmo backpack and strapped it on you.  You dutifully stood there while I took pictures, but I could tell you were still wondering if this was all pretend.

I snuck some looks at you in your seat as you and I drove alone to school this morning.  You had this tiny grin glued on your face as you watched the familiar route with rapt attention.  This.was.happening.

OMG, this was happening.  My baby was going to school. I'm sorry, but wasn't it just like last month that I cuddled you in my arms and played "ko ko ko epp" while you drank one of your five daily bottles? I've been totally okay with you going to preschool up until this morning when I had a mini panic attack thinking through the fact that I was going to take you to school where you would function independent of us.  Like, what kind of madness is that?  You are my baby.

But you stood in front of your new preschool like a kid before a Christmas tree as I snapped a few more shots.  Every shot you inched farther out of frame as your entire body was literally buzzing from suppressed excitement.

And then, with no preamble from either of us, I let you go.

You actually ran into that school shouting "Big Star's preschool!  Big Star's preschool!"  All that was missing was the fist pump or the flag you planned to stake down.  There was no hesitation, no fear.  You hung your backpack in your room, gave your teacher (Little Bug's beloved old teacher) a good morning hug, and ran off to get your hands on the freaking dump truck you have been eying for the better part of 6 months.  By the time I realized what had happened, you were across the room hunched down playing with two other friends, and I didn't have the heart to drag you back for a goodbye or hug.

For the record, I didn't cry, although thinking about not getting a hug makes me want to now.

No surprise, you were a big star today.  Your teachers were busted up over the stories you told them about Idaho and grandma and tractors.  They marveled at your fabulous eating habits (salad...seriously kid, you even ate salad for them?), sharing nature (umm, what?), and great listening skills (thank goodness).  And I am so freaking proud of you for diving right into "real life" and thriving.  It's not a surprise, but it's still a joy to see.

You were so happy today to tell us all about your day. You had the time of your life and knowing that I am going to see that twice a week for the next year is fun to think about. 

It was time to let you go a bit, my baby Big Star.  You and I both needed to let you grow up a bit, since you certainly can handle it.  I'm proud of you for rocking preschool like a champion.  Just one tiny step toward what will undoubtedly be the life of a star.

I love you, Big Star.  Happy first day of (BIG STAR'S!) preschool.

Two Secrets

Little Bug's medication has messed with his sleep, and although we are no longer a closet co-sleeping family, most nights lately I have ended up in his bed at some point in the night.  He isn't a cuddler in the traditional sense, but he always has to be touching me with his feet.  Sometimes it is just his tiny toes against my thighs, and sometimes he burrows both his feet as far in between my legs as he can.

Secret #1: I will sometimes move slightly away from his touch just to have the lovely heart-melty feeling when his feet immediately follow me for contact again.

Secret #2: I adore the nights when I get to cuddle with my sleepy baby boy.  Screw the sleep training.

Intentional Mothering

I've written and rewritten this post four times over the last week.  I'm not sure why it is so hard for me to articulate what has been screaming inside my head.  So, I'm taking a stab at just winging it without framework.

I've been an unequal mother to my boys recently, or perhaps ever since Little Bro came home.  With Little Bug in school for most of the week, Little Bro gets full days of Mommy time.  Little Bug, however, comes home from school and has to share the time he does have with me with his little brother.  I mean, obviously brothers spend time together with their mom.  But Little Bug...that became all the time he got with me, shared time.

Our home life is such that evening schedules are critical and must be done together.  Little Bug needs an early bedtime, he can't occupy himself independently while I put his brother down to bed, and truly, he loves his brother so much that he doesn't want to be without him.  We even do Little Bug's home therapies as a group. Simply put, we function in nearly every moment between school and bedtime as a unit of three.

Before Little Bro came home, I would pick Little Bug up from school and take him out to dinner at least once a week.  There we would sit, just the two of us, watching trains go by and "talking" about our day.  I think back on those moments and realize how special they were, and how much I miss that with Little Bug (I still have it with Little Bro).

When Appa comes home for the weekends, we try to soak up every moment with him and consequently, do very little not as a family unit.  And although this is a good thing, it once again shafts Little Bug from quality one-on-one time.  One of us taking him to the grocery store to relieve the double duty is hardly quality time.

I guess I just realized that Little Bug needs and deserves a little time with his mama without having to share her with anyone else.  I'm shocked at how little of this precious time he has actually gotten in the last months.  It makes me feel really crummy, actually.

But I have two kids and only one me, and the truth is having more than one kid really does make it very hard to have quality time alone.  For me, the first step was realizing one of my kids was getting less and determining what I considered to be (and not to be) quality one-on-one time.  The next step is hardest: actually making the time.  Because for our family, it doesn't come organically.  Little Bro doesn't softly plod off to play some educational game in one room while Little Bug and I can snuggle and whisper secrets to each other or play a game on his terms at his speed.  I have to manufacture an activity for Little Bro and devise another activity removed from Little Bro's activity.  Then I have to sell them both to my kids.

How is that working?  Not super, but I am getting there.  I don't love turning "Jake" on the TV for my 2 year old simply so he will leave me alone for a while. But when I have managed to get Little Bug alone and give him my special attention, he had blossomed.  I attribute it in small part to some of his recent developmental successes, and I have definitely noticed an increase in his affection and desire to snuggle since I've made the effort to give him special time.

This matters.  I can see it in his smile and his eyes and his off-handed or deliberate kisses and hugs.  Having me matters to him.  Even just the five minutes a night where we play a puzzle or take silly pictures on my phone make a difference to him and make him happy.

Sometimes I forget that I am the most important person in my kids' lives.  It seems sort of pompous to go around thinking that you mean more to them than anyone else in the world, but really, it's true.  My five minutes are worth hours of other peoples' time to my sons, and I need to start valuing my time the way they do. Intentionally.

Like a Diamond in the Sky

Little Bro and I are not cut from the same cloth. I am in uncharted waters when it comes to parenting him, not only because it is him uniquely, but because my experience with temperaments like his (namely my sister) haven't always been the easiest. I love this boy fiercely, but he has brought me to my knees daily in my quest to be a good mom for him.

I love rules. I love structure and routine and control. Little Bug spoiled me because he needs and wants all those things in a mother. And as uncool as it may seem at times, I really do think it's not a bad thing to teach and expect children early and often that following rules, even small ones, matter.

Little Bro loves independence and freedom. He loves to express emotions and explore and discover on his own terms. He also really likes control. As maddening as it can be for me at times, I also think it is very important to allow him to grow and learn in an environment that suites this level of independence and control he craves.

But what is a Mama to do when structured meets freedom, when logic meets passion, when because I said so meets screw you and your table manners, too?

Frankly, the blending isn't going as well as it should, and more evenings than not I lay in bed praying that tomorrow I'll manage to let it roll off me a little more, turn the other cheek just a little farther, whisper instead of raise my voice. Don't get me wrong, we're good, Little Bro and I, but I know I could be so much better for HIM. And I want to be.

Today I tried something new. I unruled him, in a way. Modifications to our routine and rules that I would normally never dream of allowing made their way into our day. Most notably, I gave him complete control in an area where he wants it most: food. Instead of sitting him in a chair and eventually fork feeding him every bite to get food in his belly, I let him run around our house playing while I followed him around forking bites into his mouth, ala Korean Halmoni style. And wouldn't you know, he loved it, asked for food, and ate a larger lunch than he has in a long time. From there, a day that was already going good went even better. For the first time in a long time, I can't think of a moment today where I wasn't in word and spirit the Mom I want to be.

Granted, this sort of thing can't and should not be sustained. Tomorrow he's eating lunch in his chair like he always does, but the experiment got me thinking about other ways I could modify my expectations to be a little more palatable to his desires. I expect him to meet me on my side most of the time, as it should be when a parent is teaching a child to live life, but I think I can find some instances where I can return the favor.

Little Bro is one of the coolest kids I know, and I want nothing more than to make him happy while giving him life tools. I am really grateful to have the chance to expand as a person as I grow to become the Mama he needs and deserves.

My baby Big Star...all the things I don't understand about him are the things I love the most.

The '85 Bears Would be Proud

Tonight Little Bro danced a dance I have been waiting 3 months to see.

The day we took custody of our Big Star, his foster mother sent us home with a final CD filled with pictures they took on his last night in their home.  I cherish these pictures, but one video of Little Bro dancing this awesome high-kick, tap-dance, Super Bowl Shuffle type dance while grinning stuck out, initially because it was so cute.  Then it stuck out because while Little Bro likes to get his groove on, never once since he has come home has he busted out that particular dance.

And believe me, I've tried all sorts of things to get it out of him, right down to doing the dance myself.

I know it's not truly important and probably means nothing, but I still mourn the loss of the child we saw in pictures and videos from Korea, because my child laughs a little different, looks a little longer before jumping, and seems a bit more jaded.  It's understandable based on what he has gone through, but he's also just getting older and more mature (for a 2 year old, of course).  I thought that maybe the dance was this little lost moment I'd never get to see for myself.

But tonight, after 2 days of some serious attachment loving Mamma/Big Star while Appa and Little Bug learn to hula in Hawaii without us (I don't want to talk about it), as I was singing a ridiculous song about bath time, I saw it.

The shuffle/high kick/tap dance while grinning routine.  Over and over again while I continued to belt out "Let's go take a bath, let's go take a bathhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh."  And it was just as cute as it was in the video, cuter even, since it was finally in a moment we were sharing together.

Mama

Almost 2 months to the day he came home, Little Bro started calling me mama (and Appa, dada).  What was noted in Korea as a speech delay has turned out instead to be a mark of impressive and hardcore stubbornness and a fondness for pointing and grunting to get his way.

Not that we've been cracking a whip or anything, but yeah, that wasn't going to continue long-term here.

Within the first month home Little Bro had picked up a handful of words, and in the last month his vocab has exploded. Granted, his most consistent words are a bit random (cheese, turtle, hi, hawk), but he's actually got more words than I care to type out, many of them functional and appropriate for his day to day life, and he loves to repeat anything we say (when in the mood).  He's also a whiz at picking up baby sign language, to the point where I have to go back and review his DVDs to see what he is saying.  He strings together multiple signs and enjoys communicating wants and needs effectively.  He's even using please and thank you consistently.

Cute and polite.  Be still my heart. Did I mention he's got the swagger of the Beibs and the cheeks of a Gerber baby?

But mama, he would not say.  I knew he could say it, as it's so close to omma, a word I heard plenty in our first weeks together, although not in relation to me.  I admit, this last week has grated on me, and I am not proud of the fact that instead of pushing more functional words, I pushed him to use this word; pushed, begged, bribed, and threatened (okay, not really that one).

But that whole stubborn streak...I could see his little lips tightening in a epic battle of wills as he refused to let the sounds pass his lips. Impressive, and pretty freaking scary for me to imagine what sort of show downs Little Bro will be able to whip up when he's 16.

But yesterday after his nap, "Mama, mama" slipped out as I held him in my arms, rushing around to get ready to leave the house.  Before nap = not gonna happen; after nap = sure, your name is mama.  He knew what he was doing, too, as he immediately started clapping for himself. Since then he's being using it A LOT, which I love, although it's mainly when he is whining for something that he busts it out. 

I'll take it though.  Hearing him call me Mama and point to Appa over webchat and exclaim "dada, dada" over and over is another little slice of normal that has fallen into place.  And tonight, as I listened to both of my little sons call my name in their little voices, my heart felt very full (and good thing, too, as they were both actually whining in an attempt to avoid bedtime).

The Name's Mama, Their Mama

My hair is a mess, strands of my ponytail out and frizzy.  I'm so terribly tired, physically a bit sick, and sore.  My feet and fingernails are dirty, and I am pretty sure I smell.

Yet, I can sit here in this stolen moment (and it truly is practically just a moment) and know without a shadow of a doubt that I was one bad a$$ mother today.  I rocked it hard from my rare 4:45 am wake-up call to the skipped nap to bedtime.

My kids got to see trains, jump in puddles, help bake super healthy veggie muffins, have a very long and physical music parade, read books, sing songs, help me tidy up our house, learn numbers, look at birds, play in a public fountain, get new Cars shoes that light up, and eat a decent meal outside.  It was just a charmed day, despite the fatigue, constant rain, and slightly messy house.  And I made it happen for them.

And everyday...heck, most days, won't be like this.  But today, I declare that I was a really great mama, and that is a nice ego boost.

Catching the Distance

There are moments when it comes back, that distant look or tension, the subtle (or not so subtle) inching away from my body or attention. The eyes that close for just a little too long or the nervous gnawing on a favorite blanket from the past.

It's easy to forget, amidst the smiles and cuddles and games and laughter, that everything isn't "normal" yet for my little one. But there are moments, more and more now as we try to pick our battles and introduce some boundaries, where it is obvious at Little Bro isn't convinced we're the ones.

Which is totally normal. One of the most poignant things I took away from adoption training was the difference between bonding and attachment. Bonding is a connection, a relationship built on shallow but pleasant ground. It is what makes most first time adoptive parents crow confidently after 1 month that their child is attached and loves them totally (Appa and I included), and it is what makes BTDT adoptive parents wary of celebrating too much after 1 month, knowing the grieving relapses are bound to come and the true attachment takes time....truly. You bond with a friend, and that is where we are at right now with Little Bro. He trusts us, he likes us, he maybe even loves us, but if we left tomorrow and he was back with his foster family, he'd mourn our loss minimally. That's what attachment is, the emotional connection that can only be broken by trauma. It's the kind of relationship you have with only a few people in the world.

And we'll get there eventually. I know that even 15 years from now I'll tell Little Bro "no" and he'll turn away and make it clear he hates me in that moment. But the difference between then and right now is that neither of us will feel the fear that hides underneath the pain or anger right now because we'll be attached to each other in a way that can't be broken.

So, as I have caught that distance in my little son lately, I keep reminding myself that if I stick with him, keep building tear by tear and smile by smile, our foundation will be rock solid someday.

Brook the Bird

Today I took Little Bro to the fancy zoo for his first play date with kids other than his brother (who was in school and missed the fun). It was a nice time for him and a delight for me to chat with friends.

But too soon for me, Little Bro started nodding off in his friend's wagon, and I knew it was time to go. Of course, as soon as we were on the course for the car he woke up and was absolutely fascinated by all the exotic seagulls flying around. Despite the looming threat of a seagull shower, the moment was one I relished. As the oldest, I have no frame of reference for the plight of a second child, but the reality is that now whenever #2 gets something, #1 does, too. In the interest of fairness, there isn't a lot of time or opportunity or reason to spoil just the second child.

But as MY second child sleepily delighted in watching the birds with me, I knew I was going to seize the moment and spoil him and him alone.

I took him to one of the zoo gift shops and let him pick out a stuffed animal. I steered him toward the birds, since that nice memory was fresh in my mind. He doesn't seem like a stuffed-animal-loving kid, but he did take immediately to a weird looking stuffed penguin (a bird we did not see at the zoo) with over sized, weird cracked out TROLL eyes.

Whatever. My baby was getting this weird doll.

And to my satisfaction, he held it the whole way to the car, playing with the wings and laughing at it. He clutched it during nap and while watching SuperWhy. I started to think that maybe this special treat was going to be something that would mean something to both of us.

Of course tonight he took one look at it, realized it had creepy Chucky eyes, and promptly freaked out until I hid it from him.

Oh well, it's the thought and memory that counts....and I have a feeling Brook the Big-Eyed Birdie is going to be popping up again and again as I try to force my darling second son to love this silly little doll.

You, Me, and Us

 

We've all spent the last week changing.  Each one of the members of my family has had quite a week as we noticeably have started falling into our new normal.  With that new normal comes some inherent changes in each of us.

Little Bro and Little Bug are no longer only children.  For the first 2 weeks, they both, in their own way, resisted this change.  But in the last week, both boys have started embracing their roles as brothers.  Little Bug is becoming more tolerant (and even, dare I say it, empathetic) to Little Bro's transition and normal demands on our time and attention.  He is learning to give him space when he needs it.  He is beginning to accept that we can't always read his favorite book at night first or watch Yo Gabba Gabba's Train episode all the time.  He is beginning to explore this whole "big boy versus little boy" idea, which is helping him with some independent play skills.  Hopefully it will also one day help him stop from trying to "sit on Little Bo" because the reality is we really do have one BIG boy and one LITTLE boy.

Little Bro came out of his personal hell stronger and braver than I could have imagined.  It humbles me when I think of the strength and resilience my sons have already had to dig deep for in their little lives.  Although they won't remember it, the lingering effects, both good and bad, will always be with them.  I truly believe that.

Little Bro is embracing us as people he likes, trusts, and wants to be with.  As is normal, sometimes he pulls back, but in general, this week we've seen more of the real Little Bro, the fiery, fast, funny, and curious child we met in Seoul.  He has started giving all of us (including his big brother) unprompted hugs, and he and I are developing a pretty tender and intimate sleep routine that fosters a lot of attachment.  Things that were too intimate for him before (like brushing teeth, changing clothes or diapers, giving medicine) are now less trauma and more just a typical toddler affront to life.  He's started throwing tantrums again, as opposed to grieving, which is oddly encouraging.  In the biggest hallelujah, he's started eating solids for us.  That alone is a HUGE step. Just in general, he seems happier, more comfortable, and less like he is desperately wishing for something he won't be able to have again.

Appa is, not surprisingly, doing best of us all.  He's an emotions-close-to-the-vest kind of guy, but watching Little Bro literally loss his will to exist last weekend was an eye-opening experience for him, I think.  Even then, he was the rock who spread himself thin so that he could focus on Little Bug while still taking care of me while I focused on Little Bro.  At one point, during a dark day, I looked over at him and thought "Thank God this is the man who I picked to be the father to my babies."  He's a keeper, my Appa.

And me....I'm doing better than I expected, with everything but blogging, that is.  Living life is getting easier and more normal, but writing about it is still a bit tedious.  After my serious bout with post-adoption depression last time, I've been watching and examining myself for any indications of those feelings so I could deal with them immediately.  Surprisingly, other than the very normal, sleep deprived "THIS IS THE WORST MOMENT OF MY LIFE"  feelings during the late nights while watching my sweet son shatter into a million sad pieces, I haven't felt the feelings I did last time.  I think a large part of it is due to already being a mother, so the jolting loss of freedom isn't there this time.  I think is also helps that Little Bro is older and more engaging.  In short, bringing home a baby was slightly boring and gave me more time to stew in depression, while this time Little Bro, at 22 months, is able to immediately interact in a more meaningful and fun way (although as I write this he is zoning out to Phung Phungie).  

With Little Bro's grief aside, the hardest thing has been trying to find balance.  I have found that my identity now is not the mother of two little boys, but rather, as Little Bug's mother and Little Bro's mother and Appa's wife and myself...each role needing its own attention and not a simple lump together.  The reality is that two-child shopping cart I have been eying out  for the last year is actually really cumbersome to push.  You can't easily go one way on a whim, instead you have to position the whole darn thing and slowly make your turns. 

And that is my life right now...slowly making the turns that lead my whole family in a new direction. But that's not a bad thing.

Your Right

When Little Bug came home, he was developmentally at an age where he didn't get it totally, and thus, coupled with his chill disposition, made for a pretty trauma-free transition.

For my tiny Big Star, with his passionate spirit and deep affection and love for his family in Korea, the transition has gone from amazing to bumpy to hard to a downright hell.

His hell. Let me make that clear. For as much as it scares me to watch him physically and emotionally lose control in a fit of fear and rage over what seems like nothing and as tired and frustrated I am at having my own life so transitional and hard, my pain is NOTHING compared to what is going on with him.

Tonight, after two truly horrible days, as he sat on my lap facing me and shook his head violently while screaming no in Korean while hitting my chest, I focused on that....his pain.

You can read every attachment book in the world and talk to every parent who has ever gone through it, but all they can do is prepare you for some unidentifiable pain. They cannot prepare you for your child's pain.

My Big Star is in pain. It's a slow burning pain that has gained steam in the last week. After a week home, he is farther from a good place than he was a week ago. I know, for as long as I live, I will never forget the look in his eyes tonight, the strength with which his body thrashed, and the unnatural pitch of his scream.

E, someday when you read this and try in vain to remember this intense pain you experiencing right now, please know that I'm not minimizing your loss by trying to force you to get past it. I will not ask you to love me; rather, I will be here for every scream, every hit, every painful bottle and bath and mealtime, and no matter how it makes me feel, I will keep my face calm and pat your back and sooth you in my broken Korean. I will earn your love because you don't owe me any middle ground, any compromise. You have a right to every emotion, and I am the one that owes you the middle ground. Always.

To My Little Bug on the Eve of Everything Changing

Tonight is our last night of normal.  Tomorrow begins a period in our lives that won't be normal, but will eventually usher in a new normal.  That normal looks similar to our normal now, but it will never be the same.

But tonight I want to focus on our normal.  The normal that has me sitting in your dark bedroom as you peer at me through the faint light of your nightlight while drifting off to sleep.  The normal that is running hugs and rough play and cuddles while watching your favorite parts of your favorite shows.  The normal that is spur of the moment Mommy/Son dates where we spend the whole dinner talking to each other about whatever you want to talk about (usually some form of moving vehicle).  The normal that is your favorite books every single night and wagon rides.  The normal that is the pitter patter of your feet each night and your delight at shower time.

Normal right now is devoting every ounce of myself into you.  Your therapy dictates my schedule.  Your needs dictate everything that is in our home.  Your triumphs are the biggest high I experience.  You are the king of my life, and your rule is absolute.  You need it; you got it. (And let's be honest, you want it; you've usually got it, too.)

It's going to be weird for a while, this new normal.  The one where I need to balance the needs of someone else with yours. I'm not scared that I won't be able to do it, but I think it's going to take some getting used to for you and I...this balancing act.  Your rule over my heart isn't being reduced, but rather, my heart is impossibly expanding.  And I get it; until you are a parent, that feeling simply can't be understood.  I hate saying that, but it's true.  So trust me when I say, you're still my #1 boy.

And as much as we will love your little brother and our new normal, there is a part of me that sighed tonight as I kissed your sleeping shoulder.  Because, my sweet oldest son, I have loved our normal so very, very much, and I am sad to see such a beautiful chapter in our lives close.

Love, Mama

Window Shopping

Little Bug,

You've been home for 2.5 years now.  You know who your mama is.  So I'm cool with you calling any females who look between the ages of 16-50 "mama," because I know it's just the only name you know how to associate with adult women.  Besides I love being your "my mama."

However, when the new little girl in your class has her Korean mother there, it's slightly mortifying for your "my mama" when you run into the Korean mama's arms and refuse to leave.  I get that you were playing with her, but she looked at me like some horrific thing was happening, and she actually asked me if you were confused who your mama was because she was Korean.  I couldn't even be mad at her for asking, not as I was watching the bizarre love fest you had going on.  Granted, it got better when you moved on to your white teacher and did the same thing and she could see it had nothing to do with the way she looked or the accent she had.

You just didn't want to go home last night.  That's okay.  School looks a heck of a lot more fun some days than a healthy dinner, home therapy, and an early bedtime.  So I'll jazz it up if you promise to go easy on the pseudo window shopping. 

Love,
Your My Mama

The Gift of a Wait

Dear Little Bro,

You’re everywhere it seems lately.

Every morning brings some new thought of you. The sight of the double shopping cart at Target. The fact that your hyung has taken to calling his bed “Little Bro’s bed” in an attempt to avoid having to lay down at night. Planning a final “Mama’s Getaway/30th Birthday” trip on the fly to fit it in before you come home. A sweet e-mail from a friend. The video I’ve already watched so many times I can practically repeat the Korean being said, although I don’t entirely know what I am saying. The HR process at work we’ve begun for my transition time with you. The travel plans being made with your presence in our family in mind (don’t get too excited, you and mama aren’t going to Hawaii). A touching song from a friend who has you in her heart, too. The way your brother makes out with your picture every night and can’t sleep until he’s “dissed” it and blown another “diss” to the big map of Korea (“Dahya”) where he knows you are. The clothes Little Bug has grown out of that I can’t pack away because I know you’ll be fitting into them within a couple months.

The way my heart has been feeling lately: nervous, sad, excited, hopeful, incredulous, and most of all, peaceful.

Over the last 11 months since I realized so suddenly that we were your family, not a day has gone by that I haven’t felt every one of those emotions bubble to the surface. Sometimes it hasn’t been graceful or gracious or entirely transparent, but they’ve been there. Your presence in my life, even from across the world, has challenged me and helped me grow in ways I didn’t think I could or needed to go.

The truth is that you’re just fine where you are. Better than fine. You’re great right where you are. You don’t NEED me right now. But I’ve needed you. It isn’t your hair I needed to smell or your body I needed to feel, but your smile that taught me a valuable lesson about appreciating what I have, instead of what I don’t. In choosing joy over sadness. Waiting for you has changed the way I practice patience and given me courage to hope and faith the endure. Not small gifts, and possibly something I should cross stitch onto nice dollies.

It's easy for me to forgive the wait when I am at the end of it, but it's also so much easier for me to see how waiting for you has changed me. I'll be a better mama for you because of it, and that's a win-win for us both.

See you soon, baby big star.
Love Mama

Dear Little Bug

This morning, right before you stubbed your toe and wanted me to kiss it better, you took my breath away with how grown up you have become. Each time you would open the bathroom door and yell "HI" or "BYE" or "BOOOOO!" I marveled at how your face has thinned out and your eyes seem so much more mature as you raise one eyebrow....waiting for my response. In that moment you seemed every bit the 3-year-old you are and so far away from the little baby I used to cuddle in my arms for hours at a time. It was exciting and sad, all at once.

Then you stubbed your toe. I don't want to say "I told you so," but there is a reason your mama doesn't want you slamming doors....and it's not just because of the pictures hanging on the wall.

Although your toe was fine, your face screwed up into sadness and injustice and you insisted on sitting on my lap. There we were, sitting on the closed toilet while you moaned and cuddled into me and I kissed your tiny big toe over and over.

And I realized that no matter how angular your face gets or how high those expressive eyes go, somewhere in there will always be my cuddle bug baby.

And I love you so much I can't stand not to write about it sometimes.

Love, Mama

Fighting the Skeletons

When I was very young, I had a dream that my dad and grandpa were outside my bedroom window fighting skeletons. The dream was so vivid that I can still, some 25+ years later, recall in detail everything from the thin but strong look of the skeleton bones to the color of my bedroom carpet and the way the moon shone into the window.

Ever since that dream, I have had a nervous twitch at night. Even as a high school student, I would be comforted by the sounds of my parents still awake in our home as I fell asleep. (My dad has stress-induced insomnia like I do, so he would often be up very late). It's silly, I know, but hearing the TV or couch shift was the tiny trigger I needed to release my tension and feel safe. My parents were my protectors simply by being there.

Last night as I laid in bed with Little Bug, I realized that I have somehow become the protector. It's me that his hand is seeking out for a single confirmation stroke as he drifts in and out of sleep. I'm the one whose touch can ease his moans. My presence in a room is what he wants and needs when he wakes up scared in the middle of the night after what could have been a truly cracked out dream about skeletons.

Just by being there and being me, I'm protecting him.

That so much responsibility that it humbles me and makes me want to be stronger and smarter and better for him. It makes me feel like a superhero who could totally kick skeleton butt (if they had butts, which they don't).

It makes me feel so lucky to be his mom.

Taking my Hand

Tonight as Little Bug and I drove home from an uneventful diaper buying outing and fancy macaroni and cheese dinner, my little boy started to sing a common 3-word refrain from a song we were listening to.

The Midwest winter is rapidly approaching and the car was pitch black, so I reached my hand back to touch his knee in a sign of praise. Usually when I reach my hand back while driving he ignores it or bats it away.

Tonight he took his little hand and wrapped it tightly around my finger and held on. I caressed his hand with my other fingers and together we sang over and over. Every time I moved my hand he called "mama, mama" until I returned it to the proper place and he could grab hold again.

Although I couldn't see his face in the dark, I could see my reflection in the rear view mirror and saw the tears pooling in my eyes.

It's hard to explain how special this was. Little Bug isn't a hand holder....especially when sitting or otherwise engaged. Part of it probably has to do with his hypotonia and weakness in his hands that had created a habit of not gripping something tightly for long periods of time. Part of it is probably just his personality.

For him to want to hold my hand tonight the whole way home, to seek out my touch for no reason other than simply that it was my touch, leaves me feeling like another one of the motherhood pieces is falling into place.

1,000 Ways to Love You

Little Bro,

Today we received close to 1,000 pictures and video of you. Pictures from when you were just 8 weeks old to pictures of you crawling and walking and now running.

Even though I am blessed to have many of these same pictures of your older brother, seeing your pictures now, before I have met you, has allowed me to feel like I know you in some way. I know what you look like smiling and sleeping and snotty and drooly and angry and tired and bored and amused and curious. I know how sure of your feet you are now, and how tentative you used to be. I know what your first baby smile looked like and how your voice sounded just as you were finding it. I know what you chose on your Tol, and I know how you only chose your item after a melt down, cuddles from Omma and Appa, and a bottle break.

I'll never be the same.

This wait is awful, and I think it was/is bound to get worse, but being able to share this history with you...having more pictures than day left waiting....it makes it so much more bearable, makes you so much more real. It makes the wait more unreal than you.

I feel so guilty that I got this blessing and others have not. I can't wrap my mind around how randomly lucky I am.

Seeing these pictures today also made me very sad. Not that I was missing these moments with you, but that these beautiful moments are temporary for this family who clearly loves you as a son with a passion that oozes from every film cell. It makes my heart hurt in a way I won't be able to sooth for the rest of my life.

Because I feel like I know them now, too.

As I sit here tonight with your big brother curled up against me, my heart is filled with thoughts of you and him and your families in Korea.

And my heart is so very full tonight.

Boo Yah

Let it be remembered for all the ages that after waking up and sobbing "Mama, Mama" for 20 minutes while the beloved Appa tried to calm Little Bug, Mama (me!!) came to the rescue. Less than a minute after I crawled into bed with my baby, spooned him close, and started humming into his hair, he had calmed down and was peacefully resting once again.

Little Bug is the World.Biggest. Daddy's.Boy, so this was a nice little victory for me.

Thanks for throwing me a bone, baby boy.