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.

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.

More than Words

Last week we finally sent Little Bug's birth mother a letter; or rather, we sent Little Bug's birth mother's file a letter. We were told that if the agency could contact her, they will. Whether she goes to get the letter is her choice, and one we won't know anything about unless she chooses to contact us.

We've sent pictures for her file before, and even written other letters, but none of those letters ever made it over to her file. I'm pretty ashamed of that. Knowing representatives from our Korean agency were in town, we recently sat down to pen and send a letter they would take back with them.

There will never be enough words to express our measure of gratitude and heartbreak for the decision she made, so we kept that to the point and heart felt. Besides, I tried to put myself in her shoes; if I got a letter from the parents of my child almost 3 years after I last laid eyes no him, their feelings would not be what I wanted to focus on.

If it was me, I would want to soak up every word about my boy, every detail I could glean. I'd want to know him.

So we wrote paragraph after paragraph about Little Bug. We wrote about his laugh and social nature. We wrote about his favorite foods and the things he refuses to eat. We wrote about his love of music and dancing. We wrote about his raggies and love for "choo choos." We wrote about his height and weight and his impish need to turn all the lights in our house on and off...just because he can.

We wanted her to have something tangible to hold onto.

I have this hope that perhaps the little details will give her something to anchor her to him. When she sees Elmo or Phung Phungie she can connect with him on some level. She can strip away one tiny bit amount of the unknown.

We also wrote about his spirit. I don't believe she knows that he has any special needs, and we debated mentioning it at all, but ultimately we wanted her to know what a fighter her son is...a trait I truly believe he must have gotten from her. We want her to be proud of him.

And I sent 30+ pictures. Screw the 7-10 pictures they suggest. I know they won't throw the other 25 away. I included candids with genuine smiles and posed pictures with obligatory smiles. I included pictures that reinforced his personality: happy, joyful, silly, loving, sweet, calm, and determined. I included family pictures and picture with Appa and I interacting with him. I included pictures of our daily lives: picnics to the botanical gardens, vacations, camping, celebrations, and down time.

I hope she looks at the pictures and is happy to see him happy.

We also asked for contact. We offered to receive letters or even visit her when we go to Seoul. I have no idea if anything will ever come from that, but I wanted to make sure there was no doubt in her mind that if she wanted contact, we wanted it, too.

She is the mother of our son, of course we do.

And even if she isn't able to contact us or even access the letters and pictures we will continue to send, someday Little Bug might go back to Korea and open her file. And he'll not only see proof of our love for him and the woman who gave him life, but he'll see our absolute, unwavering faith in her love for him.

The Reality and My Reality

This topic makes me cringe. I'm hoping by writing some of it down I can get it to stop rattling around in my head.

Lately I've been doing a lot of reading on adoption issues, specifically the idea that adoption is morally reprehensible because women are trapped in low economic or social situations with no way out except to relinquish their children to people of higher economic or social situations.

This situation isn't an opinion. This is a fact. I look to the women in Korea, women who are stigmatized and shunned for having a child. I would venture that many, many, many of these women want desperately to be able to parent their babes, and yet, their societies offers them no support. Their children are practically forced out of their hands.

That is a fact.

It's like that in countries all over the world. The majority of children who are available to be adopted around the world are victims of economic and social problems, not a lack of love or caring arms.

To a slightly different extent, it is that way in this country, too.

I don't like reading about it, to be honest, but I am compelled to. I've been lurking on some first mother sites and some adoptee sites. I've read in depth some of the advocates who consider adoptive parents to be akin to kidnappers, and I've read some pretty close minded stuff from advocates who think adoptive parents are the heroes of the world. Both leave my stomach turning.

Then I sit in the middle ground and look up at the nursery door and wonder if I'm part of the problem or the solution. Or either.

Both my children were not able to live with their birth family for reasons FAR from a lack of love. Both my children have mothers in Korea who expressed sadness at not being able to keep them.

That is how my children came to my waiting arms. Not because I could love them more or better, but because I am randomly luckier than their birth mothers in my circumstances.

And that makes me uncomfortable.

But where does that leave me? Where does that leave my children? How can I fix a problem so global?

The reality is that both my children were relinquished and needed homes. They were unable to have a home found for them in Korea. I'm the 3rd best option, and I understand that. But some would argue by being an option at all, I'm still perpetrating the problem.

This is where I struggle. By adopting my sons, I am participating in a cycle that is clearly destructive to mothers and children. But then again, these two children are not hypothetical spokes in this cycle, they are living, breathing children who need and deserve a family....and there was no family in Korea for them at the time when they needed one. I don't believe they would have been better off in an orphanage. I want to think by raising them with as much exposure to their Korean culture and an openness for any type of communication with their birth families that the might possibly have, coupled with a loving home, will be enough to make this 3rd best option better than an orphanage. My sons might some day feel differently...I hope not, though.

But how do I become part of the solution for these yet-to-be-born babies and their mothers? It seems from my research that no one is exactly sure of that. Extremes seem so....extreme, and yet, it stands to reason that only an extreme will force any sort of change.

This isn't about me. Of that, I am sure. I don't have a right to be a mother. I can't give birth to a child, but that does not give me a right to parent someone elses.

But at some point, children will suffer from lack of families if adoption is ended. There will be a gap between the problem and the solution, and children will be caught in the middle. How do we determine which children get the be the martyrs for the future?

That's what I can't riddle out. How can we solve a problem by hurting the very people we are trying to save? But how can we continue to happily pretend that women all over the world have babies and choose to give them up for completely personal reasons and are happier for their choices? How can we pretend that the competent, loving (albeit perhaps poor and young) birth mother and the child's lives are best served by allowing or even encouraging a separation?

I don't know.

I don't know if this even makes sense. I doubt it does. I lay in bed at night and my head does circles as I think about my children and their mothers and myself and how we all fit together.

Ultimately, this is where I am at.

I can't change the past. I can't and won't contact my Little Bug's birth mother and apologize and offer to let her parent Little Bug while I pay her the money I would have spent parenting him myself (which isn't a legal option anyway, no matter what some advocates suggest). It is selfish, but I love my sons and I am glad to be their mother. That's a reality, too.

And until something happens on a larger scale, there will still be children, especially children with special needs, that will need a home. Our wished for Little Sis will, mark my words, be one of those little children. I don't believe us choosing not to adopt again would make any different in the current climate, except to deny a child who legitimately needs a home a family. Individual boycotts are not nearly as effective as other methods of change.

I can't change a global climate. I can't change the way a country supports unwed mothers or their children. I can help by supporting causes and organizations that are working on a bigger scale to make change. One of our new annual donations this year is to an organization that supports unwed mother's rights in Korea. We make our donation in honor of Little Bug's mother.

I can help by continuing to be aware of issues and talking about them. I can help by not putting on my rose colored glasses and reading books about how baby, we were meant for each other, as if everything and everyone beforehand was only a means to our end.

I love my sons. I love my family. I love the way our family bonds are created. I don't love the reason for adoption to be necessary. I don't love the hurt of two families that has resulted from it. I don't love the gaping hole in my sons' hearts that I will never be able to fill.

But even after it all, I come back to the thought that I am grateful for my children. I am grateful for my reality. God, I love Little Bug so painfully much. I know I will feel the same about Little Bro.

I owe it to everyone involved to try to make our blessings count, to pay it forward. I think that starts with having some hard conversations with myself and using my lucky circumstances to advocate for those who have less resources.

Loved by Many

One of the phrases we always use for our letters to Little Bug is "Never doubt that you are loved by many." I'm positive it will go in every letter or card I ever write to him, and I will probably whisper it in his ear on his graduation day, his wedding day, and all the other wonderful days in his future.

It's become our subtle way of including his other families into our special moments and parental love, the reminder that his birth family and foster family are still in the world, actively loving him specifically. There is so much loss wrapped into our triad of families, but at the very root of it all, the reality is that our son has more people loving him with a passion only a father or mother could know than most people do.

And that's beautiful.

Right now, our family has a lot of contact with Little Bug's foster family. They are excellent people who love our son intensely. We bonded with them not only through our mutual love of Little Bug, but through a mutual fear of his special needs. In Korea, our social worker told us they were terribly nervous that we would be disappointed in Little Bug or not love him as much because he was so far delayed. When we started communicating after we returned from Korea, they told us the way we looked at him with such love despite his obvious delays gave them the comfort to let him go.

Since then, they've been they've been our partners in parental joy. They leave comments on our blog and send us e-mails cheering on his little victories and sending reminders of their love. They truly are members of our extended family forever.

Recently they left us a beautiful comment on one of our posts. It's been rolling around in my heart ever since, this beautiful other family who loves my son as a son. I know that somewhere my son's birth mother is loving him with a mother's love as well.

I'm not narrow minded enough to think Little Bug's adoption is just rainbows and pink hearts, because for each of these families to experience falling in love with Little Bug as a son, they also had to experience losing him. Little Bug, although the recipient of so much love, is also the victim twice over. I know that.

But it doesn't take away the fact that love is beautiful, and that being loved by as many as love Little Bug is a unique and special thing.

Kimchi, putakhamnida

Last night Appa and I went to dinner at a local Korean place. Little Bug LOVES Korean food, as do we. We usually order some favorites, but this time we went for the all-you-can-eat barbecue. It's entirely too much food for our little family, but makes sense when you see Little Bug.

Because Little Bug packs . it . back.

It helps that he is cheered on by a small army of Korean waitresses who absolutely adore him, stroking his hair and clapping as he gives them silly smiles. He had no less than 5 women watching him as he single-handedly ate an entire dish of kimchi by himself, pausing occasionally to flash them a silly smile and say "yummmmm" in this ridiculous deep, right-from-the-belly voice.

They cooed when he pointed to me and said "omma" and pointed to his dad and said "appa." When he asked for "bop" (the Korean word for rice), they lost it. They brought me soup and showed me how to mix it with the rice and kimchi to make a dish traditionally served to small children...then they went ahead and worked on battle silverware and helped him eat it while Appa and I sat by and watched.

Here is the thing, normally a woman putting her hands all over my child, taking over and starting to actually feed my child, and just generally being all up in his business would take me over the edge in an unhappy way.

Instead she got a 30% tip and the promise that we will be back soon.

I can't give me son an authentic Korean home or even much of anything authentically Korean, but I am proud of the fact that he will grow up eating kimchi and calling rice "bop" and getting loved on by people whispering Korean in his ear. It is the very least I can do for him.

Our family loves stuffed pizza and brats and casseroles and potatoes, but we're also a family who loves kimchi and bee bim bop and jap chae and huo dduk.

I am super proud of my son for packing back the kimchi like a champ. That kid has one hell of a palate.

날 엄마라고 불러도

I think it would be awesome if Little Bug was able to learn Korean when he was young (I say learn because at 10 months old when he left Korea, he hardly knew it to begin with). Our area has a large population of Koreans and many send their children to Saturday Korean school. Although this sounds like a great way for us to give Little Bug a chance to learn Korean young, the idea of making my child sit through another day of school seems inherently cruel, so the jury is still out on that one. Luckily, we have some time.

However, we have a handful of words that we have incorporated into our daily lives at home that Little Bug uses. I LOVE the fact that my baby would rather say "hi" in Korean than in English (in fact, he never says "hi" in English, something that I am not concerned about). My favorite is when he calls me "Omma," which means mother in Korean. Usually he calls me "Mama" and lately he likes to remind me he is a big boy by calling me "Mom," but when he gets tired, he inevitably reverts back to calling me "Omma" and calling Appa, well, "Appa," which means father in Korean. Tonight, as I was refilling Little Bug's drink in the kitchen, Little Bug's head popped out from around the corner and in a very forceful voice he said "Omma." Definitely not an unusual occurrence, but tonight it hit me that in some little way, we have managed to truly keep a bit of our son's Korean language with him...and it isn't confusing. I'm proud of that, and love the little ways Little Bug's birth country has melded into our family fibers.

Now, school on Saturday....we shall see just how that would fit into our family fibers when the time comes.

How do you say 'Elmo' in Korean?

Last night I had a really interesting encounter. Little Bug and I ventured over to a bookstore that begins with a B to buy a book I had been anxiously waiting to be released. Within the last week, for some inexplicable reason, Little Bug has become fascinated with Elmo, so we ventured into the kid's section to see about an Elmo book. He was riding on my back in our Ergo baby carrier and chanting Elmo (ellllmaaa) over and over. It was cute.

After a couple minutes, a 30-something Korean woman approaches me, seemingly equal parts curious and distressed. She clearly was not a native English speaker, but could speak English.

Her: "Is he saying 'Omma'?"
Me: "No, he is saying 'Elmo'. He can say 'Omma', though."
Little Bug: "Ellllmaaaa, ellllmaaaa, elllllmaaaa"
Her: "Is he Korean?"
Me: "Yes. He was born in Korea."
Her: "'Omma' means mommy in Korean. He is saying 'Omma'."
Little Bug: "Elllmaaa, Elllmaa, Ommaaa." Dissolves into giggles before turning on the Little Bug charm.

At this point it is apparent to me that she can't discern between the two words Little Bug is saying (they are close to the untrained ear), and she thinks that he is calling for Omma and not being understood. She wasn't being mean; she truly seemed a little disconcerted by the whole thing. I decide to avoid trying to argue that he is saying "Elmo," even though I am proud that he is saying it, and go with her assumption that he is saying "Omma," because at this point, he is repeating Omma every time he hears her or me say it.

Me: "Yes, he calls me 'Omma' and he calls his dad 'Appa'. He can also say 'anyeong' and recognizes some other Korean words, too. We try to speak what little Korean we know to him on a regular basis."

She seemed genuinely surprised by this, but mollified in some way. She asked if he was adopted, how old he way, how big he was, etc. She touched him a lot, which normally would bother me, but I understand it is common in Korean culture, so I didn't worry about it.

Her: "He is still Korean, you know."
Me: "Yes, he will always be Korean. It is part of who he is."

She started asking a lot of personal questions like whether I worked, who he stayed with during the day, whether or not I cooked, if he saw Appa a lot, etc. I answered them all because it was clear that she was now genuinely interested in meeting an American woman who was raising a Korean son with the intent to try to preserve some of that heritage. In her broken English and my butchered Korean, we talked Korean food, Korean culture, Korean customs, etc. It was an enjoyable conversation with just a few comedic translation problems.

Her: "What is his Korean name?"
Me: "XXX YYYY."
Her:" XXX YYYY or XXX YYYYZZ?"
Me: Not able to tell the difference at all in what she is saying. "XXX YYYY."
Her:" XXX YYYY or XXX YYYYZZ?"
Me: Not still not able to tell the difference at all in what she is saying. "XXX YYYY. X-X-X Y-Y-Y-Y"
Her: "XXX YYYY."
Me: Not still not able to tell the difference at all in what she is saying. "Yes."

Finally, after about 10 minutes later, it was time for me to head out to get Little Bug home.

Her: "He's a lucky boy."
Me: "We are the lucky ones."

I'm not sure why this conversation struck me. Maybe it was because it was interesting to see what Korean people (we live in a very Korean-populated area) might be secretly wondering when they see us together. Maybe it was connecting with someone from Little Bug's birth culture and getting a chance to really talk about it again with someone. Maybe it was just a nice chat mother-to-mother. Maybe it was the seal of approval I got from this Korean woman, a seal I don't need but would love to have.

Maybe it was just the reminder as I drove my delighted son home with his new Elmo book that our family is deliciously layered and have irrevocably bound ourselves to another culture and have and will be enriched by that connection in the most unlikely of places.

A kid is a kid is a kid

Every kid is different. My kid happens to be Korean, American, jovial, an adoptee, a banana lover, dark haired, medium skinned, dark eyed, tall, hypotonic, hard working, stubborn, loving, and loved beyond measure.

Despite all this...he is just a kid. Just like I was; just like every other kid is.

I think sometimes we (especially parents who have transracially adopted) tend to focus on our children's unique aspects to the point of obsession. Although that is important (VERY important in some cases), at some point you just have to say...my kid is just a kid.

Going out of your way to find ways that your child is different from you or others around you will eventually ingrain in your child that he or she is different from others in fundamental ways...and that is not the case.

Celebrate what is unique about your child and his or her life. Don't dwell on what is different.

Little Bug has 10 fingers, 10 toes, 2 ears, 2 eyes, 1 mouth, and one heart....just like everyone else. That should be celebrated too, right?