My Grin

Even close to 2 years into this motherhood gig, I still have moments of ebbs and flows. Honestly, I have a lot of moments where I don't 100% love being a mom. For whatever reasons it might be at the time, sometimes it's hard for me to enjoy everything about the precious time I have with my son.

For a variety of reasons, I've been thinking a lot about my post adoption depression lately and the impact it had on my attachment to Little Bug and his attachment to me. Over the past month or so, I've challenged myself to be less complacent with the relationship my son and I have, because when it comes right down to it, I wasn't 100% happy with where it was. I've been actively working on attachment games and activities. Even though we're well enough attached to each other already, I realized there is always room for improvement. Over the last 2 weeks, I have noticed a marked increase in the ease and physicality of our relationship.

And today it manifested in spades. Little Bug and I had a wonderful day filled with choo choos, animals, and more choo choos. All throughout the day we would turn to me and flash this radiant smile...not directed at whatever we were doing or seeing, but a smile clearly just for me. He would crawl on me and hug me for no reason. He spent nearly an hour dragging me from toy to toy, wanting only to play with me.

And better yet, I loved every second of it. It was hot, crowded, tiring, and done all without Appa, and I didn't look at the clock once. I enjoyed every moment of my role as mother today. That's been happening a lot lately, too.

Tomorrow might suck and I might want to tell my kid to "shut up" again, but those days will happen no matter what. I just don't want to forget today...ever.

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.

E [TBD] [TBD] [TBD] M

Dear Little Bro,

Yesterday Appa and I settled on your name. We hope you like it.

It wasn't my first choice, but your wise Aunt Ali(ce) reminded me that in the long run I'll truly love the name not because it was an homage to my favorite author or trendy (like the name I was fighting for), but because it is your name. Just settling on the name makes me like it even more because now it is you.

We've taken care of the cornerstone pieces of your name; we cannot wait to find out what the middle portion will be!

I'm Good Enough, I'm Smart Enough, and Doggone It, Little Bug Likes Me!

Some days, deep in my heart, I think Little Bug loves Appa a lot more than he loves me. They share a special bond, and Little Bug is undeniably a "daddy's boy." Of course, this often hurts my feelings, even though I know it shouldn't. I worry that perhaps my post adoption blues and inability to really bond with Little Bug early on irreparably limited the love he could have for me in comparisons to Appa.

Other days, I don't feel that way...as much.

This week two things happened that really changed the way I see Little Bug's connection to me. The first was after a feeding session at school. As usual, I gave him a kiss and started to leave and he freaked out. Like, huge, real, anguished tears. It apparently took a while to calm him down.

I'm not going to lie and say it made me feel really bad (but it did make me feel moderately bad). Instead, it made me feel good. Never once has Little Bug cried when I've left him at school (although I don't do that often). It actually, in a sick and twisted way, made me feel really happy that he wanted me to be there.

Second, the Blogging Gods read my braggy post about my "kid's kick a@@ immune system"...I am sure it is obvious where this is going. Last night's high fever, croupy cough, and lack of sleep drama was so brutal that I cried all the way to work. Appa took the morning off to tend to Little Bug and I came home at noon to take over. Instead of taking the desperately needed nap, Little Bug wanted to be on me or next to me....all the time. For 4.5 hours my usually curious and active little 2 year old sat next to me on the couch, his head resting on the arm I wrapped around his warm body. At one point, he laid his head on my lap and finally took some sleep. It was overly apparent that the only thing Little Bug wanted today was his mama. Even after Appa came home, Little Bug would continue to crawl up next to me to cuddle in. It was actually so pathetic, I feel a slight twinge of guilt at taking such supreme enjoyment out of it.

Appa, who knows my inner doubts and is so good about lifting me up, looked over at us at one point and said "See, all he wants is his mother. You comfort him."

And I do. Even though I am the mama who wasn't exactly emotionally there for him in the beginning and even though I am the mama who is always the one cracking the therapy whip and building and reinforcing the boundaries and starting the time outs and saying no to "more" of whatever junk Appa has been sneaking him....

...I am also the mama who he wants to cuddle into every time he is sick or tired or scared. I am the mama he asks to sing his favorite songs his favorite way and the only mama who can tickle him to illicit both the cutest laugh AND a plea for more. I'm the mama who is always the first to pick up on a new word or a new sign, and I am the mama who "shakes your booty" with him every night. Despite it all, I am his mama.

And just like every other part of my attachment/motherhood process, I feel a shift after today that I know is permanent for me. Another little lingering doubt floating in the back of my head that has resolved itself. It's a wonderful feeling.

So, since my sick baby literally just woke up crying in pain, I'm off to comfort him into the wee hours of the morning. Kinda looking forward to it, actually.

Love is Blind ...

A friend of mine recently ended a very nice Little Bug-praise-filled note to me with this line, "he is such an endearing little boy - and one of the most handsome Korean babies I know - but you know, not as handsome as mine ;)."

This had me laughing out loud because it is exactly the sort of thing I would have written to her (her little guy is exceptionally handsome, so she wasn't overly boasting there). I am often telling people (and honestly thinking it) that my kid is the cutest kid in the world. That same day a blog friend wrote a post with some very beautiful shots of her little girl and the comment that seeing those pictures made her "heart sing." I so identify with that feeling, too. Pictures of Little Bug are an obsession of mine, and sometimes I will randomly stop and browse through my web albums of him just to feel that "heart singing" feeling.

I guess it just got me thinking about the saying "love is blind." I think with parenthood, it is the opposite. Why do I truly think Little Bug is the cutest, most perfect baby in the world? Why do my friends feel the same way about their kids? Let's be honest, only one baby can truly hold the official "Most Beautiful Baby in the World" title and that baby is probably eating breakfast with Brangelina right now.

I think it is because love is not blind. Not even close.

When I look at my friend's kids, I see adorable, sweet, fun, engaging children with sweet smiles and cute haircuts and facial expressions, many of whom I care about. But, when I look at Little Bug, I see the way his left cheek just has the slightest hint of a dimple when he gives his genuine "surprised pleased" smile and the way his nose has two little rolls of skin that crinkle when he does his silly smile. I see the way his eyebrows slightly and quickly quirk up when he is anticipating something fun and the way his back arches and tightens when he is about to get really excited. I see the way his face goes slack when he gets tired and hear the change in the tone of his baby babble when he is winding down for the night. When I him sitting, I see months of tummy time and bumbo chairs and pillows and exhaustion and when I see him clap after he takes a few steps, I see pride and exhilaration and excitement in his eyes, not to mention the straightness in his little hands that has taken 2 years to develop. When he sucks his thumb, I see nights upon nights of his warm little body cuddled into my mine in his dimly lit nursery as he strokes his raggie with one finger while sucking his thumb as I rock him.

That's not being blind, that is being all-seeing. Love sees everything, and those little things that only we see are the reasons we love so "blindly." We are not blind to those we love most, but rather, we are blind to all those who we don't.

That's a good thing. This way everyone has a chance to be the most perfect person in the world…if only to just a few other people.

Like my Little Bug, who is, trust me, the most perfect baby on the planet.

A Well Dressed Sin Son

They say vanity is a sin, but does it count if the vanity is not for yourself?

I have an admitted problem with clothing. Not for myself. Nope, I have no problem wearing the Target-brand special to work or a suit I have had for years. (Don't get me wrong, my favorite clothing store is decidedly NOT Target, but it's too expensive for me to enjoy more than once a year, and I made peace with that long ago.)

No, my problem is Little Bug clothes. Before I was a mom, I spouted off all sorts of stuff about how I was more than willing to take hand-me downs, that my child would wear whatever was clean, and that I understood that he was a baby and not a magazine model. All valid things.

Then I took a look at the baby boy clothing options. Umm, have you seen what is out there lately!?!

The majority of boy clothing is in pastels (which remind me of a 80's-era newborn), cartoons (I am trying not to commercialize our child in every way possible), stupid sayings like "Chicks Dig Poop" or "Daddy's Lil Tough Guy" (which are just stupid because these are babies, not contestant on VH1's Tool Academy), or the obligatory cartoonish/cuteish bear/truck/car/monster/dinosaur/airplane etc. (which I find really boring and very cheesy). And sweatpants. I HATE sweatpants. What's a Little Boy Mama to do?

I think most Mamas suck it up and try to find a balance. Me, I surprised even myself with my refusal to do that. I think deep down I felt like I had waited SO long for my baby, gosh darn it, I was going to enjoy dressing him.

So, if I don't like it, my kid doesn't wear it. I'm serious. Gift or no gift, hand-me down or no hand-me down, on super clearance or not on super clearance, if I don't like it, my kid isn't wearing it.

Now, this approach has not come without its share of problems. First, the bank account doesn't love the fact that I will seek out new clothes (bonus of adopting Little Bro: already has a total wardrobe, so I like to think of these clothes as an investment; Appa does not share this view). I've had exceptional success in the Target clearance racks where a lot of the neat retro shirts and polos and basics end up on clearance. It takes a bit of digging, and often buying whatever larger size they have, but I've got a lot of nice clothes to last me for the next few years at $1-$3. In fact, the majority of clothes he is wearing now at 2T were purchased last year. Go me!

In addition, I have a reputation in my family of being that mom who you never buy baby clothes for because the gift will go to waste if I don't like it. My poor mother in law recently had to call Appa to see if I would be willing to let Little Bug wear a Hawaiian shirt she wanted to bring back from Hawaii (I was totally mortified when Appa actually had to ask me because he wasn't sure if I would say yes and even more mortified when I actually had to think about it for a second). I'm not proud of this and attempted to hide it from my family for a while, but the word is out. It's getting easier as Little Bug (who in actuality is a VERY BIG bug for his age) is growing into toddler sizes where there is slightly less vomitious selections to choose from. You can never go wrong with a polo (unless it is in pastels, or has a cartoon on the bottom left, or….). I'm not saying I don’t like monsters or cars or trucks or things like that. Little Bug is getting to the age where he can start to identify things on his body (his attempts to put on his shoes and socks [ggnnness and ooaags] are priceless), but I have a very definite style for the graphics, which makes it nearly impossible for anyone to accurately pin me down.

I'm so not proud of this, but honestly, I don't see it stopping any time soon. I love dressing my son; I love taking pictures of him wearing cute things; and I love people telling me how well dressed he is. I'm a pretty good mom, so I am allowing myself this indulgence.

So, I guess the moral of the story is to buy Little Bug a book if you are looking for a present for him. And yes, I am pretty sure vanity is still a sin. I'm working on it…sort of.

My Boys

Appa is the youngest of three kids. He has had relatively little experience with small children (before his own, of course). Appa didn't dislike kids...he just didn't really care about them one way or the other.

Me? Well, my hypothetical ovaries (because my real ones don't really play nice) were screaming "baby, baby, baby" since I pretty much was old enough to spell ovaries.

Anyway. Appa is a gentle, calm, and fair man, so I knew he would make a good father, but I often wondered if he would enjoy being a dad. Even after we got our referral, he was always so even about his excitement. I sometimes worried that maybe he would be one of those distant fathers who doles out punishments and considers teach a child to play a sport competitively quality time.

The came the first hours after we took custody of Little Bug....and Appa started HOGGING him. He couldn't keep his eyes and hands off him. He was using the word "son" constantly just because I think he liked the way it sounded. We spent the 13 hour flight home fighting over who got to change Little Bug's diaper and hold him as our arms fell asleep.

That has never changed. Appa and Little Bug have had a strong connection from that first moment. Appa is distraught if he can't see Little Bug before he goes to bed and tells him that he loves him about as much as a couple of teen sweethearts would.

Appa is in love. Little Bug is in love.

And I'm in love with them both.

One of the only things that comes close to the joy I feel when I see Little Bug's face light up in a smile is when that smile is being matched by my husband.

Time for Bed

Right now it is late and it's Appa's turn to take painful-teething Little Bug duty. Little Bug woke up about an hour ago in a lot of pain. I tried to rock him for a while, but he wasn't having any of me tonight.

Usually this makes me feel slightly bad and like a bit of a failure as a mother (cue all the repressed feelings of motherhood perfection drilled into me since childhood and reinforced by infertility and the invasive adoption homestudy). I always talk myself off that little ledge and think about all the times that Little Bug does prefer me.

But tonight Little Bug is still crying and in pain and it is late and Appa's turn and, quite frankly, I am a bit too tired to care.

One member of my family is sleeping tonight....and the schedule says it's me. Time for bed.