Why Three Boys?

Never fail, every single person from my mom to the blind date babysitter we hired yesterday have asked me the exact same question since we announced our Little Moon.

"Why three boys?"

I get why many of our family members asked; we've been crowing about a girl for years now.  But even strangers and acquaintances head straight for the burning question.

"Why three boys?"

Unfortunately, I don't have a great answer for them.  I don't actually have three boys right now, so any poetic waxing I can do on the stereotypical answers is just conjecture. It hasn't been a life dream of ours, and neither Appa nor I even know many 3+ families with all one gender.  It "seems like it would be kind of fun" is sort of a lame answer. And when I am following that up with the fact that my boys will be 5, 4, and 3 when our last one comes home makes the "kinda fun" answer sound like I am delusional.

I've been told by others that boys are easier to raise, boys love their mothers, and boys are more fun.  As a card-carrying member of Team Female, I'm not putting too much stock into those answers.  I think I was probably a dream child to raise.

Wait, what?

But universally, what I have been told by all boy families is that they love it.  That they wouldn't trade it for all the girls in the world.  Granted, they're clearly biased and would likely sing a different tune should their families have included a shot of pink.

But that is the real answer.  The one I can't articulate to the babysitter or therapist or anyone who doesn't have 10 minutes to listen to me ramble about MY three boys. It's not a matter of wanting three boys, it's a matter of wanting the family that you were meant to have.  For many people, that means loving and wanting the children you bear, regardless of their gender.  For me, means Little Bug, Little Bro, and Little Moon.  Sure, we could have waited it out and hoped for a girl, but once I felt it for Little Moon, nothing else mattered.  The fact that he isn't a girl is nothing compared to the fact that he is this amazing little soul that I am so very lucky to be able to one day raise.

"Why three boys?"

Because the three children I love above all other children in the world just happen to be boys.

Rainbows and Race Cars

One of my fondest dreams is to prance through the girl's section at T@rget filling my cart full of leggings and skirts and Easter dresses with big bows.  I imagine clutching "Snow White"'s hand as we take her to the Magic Kingdom for the first time.  Ribbons, lace, princesses, sparkles, pink.....I have always wanted a daughter.

Except for last week, when I realized I really didn't.

I realized I wanted a daughter like I wanted a fire place or a master bathroom. A fun and delightful dream, but definitely something I could live happily without. As cruel as that sounds, when faced with the ultimate decision, my desire for a daughter was superficial to my real desire.

A third child.

And when it became clear to me that I wanted my two sons to have a third sibling closer in age to them no matter what section of T@arget I needed to shop in, the world opened up a most wonderful not-surprise surprise.

A son.

I have a 2 year old son half a world away.  He's just 14 months younger than Little Bro.  He'll be 3 by the time I can kiss his sweet heart-shaped lips and hear the laughter that accompanies his most killer grin.

He's perfection, and my heart is bursting with joy.

My dreams are now filled with color coordinated holiday sweaters, fire truck tennis shoes, and World Series champion baseball caps (okay, that last one might really be a dream).  I imagine my sons always having someone on their side, always having someone to play with, always having someone to protect and be protected by.  The more I imagine having three boys, the more I am surprised at how I never realized before how much I would love that.  Because this is it for us.  A 4:1 ratio.  I'm so so so looking forward to it.

I might not have gotten pink glitter, but I got my rainbows.

Cray Cray

My boys are not always little angels, but they are a pretty calm couple.  Sure, they scream and run, but when things get "wild" in our house, it is usually melt downs and tantrums.  I watch with equal parts curious envy and terror as some of my friends parent kids whose "wild" is a more physical (and fun) type.  Considering my 2.5 year old cries when he stands on a step stool because he refuses to step down by himself, I'm not well equipped as a mother to deal with the more physical type of toddler fun.

So imagine my shock when about 30 minutes after letting my boys have some chocolate covered mini doughnuts for afternoon snack they started going Nuts.  Bananas.  Cray cray.  Out of their minds.

I am being literal when I say that I was basically cowering in the corner of a bed as they jumped and screamed, threw things off the side of the bed or at each other or the wall and wildly flailed every appendage they could at every other appendage their brother was flailing.  Then they moved from the bed to the floor where they continued to throw themselves on the floor, roll and slide around like animals (this is actually a game we always play, just not so wildly), and dance with flailing appendages. 

At one point Little Bro managed to turn on Little Bug's radio, tune the radio, and started blaring Journey while dancing like he was on the drugs I imagine most of the members of Journey were on while writing said song.

Then they started ripped bedding of the beds, throwing open drawers and throwing clothing out with furious speed, and literally dumping books of the shelf like they were ransacking the place.  Of course, they then turned around and started throwing all the stuff around the room.  All the while Little Bug was screaming with banshee joy and Little Bro was belting out Korean kids songs with the passion of a patriot going to war.

Why didn't I stop it?

I was a little bit in shock, a little bit amused, and a little bit scared.  Clearly they were operating on some intense sugar high and I was worried taking them away from their activities would swing them into some epic melt downs.  And frankly, I would rather crack open a bottle of wine and clean up the sheets than deal with two angry little boys.

It was only when Little Bro picked up a book and tried to rip a page out that I snapped out of it and laid down the law.  You can abuse my sheets or haphazardly folded clothes and you can throw Pororo and Toki and Brendan and the-Moose-no-one-wants-to-be-chingoos-with against the wall, but you cannot rip a page out of a book, even if it is a Chuggington book that is WAY too long anyway.

I admit, in retrospect, I see the smiles and hear the laughs and love the moments, but I'm so glad that I'm on my second glass of wine and they are on their second hour of REM cycle sleep.

Sweet dreams, my little angel babies.

The Language of Love

It's no secret that my Little Bug is hard to understand when he speaks.  His apraxia and low tone in his mouth make his speech patterns come out very muddled. He is, usually, unintelligible to strangers and about 30% intelligible to those who casually know him.  Even Appa sometimes has a hard time understanding a new phrase or word.  In fact, the only person in the whole world who truly understands him almost totally is me.  Like anything else you adapt to, I have learned the language of Little Bugese to a point where I have to remind myself that people can't understand that "Obama ah Daooo" means that "Grandma lives in Idaho."  I serve as a translator when people need help understanding him, and it has become second nature for me to automatically repeat things he says when we are with other people so they can understand him better.

Right now, I'm his translator to the world.  And while I wish for him that he didn't need one, I am proud to be his mouth when he needs one.

But something interesting has happened in the last month.  Little Bro has learned to speak Little Bugese.  Although Little Bro's language is superb and even likely advanced for only hearing English for 5 months, he seems to understand anything Little Bug says.  He often repeats his brother, only in a more traditional English articulation, or will just continue on with their conversation without skipping a beat.  To listen to them is like listening to two kids speaking different languages (and it becomes adorably comical when they both start speaking Korean on top of it all), but to them, it's normal.

They're bilingual.  Trilingual?  1.5-lingual?

As these two have truly become brothers, their bond has extended to work around Little Bug's language delay.  I've been worried for a while that it would impact Little Bro's own language or his ability to bond with his brother, but there is not a phrase Little Bug utters with regularity that Little Bro doesn't immediately understand.  It's shocking and amazing and very, very cool.

Because now Little Bug has another person in his corner who can help him access others socially when he needs it.  I imagine in the years to come (because this apraxia is something Little Bug is going to struggle with for a while yet) when my sons are playing with friends in a fort or playground and Little Bug excitedly exclaims something no one understands, his little brother will be there to back his big brother up.

His brother will have his back when his mama can't.  Or, as Little Bug would and has said "wiw bha, ah boo bah?"  Little Bro's translation: "Little Bro, aboobah?"

I fiercely love these two boys.

The Question

We're a conspicuous family, and I've always fielded multiple questions a week from strangers regarding Little Bug and whether he was adopted or if I was just the devoted nanny.  Usually the questions were just varying degrees of "is he adopted?", but I realized today that ever since Little Bro came home, that question rarely comes up.

Now, the new, more subtle was of determining how I came to be wrangling two small Koreans is a different, seemingly innocent question that I literally get 2-3 times a week.

"Are they brothers?"

And although the snarky responses you read in all the adoption literature comes to mind, my go to answer falls in line with my general rule on these sorts of questions...simple and honest.

"Yes."

But the thing is, I know that isn't what they are asking.  I know they aren't using the word brothers the way I am.  I know they are asking about blood and biology and a single birth mother and some history or story that is bound to be interesting.  But, if that was all it was, me choosing to ignore the implications behind the question, that would be fine.  It's the follow-up comments that I have been shocked to discover nearly always follow my simple and honest answer.

In the last week alone, these are some of the comments I have received in response to my answer.

"How wonderful you were able to keep them together."
"I can tell.  Their eyes have the same shape."  [Really?!  Here is a news flash, nice lady handing out chocolate milk samples at Costco,  there are around 50 million other people in the world who have the same "shape" of eyes as my kids.  I am pretty sure they aren't all related.  If they were, Lee Min Ho would be having dinner at my place...like every night.]
"What a sad story with such a happy ending!"
"You can tell."
"I didn't know you could adopt siblings from Asia."
"They're twins, right?"

So here is my dilemma.  I really like my less-is-more approach in general because it works for my personality, but in this case, I am finding it increasingly important to offer up information speaking to the implication of this question.  It's not a huge deal right now with my boys understanding what is being said, but when they get older, I don't want to have to continue the conversation with these strangers in order to set the record straight when their assumptions become clear, nor do I want to lie or hide the fact that my children are not biological brothers, because it doesn't make them any less of brothers, and I want them to know that and own that.

I have started practicing with the answer "they are now," and that seems to get the point across, but also tends to fluster people and make them backpedal, which makes me feel bad.  Then again, it's not offensive, so perhaps I shouldn't care that I've made people who asked an awkward question feel awkward themselves.  But even that answer feels like it has a shelf life, as it might be a little odd to say "they are now" when they've been brothers for 10+ years or something.

It's the most interesting of transitions from going from one child to two, and I find it has made our family even more conspicuous, more interesting to strangers, and more vulnerable to prying questions.

But for the record, as far as I am concerned, the only answer that is really true is "yes."

They are brothers.

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.

The First of Many Man Hugs

Today, as we walked into Little Bug's new classroom to pick him up from school, Little Bro reacted to his big brother's enthusiasm in a way we've never seen before.

He ran right up to him, put his arms around him, and gave him a hug.

This 14-day-old brotherhood has not yet consisted of hugs...by Little Bro's choice.  He's been apathetic at best with regards to his adoring older brother. But today was the first real sign of thaw, the first time he singled his brother out and showed connection and affection for him.

It warmed my heart to see Little Bro so accepting of his big brother and to see Little Bug finally get some of those "hug Little Bro" moments he has been begging for.

Life is slowly, slowly falling into normal for the four of us, and it makes me so happy I could hug someone.

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.

E

Dear Little Bro,

Let me start out by apologizing for your horrible nickname. It is a true testament to your mother's uncreativeness, and I've not liked it since the minute it was first typed. All I can say is that at least I didn't make it Lil Bro...that would have been unforgivable. Unfortunately, it stuck and by the time you read this in some far off Blurb book, you'll have encountered this nickname more times than any of us could count. The good news is your Appa and I have been busy trying to come up with your real name, something we hope is less lame.

Unlike your brother's name, which Appa picked from a list of three names I presented (actually, really only two names and a dummy third to increase my odds) after he refused to talk names with me for months and months and months unless it was my birthday or some other special holiday, your Appa has been more involved in the research of your name.

By research, I mean I give him lists of names and he tells me he hates them all. But hey, at least he is reading the lists, right?

Sure, your Appa has given his suggestions. Unfortunately, we just recently stumbled upon this novel idea of actually naming your kids after family members, but we thought that would be weird to give you a special family name while your big brother got the random (but much loved) name. So, you get a random name, too. Sorry 'bout it. I'm sure we will find another way to give your brother a complex.

In my head, for about 6 months, you were a certain name. Then suddenly one day, that name didn't feel right anymore. Who knows, maybe that was the day you were born and I somehow just knew that you were not going to be a "J." Or, perhaps I just met one too many "J"s. Since then, I've had a shortlist of three names for you. This weekend Appa nixed two of them. I'd been keeping them close, protecting them round after bloody round of name cuts, but I could only hold on so long.

The third name, "W," is a name I'd love to give you, BUT there is another name that Appa has seemed to latch onto (way more that "W"). I'll admit, there is a part of me that loves the fact that your Appa actually has an opinion on a name, and while I don't dislike it, it's not my dream name.

I've been test driving the name for the last few days. I whisper it to your brother and sometimes say it out loud to see how it feels on my tongue. I pair it with different types of Korean names. I write it out on paper. I even changed the filter on my e-mail from "Little Bro's Adoption" to this name. Your Appa thinks I am nuts and your brother is probably a little confused, but I really wanted to give it a fair shake. I'll be honest, I don't think it will ever be my favorite name.

But it is starting to feel like your name.

Only a few more months before we know for sure.

The Magic Beans

Today Little Bug and I were laying together, and he farted. He looked right at me and laughed.

With two little boys and an Appa to outnumber me, I have a feeling that won't be the last time a fart is funny in my house.

I'm Pregnant.

You know, the paper kind.

Lately I have been getting that weird "paper pregnant" feeling. (By the way, I hate that term and think it is really lame, but it is appropriate for the context.) We've finished all our paperwork and are now just

w.
a.
i.
t.
i.
n.
g.

Granted, this wait is much different than the wait with Little Bug. With him it was the first and last thing I thought of each day. I would stare at the phone at work. I would daydream excessively. I would cry and wail and get angry and frustrated.

This time, it's been more laid back. I think part of it is because with Little Bug there was always this thought in the back of my head that is was all pretend, that it would never really happen. I'm now fairly confident that Little Bro will indeed "happen." In fact, filling out the paperwork was much more enjoyable this time because I could feel a more tangible connection to Little Bro.

But the daily obsession hasn't been there. In fact, until recently, we were intentionally dragging our feet. We were not ready...and now we are.

And suddenly, I am feeling like Little Bro is imminent and like he is already a part of our family. With that feeling comes the urge to have people validate his existence in our family and my heart. Pregnant women have their large round tummies; I've got a foster care license in my wallet. It's pretty flat.

A few days ago I was sitting in Little Bug's pediatrician's office waiting for the last bit of adoption paperwork to be completed. As I sat there, I thought forward to the time when I will be sitting in that very same chair with Little Bro. I had the overwhelming urge to blurt out to someone that I was his mother right now, too. That I was waiting for my son who is somewhere in the world right this second, living, breathing, laughing, or rather, for the sake of his foster mother, sleeping peacefully. (In fact, I did that very thing hours before we got Little Bug's referral paperwork....the nice man at the counter of the Italian restaurant we were at was very gracious.)

So, safe to say, since we went paper ready, Little Bro has been on my mind.

Ever since we decided to adopt another boy, and not a girl, I've been dreaming about getting my boys matching shirts, some form of Big Brother/Little Brother. I've been looking for weeks now for a "Little Bro" shirt (not "Lil Bro"). My dream was to have Little Bug wear his Big Brother shirt in a picture we would send over to Korea with the smaller shirt for Little Bro. Today, I found not exactly what I was looking for, but something equally as cool.

So I bought them.

I could have waited another month to order, but this way I get super cheap shipping and can have it ready for a care package to go immediately.

And it made me feel AMAZING to order two little shirts for my two little boys.

Because in case you haven't heard, I'm expecting....