Vomiting with love

Yesterday I woke up feeling gross. This feeling intensified throughout the morning, continued through a very thoughtful surprise lunch date with the hubby to our favorite Mexican joint, and culminated when I rushed to the bathroom at work and threw up twice in front of coworkers.

No, I'm not pregnant. Thanks for asking, small coworker audience, and yes, I did have nachos for lunch.

I honestly don't get truly sick very often. Headaches and upset stomach, sure, but incapacitatingly sick, not often. In fact, the only time this has happened in the 15 months I've been rocking the motherhood gig was after a scheduled surgery where Appa was able to plan for the extra responsibilities.

So, me coming home and continuing to puke my guts out and literally crawling back and forth from our bathroom to our bedroom (Ohh, and that joke about setting a bad example for our son by crawling and not walking was hilarious, Appa, just a riot; you should take that act on the road.) while Appa was in the midst of tiling the back splash in our kitchen and our son was in the mood to walk everywhere was not what we had planned for this week.

Who knew I was so needed by my boys on an everyday basis?

Luckily, my husband is pretty much the greatest man on the face of the planet. He took over parenting duties last night and then stayed up until the wee hours of the morning to finish the "must-be-done" parts of the tile job while I tried to sleep away the illness. He has been working nonstop for two days on this labor intensive tile job, taking care of me, and taking care of our son. Not once has he complained.

I love my husband.

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.

A Christmas Carol

I've been meaning to write this for a few days, but didn't. Oh well.

This Christmas season I was visited by three holiday ghosts.

The Ghost of Christmas Past reminded me over and over about all those Christmases where I would take a moment and look around and promise myself that "next year I would have a baby to share this with," only to find myself doing the same thing the next year, acutely aware of my broken promises. It's been two Christmases now with my son, and that fact that I still think all those sad Christmases is a bittersweet reminder to always be grateful for the moments I do get to share with my family.

The Ghost of Christmas Present tagged in at this point and suggested that, maybe, just maybe, I should put down the camera and step away from the blournal and just enjoy the holiday I had waited so long to experience. I think, over all, I did a pretty okay job taking some pictures and video to capture the moments to share with our families far away, while still being able to just be there and enjoy them.

The Ghost of Christmas Future was sort of just floating overhead and occasionally would swoop down and slime me with the realization that this holiday was most likely my last with just Little Bug. Surprisingly, this made me a bit sad. I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I am terrified to have two children to corral around the tree, to stop from ripping down stockings and decorations, and who will have an even more obscene amount of gifts (not to mention the whole two human beings still in diapers under my care forever and ever in less than 12 month's time). However, Appa and I did occasionally bring Little Bro up and dream about what fun it would be to have our two little guys home for the holidays next year. We even started seriously discussing names, which thrilled me until I realized that this is going to be a seriously hard battle between Appa and I. Really, what is so wrong with the name "Corbin"?

Then all the ghosts were gone, the fourth season of Dext*r was watched, the presents were put away strategically moved from one room to another, and Appa and I have our final bits of adoption paperwork almost finished.

Bring on 2010.

Let's Talk about Bodily Fluids, Part 3

There are two ways to handle diarrhea, like serious diarrhea.

1. Wait wait it out; let the blow out happen in the diaper and clothes, even down into the toes of the footie pajamas.
2. You grab the boy when you hear those first sounds coming from his tummy, you know, the ones that sound like a damn is breaking or a volcano is erupting, and run up to his nursery, strip his clothing off, and change the poop immediately.

Here is my expert advice, now having tested both methods.

It is much easier to throw a poop filled pair of fuzzy jammies in the washer than it is to clean a diaper pad, changing table, Appa's shirt, and the images seared into your brain that come with consequences of opening the diaper too soon. Poop will happen, my suggestion is not to let it happen without a diaper on.

Gross. I mean, seriously, seriously, gross.

Mood: Bittersweet

Rarely do I feel "sad" about Little Bug's early life. He was in a loving foster home and had a rocking time there. I think I have a fairly realistic view of the losses he has experienced and will be as prepared as I can be to help him understand those losses as he gets older. On the flip side, I surprisingly rarely feel "sad" about Appa and my losses. I don't usually dwell on the fact that we missed the first 10 months of our son's life. Sadness is just not a common emotion I feel when I think about our adoption journeys.

However, last night as I was rocking Little Bug, out of the blue this intense sadness hit me, for all of us.

I felt waves of sadness for Little Bug's loss of his birth mother and birth father, and the very real possibility he will never know them, never see who he looks like, never find out where he got his giggly personality, tenacious spirit, or hypotonia. I felt so intensely sad that my son was missing a part of his inherent identity, a hole that will never truly be filled. I felt sad that my son had lost his memories of his foster family. How even though he will grow up "knowing" them, he will never really know them like most people know the people who loved them and bathed them and cared for them and introduced them to the world. I felt sad for the language my son has lost, and won't regain easily, if ever.

I just felt sad for him. My baby who I want everything for.

I also felt really sad for Appa and I, for the loss of those first smiles and giggles and illnesses and hard nights and milestones. We are lucky to have over 400 picture starting from the time Little Bug is 3.5 weeks old, and yet, when I looked at those pictures last night after Little Bug went to bed, I was saddened by all those moments I missed. Sad because I can never have those moments and can never share them with Little Bug.

I just felt sad for us. For the moments we can never share with our dear son.

It also hit me that prior to 3.5 weeks old, there are no pictures of Little Bug. He was living in the babies home. The thought of this, even though it is a carefully run and safe facility, made a tear roll down my cheek. I was there, and I saw the rows upon rows of little babies who laid in their cubbies until it was their turn for some attention. Little souls who were being cared for as babies, not as individual spirits already starting to grow. The thought of my baby having no one to call his own for 26 days made me horribly, terribly, sad.

So last night I rocked my baby and felt this supreme sadness for all of us, for the injustice and loss that brought our beautiful family together. I think some of this stems from the fact that we have been thinking about Little Bro lately, and realizing more than ever before how much we are missing each moment.

Of course, not two hours later, Little Bug's foster family posted a beautiful Christmas post on their own blog, wishing all their "lovely angels" a Merry Christmas, and included recent pictures of all five children. The picture they chose of Little Bug was taken just two days ago.

That made me happy.

It made me happy that across the world, Little Bug still has people who love him and think about him every day. Some can show their love through a blog post or comment or e-mail, and some can only show their love through an enduring act of selflessness and bravery, but Little Bug is loved, and I am happy that Appa and I get the chance to be his parents and love him with abandon while still raising him to embrace this love from others.

So, if I was to have to pick a mood last night, it probably would have been "bittersweet."

You know it's love when....

...you take the long, traffic-clogged way home every day just so your child has more opportunities to see "choo choos."

...you buy your wife a bottle of champagne, just because you know she likes it.

...you take off work early to go home and snow blow the massive amount of snow and ice your very busy and stressed husband has not been able to get to, just so he can come home to a proper, stress free start to his much deserved and too short vacation.

...you buy your wife what she really needs for Christmas, not just random, meaningless stuff she might want.

...you buy your husband all the random, but not-quite-meaningless, stuff he wants for Christmas, but never ever treats himself to.

...you let your little boy sleep for the last hour of the morning in bed with you, against your better judgment (because you know it will come back to bite you in the butt) because you know how happy it makes him and because you love waking up to his warm little body cuddled next to you.

Not a shining moment

Yesterday I had one of the worst motherhood moments I have ever experienced (relatively speaking).

Saturday night I got a massive migraine. Truly horrible. I was asleep by 8:45 pm and when I was woken up by Little Bug at 7 am the next morning (a small miracle in itself), the headache had only gotten worse. Not good.

After some rolling around and playing in bed, Appa got up to make Little Bug breakfast while Little Bug "laid" in bed with me. The laying in bed actually consisted of him standing up over and over on the bed, attempting to throwing himself off the side, and trying to climb up into window. So, I sat up begrudgingly and pulled him into a cuddle.

Little Bug didn't like this. So he leaned forward and then threw himself back into my face in an epic head butt that knocked the wind out of me and left me wondering if all my teeth were still in place.

It also threw my headache into overdrive, and honestly, I started seeing red. (It's an interesting thing that I only thought was an expression, but it honestly looked a bit red to me in those moments.)

I remember just feeling a fury unlike anything I have experienced in a long time. My head was killing me and this head butting and hitting is something we have been battling for the last few weeks (another post). There was this split moment where I just wanted to punish Little Bug for hurting me, for doing something "intentionally" to hurt me....

This is the moment I am not proud of. I think, looking back, that I can see how people abuse their kids. Not actually see, but I think I hit that moment where your true colors come out. That moment where you are nearly unhinged (mine was due to blinding pain and frustration), perhaps if I was a little less of a good person, I would have slapped Little Bug, or even something worse.

Thank God, I am not.

So, this was all the span of a second or two. What I actually did was say "No" in a very loud voice, haul Little Bug up out of bed, and sit him in time out for 30 seconds. He was fighting it and flailing and trying to head butt some more, and in those 30 seconds I really did lose it. I was crying so hard I couldn't even count.

After 30 seconds, I was so upset with myself over how I was feeling that I picked Little Bug up and held him away from my body so he wouldn't see me crying and practically stumbled to find Appa to make him take the baby from me. Appa was, understandably, very concerned to see his hysterically sobbing wife holding a furiously sobbing toddler. He grabbed him from me, and I immediately went into the bathroom and threw up a couple times.

Lovely way to start a Sunday morning.

Here is the thing I was thinking about as I spent the following 15 minutes sitting on the floor of my bathroom. My mom once told me a story about how she got so angry at my sister and me she called my grandma to come get us, and she locked herself in her room and cried. I've never understood that story...until now. Mamas are only human, and it really sucks when the people you love most in your life test you, hurt you, push you to your breaking point, but those little people are actually just little kids who don't know any better.

So, is locking myself in the bathroom and crying my eyes out the proper response to a head butt? No. But in a perfect storm of a situation, it was the best I could do.

Little Bug was safe and loved and got a proper consequence. The lessons he learned (as much as a 2-year-old can learn) are constructive ones. I was able to give myself the time and space needed to compose back into the mama Little Bug needs and deserves. When I came out of that bathroom, I was back to my normal self (only with a horrible, horrible migraine).

Not a shining moment in my motherhood career, but a good learning experience.

And my headache is finally gone.