The Chickie Cheep Cheep

Tonight, after a particularly disastrous spoon practice with clam chowder, Little Bug and I spent our wind down time watching the Wiggles in just a diaper (well, at least one of us was just in a diaper). Wiggles is hit or miss with my boy, but tonight he was really in the mood for music.

One of the most ridiculous songs of all time came on, some kid version on the Chicken Dance with everyone dressed like chickens and flapping their pretend wings. What would a good mama do?

Flap her pretend wings, that's what.

I turned to Little Bug and got down with the Chickie Cheep Cheep. The way he got up on his little naked legs and bounced up and down with his most beautiful, genuine, delighted smile was my favorite thing about today.

Opening the Flood Gates

The last month has been very hard for my big mouth. I deal with my emotions best by writing them out, and this has been a very emotional month for me. The number of half written and completed entries is staggering. Some I will probably never publish (many just various forms of wailing), but the ones that I want Little Bro to one day have will be published as it feels right.

The last couple days have been divine. The referral high is different this time; instead of the jolt of excitement that came with Little Bug's surprise referral, Little Bro's referral has been a slow burn that has sometimes stung and has now settled into this really warm feeling right in the center of my chest. It's protecting me from what has become almost immediately bad news.

Little Bro isn't coming home for a LONG time. He's not going to be even remotely a baby when he steps into our home. We'll be waiting nearly and possibly entirely a year for him to come home.

A couple weeks ago this news might have been devastating. It might have even tried to worm enough doubt into our minds to sway our resolve to be brave and listen to our guts. We've never really considered an "older child" adoption. Yet here we are, not even 48 hours into our wait for our baby, and we find out he'll never be a baby to us.

And I am shocked to find I don't care. Obviously I care that he will have a harder transition and that we will miss so much, but the situation is not one that can be changed, no matter what anyone does. Somehow just the knowledge that Little Bro will come home is enough to make me dig in my heels, hire a Korean tutor, buy another Korean cookbook, reach out to other families with experience with older children transitions, and resolve to do whatever needs to be done. I would rather have him at 24 months than never at all. Hell, I'll wait as long as it takes.

Cheerfully explaining this to my surprised new social worker (who might think I have a hearing problem or a screw loose now) when she called the break the bad news reminded me of an entry I wrote on April 12 (which was a bad day all the way around). It essentially set the tone for our outlook on this new journey for our family (at least in my mind because I only recently shared some of these entries with Appa, who is definitely not a "write-it-out" sort of person).

April 12, 2010
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Little Bro. My big star. You are going to be a tenacious little thing, aren't you.

I don't know how else to put this…but it's would be so much easier to just pretend we never saw your face and move on with our "plan." You know, if we could forget you, which we can't, because you are 100% unforgettable. Even in this time of uncertainty, I write you notes and steal looks at your picture and get panic attacks when I think of any other child being my Little Bro. Because your mama is a huge geek, I have often come back to the popular phrase: "What is easy is not always right, and what is right is not always easy." Our sudden journey to you is not easy, but man, baby boy, does it feel right.

You're worth fighting for, and that is what your Appa and I are doing. Both in our own minds and hearts and with all the other external factors that stand in the way of getting you in our arms. We're being brave, having faith, but being realistic and careful because we only want what is best for you…and we know there might yet be a chance that we are not.

But we hope we are.

Written on March 29, 2010

Evan,

I don't remember the day I first saw your face. I truly wish I did. I vaguely remember it was late at night and your face was among many I saw...but yours was the one I came back to a number of times.

For months, when I would look at that list, I would always make sure to look at your picture. Sometimes I would go to the list just to look at your picture. There was something about your face that drew me in, fascinated me. Maybe it was your sweet lips or your chubby cheeks or perfect little ears. Maybe it was just that it was you...

For some reason, it never seemed to hit me that you could be a part of our family. You almost seemed unattainable, but that was just my fault for not listening to my heart sooner. I'm so sorry, baby boy.

Then today, while I was sitting at work, I got the sudden random urge to look at your picture. The minute I looked at it today I knew that I needed to do something. Immediately I felt like you were my son...I needed to protect you and take care of you and bring you home. I sent your picture to Appa with the short note that you had been on my mind for far too long and that I wanted to see if maybe we would be the parents you needed. From that moment on, my hand shook with nervous excitement and my face was set with a perma grin. It was so easy to imagine you as part of our family...I was shocked I had not realized it sooner.

This was not the journey we had to expected to take to get to you. But just like the pieces rearranged into place for our journey to your brother, so did the pieces rearrange to lead us to you. I'm humbled by the greater plan of it all.

At this moment, I am listening to your Appa and brother playing upstairs. I am dreaming about you joining us. To be honest, we've not even seen your file yet. We haven't learned all there is to learn about you, but already I just know.

I've finally found that piece of my heart that was missing. It's you, Evan.

Hi, baby.

Going With The Gut

I had the most fabulous, stress-free vacation of my life. It was filled with lazy contentment, warm air, good friends, and vibrant colors. I kept thinking that I would want to blournal the heck out of it, but I find now that I simply don't have the words and am okay with that. Jamaica, no problem, mon. I know I won't forget the way I felt, even without writing it down.

Instead, I want to publish a post I wrote a couple days before we left (there are quite a few that I have written but couldn't publish at the time). We headed out for our vacation still very much up in the air as to what my gut feeling was telling me regarding our "big decision."

I'll say this. In that place that will forever hold a special place in my heart, everything became as clear as the electric teal blue water. Gut feelings don't care about external factors like money or businesses or ease. Gut feelings only deal with the big things...the ones that matter. Once we has removed ourselves temporarily from reality, it was obvious to us that only one gut feeling remained.

So we went with it. The sense of peace when I think about those things that really matter is proof that we made the right choice.

I wish I could go back to April 12 and give myself a hug.

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April 12, 2010
I had a good cry last night about something a situation that turned out to be different that what I thought it was. As Appa comforted me, he kept asking why I was crying. In his mind, the situation was a bummer, but not anything more than that. Our most important goal was still attainable.

So why was I crying?

Besides anxiety (and perhaps because of it), I hate change. I use the word hate deliberately. As young as I can remember, when my mother would rearrange furniture in our living room I would lay on the floor sick to my stomach. (Needless to say, I don't rearrange furniture in my own home.) When we have moved from each apartment, I've been nauseous and weepy for days leading up to the move. Granted, I put on a good face and push through it and am fine in a few days, but change is something I will go out of my way to avoid, especially if it is something important. Part of the reason I am so loyal to things (big and small) is simply because I don't want to change my comfortable status quo. I wear the same clothes from the same stores and use the same services from the same companies because that is comforting to me. It takes an awful lot to get me to switch.

Lately we've been considering an decision that would result in some change. Not dramatic change to those around us or to those who know us, but dramatic change for us internally (to use a business term). My knee-jerk reaction to this is to avoid the change. Indeed, this would be the easy route and the one that logically makes sense. It causes me anxiety to think about making a change and I find myself subconsiouly trying to convince myself to huddle back into my warm status quo and just forget all about it.

But my gut is telling me to be brave and stay open to the possibility of change. So, I am trying to be brave, but it's making my nervous and making me second guess my gut feelings. Then I second guess my second guessing and get dizzy from my spinning, ridiculous mind.

I'm not always sure why I get the gut feelings I do. Some people would call it divine and some would call it coincidence and some would call it intuition. Me, I'm sitting on the fence and just calling it something I know I should be listening to. I certainly do know that it isn't always as clear cut as I think. A couple months ago I got a gut feeling to act on something that ended up causing Appa and I some heartache. I wondered later why I would have felt so strongly about something for such a short period of time, only to feel equally as strongly about it the other way later on. My answer came earlier this month when the things I learned about myself from the last situation clicked into place allow us to explore this new opportunity.
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That decision was to drop out of our agency and accept a referral for a little boy we found on a waiting child list. I cried this morning when I pushed send on the final e-mail that would remove us from what we had clung to for so long, but the sense of peace I feel reminds me that my love for the little boy who is going to be my son is much stronger than the love for my former agency.

Little Bro has arrived.

The Complex

This morning Little Bug woke up happily and turned on his music. He sat contently in his crib for I don't know how long until I opened his door. He jumped up happily to greet me, smiling and bright eyed. That hasn't happened in a long time.

Thanks for the lovely send off, baby boy.

For the past few months I have barely allowed myself to think about my trip. I'm crippled with anxiety over leaving Little Bug with his grandparents. Of course I trust them implicitly, but I have a bit of a control problem and letting someone else care for my kid is something that I've never been very good at.

The underlying issue is, of course, the adoption complex. A little under 2 years ago Little Bug was suddenly taken from the only parents he had ever known. He rallied better than a lot of kids, but grieved none the less. I don't like to really dwell on this because I feel at some point our children heal enough to not have everything they experience framed within their adoption traumas, but I have to be honest when I say that I worry something will bubble up inside Little Bug after a day or two of not seeing Appa and I. I don't think he remembers his separation from his foster parents, but I am positive that pain is still lurking and has framed certain parts of his personality.

I consider myself well educated and serious about attachment, and if I thought our vacation would harm my son, there is no way I would have agreed to it. There are a lot of difference between this trip and his first days with us. He's older, and has been with us for much longer. He understands the concept of leaving and coming back. He'll be with people he already knows and has a relationship with, a relationship built within the safety of Appa and I's presence. He'll be in his own school on a daily basis with people he loves and a routine that is familiar to him. He'll be in his own bed, with his own toys, with familiar smells and sounds and tastes. He'll see us every night via video chat.

I'm typing this out to make myself feel better because the adoption complex isn't something that Little Bug alone deals with.

There is a high chance Little Bug will be completely nonplussed about this whole thing. Sure, he'll cry because he misses his parents and he might act out a bit or have trouble sleeping, but that's normal 2-year-old behavior in these circumstances. I think the focus on the abandonment idea is something I will deal with much more than he will. I have the adoption complex.

I've talked about this with friends before, this questions of how and when and what should or should not be blamed or filtered through the lenses of adoption trauma. It's not clear cut and depends on the child, of course, but I do think that at some point the fact our children are just children, and not just children who were adopted, needs to carry equal, if not more weight. Is that time for Little Bug now?

I don't know. I hope so.

This morning when my little family cuddled in bed I cried behind Little Bug's back. I gave him extra kisses before work. I'm near tears now just thinking about singing one last chorus of "5 Little Monkeys" before we leave. I will, mark my words, be a complete and total mess the minute our car pulls out of the driveway. I will cry after we sign off every video chat.

None of those things are because my son was adopted...they are because my son is my son and I miss him when we are not together.

Leaving him is so hard it literally hurts, but I know it will be okay, even a good thing, for all of us. I'm just a sappy mama leaving her baby for the first "big" time.

That's called The Mama Complex.

The One that Almost Got Away

Two years into our struggle with infertility, we found ourselves at a crossroad of sorts. Not a huge one, certainly by infertility standards, but we were beaten down and sad. Medications and side effects, more uncertainty, more morning temperature checks, more negative test lay ahead of us, and we knew it.

So Appa came home from work one day and made me a deal. If we didn't get pregnant within a year, he would take me back to our honeymoon resort in Jamaica. We would celebrate each other and our time as just a couple, because we both knew with conviction even then that we would one day have our lives turned upside down by a child.

A year past and we didn't get pregnant, but the following year we ended up spending a month in Hawaii, which made it impossible for us to take our special celebration trip. (I know, I KNOW; a month in Hawaii, what victims we were.) The following year we had to push off our celebration trip again; this time for a little jaunt over to Seoul, South Korea. Last year we chose to celebrate our family by sticking close together as a unit of three.

But for our anniversary last year Appa made it clear. 2010 was our year to celebrate, not just each other, but everything we've been through. The bad, the ugly, and all the REALLY good. We were booking this trip, damn it.

So we did, and soon we will be laying in the sun on the same beach we laid on 7 years ago as we sipped "dirty bananas" and imagined what our lives would be like 5 years from then.

I have to say: our visions for our 5-year plan didn't quite look like our reality now, but our reality now is so. much. better. than anything we had dreamed up.

So this time we'll lay on that beach and sip "dirty bananas" and imagine our future 5 years from now. We'll raise a mini-umbrella-embellished toast to the most perfect little boy back home being spoiled rotten by his doting grandparents and the sweet little boy back in Korea being spoiled rotten by his doting foster family.

We'll feel bad for being selfish and miss Little Bug acutely, but we won't forget the purpose of this trip: to celebrate us as a couple, not just as an omma and appa. I'm really looking forward to long serious talks with my partner and silly water antics with my best friend. I'm looking forward to returning home to hold my baby in my arms rejuvenated in mind, body, and marriage....and for the positive impact that will have on our home and on the decisions that will be weighing hard on our hearts.

Honestly, the timing of this trip, almost down to the day, is nothing short of miraculous. We need this. I need this. Right. Now.

I'm scared out of my mind to leave my baby behind, but that is for a different blournal entry. Instead I'll end with a different sort of confession.

I'm really looking forward to the "dirty bananas." Not gonna lie.

Expectations

One of my constant struggles is with expectations. Growing up I pretty much always had my expectations met. I had a comfortable home and stable family. I was a good student who always managed good grades. I even married my high school sweetheart.

Then my expectations started to deviate from reality. Maybe it was just because I was older and more aware, or maybe it was because my expectations became more mature and serious. In the span of less than a decade some of my most convicted expectations didn’t pan out like I expected them to.

I did not become a teacher, even though I hold a teaching degree and spent a half year in the classroom.

I did not give birth to a child. Or two.

My child was not a child prodigy who was more advanced than everyone else.

That's not to say the realities of these unmet expectations are negative. I love my job as an editor; I took some fantastic trips during the time I had expected to be on doctor's ordered no-fly list and found I could care less if my child had my nose or my husband's hairy feet; and my child, while not more advanced than all the other little kids, is by far the best little kid in the whole world.

Although it's pretty unrealistic to think that you can avoid placing expectations on people and things, I am finding that what I can and need to get better at doing is remembering that failed expectations do not automatically mean bad outcomes.

Sure, this might not be the path you intended to take, but the view might be so much better just past where you can see from that crossroad.

In fact, if you play smart and be kind and muster some bravery and have some faith, chances are those failed expectations will be the best things ever. I just need to keep remembering this.