Mother's Day

There are many mothers in my life who I care deeply for, but lately, there is one particular mother who is often on my mind.

Little Bro's foster mother.

This woman brought Little Bro into her home when he was 8 weeks old. She'd never fostered a child before. She has changed his most epic diapers, feed him in the wee hours of the morning, sang to him when he is upset or scared, taught him to crawl and walk, clothed him, sheltered him....and taught him how to love and trust. She has built her every moment around him for the last 8 months.

And she'll be doing it for 11 more.

I look at their hands together and I can tell these two are a team. She's not just taking care of my baby until we can bring him home, no, she's molding him and shaping him into a personality and individual he will forever become as he leaves babyhood and enters toddlerhood; a point in his life that will shape who he continues to become as he moves into childhood and adulthood.

She is raising MY child. For him. For me. For everyone but herself.

Honestly, I would never be selfless enough to do such a thing. Not for the 9 months Little Bug's wonderful foster mother did it and definitely not for the 19 months Little Bro's foster mother is going to be doing it. I don't have words for how much I cannot understand why she would do such a thing. Little Bug hasn't even been with us for 2 years...when I think about giving him up now, the idea is unfathomable.

This week we were able to send over a little gift for her with a letter that could never really begin to thank her. As reality sets in, we realize that not only is she emotionally investing herself in our son, but financially she is investing in him as well. She must buy bigger clothes and more age appropriate toys for him with her own money. I'm pretty positive no one told her to expect to be fostering a child for 2 years. We're committed to helping her in the limited capacity we have, but it's not enough, nor will it ever be.

So on this Mother's Day weekend, my thoughts are almost solely trained on her, the woman whose hands are holding my son in his infancy and will be leading him into his toddlerhood. The woman who I cannot begrudge all the moments I am missing because I am so overwhelmed with gratitude and respect for the fact that she is willing to take my place in the interim...

...to stick her pinky finger out and let my son hold on tight.

Dear Visitor

Welcome to my blog. I see you found me from a web search that included the words "koreans" and the letter "X" three times in a row. I believe this is the post that led you here.

I think you were most likely disappointed with my blournal content and probably won't be returning again. I think that works for both of us.

Thanks for reminding me why my family blog is private. Don't let the web browser hit you on the way out...

To Sasha's Mama

You don't know me, but our sons are in the same classroom at school. My kid is the gentle giant (who is more giant than gentle most of the time). He can't quite keep up with the busy pace of 2 year olds, but he is trying and really wants to. He's still learning how to grade his movements and express his emotions with friends. He doesn't mean to hit or grab, but unfortunately, he does...a lot.

Consequently, my little son doesn't have many friends.

I am sure as a mother you can imagine how it feels to see kids avoid going near your child, how it feels to see him playing alone, just off from everyone else. I'm sure you can imagine how embarrassing and frustrating and sad it is to watch your sweet child hit another child in the face when you know he is only trying to wave hi to a friend and just can't quite get that close contact thing right. I'm sure you can imagine how scary it is to envision a friendless future for your child. I'm sure you understand how your heart breaks when you peer into the window and see your son sitting alone on a chair, watching with clear longing but paralyzing hesitation as all the other children play and laugh together.

So I wanted to thank you for whatever you have done to raise you son. For some inexplicable reason, you son has declared my son his "best friend." His teachers tell us that everywhere your son goes, he makes sure to take my son's hand and bring him along. He always gets two toys out to play, one for him and one for Little Bug. He always goes out of his way to make sure my son is included. My son sometimes hits him in the face when he gets too close or too excited, and yet, your son doesn't seem to mind one bit (and apparently has lightning fast ducking reflexes).

And yesterday I witnessed this friendship firsthand as your son took my son's hand and brought him over to me. I watched my son's initial surprise turn to delight (and even some pride) as he held his friend's hand and followed him over to his stunned mama. Then he grabbed my face and pointed over to your son over and over. He was excited to "introduce" me to his friend. Having a friend in his corner, someone who he can play and interact with on a personal and equal level, is just as, if not more important than all seven of his weekly therapy sessions combined. His therapists are working on his body, but your little son is working on my little son's soul.

So basically, your 2-year-old son is my hero.

The Glimpse

Sometimes Little Bug's special needs get me down. Sometimes, when I let myself get into a funk, I have a hard time imagining our lives as anything but the now. The strides Little Bug works so . damn . hard . to achieve are easy for me to momentarily write off as never gonna happen.

But they do.

And I know they will, but sometimes I just can't visualize it. It's a failing I am trying hard to get better at, for myself personally and for Little Bug. Little Bug deserves a mama who is able to look past her selfish feelings and believe in him 100% of the time.

So last night when I watched Little Bug eat an entire bowl of turkey chili and mashed potatoes independently and without prompting from me while using his fork, I forced myself to remember when Battle Silverware ruled our lives and caused me such distress. It seems like a distant memory now, an unhappy memory that is already becoming hazy, but still packs a sting.

If only I had the glimpse of last night back then. Instead I'll settle for using this as a reminder that just like the unhappy Battle Silverware phase, all the other things will happen in their own time just as they should.

I 100% know they will.

Let A Sleeping Child Lie

There is an old adage, "let sleeping dogs lie." Or maybe that's not the way it goes, but whatever.

Last night Appa and I got another reality check of "You're Still Novice Parents and Are Idiots Sometimes."

Yesterday we switched Little Bug over to his "big boy" bed, which is really just his crib converted to a toddler bed with a railing. To be honest, he probably isn't exactly 100% ready (as evidenced by his two swan dives right over the side rail less than 3 minutes into his exploration), but he will need to be completely comfortable in his real big boy bed in his big boy room in a year, so we decided to take things one step at a time and start now with the transition. Plus, Little Bug thrives on challenge, so without being pushed, he would probably happily stay in his crib for the next few years.

He loves the new bed. Loves it. He finds being able to declare "out" and then get out himself to be one of the funniest things. Ever. That's a good thing.

But just to really ease into this transition, I rocked him to sleep last night and then placed him in his bed. A few hours later, I heard a soft thump and went to check on him. Sure enough, he was on the ground, facing the opposite way, slumbering peacefully.

STEP AWAY FROM THE SLEEPING CHILD. STEP AWAY FROM THE SLEEPING CHILD. DO NOT TOUCH THE SLEEPING CHILD.

Oh, but I did.

Appa and I thought we should put our peacefully sleeping child back in his bed. Why, because we are idiots. Of course he woke up and spent the next 4 hours (did I mention this all went down around midnight to start with) alternating between crying and demanding to be rocked in the chair and having a grand old time in his new bed while laughing his head off. The cry-it-out method was a big fat joke, although I secretly thought the little pitter patter of his determined feet running toward the door each time I shut it was adorable.

It's less adorable now that I am sitting at my desk at work, double fisting DDP and wondering how I am going to make it through today. Even worse, Little Bug slept through his diaper and clothing change this morning...something I have never in my life seen him do. I don't think today is going to rock for him, either.

So the moral of this story: let a sleeping child lie.

It Never Really Gets Old

Tonight during family wind down time, Appa and I were curled up into each other lounging next to our too-cool-for-school son who has taken to insisting on sitting by himself in the corner of the couch and telling us at various intervals that he that he is doing just that instead of cuddling in our lap.

After a day filled with some nice highs and some sad lows, I noticed that while Little Bug was intently watching his wind down music piece, Appa and I were both staring openly at him. Even though he's seen this particular segment a hundred times, something caught his fancy tonight and Little Bug got this huge grin on his face and let out a peal of laughter before promptly putting his thumb right back in his mouth.

Appa and I both made the same noise at the same time, a mixture of a quiet chuckle and a grateful sigh. I'm beginning to think it will never get old...watching the child who completes your life so thoroughly enjoy their own.

Looking for Rainbows

I don't want to be that person.

I don't want to be the person that shoves it in people's faces that my child was "found" on a waiting child list. I don't want to be that person who tries to convince others that they should adopt a waiting child instead of waiting for a traditional referral. I don't want to be that person who is pushing specific waiting children on other families.

Partly because I cannot stand those people, no matter how nice or well meaning their intentions are, and partly because if I, before having my gut feelings body slam me to the floor last month, would never have really heard what they were saying anyway.

So I am only going to blog about this once and all I am going to say is this (and I really debated putting this here because I try not to "talk" to people other than myself and my kids on this blournal, but it has been sloshing around in my head so much that I strongly that have to get it out):

It doesn't hurt to look.

9 times out of 10 that's all it will be. Looking. 9 times out of 10 your family won't be the right family for the children on that list.

But sometimes, that 1 out of 10, your child might be on that list.

Your baby....because there are young babies on the list. Many. There are teething toddlers and little children who are completely healthy and just need someone to take a chance on them (and their odds are often HIGHLY stacked in their favor). There are young children who, for whatever reason, slipped through the cracks, got hidden in the sea of cute pictures, and are completely healthy, hindered only by the fact they've already celebrated their first birthday. Many, if not most of these children, will flourish in the right home and the term "waiting child" will fall away immediately. Of course, there are many children on the lists with serious needs, but the families who are right for them are probably already well aware of how to find them.

I wasted almost 3 entire months of my son's life (and ours) because I didn't get that these children on these waiting lists are actually real children, flesh and blood like my Little Bug.....WAITING. To me, they were just cute pictures I looked at with objective enjoyment and morbid curiosity like I surf other people's adoption blogs. They were unattainable, not real.

Seeing my son's updated pictures, reading his file, sending items in a care package, this has made it almost painful for me to look at the lists now. Instead of little thumbnail pictures of cute kids, I see a baby with 4 teeth who has ankle rolls or a little child who likes to play with dogs and cuddle at night. I hear a foster mother ask each month during the well baby check "why wouldn't anyone want this precious child?" I see babies and children. Real, attainable children who would undoubtedly be some family's greatest blessing. They just need the families that are meant for them to look.

Maybe I am just an idiot, but I think, for as cutesy and colorful as the waiting list logos might be, they are just plain scary to really think about....to consider. It's like there is a stigma that hangs over these children that seem too good to be true (even though the absolute reality is that most of the time they are just that good).

You know what is scarier to me than a waiting child list...being a mom. It's all about bravery. It's all about faith. It's all about following what feels right for your family. Most of the time that won't be adopting a child from a waiting child list, but....

I believe that everything happens for a reason. I believe that Appa, Little Bug, and I needed to grow in the time between when I first saw Little Bro's picture and the time when I realized that we could actually inquire about him. The four of us have a long way to go, and it won't be anything near easy, especially in the months after Little Bro comes home, but at the end of the day, I am glad I looked for as long as it took.

Even if I had no idea what I was looking for at the time.