Happy Trails

Appa and I love to travel. We're not crazy travelers, by any means, but between having most of our family and friends live on the other side of the country, having a fondness for teal blue water, and having children born in a country across the world, we've developed into a couple who isn't afraid to book a flight and GO somewhere, even just for a weekend.

When Little Bug came home, I wondered how that part of our life would change. Ironically, for all our traveling, we NEVER travel for major holidays. It seems like most families with kid almost exclusively plan travel around those times. We decided that as hard as it would be, we would not limit ourselves to Turkey-Time in Spudland. Both Grandmas probably hate this about us.

And we've done it. Little Bug has dipped his toes in both the Atlantic and Pacific oceans. He's seen mountains and plains. He's been kissed by showgirls and winked at by Lady Liberty. We've continued to spend time with family and friends and enabled our child to develop a healthy love for those people...and for traveling.

I want our children to grow up with an appreciation that memories matter, family matters, friends matter. I want them to see the world, even and including their country, and to be blunt, I want to keep living my life and making my own memories and cultivating my own relationships.

Does it suck teaching them this lesson at such a young age? Heck yes. It's a bitter pill to swallow when you pay full price for things your half-sized human will barely use (hello, second airline seat) and traveling with said half-sized humans is less fun than it is stressful. But it's so worth it when you are finally in the moment.

Today we booked a trip to the happiest place on earth for a couple months from now. It's a trip that is solely for Little Bug, with absolutely zero agenda for Appa and I. It was a spur of the moment thing, but I'm so looking forward to hoofing if around and around and around and around just for my little baby's enjoyment. It will, barring any major life events like weddings or funerals, be our last plane ride before we board the pretty teal one that will take us across the world.

I'm really excited to give this to our son, even if he won't remember much of it.

With that being said, we've been traveling a lot lately. Too much, in my opinion. We already canceled one trip this month and just canceled one for this weekend. Honestly, I am relieved. We need a weekend of pajamas and home-cooked food and lounging. The only traveling we'll be doing is to the video store.

Traveling is good, but home is good, too.

Coming Out of the Closet

I . like . cosleeping .

I spend 3 nights a week without my husband, and the honest truth is my perfect little hot pretzel stick son is a fantastic spooner. Most of the time, I really enjoy having him share my bed with me. I absolutely cherish the time I get in the morning when he is still nuzzled up to me while I watch him sleep.

However, I've determined that, for our family and my son, it's not the healthiest choice, physically or emotionally. So, starting next Monday, after our last vacation for a while is finally complete, I'm going to be retraining all three of us away from cosleeping.

Appa is not happy about it, I'm a little bummed about it, and I can guarantee Little Bug won't be on board. But it is the right thing to do for us, and what is right isn't always what is easy.

I've started looking into sleep training books and methods and there are so many to choose from. I'm considering just blindly picking one and going with it. Seriously, I assume they all are just different methods to the same end, right?

I hate the fact that Little Bug is going to be sad and put up a good fight. I hate the fact that I'm going to be the enforcer because Appa is such a push over when it comes to this. I hate the fact that I'm going to need a lot more DDP to make it through the day. I hate the fact my little boy won't be spooning me for much longer and mumbling "choo choo" in my ear.

But I love the fact that my family is growing and changing and that this is in preparation for one son to grow up a little so our next son can assume his position as our baby.

Shoes Enshrined

Yesterday the decision was made that Little Bug would never wear his big braces again. Sure, he'll eventually have small inserts, but those braces that were casually thrown on our couch a couple days ago will never be placed on his feet again. This morning I put normal shoes (in his actual shoe size) and socks on his feet, and he walked out the door like any other kid in the world.

So normal.

It was weird.

Is it wrong of me to want some sort of way to mark this moment? Is it weird I have this urge to throw a party or burn the braces in some celebratory bonfire while people dance around and chant or enshrine them in some glass case with a little plaque?

It just seems so anticlimactic to pick the braces up from the couch and store them away forever like that HUGE part of our lives was just a discarded toy nobody wants to play with anymore. As much as I would like to donate them, I'm not sure I can part with them, either.

Those braces have defined so much of who Little Bug was as a child and who I was as a mother and who we were as a family. They have been a blessing and a curse and essential to the last 1.5 years of our lives.

Am I being dramatic, sure, but the fact is, I'm just a little overwhelmed by how quick and unexpected this all happened. Even good changes still require a little processing time....

...and perhaps a bonfire chanting session.

Here's a Tip

On Friday morning I got on a 6 am flight with my 2.5 year old son. I was running on about 3 hours of sleep, but I had my act together.

Snacks, check.
New toys to stagger as distractions, check.
Favorite books, check.
Extra seat, check.

But let me repeat, 6 am flight, one parent (who hates flying), 2.5 year old child.

Little Bug was, I'll admit, whiny. BUT, in the grand scheme of aggravating baby/plane experiences, this was nothing. His whining was intermittent and not very loud. I was doing a diligent job keeping him from standing on the seats or bothering anyone else.

Apparently I do a crappy job.

About 30 minutes into the flight the woman behind me said, very loudly, "Excuse me, is he going to take a nap sometime soon? I was hoping to get some sleep on this flight."

I was blown away. Her tone was completely hostile and I was mortified, on top of already being frustrated with my kid on my own. I stammered an profuse and humble apology.

Apparently I do a crappy job at apologizing, too.

She went on to ask if I had any medication I could give him (I had heard her telling a stranger before the flight started that she always medicated her step kids and never once had them bother other people on the flight) and told me "he hasn't stopped talking since we stepped on board."

Let's recap.

6 am flight, one parent (who hates flying), 2.5 year old child (in speech therapy).

Instead of the second, even more mortified apology, I should have said, "F You, lady."

But I didn't. Instead, I apologized a couple more times and turned around and burst into quiet tears. And I cried, on and off depending on Little Bug's volume level (which, for the record, was never really loud, but pretty consistent for the 4-hour flight). The mean woman drank three mini bottles of vodka (recap: 6 am flight) and made sure everyone knew it was because she was being driven to drink.

Here's the thing. I HATE imposing on others. I get that little kids can be annoying. I try my very hardest to make sure my family isn't causing other people discomfort. I was alone and trying SO hard. This woman's comments, especially so freaking early into the flight, terrified me. And truly, my kid wasn't that annoying to anyone but myself.

When the flight ended the woman told me "Honey, I'm sorry. I am just really tired. You're a great mom and didn't lose your cool the whole flight."

I just stared at her and gave a mumbled thanks. What did she expect me to do? Scream at him? Drink myself into a stupor. Give up and let him throw stuff at her (as tempting as that was).

Yes, I am a good mom, and I worked hard and did a really good job on that flight. It wasn't easy or fun, but I am proud of the way I handled it. I did not, however, need her to tell me that.

Little Bug wasn't the only one on that flight who needs to learn to keep their mouth shut.

This is the Moment

Sometimes a moment hits me square in the face, and I have this intense need to preserve it.

Last night Little Bug was taking a bath ("bubba baff", a two-word combo with some hard sounds that I am ridiculously proud of). It was past his bedtime, and I was anxious to get him to sleep. I wasn't completely, totally, 100% in the moment.

Little Bug has a nasty new trick where he likes to turn the faucet on and off. We're being very strict about this for a number of boundary and water temperature safety reasons, but my boy is stubborn and patient, making bath time one of vigilance and lameness on my part. Usually he gets his little fingers onto the faucet handle but is denied turning it. Sadness ensues. Regroup. Repeat attack.

Last night, after about 5 minutes of this dance (and after I had turned the water off for good), he finally found a moment of my weakness and quick as a flash, turned the faucet on.

Quick as it happened, I turned it off to preserve the boundary, but Little Bug, oh my baby boy......

The moment the water turned on he reeled back in total stunned elation. He let out this CRAZY triumphant laugh that was a mix between a surprised yelp and a victorious battle cry. The sound was one of the most hilarious things I have ever heard.

As I ducked my head in my shoulder to hid my laughter from a "should-be-getting-a-stern-looking-at Little Bug" all I could think was

This is the moment I want to blournal.

More

Yesterday was Little Bro's 14 month birthday. Overall, I am really proud of how we've handled the wait thus far (because as far as we are concerned, we've been waiting 4 months, not 2, thank you very much unhelpful state employee). Not just publicly, but truly, in our everyday lives. Appa and I find ourselves at the oddest times talking about Little Bro, wistful and bummed that it will be so much longer until he can come home, but honestly, I'm not falling apart over it. It is what it is. My mantra of patience is finally starting to work.

Now I am just selfish.

I have close to 50 unique pictures of my son and close to 15 minutes of video. That's more than I ever in my wildest dreams would have hoped for. It's a blessing, and I am trying really hard to remember that.

Because I want more.

Our agency recently stated that each child got pictures taken on their 1st birthday and that we could expect to get those within 6 weeks. At 8 weeks out, I started to feel cheated. You know, because it wasn't like personal friends of ours actually met with him on his birthday and took amazing pictures that grace frames all over our house and a video I watch nearly every day. Yet, I still have had the audacity this week to feel bad for myself that I didn't get any other pictures from the agency.

Some friends recently received pictures that the foster families had taken and brought in to be sent over. So me, of course, I start wanting this, too. Greedy, greedy me.

Little Bro isn't even going in for a check up again until next month, but already I can tell that I will be slightly on edge for weeks after in the hopes of getting new pictures. Pictures that may or may not come because we're saving our allotted update requests for the months closer to his arrival.

All I want is a picture of him in his "Little Brother" shirt.....okay, that's not all I want.

This is just pure greed on my part, and I know it. I can publish this entry and go spend a significant amount of time studying the many, many faces my adorable son has. In fact, I plan on doing just that. Many parents can't do that...get nothing during their wait. I know that if I don't see or hear another stitch of Little Bro until we meet face to face, I am still going to be considered abnormally lucky in all of this.

Which is why I try to keep this green-eyed monster under wraps.

But Little Bro, I want you to know that although I am trying to handle the long and arduous wait for you with grace I hope you are one day proud of, you're always on my mind and in my heart. My lack of whining is not because I don't care.

It's because I care way too much.

Little Victories

One of the special things about parenting a child with special needs (and no, I am not sure why it's on my mind so much lately) is the opportunity to learn to celebrate the little victories. It becomes a part of your daily life.

And it makes the whole day a little more beautiful and a little harder to take for granted.

Tonight Little Bug got a huge popsicle all to himself. We handed it to him, strapped him into his wagon, and left him to his own devices as we took an evening stroll. This has never, ever been a reality for us before.

He ate the whole thing by himself without dropping it or setting it down once. Every last drop (that didn't end up dripping onto his pants, that is). Messy, I can handle. Independence, I adore.

And I'll be awful sometimes
Weakened to my knees
I'll learn to get by
On the little victories
- Little Victories by Matt Nathanson (the soundtrack of my life)