Adoptivus: Little Bug

Before we met Little Bug, we used to refer to him as a monkey (because all children must have an animal moniker, of course). Two years ago today, on the most intense day of my life that is too sacred and private to blog about in any meaningful way, I finally got the chance to begin to get to know my son.

Two things we immediately apparent as we began to parent this small child.
1. He was not going to be climbing about "monkey-style" anytime soon.
2. The kid was a serious cuddler.

During the 30 minute drive from our agency to our hotel, Little Bug fell asleep on me after looking around confused for a while. He nestled in and was so warm and darling. His foster mother had told us he liked close contact, and that was clearly obvious. As Appa and I were marveling over his sleeping form, I mused that he was a "little cuddle bug."

Besides a very sad 20 minute freak out, Little Bug earned that reputation throughout our first night together, allowing us (or more like allowing Baby-Hog Appa) constant cuddling opportunities. It was a night that went better and more joyful that we ever could have imagined (although the nights would soon turn more grim).

Somewhere over the Pacific Ocean the word "cuddle" was dropped, and by the time we hit American soil he was just a little bug. Over the next few weeks that turned into a nickname. Now, not a day goes by that our son isn't called "Little Bug" or "Bugs" or "Buggy" to his face.

And that is how, in a hotel room in Seoul on the day our son became our son, he also became Little Bug.

Adoptivus: The Hills

2 years ago today we set out on a mini adventure (complete with hijinks) to the city of Suwon, an hour or two outside Seoul. I've written a lot about our escapades on the bus ride and the history and freedom we enjoyed in the fortress. I've written about how we got back to Seoul courtesy of my handy flash cards.

But I've not written about the in between.

Once we got out of Seoul and before we started panicking about how we would get off the bus, Appa and I sat in total silence and watched the scenery change outside the window. It went from busy, trendy Seoul to very industrial areas. For some reason, this is what I expected the outside of Seoul to look like.

Eventually the landscape turned greener, softer, prettier. We passed through what seemed like valleys filled with meadows and streams. We passed a bright blue lake right off the side of the road, and I remember having the intense urge to go camping there. Surrounding us were what my Midwest head called "mountains" and my Western heart called "hills." Either way, they were covered in trees and moss. They were absolutely lovely and calming and natural and wild.

As I visualize it in my head now, everything has this hazy, soft blur to it, like a picture over treated. It was such a departure from everything else we saw on our trip, and coming after the day when we met Little Bug, my heart and head were in a happy place.

Seoul is amazingly advanced and sexy, and Suwon is a historical wonder, but the wild in between is worth remembering, too.

The Unintended Road (a little father along)

A brief break from Adoptivus memories because there is another memory I wanted to write about...this one just 1 year old.

One year ago I wrote a post on this blournal that has always stuck with me. As we celebrated our first Family Day, I was privately coming to terms with the reality that Little Bug's special needs were not going to be a quick fix like I had hoped. I was in a bad place, although I think I handled it pretty well outwardly. It was hard for me to come to accept the reality of Little Bug's limitations and my challenges because of them. I was worried about the future. I was tired. I was scared. I was a little mad.

Now, being in some part of that future, I reflect back on the mother who wrote that post and how things have changed.

Obviously Little Bug has made some huge strides in the last year. The physical challenges that exhausted me then are mainly a thing of the past. He's communicating more and more. He's happy and healthy. Those pesky braces are gone. He's a joy to be around. I'm ridiculously proud of him.

Yet, just two days ago, during a particularly sour afternoon that started with me having to take off work to clean my house for a therapy meeting, his PT officially assessed his gross motor at 15-18 months....Little Bug is 34 months old.

A year ago that would have ruined my week. Instead, I held back the tears and rallied. I thought about all the progress he has made and reminded myself that he would continue to make more. Within a few hours, I wasn't even thinking about it anymore.

That's what the future that I couldn't see a year ago is. It's not about a "cure" or "catching up." It's about being at peace with wherever he is...wherever we are.

It's about walking the road with the conviction that we can, not just the conviction that we must.

The unintended road. The road I never would have chosen for myself. The road that is leading me to discover an ability to find beauty in the smallest details, like a smile, a muscle compression, a step, a gentle touch. The road that is leading me to discover patience and the ability the grieve without bitterness. The road that is leading me to discover acceptance.

The road that led us to discover a bravery that led us to our big star and another unintended road that I cannot wait to travel.

Just like a year ago, I reflect on my time as Little Bug's mother, and I know I would not change it for the world. Every scoot, every crawl, every step, every trot, every 2-word combination. Last year the bad days (emotionally) often outweighed the good days, but now, a bit further along the road, the good days FAR outweigh the bad. Some days I am still scared or sad, but the truth is I'm really happy.

I'm thankful this is the road that was chosen for me when I didn't know any better. I see the road stretch out for years ahead of us and know for our family, there will be more "unintended roads" to come....intentionally.

I can't wait.

Adoptivus: The Smile

September 16, 2008. The day we met our son. I could not pick which memory to preserve, so I chose three.

Appa is a pretty reserved man, and the honest truth is that he doesn't love kids, at least other people's kids. I knew he would love our son, but there was a part of me that worried that he would be an unintentionally distant parent.

Somehow in the midst of loving on my baby for the first time, I knew that I needed to offer Appa a chance to hold his son. When I asked him if he wanted a turn, the sureness and excitement in his voice caught me off guard.

When I handed him our son, Appa flashed the most brilliant, authentic smile I have ever (and I mean that sincerely) seen on his face. I knew, without a doubt, that I was witnessing him fall head-over-heels in love with Little Bug. His eyes glazed over and it seemed he would now forever be at this child's whim (and he is).

That made me fall in love with Appa on a whole new level. To watch him claim, instantaneously, this child as his own and show him such tender and true love was one of the most moving moments of my entire trip and a memory I will always hold very dear in my heart.

Adoptivus: "Hi"

For months I had fantasied about the first moment holding my son, what I would say, what I would do, and how he would react. It all boiled down to the same phrase, "there you are." I was sure, practically insistent that I would utter it to him.

But when his beautiful foster mother handed him to me, I couldn't find any words for a moment. I had thought all along that I was looking for him...that I would recognize him in some way on some emotional level.

But I didn't. This child was a stranger to me....in the best way possible. He was not the child of my imagination; he was so much better.

She placed him in my arms and he stared directly into my eyes. His deep, impossibly big and thoughtful (and slightly sleepy) eyes studied me, waiting for me to make the first move. To introduce myself to him, because he was most definitely not thinking "there you are."

"Hi."

That, out of all the eloquent (or Korean) things I could of said, was how I chose to start our lives together.

But it worked for us. Little Bug studied me for a bit more and then tentatively reached out to touch my colorful earring that I had worn especially in the hopes he might find it interesting.

I know what I said after that; the whole thing is on video. I cooed and tried to make him say hi to the camera and asked about teeth. All completely pointless things because I was actually just making my lips move.

Inside my mind was going a mile a minute. I was thinking about how heavy and floppy he was and trying to determine what that meant. I was thinking about how hard it was going to be to be gracious and offer Jeff a chance to hold him....like, EVER. And most of all, I was blown away by his beauty, how my heart suddenly knew without a doubt that he was the most beautiful child I had ever seen.

I distinctly remember thinking to myself that we had made the right choice to get on the plane, that no matter what lay ahead of us, I was sure that this would be the child would be the best part of each day of the rest of our lives.

And then I did it, in my head, at least. I thought to myself as I felt my role as a mother start to take form,"there you are."

The road has not been easy, but Little Bug, you had me at hello.

Adoptivus: Baby Gap

September 16, 2008. Our eyes and hands and hearts were finally, truly filled with our first memories of Little Bug.

After meeting our son and having our world rocked, we felt the need to be low key and process what had just happened. We were so emotionally drained.

So clearly the best idea was to go to a super mall and shop for unidentified items.

Shopping in major malls in a foreign country for nothing in particular....totally calming. (?)

The mall we went to was multiple stories and although our house was jammed packed with everything we could possibly need for a child, our new parenthood auras were screaming to buy our kid something.

We made our way to the baby floor and decided an outfit would be a good choice. Unfortunately, this floor wasn't exactly like the baby clothing sections I was expecting. Baby Armani and other designers flowed through the store, in some cases using displays so swanky I was afraid to even walk up to them to browse the items. I ended up gravitating to Baby Gap, for surely I could find a reasonably priced polo that my child could wear somewhere other than to Fashion Week.

Apparently polos are not popular in Korea....not even in Baby Gap.

Instead I found a $120 canvas coat with some nautical theme, which was one of the least expensive items. My mind was a fog between having JUST MET MY SON and being assaulted by sticker shock from the other baby clothes selections (and possibly not having ate anything for almost 24 hours, as my time line reconstruction is now suggesting), so I held that coat for close to 10 minutes wandering around the small rack trying to talk myself in or out of buying it.

In: My baby deserves it. I deserve to buy it for my baby. It's a coat...babies need coats.
Out: It's $120 for a fall coat. It's not my style. It's $120 for a fall coat.

The best testament to how much meeting Little Bug rocked us, Appa didn't even attempt to talk some fiscal sense into me.

Finally reason won out and the coat was placed back on the rack. We continued to wander around the baby floor browsing bottles and cups and all sorts of other items we didn't actually need.

Instead, in the basement, we found a Build-A-Bear, book store, and music store where we could seal our new roles are parents by buying our kid random stuff without breaking the bank.

Ahh, the beginning of a beautiful tradition.

Adoptivus: The Door

Our first day in Seoul was the third day of the Chuseok holiday, which meant our agency was closed. After being politely told by the helpful concierge that the mountain we had intended to hike was about 8 hours away, we hopped a subway train to the first major site we saw on our Seoul city map, Changdeokgung Palace.

I had never been to a place as different from my own culture as Korea, and the palaces were like they were plucked from my dreams of what Korea would be like. Long courtyards, open, historic, sacred, and beautifully intricate.

However, I couldn't have dreamed the vibrant colors. OH, the colors! I couldn't have imagined the way in which history and tradition could flourish amidst busy streets and towering mountains.

I took hundred of pictures. I took pictures of ceilings and trees and roofs. I took pictures of secret ponds and monkey-shaped tree roots and ancient bridges.

And a door. I took a picture of a door.

I don't recall what this door was to. I only vaguely recall where the door was located. I just remember stopping while the rest of the tour went on and snapping a picture of this door. I stood there for a minute or two, "alone," and just contemplated it. Something about it spoke to me.

Maybe it was the color. Maybe it was the rust and age. Maybe it was the history.

Maybe it was my metaphor obsession that loved the idea of this beautiful door on my first day in Seoul. This whole trip was a door I was opening....a door to a new life. We, even more than some, were going into our first meeting blind, without a real inkling of what lay in store for us.

It should be noted that I love this sort of stuff on the best of days, so in my emotionally charged state I was practically floating on symbolism and deeper meaning and significance talk. Poor, literal Appa was good sport while I wandered about musing about life in the abstract.

This picture still speaks to me, 2 years later. It is, out of hundreds, the picture I chose for the front cover of the book we had published for Little Bug commemorating our personal trip. No explanation, just that door on the front cover. I'm printing it out and framing it as a piece of art for our home, too.

To me, it was beautiful.

I also want to add that I have really enjoyed going through my travel pictures and videos and reliving moments and writing some of them down. I need to do more of this, not just for adoptivus. Eventually, and especially once we experience Seoul again for Little Bro, my memories and emotions will fade or meld. Case in point already: I can not, if my life depended on it, tell you anything about what we did past the hour of about 4 pm on this day 2 years ago. No recollection of where we ate dinner or how we past the night away. Memories gone. Wild.