After 2+ Years as Parent....

...a red, painful bottom still sends me into panic.

The attractive, young pediatrician who took my weekend call had a hard time hiding his incredulity as I panicked through my list of symptoms, which included the abnormal and plentiful #2 and a tooshy that was bright red and painful to touch.  We've had so much sick time lately that I think I was really asking him to just stop the madness and return my home into a healthy body haven.

Me: Should I take him somewhere?

Him: Where would you take him for diaper rash?

Me: Umm....I don't know.  I was just wondering if there was anything I could do to restore my sanity relieve the symptoms.

Him: He's 3? Haven't you dealt with diaper rash before?

Me: Yes. I was just hoping....

Little Bug is still giving us a run (HAhaHa) for our money after a couple days, but things look to be on the mend, and he is finally back to school and Appa and I are finally able to work a full day again.

Just in time for the snow closures.

After 2+ years as a parent, I have learned the two things I will never have control of are my son's bodily fluids and the weather.

Grateful

Sometimes I am so grateful I want to cry. I want to give someone a hug. I want to be able to show my appreciation in some way. Right that moment, as I feel my heart constricting in that pleasant and almost painful way.

This time, I can't. Not yet, anyway.

Little Bro's Korean social worker sent us a CD yesterday. On the disc entitled "my disc" in Hangul, was a 2-minute clip of our son running around the back offices of our Korean agency. Our social worker can be heard trying to bait big star over and over to perform some tricks or bits of cuteness he is clearly famous for. She snapped the video during the ending of what seemed to be a very casual and friendly visit and dropped in unceremoniously onto a disc that she sent to our U.S. agency.

Not something that is usually done. People just aren't lucky enough to get videos snapped by their social workers dropped in the mail to them.

Although we've already been spoiled beyond belief with three separate instances of video, this video was remarkable to us. To see him running and coping some toddler attitude. To hear the affection in her voice and watch his bond with his foster brother and foster mother in action. It's been a very bright spot in a very rough week.

And I can't even say thank you. I can't let our social worker know how much her thoughtful gesture means to us. To most, this was just a little video, but she knew it would be so much more to us.

Other families still wait, with few pictures and zero hopes of ever seeing a video of their child ahead of time. I hope more families can get gifts like this. Perhaps when we do meet her in a few months and express to her just how much her videos and pictures meant to us, more families will start getting updates like this.

But I so wish I could tell her today, while my heart is about ready to burst, how grateful I am that she has my son and both his families in her heart.

Dear Little Boy,

Dear Little Boy on the waiting list with the tears in his eyes and rosy cheeks,

I've been watching you for months. Praying over you in the mornings here at my desk. Hoping a family would see your picture and really see you. This morning, when I saw the matched box over your picture, I gasped out loud with delight. I have no idea who your family is and doubt I ever will, but I'm happy, so VERY happy, that you're getting the chance to be the awesome son I imagined you would be and that I won't be seeing another updated picture of your adorable face.

I secretly imagine you in a brotherhood with my big star, and I image Little Bro high fiving all his friends as they suit up to move on to their new families or get that first care package from the families who have suited up for a long, but totally worth it, wait.

I wonder how many people felt that way about my big star when his matched box went up? If they still think about him, I hope they know he's in for as much love as a family can possibly give him. Knowing how supremely happy my family was when Little Bro "joined" our family makes me rejoice for your unknown family today.

My heart will forever be with you and the rest of your friends on that list.

Get the Hell Outta There

When I got married, and then again when I had a child, one of the best pieces of advice I received was to get away from your family occasionally. I know this might not be good for some people, but it's been wonderful for me.

I take small weekend trips without Appa. I have awesome girls' weekends with my best friend (or sisters) where we gorge ourselves on book chatting and licorice. I come home with a stronger relationships and an absence-makes-the-heart-grow-fonder appreciation for my favorite man.

And now that I am a mom, I still take time away from that life to refocus on me for a bit. Usually this comes in the form of a hotel stay 20 minutes away with other mamas. We stay up late giggling and crying about life. We support each other. We revel in the break from diapers and potties and sippy cups....even if our conversations are dominated by them.

And when I come home, it's not with a pang of regret that I'm going back to responsibility; it's with a joyful heart that I am SO lucky to have my family AND my friends. I love on my baby like I haven't seen him for a month.

These mini me-breaks allow me to focus. I'm at my best as a wife and mother when I am balanced. Balance, for me, sometimes comes with a reset button that only "me time" can provide.

So when people ask me for advice on motherhood or marriage, my go-to advice is simply this: "Get the hell outta there sometimes." It makes all the time you are there so much better!

And, for the record, I firmly believe my son might have grown in the 18 hours I was away from him this weekend.

Hope is a Thing with Feathers

I'm hopeful.

I don't like it. It makes me nervous. All this stuff I refused to allow myself to even begin to hope for (like Little Bro coming home a little earlier than the worst case scenario) is sprouting in my soul. I can't help it. The evidence it there. It's starting to come together. It truly could happen.

I'm not talking about next week or even next month, but it's seeming more and more possible that I'll be throwing Little Bro a birthday party here, instead of there. With time to spare.

Just typing that makes me want to go back and delete it. I have a serious problem hoping for things.

But deleting it won't make it untrue.

Because I am hopeful.

Dear Little Bug

This morning, right before you stubbed your toe and wanted me to kiss it better, you took my breath away with how grown up you have become. Each time you would open the bathroom door and yell "HI" or "BYE" or "BOOOOO!" I marveled at how your face has thinned out and your eyes seem so much more mature as you raise one eyebrow....waiting for my response. In that moment you seemed every bit the 3-year-old you are and so far away from the little baby I used to cuddle in my arms for hours at a time. It was exciting and sad, all at once.

Then you stubbed your toe. I don't want to say "I told you so," but there is a reason your mama doesn't want you slamming doors....and it's not just because of the pictures hanging on the wall.

Although your toe was fine, your face screwed up into sadness and injustice and you insisted on sitting on my lap. There we were, sitting on the closed toilet while you moaned and cuddled into me and I kissed your tiny big toe over and over.

And I realized that no matter how angular your face gets or how high those expressive eyes go, somewhere in there will always be my cuddle bug baby.

And I love you so much I can't stand not to write about it sometimes.

Love, Mama

Let's Talk About Bodily Fluids: The Saddest Story of Them All

This morning I woke up in my husband's arms.

That's happened only a handful of time in the last year. Those nice mornings are usually a result of Little Bug being put down by a babysitter, because on those nights, inexplicably, he does not get up and come to our room during the night. We think it might be because he doesn't know that we are in our bedroom, which is kind of sad (but still, I like having my bed to share with just the hubby sometimes).

After a couple moments of cuddle time, I got the urge to check on Little Bug and bring him into our room for the morning snuggles.

When I opened his bedroom door I was happily surprised to see him sitting in the middle of his floor next to a book. He still needs to work on independent play, so the idea that he woke up and chose to enjoy a book rather than my bed warmed my heart.

What did not warm my heart was the shell-shocked, scared expression on my baby's face as he weakly pointed towards his step stool and whimpered. I followed his finger and saw a huge pile of vomit all over his stool. Suddenly I realized it was everywhere....all over his bed, his stool, his floor. He had been throwing up--a lot--and clearly trying to get out of bed to get to us. For whatever reason (I think fear and shock), he just stopped near his door and waited for us.

The worst part of this (and it takes a lot to be the worst part of the amount of vomit that was all over that room) was the fact that a lot of the vomit piles were dry.

He'd been sitting like that, paralyzed, for a while. Probably at least an hour, and in my heart, I fear more.

We went into disaster mode, me whisking him away for a bubble bath while Appa took care of his bedroom (which would cause him to shake and whimper every time we walked past it). It was heartbreaking to see how long it took for him to get comfortable and feel safe again. He's running a fever, but otherwise has been able to hold things down and doesn't seem emotionally scarred by his bedroom now that it is cleaned.

But his little face when I opened the door after he had been waiting so long for me is something I won't forget for a long time.