Moving On and Letting Go

Every aspect of the wait for your child is excruciating in a different sort of hellish way.  The beginning stages are filled with a seemingly endless black hole of time to wait for your child.  The middle parts are more of a quiet, almost apathetic abyss where things begin to seem endless and unmoving and unreal.  The last sprint towards homecoming is surrounded with minute counting, e-mail and phone jumping, and desperate heartache as each day and week come to a close without movement you know is just around the corner.

That's where we are at.  The final sprint where things are barreling ever closer towards this amazing and huge new life, while simultaneously trapping you in a constant state of living with your life on hold.  The entire summer we have been living for August.  Anything past August was unknown and therefore unschedulable.  That was okay. It was exciting. We lived Summer up as much as we could.

August is here now, and schedules can be made. But now I feel crippled for scheduling the Fall or Winter.  I held off planning for kids' extracurricular activities because I wasn't sure how Little Moon would do with them....should he happen to be here for them.

But this week I decided I could no longer force my family into a holding pattern.  My older childrens' lives are continuing despite the fact that each evening without news I go to sleep feeling for a brief moment like time has just stopped.

So schedules were made.  Epically, if I do say so myself.  I scheduled weekly therapy sessions, swim lessons, science classes, TKD lessons, farm outings, and enough bug and insect classes to fill up many of our nights and weekends. We're riding hay rides and train rides and hunting for spiders and owls and milking cows.We're going to magic shows and rock concerts and possibly even booking a guitar-playing robot for a birthday party. Turns out renting carousels is pretty darn expensive...

And I know, at some point, we're going to have to miss some of it to go to Korea and bring Little Moon home.  Oddly, that gives me a sense of satisfaction.  I might not be able to schedule my trip to him yet, but I know I've scheduled plans our trip to him will force us to break.

I'm also letting go of the dream of his birthday.  For a gal who went into this knowing I'd never see this milestone; I sure have thrown a fit about missing it lately.  I recently learned that we likely won't get pictures from this special day...at least not right away, if at all.  After drinking a lot of alcohol in the dark on my back porch and using some not nice words to people I could trust not to be offended, I am letting go of all expectations I have for his birthday.  I know he will be loved on that special day by those around him and by those who will love him from afar. I know he will have a birthday package waiting for him when he can get it.  And I know I'll have all the rest of his birthdays to come to never have to worry about pictures or updates or whether he is getting to blow out candles or have someone sing to him.  I cannot let my joy for him be sucked out by my disappointment. 

So I move on and let go and wait until I can move forward and grab hold of him.

J

Last year was hard.  I had to pull back from many things and people that took time and emotional energy in order to deal (or for a long period of time, NOT deal) with stuff that needed more of my attention.  From there, my anxiety got the best of me, and I felt a cycle of embarrassment take over, making things worse by hiding even further from people.  My absence hurt feelings, unintentionally but validly, and in some cases, I fear, irrevocably.  I'm learning to let that go and simply accept that sometimes what I can give is not enough or the right type of friendship people want.  And as an adult, I understand that's okay.  I don't have to be bosom buddies with everyone.

But a couple weeks ago a friend who I had not talked to in over a year reached out to me in the smallest of ways, and I jumped on it.  I told her the truth...I was avoiding her and most everyone else, and I was sorry and I missed her.  She forgave me immediately and without reserve, even though she had plenty of her own struggles that I was not there for.

We met up last week and fell back into an easy rapport.  We talked as we always did and laughed as we always did.  We had lots of catching up to do, but it was easy to do because the friendship was there.  She didn't hold it against me, and I didn't feel guilty about it anymore because we were still friends.

We talked openly about me going radio silent, and she gave me some great outlook and advice and compassion.  She told me we could go another year without talking and this would still feel this way when we met back up again.  And I believe her...but have no intention of waiting that long again!

I'm grateful, so grateful, for the incredible lesson in friendship she taught me.  I only hope I can be half the friend to her that she is to me.

Hooka Mooka

When my sister and I were very little, we lived in a house where one entire wall of the bathroom was mirror tiles.  As an adult, I think that is weird, but as a child, it was the perfect stage.  Before bath each night, my sister and I would strip down and dance in front of the mirror as wild as we could chanting "hooka mooka, hooka mooka."  It was our "thing" at a time when she and I had very few "things" in common.  I have very fond and vivid memories of those nightly dance parties.

My boys have a large mirror over a low dresser in their room.  I've often considered removing it as it was unused and wasting space I could put shelves. 

Then the "too ta, too ta" started.  I think Little Bro started it, chanting and spinning and wildly dancing in front of the mirror.  Little Bug joined in and the "too ta, too ta" was born.  Now, every morning and every evening they meet in front of the mirror (usually when I am trying to dress them) and chant and dance and laugh at each other with bright eyes and big smiles.

And it lets me relive a little slice of my own childhood.

Still My Baby

This weekend I had a bit of an epiphany while camping.  I was holding Little Bro in my arms as he slept while everyone else took a walk.  It was just me, my sleeping baby, and a campfire.  Basically the best thing ever.

As I gazed down at my sweet little boy, it hit me that he's only going to be my baby for a short time longer.  No matter how we slice or dice it, he'll no longer be a baby and things will change for him and for me.

We've prepare him in so many ways to be a big brother, but it dawned on me that we haven't done anything to prepare him to no longer be the baby.  He's going to struggle with that; I know he will.

So I let him sleep on me far longer than I should because these moments are slipping away faster and faster.  Soon it will be another warm body who will get first dibs on being rocked to sleep by mama.  But for now, he's my baby, and I am going to let us have these moments.

Amidst a weekend full of great moments, this hour with Little Bro was hands down my favorite.

Brother Bully

Little Bro, who attends Little Bug's old school with many children who spent years with Little Bug, told me today that a friend was telling him that his brother Little Bug was "weird."

I asked Little Bro what he said to that friend, and he replied "I said he wasn't weird, he was the best brother in the whole world."

Suck it, friend.  Little Bro isn't going to take anyone messing with his brother.  And I'm damn proud of him for it.

Dear Universe

*Edited to add: this is written in a moment of weariness.  It's not directed at any one person or group of people.  It's just a collection of things that have become too much for me in a time where I really want to be feeling excited and not have people feeding into my natural anxiety over bringing another child into our home.  Apologies if people feel this is too snarky or just plain rude.*

Respectfully, to the universe and all the many well-intentioned people I come in contact with, here is what I don't need right now:

People telling me my son won't grieve.  He will.  My other two sons' grieving wasn't based on anything else than the supreme trauma of being ripped from everything they know and love and neither will Little Moon's.  This is going to be horrific for him. It's insulting to so many people, least of all my son, to suggest anything else.

People telling me Little Moon (or our whole family) will need therapy.  Maybe he will, and we have resources already identified and in place should he need that.  But it's not a guarantee, and I don't need people saddling my son with issues he may or may not need professional help for.  Unless you are an expert in the field of international closed toddler adoption and have written the 10+ books I have read multiple times on the subject, you are not more informed in this particular issue than I am.

Talking about how your kid would "never survive" something like this.  New flash: they would; they are just lucky enough not to have been dealt a lot in life where it became necessary. If your kid was ripped from your arms and given to a loving Korean family, they would grieve and then eventually learn Korean and live a happy life.  They would. So please don't act like your kid is any different than mine...the only thing different is that your kid doesn't have to survive a life trauma and mine does.

Expressing shock and trepidation over three kids so close in age.  Please people, we're doing this, our family is going to look this way, please deal with it and stop bringing it up to me like my answer is going to magically change to "OMG, you're right.  Three kids IS going to be way too much to handle.  I'll call Korea right now and tell them Little Moon can go live in an orphanage instead.  Thanks so much for bringing it to my attention."

Telling me I won't be able to do it alone with three kids. Bringing up Little Bug's special needs over and over. Suggesting all sorts of scenarios that seem impossible to accomplish successfully alone with three kids. Listen, I spend hours every day thinking through bedtime routines and cosleeping with Little Moon while supporting my two older kids and their sleep issues. And no, it's not going to be pretty and I will get hooked on Diet Dr Pepper again.  I think through how to navigate Little Bug's quiet time needs with two other child who can't be left unattended.  I look at my schedule and imagine how I'll never see a friend again once we add therapies in for TWO of our children.  There is nothing you can shockingly suggest to me that I haven't already through through and worried about.  And the honest truth is a lot of these things are going to be messy and hard at first.  But no matter what it looks like, make no mistake: I WILL DO IT. It's also fairly insulting to me and to my husband to suggest we didn't think about this sort of stuff when we decided to adopt a 3 year old child. 

What I do need:

People to offer acceptance.  Little Moon is going to come home with some special needs, some of which we don't quite know the extent of yet.  Add that the grief regression, and he's not going to look like a "typical" 3 year old.  I need people to love him and accept him for that instead of focusing on how he can "get better or get help."  I've got that under control.  I just need you to love him without judgement.

People to understand that we are choosing to adopt a child with special needs, but it doesn't mean we still can't be scared or intimidated or overwhelmed. Tell us we can do it because we are already well versed in managing expectations, embracing a new normal, advocating for our children, and accepting a child for who they are.  I need people to see our children for all the amazing parts of who they are, not the fact they were on a waiting child list.

People to let me be the expert. Instead of offering your opinion based on someone you know who adopted once or your own parenting experience with your biological child, please ask me what WE expect and listen and accept the education we have gathered from classes, books, people who have BTDT in situations very similar to ours, and experts from conferences, webinars, and private consultations, and two previous adoptions. It would mean so much to me if I could be the expert on my own uniquely formed family.

People to accept not seeing Little Moon (and me) for a while.  I need people to understand that right now, my priority is going to be on my sons and husband.  No one else.  I need people to love us from afar and not be offended that they don't get to be a part of however long we need to get to know each other.  I need people to be patient and trust that their part in our lives is still important, but just secondary in this situation.  And I need people to understand that the best way to show love for Little Moon in his first days home is to let him adjust to his new life in a small of increments as possible.

And most of all, People to simply tell me "Everything will be okay. It's going to be hard, but it's going to be fun and exciting and get better every day. You and your family will be okay...you'll eventually be great. You'll do whatever you need to make sure your family is healthy and happy."  Please, someone just tell me that....and mean it.

The Little Boy in the Striped Cardigan

There is a little boy on the waiting list.  He turns 3 years old next week.  His picture has probably elicited gasps from hundreds of people.  He's so very, very handsome.  I mean, he is just unbelievably cute in his striped cardigan. They have probably clicked on his profile and eagerly read on to find out how they could make him part of their family, only to stop midway through. He is cute, for sure.

He's is also now blind.

He didn't used to be. A disorder has taken his sight over the past few years.  I could speculate how he ended up on the waiting child list a couple months after turning 2, but instead I will just focus on that fact that he is waiting. He waited with my Little Moon for a while, their little profile pictures lining up next to each other in dueling cutest-kid-ever contests.

Appa and I have been drawn to him ever since he showed up on the list last Fall.  Not in a "he's our son" way, but in a heartbreaking need to see him be okay way. We both know how the clock ticks for the children who wait on that list and what happens when they wait too long. We both know that the full and happy life a blind person can lead with the support and love of a well-equipped family is light years away from the life this little boy will live if he is taken from his foster family who have been fierce advocates for his blindness and placed in an orphanage with resources spread too thin for kids who can see and take care of themselves, let alone for a blind child.

It weighs on my soul that this little boy literally has months left before a life-altering path with be chosen for him. Weighs.on.my.soul.

Appa and I have talked about how we can change the lives of children who wait, specifically this little boy. We can't adopt him. We've considering providing a private donation grant to spur someone to take a second look, but legalities prevent it while still in process for Little Moon.  I've tried to advocate for him, but my reach doesn't extend very far; and I certainly don't personally know anyone who is willing to adopt a blind child into their home.

But those people ARE out there.  Lots of them, I imagine. There ARE families who could be the right parents for this charming, spunky, silly little boy.  There ARE families who are well equipped to provide a blind child with a vibrant life.  They ARE out there.

Do you know someone who might be able to give this beautiful (BEAUTIFUL) child a life before his chance has passed? Someone who perhaps is thinking of a different country or different route to parenthood? Someone who already knows the ropes of blindness?  If so, have them contact me, and I can point you to the two agencies that are both listing him on their waiting child page and you can receive more information from them.