I Don't Want to Grow Up: I'm a Toys * Us Mom

Sometimes being an adult is so lame. I can vividly recall desperately wanting to be a "grown up" when I was younger. Now I look back on that time so fondly. Someone else made money for me, bought and cooked my meals, washed my clothes, paid for utilities, gas, cable, and even paid my taxes! They even paid me just for being me. What a life!

I'm pretty sure if I called my mom and dad up today and begged them to buy me a pizza, they would try. But the lamest part of being an adult is that I would never do that.

Because I am an adult.

Appa turned 29 recently. This is unconcerning for both of us. (In case you were wondering, "unconcerning" is not a word. "Unconcerned, unconcernedly, and unconcernedness" are all words though. You're welcome.) We've not yet began to feel that horror most people feel when they leave their 20's in the dust. In fact, our feelings are almost the opposite.

We're almost 30!?! Us? Seriously?

Appa and I have been together since I was 16. We've grown together and that has been great, but it almost makes it very easy to forget how far we have come (and how many years that took us). We're still cracking the same inside jokes from 1997.

Me, specifically, I often forget that I am an adult. Not just a young adult who is trying to be a totally-with-it independent woman, but an actual adult with a husband, a mortgage, two cars, a kid, a whole bunch of legal papers for another kid, a living will, coworkers who are younger than my siblings, and parents who live 5 states away.

No more someone else washing my clothes for me. (Actually, Appa does a lot of the laundry in our house.)

Yet, I am as nostalgic as they come and I think I am a pretty fun loving, young-at-heart sort of adult. I love things that remind me of my childhood.

Which is why I have my two favorite Care Bears (who in my young mind were dating) and a Mickey Mouse globe I got on a girl's trip to Disney World with my BFF sitting prominently in front of my computer.

At work.

They make being an adult a little less lame.

Fall

Fall.

I've only recently in the last few years come to truly appreciate Fall. I've always been lucky enough to live in areas where Fall is a real season with crisp air, deep shaded leaves, and that special moment before it gets dark where you can almost feel the season changing little by little. In the last few years I have taken the time to enjoy this unique period of the year.

A couple nights ago I was outside getting something from our car and took a couple minutes to stand out in our driveway. It was twilight and the first of the leaves on our neighbor's tree were turning. There was this electricity in the air (probably from the electrical storm we had later that night), and the whole atmosphere felt very alive. I just stood there and took it all in.

I was thinking about that moment this morning as I noticed even more leaves turning on my way to work. I started thinking back to last Fall.

Last Fall I did not take the time to stop and smell the leaves.

I worry that I might write too much on this blog about my experience with post adoption depression, but I think it is important for me to share feelings as they come out; both to help others who might be experiencing this very under-supported experience and just to help me work through what lingers of my own. Understand that all things considered, I have a charmed life, and I totally know it.

Last Fall Little Bug had been home for around a monthish. Things were rough in my world, but only those very closest to Appa and I really had any indication of that, mainly because I tried desperately to hide it, even from myself and him. I'm not sure at the time that I even knew what I was feeling. I was overwhelmed with the total loss of independence I was experiencing, the complete 24/7 independence Little Bug had on me, my feelings of inadequacy, Little Bug's special needs that I felt completely unprepared for, consuming guilt over my feelings, and lack of sleep and good eating.

I am convinced that lack of sleep makes everything worse. Just an aside.

Anyway, I honestly can't remember Fall last year. I remember experiences with Little Bug, but I don't recall what the leaves looked like, or what the air smelled like, or how I felt about it all. There were no seasons for me at the end of last year. My life was lived in a very weird haze of shellshock, depression, avoidance, self loathing, and spurts of joy. (This haze sadly clouded what should have been the Christmas season of my dreams, too.)

Blah. I'm not loving thinking about it today, but the point of this post is that I realized this morning as I was marveling over the start of the Fall season that I am back and better than ever!

There is a light at the end of the depression tunnel. For some people it might be just a week or a few days away. For some, it might be months. For me, it was many months and a hard fought battle, but there is light at the end of the tunnel.

How can there not be? Being a parent is hard and the ultimate sacrifice is so many ways, and yet, at the end of the day, your child inherently makes it worth it. You just have to be in the right frame of mind to see it.

Case in point: Yesterday Little Bug and I were leaving a store and he was riding in the shopping cart in the parking lot. the wind was pretty strong and had that autumn bite to it. Little Bug gasped the first time he felt it, and then started pumping his legs wildly and throwing his head around, mouth wide open, trying to catch the air in his mouth, his hands clapping almost unconsciously.

That is my new favorite memory of Fall.

A Well Dressed Sin Son

They say vanity is a sin, but does it count if the vanity is not for yourself?

I have an admitted problem with clothing. Not for myself. Nope, I have no problem wearing the Target-brand special to work or a suit I have had for years. (Don't get me wrong, my favorite clothing store is decidedly NOT Target, but it's too expensive for me to enjoy more than once a year, and I made peace with that long ago.)

No, my problem is Little Bug clothes. Before I was a mom, I spouted off all sorts of stuff about how I was more than willing to take hand-me downs, that my child would wear whatever was clean, and that I understood that he was a baby and not a magazine model. All valid things.

Then I took a look at the baby boy clothing options. Umm, have you seen what is out there lately!?!

The majority of boy clothing is in pastels (which remind me of a 80's-era newborn), cartoons (I am trying not to commercialize our child in every way possible), stupid sayings like "Chicks Dig Poop" or "Daddy's Lil Tough Guy" (which are just stupid because these are babies, not contestant on VH1's Tool Academy), or the obligatory cartoonish/cuteish bear/truck/car/monster/dinosaur/airplane etc. (which I find really boring and very cheesy). And sweatpants. I HATE sweatpants. What's a Little Boy Mama to do?

I think most Mamas suck it up and try to find a balance. Me, I surprised even myself with my refusal to do that. I think deep down I felt like I had waited SO long for my baby, gosh darn it, I was going to enjoy dressing him.

So, if I don't like it, my kid doesn't wear it. I'm serious. Gift or no gift, hand-me down or no hand-me down, on super clearance or not on super clearance, if I don't like it, my kid isn't wearing it.

Now, this approach has not come without its share of problems. First, the bank account doesn't love the fact that I will seek out new clothes (bonus of adopting Little Bro: already has a total wardrobe, so I like to think of these clothes as an investment; Appa does not share this view). I've had exceptional success in the Target clearance racks where a lot of the neat retro shirts and polos and basics end up on clearance. It takes a bit of digging, and often buying whatever larger size they have, but I've got a lot of nice clothes to last me for the next few years at $1-$3. In fact, the majority of clothes he is wearing now at 2T were purchased last year. Go me!

In addition, I have a reputation in my family of being that mom who you never buy baby clothes for because the gift will go to waste if I don't like it. My poor mother in law recently had to call Appa to see if I would be willing to let Little Bug wear a Hawaiian shirt she wanted to bring back from Hawaii (I was totally mortified when Appa actually had to ask me because he wasn't sure if I would say yes and even more mortified when I actually had to think about it for a second). I'm not proud of this and attempted to hide it from my family for a while, but the word is out. It's getting easier as Little Bug (who in actuality is a VERY BIG bug for his age) is growing into toddler sizes where there is slightly less vomitious selections to choose from. You can never go wrong with a polo (unless it is in pastels, or has a cartoon on the bottom left, or….). I'm not saying I don’t like monsters or cars or trucks or things like that. Little Bug is getting to the age where he can start to identify things on his body (his attempts to put on his shoes and socks [ggnnness and ooaags] are priceless), but I have a very definite style for the graphics, which makes it nearly impossible for anyone to accurately pin me down.

I'm so not proud of this, but honestly, I don't see it stopping any time soon. I love dressing my son; I love taking pictures of him wearing cute things; and I love people telling me how well dressed he is. I'm a pretty good mom, so I am allowing myself this indulgence.

So, I guess the moral of the story is to buy Little Bug a book if you are looking for a present for him. And yes, I am pretty sure vanity is still a sin. I'm working on it…sort of.

Ahh, what the heck

Life is too short, and kids are too special to split hairs. I went out on my lunch break and bought it.

I'm gonna be Little Bro's Mama.....someday!

Until then, I will hide this away (literally, I am going to hide this from Appa), and take it out when I need to spend a special moment thinking about my youngest son.

A little spotted blanket with an elephant and a bird

Apparently I should never utter or write the words "ovaries are screaming" ever again.

Babies, specifically my future baby Little Bro, have been on the brain for the last few days. It's probably because people all around me are pregnant or waiting for a referral or waiting to travel, traveling etc. Refreshingly, unlike previous boughts of "Baby Brain," this one does not come with the intense urge to lock myself in my bedroom and cry my freaking eyes out while watching Jennifer Garner's character in "Juno." Instead, it's a truly all-around exciting time that I can’t help but get caught up in.

I think only mothers who have been in the adoption process can understand when I say I feel "pregnant" already. In my head, we are expecting a baby, and my mind is preparing as such. I don't often use that term, "paper pregnant" or whatever else, but the feelings behind theses phrases are very real.

So, tonight I went to Target, as I do 3-4 times a week. I can never help but go to the baby aisles to check out what new styling clothes I need for Little Bug. I always end up taking the route that takes me past the infant receiving aisle, you know that one, the one with soft blankets and onsies and gift packages that say "Our Newest Miracle" or "Hello World, I Have Arrived." There is one particular blanket that I take off the shelf every time and hold. It's the softest, cutest thing I have ever seen; and I desperately want it for Little Bro. There was only one left, and a quick Google search tells me that it's not something I will be able to readily find later.

However, I have plenty of soft blankets that are sitting unused. I apparently have a fondness for these sorts of things, because I HAD to have a number of specific ones for Little Bug, most of which he could care less about. The blanket that called to me hardcore last time was one that I couldn't convince myself to buy, so Little Bug's godmother bought it for him, and it traveled to Korea with us. Little Bug was unimpressed. Yet, the compulsion as I was holding that little blanket to buy it for Little Bro--buy SOMETHING special and specific for Little Bro to prove to myself that yes, he WILL one day be in my arms--was so strong that I had to war with myself for a solid minute before putting it back.

It just isn't time for that yet.

WooEEE. I've been so laid back about our second adoption, and for some reason it is starting to bubble up again…that adoption fervor. I'm trying valiantly to gently push it back down for the time being. I have a lot of things I need to happen before Little Bro comes around (Little Bug walking, seeing some of my friends welcome their babies home, seeing my BFF pop out Baby V, etc.) Maybe once those things happen I will allow myself to start working back into "Paper Pregnancy" mode. And honestly, the thought of having two babies right now scares the living crap out of me. It helps when I remind myself of that.

As for that little blanket, the plan for now is not to buy it, but as it is the LAST one, and as it is really just SO cute, I can't guarantee it won't be in my cart if I see it again.

My Boys

Appa is the youngest of three kids. He has had relatively little experience with small children (before his own, of course). Appa didn't dislike kids...he just didn't really care about them one way or the other.

Me? Well, my hypothetical ovaries (because my real ones don't really play nice) were screaming "baby, baby, baby" since I pretty much was old enough to spell ovaries.

Anyway. Appa is a gentle, calm, and fair man, so I knew he would make a good father, but I often wondered if he would enjoy being a dad. Even after we got our referral, he was always so even about his excitement. I sometimes worried that maybe he would be one of those distant fathers who doles out punishments and considers teach a child to play a sport competitively quality time.

The came the first hours after we took custody of Little Bug....and Appa started HOGGING him. He couldn't keep his eyes and hands off him. He was using the word "son" constantly just because I think he liked the way it sounded. We spent the 13 hour flight home fighting over who got to change Little Bug's diaper and hold him as our arms fell asleep.

That has never changed. Appa and Little Bug have had a strong connection from that first moment. Appa is distraught if he can't see Little Bug before he goes to bed and tells him that he loves him about as much as a couple of teen sweethearts would.

Appa is in love. Little Bug is in love.

And I'm in love with them both.

One of the only things that comes close to the joy I feel when I see Little Bug's face light up in a smile is when that smile is being matched by my husband.

Baby Bumper Blues (say that 3 times fast)

Oh, sob--my baby is growing up.

Long before Little Bug was even a picture in a frame, I had picked out my perfect baby bedding. It was the one and only baby item I purchased pre-referral. It's colorful, multi-textured, bright, educational, and stinking cute. I love it.

Little Bug loved it from the first moment he touched it (picture above). Even today, we often find him easing into his mornings by cooing and petting his crib bumpers.

Most people take the crib bumpers out before their kids turn one, but since Little Bug wasn't mobile for so long, we never had to worry about it. However, in the last few days Little Bug has started trying to climb into his crib. He's nowhere near able to yet, but the intent is there. It's just a matter of time before he makes the connection that he can use this trick to get out.

So today when I was changing his crib sheet I made the spur of the moment decision to leave the bumpers out of the crib. Little Bug hasn't seemed to notice much, but I was pretty sad because it just is one more way that I am seeing my baby is a big boy now.

And the bumper is just so cute. I will miss it until it's time for Little Bro.