Today Little Bug and I were laying together, and he farted. He looked right at me and laughed.
With two little boys and an Appa to outnumber me, I have a feeling that won't be the last time a fart is funny in my house.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Thursday, January 28, 2010
I'm Good Enough, I'm Smart Enough, and Doggone It, Little Bug Likes Me!
Some days, deep in my heart, I think Little Bug loves Appa a lot more than he loves me. They share a special bond, and Little Bug is undeniably a "daddy's boy." Of course, this often hurts my feelings, even though I know it shouldn't. I worry that perhaps my post adoption blues and inability to really bond with Little Bug early on irreparably limited the love he could have for me in comparisons to Appa.Other days, I don't feel that way...as much.
This week two things happened that really changed the way I see Little Bug's connection to me. The first was after a feeding session at school. As usual, I gave him a kiss and started to leave and he freaked out. Like, huge, real, anguished tears. It apparently took a while to calm him down.
I'm not going to lie and say it made me feel really bad (but it did make me feel moderately bad). Instead, it made me feel good. Never once has Little Bug cried when I've left him at school (although I don't do that often). It actually, in a sick and twisted way, made me feel really happy that he wanted me to be there.
Second, the Blogging Gods read my braggy post about my "kid's kick a@@ immune system"...I am sure it is obvious where this is going. Last night's high fever, croupy cough, and lack of sleep drama was so brutal that I cried all the way to work. Appa took the morning off to tend to Little Bug and I came home at noon to take over. Instead of taking the desperately needed nap, Little Bug wanted to be on me or next to me....all the time. For 4.5 hours my usually curious and active little 2 year old sat next to me on the couch, his head resting on the arm I wrapped around his warm body. At one point, he laid his head on my lap and finally took some sleep. It was overly apparent that the only thing Little Bug wanted today was his mama. Even after Appa came home, Little Bug would continue to crawl up next to me to cuddle in. It was actually so pathetic, I feel a slight twinge of guilt at taking such supreme enjoyment out of it.
Appa, who knows my inner doubts and is so good about lifting me up, looked over at us at one point and said "See, all he wants is his mother. You comfort him."
And I do. Even though I am the mama who wasn't exactly emotionally there for him in the beginning and even though I am the mama who is always the one cracking the therapy whip and building and reinforcing the boundaries and starting the time outs and saying no to "more" of whatever junk Appa has been sneaking him....
...I am also the mama who he wants to cuddle into every time he is sick or tired or scared. I am the mama he asks to sing his favorite songs his favorite way and the only mama who can tickle him to illicit both the cutest laugh AND a plea for more. I'm the mama who is always the first to pick up on a new word or a new sign, and I am the mama who "shakes your booty" with him every night. Despite it all, I am his mama.
And just like every other part of my attachment/motherhood process, I feel a shift after today that I know is permanent for me. Another little lingering doubt floating in the back of my head that has resolved itself. It's a wonderful feeling.
So, since my sick baby literally just woke up crying in pain, I'm off to comfort him into the wee hours of the morning. Kinda looking forward to it, actually.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Pity Party, Table for 1
As much as I joke and as serious as those jokes actually are, I do think it is a serious bummer I will never be pregnant (read: ME have a kid in my belly, not MY KIDS be in my belly). I'm at a spot where it really doesn't bother me, and I actually consider it a "lucky break" in a lot of ways.
However, the selfish mama in me is still bummed about the silly parts of pregnancy, namely everyone (my husband) fawning over me. The constant growing reminder that we are growing our family, that we are already more than just three.
It's not like I would be able to wear one of those "Expecting from Korea" shirts every day for 12-18 months, and even if I could, I would never be caught dead in one (no offense, please, to those who like that sort of thing). The bottom line is that people don't treat me like an expectant mother, even though it's truly how I feel. My kid is growing out in the world, living, breathing, learning…my heart is expanding and my mind is preparing, but most don't know that. Who knows, maybe most people really don't really consider my situation similar to that of an expectant mother, and that is fine.
But it is a bummer when those that do don't validate it.
Appa doesn't read this blog, so this post is purely to calm my own soul. He is a good man, a very devoted and loving husband and father, and he is happy to be in the adoption process and will no doubt go goofy crazy in love over Little Bro.
For me, I love to think about our adoption. I am steeped in a community where it is in my face every day. I get REALLY excited thinking about our son, to the point of distraction sometimes. I'm a woman…I've been thinking about my babies since I was 3 years old. Like any expectant mother, I want to mull over names and nursery patterns and new gifts. Appa, for whatever reason, would prefer not to do any of that until we get really close to a referral (close being relative when we are a month or two away right now), and even then, his excitement is always so tempered. He is a stoic man, and I know that about him, so I tend to allow for that because I know how he will be when the baby comes home, but sometimes it hurts when I need to share my excitement with someone and the one person I want to share it with doesn't want to indulge me…like, seriously, hardly ever.
Unfortunately and somewhat uncharacteristically today Appa mentioned this emotional disconnect between our approaches to this next adoption in what was probably not the world's most perfect timing and it made me cry…at work...at my desk and has left a melancholy twinge in my heart since then.
Of course he certainly didn't intent for it to make me sad, but the bottom line is that sometimes in a marriage it's hard to be with someone with such a different temperament than your own. Add in something you feel passionate about and it is a recipe for some heartache. I know Appa is excited for Little Bro, but I guess sometimes I selfishly wish it was the same sort of excited that I am.
So, I have a few more hours to pout here at work before I think I need to get over this. It's nothing new, after all. I'm sure my husband will do something nice tonight like pour me a glass of wine or offer to take Battle Silverware for the night or give me kisses on my nose and a neck rub. He's that kind of guy. I'll remember that just as he can't expect me to change my emotional grids to match his, I can't expect him to conform to mine.
We will both be thrilled when we first see Little Bro's face, of that I am sure. He might not already have a name picked out, and we might not exactly know where we are going to relocate our guest bedroom or what we are going to put in his care package, but it will be love for both of us, and that's when the excitement will truly matter.
I still wish I had some chocolate right now, though.
However, the selfish mama in me is still bummed about the silly parts of pregnancy, namely everyone (my husband) fawning over me. The constant growing reminder that we are growing our family, that we are already more than just three.
It's not like I would be able to wear one of those "Expecting from Korea" shirts every day for 12-18 months, and even if I could, I would never be caught dead in one (no offense, please, to those who like that sort of thing). The bottom line is that people don't treat me like an expectant mother, even though it's truly how I feel. My kid is growing out in the world, living, breathing, learning…my heart is expanding and my mind is preparing, but most don't know that. Who knows, maybe most people really don't really consider my situation similar to that of an expectant mother, and that is fine.
But it is a bummer when those that do don't validate it.
Appa doesn't read this blog, so this post is purely to calm my own soul. He is a good man, a very devoted and loving husband and father, and he is happy to be in the adoption process and will no doubt go goofy crazy in love over Little Bro.
For me, I love to think about our adoption. I am steeped in a community where it is in my face every day. I get REALLY excited thinking about our son, to the point of distraction sometimes. I'm a woman…I've been thinking about my babies since I was 3 years old. Like any expectant mother, I want to mull over names and nursery patterns and new gifts. Appa, for whatever reason, would prefer not to do any of that until we get really close to a referral (close being relative when we are a month or two away right now), and even then, his excitement is always so tempered. He is a stoic man, and I know that about him, so I tend to allow for that because I know how he will be when the baby comes home, but sometimes it hurts when I need to share my excitement with someone and the one person I want to share it with doesn't want to indulge me…like, seriously, hardly ever.
Unfortunately and somewhat uncharacteristically today Appa mentioned this emotional disconnect between our approaches to this next adoption in what was probably not the world's most perfect timing and it made me cry…at work...at my desk and has left a melancholy twinge in my heart since then.
Of course he certainly didn't intent for it to make me sad, but the bottom line is that sometimes in a marriage it's hard to be with someone with such a different temperament than your own. Add in something you feel passionate about and it is a recipe for some heartache. I know Appa is excited for Little Bro, but I guess sometimes I selfishly wish it was the same sort of excited that I am.
So, I have a few more hours to pout here at work before I think I need to get over this. It's nothing new, after all. I'm sure my husband will do something nice tonight like pour me a glass of wine or offer to take Battle Silverware for the night or give me kisses on my nose and a neck rub. He's that kind of guy. I'll remember that just as he can't expect me to change my emotional grids to match his, I can't expect him to conform to mine.
We will both be thrilled when we first see Little Bro's face, of that I am sure. He might not already have a name picked out, and we might not exactly know where we are going to relocate our guest bedroom or what we are going to put in his care package, but it will be love for both of us, and that's when the excitement will truly matter.
I still wish I had some chocolate right now, though.
Monday, January 25, 2010
There Is No Such Thing As Defeat
Mealtimes have been...rough....around our house lately. For the last two weeks we spend our meals physically forcing Little Big to use his silverware, even with finger foods. I'm taking extended lunch breaks and going over to work with him during lunch at school. We are trying very hard to not let things slip, to keep a solid, united message for Little Bug.
Fork + spoon = food. Fingers = no food.
Of course, then you have nights like tonight.
Appa was off having a fancy sushi dinner, and Little Bug was hell bent on not being bested for dinner. No problem...I sighed a big sigh and then situated myself for battle. I've got this dance down to a step.
Except tonight, he owned me.
Even though it was all easy-to-scoop food, he refused to use his silverware. I know some people are of the mindset that you just have your child skip a meal to prove your point, but my 2-year-old kid has 8 therapy sessions a week and expends more energy than most kids simply by performing basic tasks like walking or holding a sippy cup; skipping a meal like dinner is just not an option for him right now. So, after 30 minutes with little more than a couple grains of rice in his belly and a whole lot of ornery in his face, I gave up.
I went into the kitchen and let him think he was pulling a fast one over on me by eating with his hands as fast as he could. (Or rather, I tried to preserve what was left of my pride.) However, he was eating. Indeed, the kid even asked for seconds. As I stood there in the kitchen, I felt defeated.
Then Little Bug caught my attention with a this new word he loves to happily chant "mapabadada." I looked over just in time to see him pick up that blasted fork, manage to scoop a small bite, and expertly place it in his mouth. Then he twisted his neck around to make eye contact with me and clapped.
Of course, he went back to eating with his hands, but it reminded me that life isn't always a battle, even though it feels like it so often at our home. We're not fighting against Little Bug and he isn't fighting against us. All three of us are simply helping each other grow and learn to be the best we can be.
And some nights, the only way to do that is with a full stomach and getting your hands dirty.
Fork + spoon = food. Fingers = no food.
Of course, then you have nights like tonight.
Appa was off having a fancy sushi dinner, and Little Bug was hell bent on not being bested for dinner. No problem...I sighed a big sigh and then situated myself for battle. I've got this dance down to a step.
Except tonight, he owned me.
Even though it was all easy-to-scoop food, he refused to use his silverware. I know some people are of the mindset that you just have your child skip a meal to prove your point, but my 2-year-old kid has 8 therapy sessions a week and expends more energy than most kids simply by performing basic tasks like walking or holding a sippy cup; skipping a meal like dinner is just not an option for him right now. So, after 30 minutes with little more than a couple grains of rice in his belly and a whole lot of ornery in his face, I gave up.
I went into the kitchen and let him think he was pulling a fast one over on me by eating with his hands as fast as he could. (Or rather, I tried to preserve what was left of my pride.) However, he was eating. Indeed, the kid even asked for seconds. As I stood there in the kitchen, I felt defeated.
Then Little Bug caught my attention with a this new word he loves to happily chant "mapabadada." I looked over just in time to see him pick up that blasted fork, manage to scoop a small bite, and expertly place it in his mouth. Then he twisted his neck around to make eye contact with me and clapped.
Of course, he went back to eating with his hands, but it reminded me that life isn't always a battle, even though it feels like it so often at our home. We're not fighting against Little Bug and he isn't fighting against us. All three of us are simply helping each other grow and learn to be the best we can be.
And some nights, the only way to do that is with a full stomach and getting your hands dirty.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Carrier Monkey (Otherwise titled "Vomiting With Love, Part II")
To steal a phrase from a friend of mine, my son is apparently a "carrier monkey."
When we put Little Bug in daycare, we braced ourselves for the inevitable constant illnesses that come with it. Surprisingly, he has only been sick once since he started (and once before that). In fact, in the 1.5+ years we have had him, he has only been really sick those two times. Lucky, I know.
However, Appa and I cannot say the same.
We would go years without getting the flu. Since Little Bug went to daycare, we have both been laid out praying to the porcelain god. Last night was round two for me.
I'll spare the details, with is probably a shocker, but let's just say the Pesto Cavatappi from Corner Bakery is possible on my "never to eat again" list, right there with powdered doughnuts washed down with vodka and orange juice and Tequila Sunrises. Why oh why couldn't I have had something less yummy for lunch yesterday?
After I was able to hold down some saltines again and reassured some people via e-mail that NO, I AM NOT PREGNANT, I realized there is a silver lining to this: my carrier monkey son must just have a kick-a@@ immune system.
So while he can apparently go roll around on the floor of a doctor's office and lick the handle of a Metra train, Appa and I need to step up our vitamins and flu shots. Otherwise our little carrier monkey is going to continue to share these germs with us.
I mean, we have been trying to teach him to share.
When we put Little Bug in daycare, we braced ourselves for the inevitable constant illnesses that come with it. Surprisingly, he has only been sick once since he started (and once before that). In fact, in the 1.5+ years we have had him, he has only been really sick those two times. Lucky, I know.
However, Appa and I cannot say the same.
We would go years without getting the flu. Since Little Bug went to daycare, we have both been laid out praying to the porcelain god. Last night was round two for me.
I'll spare the details, with is probably a shocker, but let's just say the Pesto Cavatappi from Corner Bakery is possible on my "never to eat again" list, right there with powdered doughnuts washed down with vodka and orange juice and Tequila Sunrises. Why oh why couldn't I have had something less yummy for lunch yesterday?
After I was able to hold down some saltines again and reassured some people via e-mail that NO, I AM NOT PREGNANT, I realized there is a silver lining to this: my carrier monkey son must just have a kick-a@@ immune system.
So while he can apparently go roll around on the floor of a doctor's office and lick the handle of a Metra train, Appa and I need to step up our vitamins and flu shots. Otherwise our little carrier monkey is going to continue to share these germs with us.
I mean, we have been trying to teach him to share.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
What a Baby
The reason they tell parents not be belabor goodbyes is not because the kids can't handle it; it's because the parents can't.
I don't take Little Bug to school (daycare) each morning, Appa does it. I just get to be the hero every afternoon when I come to get him (actually, he is more excited to play with me there, not to leave really). However, lately I am going over on my lunch break to do more self feeding work with him (my poor baby; I could just see the injustice in his eyes as all the other kids happily ate with their fingers).
Anyway, after lunch is was time for a nap. I KNEW I should just up and leave. To give a lot of hugs and kisses and coo my goodbyes into his hair would "make it harder for him." Yet, I had to drag myself out of that classroom and away from him. As I shut the door, I heard him whine my name and thought "oh, this must be so hard for him."
Yet, when I checked the monitor about 45 seconds later, he was happily showing his friends his beloved raggie. Only one of us had a hard time with my leaving....and it wasn't the 2-year-old.
Mamas are such babies.
I don't take Little Bug to school (daycare) each morning, Appa does it. I just get to be the hero every afternoon when I come to get him (actually, he is more excited to play with me there, not to leave really). However, lately I am going over on my lunch break to do more self feeding work with him (my poor baby; I could just see the injustice in his eyes as all the other kids happily ate with their fingers).
Anyway, after lunch is was time for a nap. I KNEW I should just up and leave. To give a lot of hugs and kisses and coo my goodbyes into his hair would "make it harder for him." Yet, I had to drag myself out of that classroom and away from him. As I shut the door, I heard him whine my name and thought "oh, this must be so hard for him."
Yet, when I checked the monitor about 45 seconds later, he was happily showing his friends his beloved raggie. Only one of us had a hard time with my leaving....and it wasn't the 2-year-old.
Mamas are such babies.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
I Will Miss This
A bloggy friend of mine recently wrote a post about taking the time to enjoy the period of life you are in right now because a time will come when you will miss it. It really stuck with me.
So, I will someday miss the nights when all Little Bug wants to do is sit on my lap and have me sing his three favorite songs to him...over and over and over. When he grabs my face to make sure I am watching him, just because he likes me to.
I will miss those bad nights where Little Bug constantly wakes up crying and will only be consoled if I am standing over his crib. I will miss how he will occasionally look up from his butt up hybrid fetal position to make sure I am still there. I will miss how he needs my presence when he is feeling most vulnerable.
I will his different cries and how I have learned what they mean. Even the loud, angry cry. One day he won't make that anymore and that unique sound that is so totally his will be relegated to my memory only.
I will miss the nights when he can't fall asleep, and I have to sit by his bed. Soon my time will be divided and it won't be so easy to devote hours in the evening to his bedside alone.
So, even though my eyes are falling out from fatigue, and I even though I rolled over in bed last night and let Little Bug cry because, as I vehemently told our very sick Appa, "I just CANNOT do it right now," I really will miss all of it someday.
And remembering that makes it all a little bit easier today.
So, I will someday miss the nights when all Little Bug wants to do is sit on my lap and have me sing his three favorite songs to him...over and over and over. When he grabs my face to make sure I am watching him, just because he likes me to.
I will miss those bad nights where Little Bug constantly wakes up crying and will only be consoled if I am standing over his crib. I will miss how he will occasionally look up from his butt up hybrid fetal position to make sure I am still there. I will miss how he needs my presence when he is feeling most vulnerable.
I will his different cries and how I have learned what they mean. Even the loud, angry cry. One day he won't make that anymore and that unique sound that is so totally his will be relegated to my memory only.
I will miss the nights when he can't fall asleep, and I have to sit by his bed. Soon my time will be divided and it won't be so easy to devote hours in the evening to his bedside alone.
So, even though my eyes are falling out from fatigue, and I even though I rolled over in bed last night and let Little Bug cry because, as I vehemently told our very sick Appa, "I just CANNOT do it right now," I really will miss all of it someday.
And remembering that makes it all a little bit easier today.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)