Family Planning

I know they are thinking it.  I can see it in their surprised faces, faltering questions, and uncomfortable congratulations.  Some even make thinly veiled comments passively asserting their opinion.  Not everyone, of course, but a hell of a lot more than I would have ever imagined.

Yes, universe and teacher and doctor and therapist and whoever else, we're adopting a third child.  A boy. Close in age to our other children.  And we're thrilled about it.

What?  What's that you say?  I have a 5 year old with significant special needs that require a high degree of attention, resources, and energy?

You don't say.

As things with Little Moon begin to click into place, and our family begins to reshape our lives in preparation, we've started letting people in our far periphery circles into our plans.  And more times than I can count, it's been apparent that the fact we are bringing another child into our family is shocking to them.  It's seems like they can't imagine why we would make life "harder" or "more stressful" or "busy" when our lives are already so full.

It's been pissing me off lately, and I have started this post a number of times, only to cancel it once I couldn't find words that weren't swear words.  But yesterday the answer rolled off my tongue.  It was in response to the gentle surprise of a trusted member of Team Little Bug.

We've always wanted three kids.  We have the love and resources for a third child.  But ultimately, what matters most is that Little Bug is not a liability to our family.  He's not a reason to stop growing our family if we have the means, which we do.  I realized that is what was pissing me off. Little Bug will benefit from a little brother and Little Moon will be just as lucky to have the unique experience that having a sibling with special needs brings.  We have made the decision to adopt another child because we believe that it will be beneficial for both our children, accounting for our unusual challenges, at home and the new child.  Our family life might be framed differently than most, sure, but our lives go on, expand, get better, and continue to grow.

Do we have room or desire for four children? Five? Six?  No, probably not. But do we have room for Little Moon? Yes, we do.  And once we finish setting up the bunk beds, we'll have even more.

Down the Hill

Last weekend my Little Moon turned 2.5 years old.  Although I've seen pictures of him in the last month, I haven't gotten any sort of update on him since October.  This week we did get video from October, so I am really getting to know the October Little Moon...the 2-year-old Little Moon.

I think that might be why him turning 2.5 struck me as much as it did.  There's such a difference between a newly 2 year old and a child careening downhill to 3.  Just when I started to feel like I "knew" my youngest a bit, I was reminded that he's not that baby anymore. 

And the child that he is now, at 2.5, is a child I will never know either.  And while I made peace with that before I even became his mother, it still hurts a bit to know that 3 will come and go for us and, if the last week is any indication of the type of unpredictability and shiny new slow moving processes we could encounter, 3.5 might as well.

And that is my threshold right there, ladies and gentlemen.  I never imagined we'd celebrate 3 with him, but 3.5, yes, I absolutely expected him to be in a Valentine's day sugar coma with his brothers.

Then again, this is all speculation and me trying to protect my expectations from running wild with hopes of bumps in line and things clicking into place.  Because when I lay in bed at night, my heart flutters with thoughts of a surprise phone call from my agency telling me something is finally going Little Moon's way. 

So we are all careening down the hill now.  Little Moon to age 3 and all the sass and stubbornness that age brings (which will pair perfectly with intense grieving, culture shock, and communication barriers, non?) and us to a reality where things will potentially be harder, longer, and more emotionally complicated than we had expected. 

But I am surprisingly calm about these things.  I'd love to have days to get lost in Seoul, and Little Moon is being loved devotedly in his native country and language, things I hope will help shape him as he gets older.  Instead I choose to check my e-mail incessantly for days until the updated pictures come in of my precious little one posing cheekily for the camera (those can come any time now, thank you very much).  I take sadistic pleasure in cheating the gallon care package rule in any way I can.  And I drop some profanity here and there when discussing process changes with trusted friends who don't mind occasional F bombs.

So, umm...happy half birthday, Little Moon?

Always More Than a Number

There have been few IEP meetings as important as the today.  In preparation for Kindergarten, Little Bug's team (two special education teachers, two speech language pathologists, the occupational therapists, two physical therapists, one social worker, one child psychologist, and one nurse) all spent 3 months testing him daily on all aspects of life.  I was even asked to spend an hour filling out forms and rating scales and numerous other hours in interviews with various team members.

For better or for worse (and there was a lot of "worse" in the last 3 months), we all sat together today and talked all things Little Bug.  There were words like "learning disability," "delays," "failing expectations," and other words that always feel wrong branding your beautiful child with.  Words that feel wrong, but are always nothing to be ashamed of.

There were numbers.

But Little Bug is more than a number.  He is more than labels.

He is a complicated and beautiful puzzle of strengths and weaknesses.  Can he recognize letters or numbers? No.  But he can recall special details about each of his beloved friends.  Can he manipulate a glue bottle lid or pair of scissors?  No.  But he can do rep after rep of grueling physical work on balls and mats and treadmills with a smile and an "I love you, Ms. XOXO."  Can he sit still for a book at circle time? No.  But he he'd share any book from his shelf with anyone who asked, without batting an eye.  Can he speak words that everyone can understand? No.  But he tells a totally awesome "Why did the chicken cross the road" joke.

It's inevitable in life to be labeled and quantified.  Sometimes it is even necessary to help us help each other. It's not even a bad thing unless you let it be.  I will not let these things define my son when there are so many other parts of him to deserve equal attention.  Like all parts of him, I want to him to wear his weaknesses as a badge of pride.  They are things he overcomes daily and they make him a better, stronger person.

I'm proud of my boy.

To My Valentines

To my Valentine of 15 years: I love the fact this day is nothing special to us.  I don't need a day to force me to show you show much I love you, but I appreciate a day that reminds me that I need to show you how much I love you every day of the year.  Here's to doing nothing and buying nothing...we've already got everything we need and so much more, love.

To my Valentine of 6 years: The love you stir in my soul almost daily is fierce, overpowering, and a little overwhelming at times.  I'd do anything and sacrifice everything for you.  I cannot fathom a world without your smile every day.

To my Valentine of 2 years (it's funny how the months have fallen to make this only our second Valentine's Day together): You've taken my heart and woven into every fiber of it. You've given me the rare gift of being able to share with words just how much you love and need me, and that's been such a humbling experience.  I feel so lucky and so unworthy to be able to love you as your mother.  You teach me such exquisite lessons in love and forgiveness and loyalty.

To my Valentine across the world: My love for you is painful, in the best way possible.  I miss you, I need you, and my heart breaks, quite literally, each morning that I wake up without getting to touch your sweet cheeks. My love for you is forcing me to be brave, patient, and trusting.  And it's also showing me how powerful love is; to love someone with such devotion that you've never met and have no biological connection or claim on is kind of love in its purest form: hopeful and unselfish.  It feels so good, even when it hurts.

From Bother to Brother

A year ago, perhaps even 6 months ago, I would have admitted that my two sons simply were not the best of friends.  They never seemed to enjoy each others company in the way you would imagine two brothers would.  They didn't seem to be on the same wavelength, like the same things, or simply need each other.  My sister and I never got along growing up (and I mean we truly did.not.get.along.), and I pretty much chalked this one up to karma and hoped they would connect in their 20s like my sister and I did (who I now talk to every day on the phone).

But slowly, things have changed.  And the lucky part is I didn't have to wait another 15+ years!

I can't point to a moment, but slowly they started sharing interests, learning how to play together as a team, and enjoying the jokes and extra set of hands and decibels the other could provide.  I chalk some of this up to the miracle months Little Bug had where his medication was making social strides explode for him while Little Bro was getting some much needed humble pie at preschool.  They just clicked. 

Now there are moments where Appa and I will be in the kitchen while we listen to the sounds of laughter and imaginative play from the other room.  We just smile at each other in awe because we both wanted this so badly for our children and really thought it wasn't going to happen the way it has.  It's one of my favorite things about having two boys now, and it makes the anticipation for our Little Moon so much more delicious as I imagine him being so welcomed and loved by his united front of brothers.

And I am so grateful we had these moments bloom when they did.  Little Bug is having some really serious and new behavioral challenges due to us not being able to find the right medication for him after the terrible tics in November forced us to take him off his otherwise awesome meds.  These behaviors have made being friendly (or physically close) to Little Bug very hard and most of his friends have learned to steer clear.

But not his little brother.  Despite all that, Little Bro still sees Little Bug as his fun, always up for their favorite games, big brother.  Their relationship, unlike the others in Little Bug's life, isn't based on friendship, but on brotherhood.

And you don't give up on your brother.

I don't believe in fate, especially in adoption, but I do believe that love and family makes us grow into the right people for each other.  And I've watched these two little souls mold each other into better, more loving, and stronger individuals. They are better people because of each other, and together, they are a force to be reckoned with.

That makes me so happy.

New Teef

My 3 year old likes to ask random strangers if they like his new teeth.  He got a bridge recently to replace his missing front four teeth, and after a day of refusing to believe a reality existed where his tongue was so trapped, he fell in love with his new pearly whites and their magical ability to bite food in half.

He's still missing two teeth on the bottom, mind you, so he's still got his playground cred if anyone gets too close to his toys.  He regularly confirms that the dentist won't give him anymore teeth as he lovingly caresses his phantom bottom teeth.

My life is weird sometimes.

Support Group Feels

Tonight I went out of my comfort zone (both socially and temperature wise....BURRR) and went to a support group for parents of children with special needs put on by one of Little Bug's private therapy clinics.  I didn't particularly want to go because it seemed like a real downer of an evening to sit in a circle while everyone cried about how hard it is to have a special needs child.  I'd rather just have a pity party on my couch with a glass of wine and reruns of Once Upon a Time while willing time to stop until morning.

But my resolution word for the year is "move" and one of my biggest goals is to make friends with people in my immediate area who understand what it is like to wade through IEPs and schedule life around therapies and how awesome the little victories can be.  I've been realizing that while I can do this whole special needs mama gig on my own island, I don't NEED to.  I can find and build a support system.  But it won't come to me.  I will have to build it myself.

So I put on my favorite warm boots and off I went to to what I thought was a glorified special needs parenting speed dating session.

Turns out, it was just too cold for people to get off their bums, and me and one other mom ended up outnumbered by therapists and counselors and cookies.

But that hour long session went almost 2 hours as the five of us had a refreshing disucssion about the challenges of raising a child with special needs, the blessings that come with raising a child with special needs, and how we could take this "support group" and turn it into something so much more than a circle of wah.  We brainstormed topics to have the clinic bring in experts for educational sessions before the support group portion of the night.  We shared tips and resources.  We exchanged numbers and talked diagnoses and IEPs and yoga and our secret hatred of bath time.  We ate cookies.

I left feeling somehow refreshed, recharged, and yes, supported.  And I'll brave the cold next month to go back again.