Archive | March, 2012

The Little Man Language

20 Mar

Being the expert that I am at language development (a.k.a. there was a chapter on it my developmental psychology textbook), I know that you are currently in the “babbling stage.” Babbling starts around four months old, but once word comprehension kicks in (around nine months), the desire to converse with others gets really strong. Toddlers want to talk to other people and they want to be understood, which is partly how and why language develops at all. Well you have been talking for ages and you are definitely ready to be understood.

 Quite honestly, I don’t understand half of what you say (sorry, I’m working on it!), but even so I love listening to you. Every now and then I catch a real word or something that sounds something like a real word and I’ll try to find the meaning in the things you say, but you don’t seem to be too concerned with whether or not I “get it.” If it’s really important to you that I understand, you gesture or motion for it – you’ll point at something you want or you’ll run to the door when you want to go outside or you’ll hold your arms up and you want me to pick you up.

 One of my favorite gestures that you do is actually one you do when you’re upset. I know that sounds horrible and I truly do hate it when you’re upset, but you do this thing where when you’re just frustrated or mad, you’ll hit yourself in the forehead with your hand. Sometimes, you’ll throw your head back and cover your face with both of your hands, like you’re just so fed up. Nothing like a little flair for the dramatic, right?

 Although you do gesture a lot when trying to get your point across, there are a couple of words I never have to guess on. “Doggy” is one. “Up” is another. You’ve also got names down pretty well. “Mama” and “Daddy” are always clear. You even say C’s name with pretty good clarity, which I learned this weekend and was highly impressed by. You are good with nicknames too – Nay-Nay for me, Bubby for Sports Man, Pop-Pop for my dad…the list goes on. That’s not the only way in which you are impressive: My psychology book actually says that toddlers don’t start putting together two-word sentences until they’re two, but I have heard from J that you have been putting sentences together for ages now. Not that that’s surprising – you are incredibly smart after all. Not that I’m biased.

 My favorite thing about your little language? Your translators. J and E understand you like no one else. Every time you’d just talk and I would be smiling and listening and not at all comprehending, J would turn to us and say, “Oh, he wants to go outside,”  or “He wants to play with the video camera.” It must be an acquired skill (one that I’m working on, I promise) to understand the Little Man Language. Eventually, when you would be adorable and just babbling on and on, I would turn to J and she would tell me that you were talking about your cousin or I’d shrug my shoulders at E and he would silently get up and get you your bouncy ball because he understood that’s what you had asked for. It’s a talent. You should probably take them everywhere, just for purposes of clarity.

 I started getting pretty good at it by the end of your trip this past weekend. I’m better at understanding your body language, but I’m picking up on the words. J helps me cheat – every now and then she’ll send me a text or E will send me a video of a new word you’ve learned and how you say it. That’s how I learned that “at-too” was “tractor” and “pickoo” was “pickle.” Either way, I still love listening to you. One day, you’ll have a little boy voice and then a man voice and I’ll reminisce on the days when your babbly baby voice would just go on and on and on. I promise to listen to you forever, no matter what you have to say or how you say it. I’ve loved listening to you since your very first word (which I think was “da-da”). That will never change.

 But I’m glad to see that you’ve gotten something from me other than your eyes. I have the uncanny ability to talk and talk and talk, sometimes without realizing that no one understands me either :)

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The Games Adults Play Too

19 Mar

I’ve never given it much thought, but I’m sure if I tried, I could come up with the best 10 days of my life. Great days spent with friends, days I’ve done things I’m proud of myself for, days filled with moments too meaningful to forget. Your birth would top the charts, of course. Actually, most of those days would involve you. And if I decided to make this list, yesterday would probably be on it.

You were in town almost all weekend. My entire Sunday was spent with you, but The B’s let me get in a little Liam time on Saturday night when they surprised me at work! I have a slight tendency to show you off when you’re around so you always have a lot of fans at my restaurant. You ran around the lobby, made faces at Sports Man through the windows, and blew me kisses good-bye. You didn’t stay for long – the ice cream shop was calling – but as you were leaving you said, “Bye Nay-Nay!” It brightened up my whole day.

Yesterday, we just played all day. We played on the lawn mower in the garage. We played with the dog. We ran around outside and played with bouncy balls. We played with my old toy kitchen. We even played with my video camera (which you have a tendency to steal and keep). But my favorite games are the ones that are so simplistic that most people wouldn’t even consider them games. The most ironic thing – they’re the ones you love the most.

You and I have a couple of games we play together. They’re so silly that I’ve never actually come up with names for them, but we’ll call this one The Chair. What you do is that you run down the hallway in my parent’s house into their bedroom. In their bedroom, they have a big, squishy, yellow Lazyboy rocking chair. You run down the hallway and straight into it, always on purpose. Then you run over to their bed, turn around and wait for me to do the same thing, which I always do. Then you laugh hysterically, turn around, run back down the hallway into the living room and fall down on the floor – again, on purpose. I follow you and do the exact same thing. Then we lay on the floor and laugh and the whole process is repeated. You love it. Every time I see you run down the hall and out of sight, I know I’m being summoned.

Another game is one we made up yesterday. You would throw your “lovey” (the blanket you sleep with) into your portable crib and then run over the bed right across from it. I would get the lovey, throw it over your head so that you couldn’t see and then I’d run around pretending like I couldn’t find you. You would pull the blanket off your head – ever so dramatically – and then I’d “spot you” and give you a huge hug, ever so relieved that I found you. You would just laugh the whole time. We played that game for a solid 20 minutes yesterday. We can call it The Lovey Game.

I love making up games like that. I love that the smallest things – a face I make, a noise I make, something silly that I do just to make you laugh – turn into your favorite things. It’s so easy to make you happy and when you’re happy, so am I. That’s why my days with you are my favorite, why my visits with you would easily make the list of the best days of my life – because I spend them with the happiest baby boy I know, which makes me the happiest girl around. I smile all day, I laugh all the time, and I learn new things when I’m around you. I watch kid shows and I play silly games and I get to be a kid with you. Although I know I am young relatively, you keep me youthful. I would try to tell you how happy you make me, but I don’t think they’ve invented words for a quantity that large yet.

Another game we play is called the Smelly Feet Game. I would tell you about it, but I think I’ll just show you instead :)

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I’ll See You in the Morning Time

17 Mar

Do you want to know where you are at this very moment? On your way to my hometown for a visit!

Sadly, the restaurant I work for gets rather aggravated at me when I ask off for Saturdays, so I have to work tonight. But my tomorrow belongs to you! Once you get into town The B’s are taking you to visit C and his family and then you’re off to a St. Patrick’s Day party. Knowing The B’s’, you’ll be decked out in green. I’m kind of hoping for a leprechaun outfit myself.

I love that you’ll be in town, though. The closer you are to me, the happier I am. Even though I do have to work tonight (which I’m seriously bummed about), knowing that my entire day will be spent with you tomorrow should make even the crabby customers more bearable. I guess it’s a type of magical power you possess – mere proximity to you and the anticipation of seeing you makes me feel lighter than air. I’m so excited!

Not to mention that it’s a whole new picture and video-taking opportunity for me. Every one of your visits is expertly documented, don’t you worry. Every time I see you, a new folder pops up in my Picture file on my computer. Like I’ve said before, between me and E’s videos and J’s pictures, you never have to worry about being able to look back on your childhood.

I can’t wait to see my goofball (hence the pictures). I’ll see you tomorrow, baby boy :)

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The Sports Man Cure

16 Mar

Everybody loves kids. They’re cute and (mostly) sweet and they’re curious about everything. They open our eyes to a world that has just become the norm to us – they help us to see the colors and wonders of it all over again. They have an aura of innocence, they love to play and their miniature size just adds to the whole cuteness package.

I never thought I was good with kids. Your Aunt S is a natural. Every kid she comes into contact with loves her, and I’ve always been jealous of her for it. She says the right things, she tells the right jokes, she knows what games to play, she can make them up on the spot…I truly think it’s a gift. Being good with kids is something I feel like must come naturally. I was not naturally endowed with that particular gene. Me around kids is a mildly awkward experience to witness. I’m the baby of my family. I never had any kids to practice on.

You are miraculously a different story. Of course, you are also as much of a “go-getter” as an almost-twenty-month-old can be, so I never have to come up with games because you always know what you want to do. I love playing with you. It can be exhausting because unlike me, you never seem to get tired. But I love, love, love it. Even doing the smallest things, even doing them over and over again, so many times that you’d figure I would get bored. I don’t – you’re so happy when you play and anything that makes you happy makes me happy. When I’m around you, I don’t even think about whether or not it seems “natural.” Being comfortable around you just…happens. That makes sense to me, though. I figure sharing 50% of my DNA with you helps.

It’s kind of embarrassing to admit, but I was sonervous to meet Sports Man. Before I met him, before you were born, The B’s were over at my parent’s house for a day visit with me and they brought some videos of him (see? Videos just run in the family). There was one of him reading, one of him playing basketball, one of him getting an award for basketball, and a couple of others. He seemed like a really cool kid. He seemed like a really smart kid. Smart enough to see right through someone who had no idea how to deal with kids. I was afraid he would think I wasn’t fun.

As per usual, when we finally met, he took right to Aunt S. He still loves her to this day and the whole family has a joke about Aunt S and her crazy hugs, because Sports Man always tries to resist them which only makes her try to give them more. Her instant awesomeness with Sports Man only made me more nervous. Writing this now I realize how funny it must seem that I was so nervous about the impression I was going to make on a 6-year-old.

However, when I got to know Sports Man I remember thinking, “He’s like a miniature adult.” This could be true of all kids I suppose, but I meant it in a different way. He talked about statistics. He talked about sports. He knew how to work an iPod. He knew how to navigate the internet. He knew how to operate a Wii and a DVD player. He knew how to read and he loved school. Of course, he was still a kid – he still loved to play and he still acted like a 6-year-old, but he was the most adult 6-year-old I’d ever met.

So I just talked to him. Actually, I asked him questions. Lots of questions.  Mainly because he actually seemed to know a lot more than I did about quite a lot of things. I remember coming to The B’s house for a weekend and I spent at least 20 to 30 minutes in Sports Man’s room with him, talking about college basketball teams and looking at his books. When he comes over, I look at the new games he has on his iPod because chances are, I’ve never heard of them. We like to FaceTime each other while we’re in the same room. We show each other YouTube videos. He’s almost like the friends I see on a daily basis, only smaller and way more knowledgable about the NFL.

I haven’t been nervous around Sports Man in a long time, since the first time I met him. I don’t worry about whether or not I’m “fun” enough around him. I don’t worry about whether or not he thinks I’m cool. For lack of a better term, Sports Man and I just…hang out whenever we’re together. We chat, we goof around, we talk sports, we swap info on games or movies or books. You definitely have the coolest brother ever, cooler than anyone else’s brother. Possibly cooler than me, but I won’t make that statement definitively for the sake of my own pride. But he’s taught me quite a bit, about a lot of stuff, but mostly about myself. You cured me of my fear of babies. He cured me of my fear of kids. He’s going to teach you a lot, I know it.

If anything, you should heed his warnings about Aunt S’s hugs. They really can be mildly terrifying.

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Education, Preparation and Kinda-Sorta-Parenting

14 Mar

I am a psychology major. This phrase is almost second nature to me, because I get asked a lot – “Oh you’re in college? That’s wonderful! What is your major?” It comes with the territory of going to school; it’s an icebreaker, an easy topic of conversation. You’ll know what I’m talking about one day.

 Honestly, I have no idea what I’m going to do with it. Honestly, I just majored in it because I found it interesting, not because it promised any flourishing career choices. Honestly, I want to be a writer. But I actually get up in the morning looking forward to my day. I am always excited to sign up for classes. I’m a certifiable nerd and I love it. Because I find psychology interesting, I retain almost all of the information I learn.

 This semester, I am taking Developmental Psychology. I actually had an exam today on cognitive developmental theories, language development and emotional development in infants and toddlers. I know…it sounds SO exciting. Actually, developmental psychology was not a class I ever thought I would be all too interested in. But now, I’m scrambling to learn all that I can. Why? Well, you of course!

 Yesterday, I wrote you a letter about how your were fascinated with blowing raspberries. That once you learned how to, you didn’t stop for weeks. Last night while studying for my exam, I learned that was called a “circular reaction” – when babies learn they can do something and then do it over and over again.

 I know that big college words mean nothing to you right now (because on occasion, they mean very little to me), but I almost feel like I’m cheating on my imaginary parenting test by learning all of this stuff about little ones. It’s neat, though – it’s like getting a glimpse into your mind and how you learn and what you understand. I am becoming well versed in toddler-ese and secretly, I’m hoping that this class, with my knowledgeable professor and tell-all textbook, will  teach me even more ways to connect with you. I might even be hoping that it teaches me how to parent.

 Truthfully, sometimes I wonder if I can consider myself a parent. The title of mother comes with being pregnant and giving birth to you and loving you like crazy, but there are times where I don’t feel as if I’ve earned the “parent” title. Why? Well because it IS something you earn. Being a parent is something you learn by doing, and technically, I don’t think I’ve done it yet.

 Another reason I’m not sure I can be considered a parent? Because the idea of parenting still terrifies me to no end.

 I can’t imagine the pressure of being  parent – you’re responsible for another life. Someone is looking up to you, whether you’re admirable at the time or not. Someone is following your example with no regard as to whether or not it’s worth following. Understanding the impact you have on your child…that’s the biggest parenting scare to me. How you treat them, how you talk to them, whether or not you support one thing over another, the smallest decisions or reactions…it shapes their lives. What kind of parent you are can make or break your child; I’ve seen the results.

 But the thing is, I still mess up. I still make mistakes. I still swear in traffic and wake up late and leave dishes in the sink for days. I’m not perfect yet. I don’t see a day when I will ever be perfect, but I still want to be a parent, and the two seem mutually exclusive. I always imagined you had to be past the “messing up stage” before you could be responsible for getting someone else through it. That’s the kind of parent I wanted to be anyways.

 I am your mother. And one day, I hope you will look up to me and follow my example and come to me for advice. But right now and forever, The B’s are your parents. They are responsible for all of the stuff that scares me and they seem to do it effortlessly, fearlessly. I’m over here with my Developmental Psych textbook, praying that the information I learn will somehow prevent me from accidentally screwing you up for life, and they’re over there just…being parents, not seeming to worry about whether or not they’re doing it right, and you are the happiest baby I’ve ever met. I don’t know how they do it, but I admire them.

 Even amongst my doubts that I can be considered one, I hope you see me as a parent. I hope that one day you see me as a role model. The only reason I’m afraid to be one is because I want to be the best one I can be for you. I want to be the best shining example of love and support possible. I want to be everything you will ever need. I want to say the right things at the right time. I want to be perfect for you. I know it’s not possible, but I want you to know that even though I can’t be perfect, I will do my best for you. I will overcome my parenting fears for you. I will stop worrying about doing it right and just love you instead. Maybe that’s all it takes. Either way, you deserve it.

 But until then, don’t mind the big, heavy textbooks that I lug around with me and stay up late reading at night. A little education and preparation never hurt anyone, right?

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The Proof of the Goof

13 Mar

You have had your own personality since you were old enough to hold your head up on your own. I  know that everyone says their babies have little personalities, and I don’t doubt it.

 You’re a goofball.

 I don’t think there’s another word for it. You’re just goofy. You think it’s hilarious when people smell your feet. You pushed chairs around the house when you were learning how to walk. You like to climb on the counters when J isn’t looking. You make silly faces and thoroughly enjoy doing anything that makes other people laugh.

 That’s one of the countless things that I love about you – even at your very young age, you already enjoy making people happy. Actually, you love it when other people are happy. Other people smiling makes you smile. Laughing people make you laugh. And of course, you smiling, laughing or being happy makes everyone around you light up. You’re contagious.

 When you were about six months old you started one of your many goofy habits that you still do occasionally today. We adults like to call it, “blowing raspberries.” At least, that’s as close as I can get to describing it. You loved doing it. Maybe it was just fascinating to figure out you had a tongue, but for whatever reason, you did all the time for quite a while. Every now and then you’ll throw one out there and we’ll all get a good laugh out of it, and you’ll smile a mischievous smile knowing that you’re entertaining. And then you’ll do it again.

 But until those times, I have this video. Stay goofy :)

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Thank You Uncle Kevin

12 Mar

Yesterday, I started to tell you about meeting The B’s for the first time (June 1st, 2010 as I was informed by J). Lots of crying, one good hug and a box of Atlanta Bread Company cookies later, I was sitting at a conference room table, seated directly across from the man and woman who were to become your mom and dad.

It’s weird to look back and realize how little I knew about them then. I didn’t even know their last name at the time we met. I didn’t know where they lived. I don’t actually remember what started off the conversation that day. I know my counselor facilitated the introductions. I also know that once we started talking, we didn’t stop.

J and E asked how C and I ended up together. They asked about our story and our history, and in return we asked them about theirs. I remember learning that E sent J a 20 page love letter at one point. I learned that for a while, they had all of their dates in the middle of the night because of the hours that they worked when they first started dating. I learned that they were married in November, the same month as my parents. J and E had been married for eight and a half years when I met them. Their tenth anniversary was last year.

We talked about what led me to adoption – how I had found Bethany, why I thought adoption was the right choice, etc. We talked about my past – what I did in high school, how I was enjoying college, what I was talented at, what I loved. I remember telling them that I loved writing, that I was good at it. J and I revealed how we had each always wanted a sister. They asked C the same questions – he and E instantly bonded over music. We could have been there the whole rest of the day if we had let them continue to talk about it.

I remember a couple of things very vividly, though. One of them was when we talked about The B’s failed adoptions. They had been through three, and though I’m sure each one hit just as hard as all the others, the first one was the one I remember. They had grown very close to the birth mother. The B’s family had met her family. They had invited her up to E’s hometown for Thanksgiving. She had gotten to meet Sports Man. They had painted their nursery pink in anticipation of the arrival of a baby girl. They got the phone call that she had decided to keep her baby on the day they had planned to go pick the baby up.

J teared up telling me the story. My heart broke for them. I can only imagine that kind of pain and disappointment – like the world fell out from beneath you and you couldn’t get your footing back. Or maybe it just stopped turning because it couldn’t possibly go on after it had dealt a blow like that, but you were the only one to realize it. I tried to empathize with that kind of devastation, but I don’t think I got anywhere close to how it must have felt. But what I did realize was just how much love this family had for a child they had never met, and how much acceptance they had for a girl who wasn’t technically family.

Which brings me to the second thing I remember very well: a story about one of E’s uncles, Kevin. E’s mom had a sister. This sister met and fell in love with a man named Kevin, and one day, he proposed. Sadly, during their engagement, the sister died suddenly in a tragic accident. The family, Kevin, everyone was devastated. But his family kept in touch with Kevin and he stayed in touch with them. Eventually, he met someone else and married her. They had kids together. But to E, he is still Uncle Kevin. He still comes to The B’s family gatherings. They still consider him family. I’ve actually met him – he came to Sports Man’s 7th birthday party.

They told me this story to try to tell me something else – that I didn’t have to be related to them to be a member of their family. That I didn’t have to be related to them through blood or marriage to be an integral part of their life. That their hearts and arms were open to anyone, and that they didn’t just want me to be “the birth mom” – they wanted me to be Renee, a member of The B’s. They wanted my family to be part of The B’s. Because you would link us all. You would forever be part of my family because you are part of me. You would be part of their family because you would belong to them and their hearts would belong to you. You would take two families and make them one. One month and twenty-two days later, you did.

The day I met The B’s was the first day I felt as though adoption could really work. Until then it had been this intangible thing, this unknown entity that could go up or downhill. I came into that meeting with a list of questions that I had spent days putting together, ready to make sure that “these people” were good enough to be your parents, and I didn’t use it once. They were better than I could have hoped for. Just by getting to know them, my mind and heart were put at ease. My fears were soothed.

My prayers were answered.

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I Think I Can, I Think I Can, I Think I Can…

11 Mar

Oddly enough, I don’t remember the exact day I met The B’s. I don’t remember the day of the week or the time or even the actual date itself. It was at the very beginning of June, but that’s all I can remember. I find that weird – I generally remember the huge days in my life, and this was definitely one of them.

We met at the adoption agency in my hometown. Bethany Christian Services has offices all over the U.S. and there was one near where The B’s live, too, but they decided to come to me. My counselor told me that it would be good for C to meet them as well, so he was set to be there, too.

I got there a little early. I sat in my car for a very long time, hands on the wheel, staring out the windshield. To an outside observer, it probably looked as though I was getting ready to drive away. Subconsciously, maybe I was. Meeting The B’s made it real. It made the fact that one day you would leave me, real. Too real. More real than I think I was ready for. But pregnancy is a “ready or not” kind of situation, so I got ready. I had to. I was going to meet these people and I was going to be poised and sophisticated when I did it.

When C arrived he got me out of the car and walked me inside. I hadn’t seen him since mid-April so the fact that he was there felt like another weight, just adding on to the heaviness of the day. I know that sounds weird, but that’s what I felt like that day before I met them – heavy. Tired. Not physically, but mentally. I knew that the day would emotionally exhaust me because it was a pinnacle, a turning point. The day when I would finally have to come to terms with the fact that you would not always be mine. That in and of itself was so sad to me, it almost kept me in my car the whole day.

I walked inside and my counselor led me to the conference room where everyone was set to meet. I was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. It was like a tidal wave – looking back I can almost see it in a physical form, just rushing at me. I started to cry. I started to cry a lot. I ran outside the office and into the stairwell. I leaned against the wall, cradled my stomach, and cried some more. I couldn’t stop. I remember trying to steady myself…taking deep breaths, forcing up a dam for the tears. I felt so ridiculous for being so emotional.

I didn’t want to meet The B’s like this. I didn’t want to meet them with tears streaming down my face, with red puffy eyes, with a demeanor that always seemed to be on the verge falling apart. I wanted to be cool, calm and collected. I wanted to be strong. I wanted them to like me. I didn’t want to scare them. I knew that all adoptive families must be afraid of failed adoptions and a birth mother who’s bawling during the first meeting about the impending separation from her child…not generally a good sign. I wanted to make a good impression. I would not meet them like that. I just wouldn’t.

Eventually I calmed myself and came back inside. Our meeting started about 30 to 45 minutes late due to the crying jag, but when they walked in, I think I looked alright. My very first thought was, “They look just like their pictures.” They had brought a box of cookies from Atlanta Bread Company. They hugged me to say hello instead of shaking hands. This was my first experience with a hug from J – as I’m sure you’ve learned, they’re the best hugs in the world. So tight and full of love that you can’t doubt the power and strength behind them or the woman who gives them.

I won’t lie – before that hug, my guard was up. I was already on the defensive walking into that conference room, ready for some sort of two-way interrogation. I didn’t know what to expect. Being vulnerable was not and has never been something that I am comfortable with, but I had never felt more vulnerable in my life than I did at that point. I had been a mess all day, I had just spent the past 20 minutes crying and C…well, he was not supportive at all to me at that point in time. I felt very alone, surrounded by people I didn’t feel as though I could truly lean on. I remember wishing for my mommy.

Of course, as would be the first of many times, my worries were proven to be pointless in the face of The B’s. I felt peaceful after that first “J-hug.” I’ll tell you all about our actual meeting in tomorrow’s letter, but I want you to know this – you were the reason I was strong enough to get out of that car. You were the reason I was able to put on a brave face. You kicked me the whole time I cried that day. Knowing that you were there…that day you reminded me that there are things worth being brave for. This certainly turned out to be one of them. You are certainly one of them.

Or maybe you were just kicking me because you were so ready to meet your new family. I like that explanation, too :)

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This I Promise You

9 Mar

Everybody makes promises. That’s one thing you’ll learn as you get older, and it’s something you’ll hear a lot. “I promise you…this.” When you’re little you put a lot of stock into what people promise you. When you get older…maybe not so much. My hope for you is that you never learn to be cynical like that. I hope that people never prove you wrong or let you down.

 But just in case, here’s the deal – there are a lot of people you will never have to worry about trusting: The B’s for certain. Pop-Pop 3 and Grandma M, definitely. Your multiple aunts – my many, many friends – will always be a solid shoulder to lean on.  And lastly, me. I will always be honest with you. I will always be dependable.

 So in the spirit of that, I would like to make you a few promises I will always, always keep.

 I promise to comfort you when you’re sick.

 I promise to try to cheer you up whenever you’re upset.

 I promise to take you out for ice cream during the summer.

 I promise to pick you up when you fall.

 I promise to visit as often as humanly possible.

 I promise to come to as many school plays, concerts, recitals or games that I can.

 I promise to support you no matter what you choose to do or be.

 I promise to show naked baby pictures to your girlfriends (oh yeah, I’ve got ’em).

 I promise to answer all the questions you ask me truthfully.

 I promise to be there for you and for all of The B’s.

 I promise to love your family because they are my family.

 I promise to be there to bounce ideas off of when you have a big decision to make.

 I promise to brag about you to everyone I know (I’ve already started on that one…)

 I promise to learn how to cook so that I can make you home cooked meals some day.

 I promise to help E educate you in music. Actually, I promise to tell C that he should help E educate you in music.

 I promise that one day, you’ll be proud of me.

 I promise to listen before I react.

 I promise to try to learn everything about you that I can.

 I promise to love you forever.

 One of the biggest, most important promises I will make you is this: I promise to put you first, before anything or anyone else. You are the most important thing to me. No one will ever take your place. No one will ever matter more. You are at the top of list, you take the cake, you’re number one…and whatever other clichés there are to say, “You have won me.” My heart is yours along with the rest of me. It has been for years now.

 The list is going to go on. I’m going to add to it for the rest of my life, and I want you to know that I’ll keep them, every single one. And I also want you to know that I’ll never makes ones I think I might go back on. I want to be someone you trust. I want to be someone you will never be afraid to depend on. I will be here for you, no matter what.

I promise.

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It’s Not What It Looks Like…

8 Mar

There is a phrase that says, “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” Basically, it means that different people find different things or people to be attractive. This goes for babies too – every parent thinks that their child is the most beautiful child in the world. I know that’s how I felt when you were born.

But there is one things that a lot of moms and dads-to-be do that I didn’t really do when I was pregnant – try to imagine what you’d look like. Sure, I wondered about the hair color and the eye color, but that’s about it. I marvelled over your profile picture that I received after your 20 week ultrasound, but even then, I just figured that you were you and you’d turn out how your were meant to.

The only thing I actively remember thinking is that I hoped you would get C’s eyes. His eyes are this really pretty green color, and one of them even has a brown spot in it, making his eyes very multi-colored. Sometimes they look blue in the sun and or dark hazelnut in darker lighting. I always thought they were very, very pretty.

It took your eyes a while to decide, but they are most definitely brown – the color of my eyes. Your eyes are a very rich brown color, like a dark honey, full of wonder. I have to say…I was so excited. I was so excited your eyes turned out to be brown. Actually, your eyes turned out to be mine, period. That what I always hear from other people – “he has your eyes.” I never get tired of hearing that, to be honest.

Of course, you are a compilation of both me and C. You most certainly have my eyes, but you have C’s mouth. The rest of you is just…you. Especially your chin – your little cleft chin has been popular from day one, and although I have a slight dimple and some members of C’s family claim that his grandfather had one, I think it’s uniquely yours. In the beginning when I would come to visit you, you would always look a little more like one of us – “He looks a lot like C today” or “I see a lot of you in him today.”

And funny enough, there are times when I think you look like E. In your Christmas card this past year, I look at E holding you and I could see a resemblance – something in the face shape or the smile, I don’t actually know. But I’ve always had a theory that the more time you spend around someone you love, the more you look like them. Or maybe The B’s love for you is just so powerful, it radiates in that kind of way. Who knows? But I have seen pictures of you and Sports Man as babies and you both look incredibly similar. It was obviously meant to be :)

But I’ll admit it – I love it when people say you look like me. I love it. In the end, I am fully aware that you are you and no one else, but I like to claim whatever parts of you that I can. I like being associated with something as beautiful as you. Sometimes, it’s nice to be reminded that even though you will never call me mom, I had something to do with your existence. I took part in creating you, in bringing you here.

I feel proud to have taken part in who you are, even if it’s just the eyes. It’s another way that makes me feel as thought I will always be with you even when I’m not, and we all know how much I like to feel as though I’m always with you.

And don’t listen to those other people with their kids…you so obviously are the most beautiful baby in the world.

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