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Our Miniature Mister Mischievous

3 Apr

According to J, you fell out of your crib this morning. Apparently you tried to climb out all by yourself instead of waiting for her to come get you. It didn’t end well – you may be ahead of your time, but you’re about as coordinated as every other two-year old. Which, of course, means not very coordinated. You fell pretty hard and cried.

Of course, in hearing about this, I think of your crib. And right now, in my mind, it’s hundreds of feet off the floor and it’s a minor miracle that you survived a fall of that magnitude. Welcome to the mind of a mother.

But after this, J makes a mention of a toddler bed. I’ll quote her directly, “I am so not ready for the toddler bed.” Now to be honest, I had to Google “toddler beds” because I had no idea what they were. I didn’t even know they were a type of bed until today. Basically they look like regular beds only a little smaller and with half railings along the sides. Actually, they look kind of cool, like a fort only in bed form. Sports Man has really cool bed similar to this – his actually has a tent over it. I sleep in it when I come to visit you. It’s totally cool.

Now J’s aversion to the toddler bed might be partially due to the fact that you can get out of it whenever you want to. While this sounds like a plus when compared to you trying to get out of your crib today, it also means that when you don’t feel like taking a nap, or when you wake up in the middle of the night and decide you’re bored, there is nothing keeping you in your bed or even in your room anymore. And considering your tendency towards the mischievous, freedom like that might be a little too much freedom. I love your independence, but I also don’t have to deal with you stealing Glad ware or climbing on counter tops (which, as much we’d rather you not do that, we still tend to find endearing).

But I think another reason J might not be ready for your toddler bed is because it officially makes you a toddler. And if you’re a toddler, then you’re no longer a baby. And if you’re no longer a baby then that means you’re growing up and I’m not sure if we’re okay with that. We love watching you learn and develop and change, but we also love the days when you weighed 7 lbs and we carried you everywhere. Sometimes it feels as though you were born yesterday, which would make your need for a toddler bed improbable. But I suppose if I have to choose from you falling out of your crib or being an official toddler, I’ll go with your toddler phase. But you see, one of themanyperks of being your mother is that I reserve the right to call you “my baby boy” forever. Which I will. Even when you’re in high school…and college…and when you get married…

Anyhow, I hope you’re feeling okay after your fall today. You’re as tough as they come, so I’m sure you’ve made a full recovery, unlike J who is probably still picturing you crying on the floor. Another point I’d like to make: I really, really love J. She’s the wonderful, beautiful sister I’ve never had and always wanted. And as much as I love your crazy independence (which you totally get from me), I love her just as much. So if your could maybe not give her a premature heart attack, I would really appreciate it :)

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Little Man Takes a Sick Day

2 Apr

You were so sick this day. I got a text from J on my way down to visit you that weekend – April 2, 2011 actually – that you were not feeling well. When we got there you had a fever, a runny nose and every time you coughed, it sounded like your lungs were going to come up. Anywhere you went that day, the humidifier followed (as you can see). Both J and E alternated being on the phone with the doctor’s office and the pharmacy until they finally got something called in for you and E went to pick it up. This picture is one of the many times you passed out that day.

What I remember most from this particular sick day was that I got to rock you to sleep. You would get fussy and we’d know it was a sign you were tired – thanks to being really sick, you hadn’t slept much through the night. So a couple of times when that happened, I took you into your room, wrapped you in a blanket and sat in the rocking chair in the corner of the room and just rocked you until you zonked out. You didn’t stay asleep too long – maybe 30 minutes each time. You’d get really hot and start sweating your fever out and wake yourself up. And even though I hated that you were sick, I was glad I got to be of some comfort to you.

I never got the “rocking you to sleep in the middle of the night” experience. Of course, that particular experience is accompanied by being woken up in the middle of the night in the first place which I’m sure isn’t so pleasant, but I still wanted to do it. Pop-pop 3 always told me that he loved getting up with me in the middle of the night when I was a baby. Alone time, just the two of us. Making me feel comfortable and safe and loved enough that I would be lulled back into sleep. It always seemed like such a beautiful bonding time and I’d always wanted to have it with you. Any time I stayed the weekend, The B’s would always let me put you to bed or do your late night feeding, and I loved it. I never got to use the rocking chair until this day though. The sickness was no fun, but I’ll take any opportunity I can to hold you while you’re still small enough. That certainly hasn’t changed.

Actually, you were quite the trouper that day. A couple of naps, a dose of medicine and you were ready to play! This was right after you’d gotten the hang of crawling, so you were all over the place. You did what I like to call “the army crawl” – you used your elbows and your feet to push yourself forward, no knee action whatsoever. Though I found out later that the “army crawl” is actually rather popular amongst babies learning to crawl, it was the first time I’d ever seen any baby do that. I thought it was hilarious. I got on the floor and army crawled with you. We played your toys. Aside from the bright red nose and the horrible coughs, you couldn’t even tell you were sick.

Of course, you’ve gotten sick since then. I’ve seen you on occasion with a cold or a runny nose, and when you’re sick and I’m not there, J will text me with updates on how you’re doing. I always tell her to give you kisses from me and I have no doubt that she does it. But that day was my first Little Man Sick Day experience. I can’t say I’m a huge fan. Well, aside from getting to take care of you, of course. But I know you’d rather get better, and I want what you want. Because I love you, in sickness and in health.

But for future reference, I’ll rock you to sleep any day you want me to, no matter how big you get.

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Attack of the Dream Babies

31 Mar

I’m going to tell you about a dream I have at least once every couple of months. The dream is pretty easy to explain: I’m pregnant in it. But in these pregnancy dreams, I’ve already had you – I’m pregnant again. And in these dreams, I’m always freaking out.

“I can’t do this again!”

“How am I supposed to explain this to my parents?”

“Will The B’s help me raise this one too?”

These are the thoughts that run through the mind of Dream Renee. I loved being pregnant with you. I had so much fun going to doctor’s appointments (the first and only time that has ever happened), watching my growing belly, feeling you move, finally getting to meet you…it was a wonderful experience that I loved and continue to cherish. However, it is not one I plan to repeat for a very long time, and definitely not again until I’m married, which is why this dream always terrifies me a little.

Before you, I wasn’t sure I wanted children at all. Like I’ve told you before, I was never that good with kids, and babies always cried when I held them. I just kind of deemed myself a not-kid-friendly person at an early age, and I never gave having kids much thought. But when I found out about you at that doctor’s appointment in December 2009, I suddenly knew I wanted kids. More accurately, I wanted you. But ever since then, I’ve known that I’d really like to have more kids someday, when my life and relationships are more stable. Seeing you and how you’ve turned out and knowing how much I love you has been enough to convince me of that.

But to be honest, I have no idea how this will play out where you’re concerned. I don’t know how you’d take me having more kids. Hopefully you’d be excited. Or maybe it wouldn’t be a big deal to you at all. Of course it’s way too early to think about it, but I like to worry prematurely anyways. I’m a mother. It’s in my contract.

My biggest worry is that you’d think that me having another baby would take away from my love for you. That somehow with another little presence in my world, my love would have to be spread out more thinly, that I would have to take from the love I allotted to my first child and give it to my second. You’d be wrong about that if you thought it. My love wouldn’t be spread out – it would grow, expand, multiply.

You are like a first love (literally and metaphorically). The intensity of it is so new and so real because you’ve never felt anything like it before. The whole experience changes the way you view the world, it teaches you new things, and all of this beauty and happiness you feel is linked to one, singular person. And now matter how long you are together, or how much time passes between that first love and the present day, you will forever have a special link to them. You will love people after them, but not in the same way. That doesn’t mean you love the people who come later any less – it’s just meaningful and beautiful in a different way. Nobody forgets their first love. That person leaves imprints on the heart forever that no one elses footprints will be able to match. And you, my Little Man, are unmatchable.

Though your father C was my first romantic love, you were a whole new, powerful kind of first love. And no matter who I marry or how many kids I have, you were the first. Though I certainly will love any other children I have, my love for you will be special. It will always be one-of-a-kind. Because you taught me what it was to love someone more than myself. You changed the way I saw the world, and everything that has happened since is linked with you. It always will be. I love you like I will never love anyone else. Iwilllove, certainly, and all of those loves will be unique in their own way, too. But you were the first, and that means something. Never forget it.

Also, none of this will be an issue until at least ten years from now, if not more. I’ll leave any other kids before then to Dream Renee. Though I’m sure The B’s would happily help me raise another beautiful miracle, I’m done for now. You and I will figure the rest out down the road, but right now, I love that you’re my one and only. Plus, you’re just so wonderful in every possible way, who would want to mess with success? ;)

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Daddy Dearest

28 Mar

On your first birthday, I got you a present, but I actually wrote cards to J and E. Well…they weren’t so much cards as they were letters. And maybe they weren’t so much letters as they were small novels. But either way, your first birthday was kind of like our first birthday as a family. I had chosen them and met them months before you showed up, but our families didn’t truly become one until that beautiful summer day.

Of course, J and I like to write each other all the time, and the birthday letter I wrote her was no small feat. She even wrote me one back that birthday weekend. But today, I kept thinking about the letter I wrote E.

The letter I wrote E was actually partially about my own father, Pop-pop 3. I’ll tell you all about growing up with Pop-Pop 3 one day – there’s just too much love and too much fun to fit it all in a couple of letters. He was, and continues to be, an amazing father to me. He was “the best-of-the-best” when it came to dads, as I told E. And though a lot of that is due to his constant support and constant pride and constant reminders that I am loved by him, that “best-of-the-best” title is also due to the little things.

Pop-pop 3 and I played ball all the time. Before we had a basketball goal in the driveway, he would empty out the garage and use our giant trash can as the “goal.” He would throw me pop-flies in the yard when we played baseball. He taught me how to throw a spiral football. He would play with me until it got too dark to see outside, and only then would we go back inside. He would take me out for ice cream every Wednesday in middle school, and then he’d hang out with me in the local library until I had dance class. He did a million little things for me, but they meant the most. They still do. Only now instead of ice cream, we go out for coffee. Instead of playing ball with me, he’ll change my oil or quietly help me do laundry when I’m deeply absorbed in my homework and not paying attention. Like I said…little things.

I’ve always known that he loves me to the ends of the earth. “To infinity and beyond” as we always say (thank you, Buzz Lightyear). And my dad actually had a big influence on your adoption. I wanted you to have a dad like mine. I wanted your childhood to be everything mine was – filled with love and little things. And though I would have absolutely given those things to you – pop-flies, football until dark, ice cream Wednesdays – I wanted you to do those things with a dad, too. I wanted you to have a dad who does the small things, who never lets you forget that he loves you, whose love is obvious, even when he’s not saying it out loud.

E is that dad. Just like Pop-pop 3, he loves doing those little things. I saw that even before you were born, in the way he was with Sports Man. I saw in the pictures of him goofing around with Sports Man. I saw it in the way he showed off videos of how Sports Man could read and play basketball. It is no different with you. He loves playing the same games with you over and over, no matter silly they are. He loves playing ball outside. When you were just a month old, he already had the tradition of getting up with you, feeding you and then holding you while he drank coffee on the porch.

No one has ever reminded me of my own father as much as E does, and it’s beyond heartwarming. As my letter said, every time I see the two of you together, my hearts swells so much, I swear it could burst. He doesn’t even need to tell me how much he loves you. I can see it in the small things, sometimes just in the way he looks at you. Just like Pop-pop 3. And just like me, I’m pretty sure your first word was “da-da.”

As I’m sure you already know, your laugh is famous, and it’s also one of my favorite sounds in the whole wide world. As a matter of fact, quite a few of my favorite videos of you have you laughing in them. This one is of you and E, and it’s the first time I ever heard you laugh, which is why I treasure it so much. And of course, who was the first person I ever saw with ability to make you laugh? E.

You and I are quite the pair of lucky ones to have the dads that we do. When you’re finally old enough to read this, give E a hug when you’re done. Until then, I’ll give him twice as many hugs for the both of us :)

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The Best Five Percent

27 Mar

I talked about you in class today. We were talking about teenage pregnancy and I was floored when it was revealed to me that only 5% of pregnant teenagers choose adoption. Of course, I of all people know how incredibly difficult it is to go through with it, but the small number was still surprising to me.

I piped in with my experience. How I discovered I was pregnant at 18 years old. How I had you when I was 19. How I chose open adoption and it was one of the best decisions I ever made, for the both of us. It was tough, yes. Beyond words. Even knowing how great The B’s were, it still took enormous effort not to make a mad dash to the adoption agency and demand to have you back during those 10 days that it was possible. But by the strength of what could only have been God, I was able to keep our lives – yours and mine – in perspective. To know that yours would be better off in family that could solidly provide for you in every way possible, and that mine wouldn’t end if I let you go to them. I’m still searching for the words to describe the chaos that overtook my mind and heart during those days.

It is for this reason, that I refuse to judge the other 95% of pregnant teenagers. No one can describe how unbelievably in love a mother is with her child – what it feels like to know that another life will exist because you do, what it is like to feel you kick, what it is like to see your face for the first time, to hold you for the first time, to be blissfully content just to watch you sleep. Mothers have a unique experience with their children, different from any other person who is close to them during their pregnancy. They have unique perspective and therefore a very unique love for their children. We’ve been as close to you as humanly possible – you were a part of us.

So sometimes, it just takes another mother to understand exactly what feelings of love and devotion I’m talking about. They may be teenagers, but despite whether or not they should be, they are moms, and I would like to assume that they are just as madly in love with their babies as I was – and am – with you. I would say that it’s impossible for anyone to love you as much as I do because I just love you so much, but The B’s do. I am sure of it. I can’t deny that, nor would I ever, ever want to. My love for you is simply unique. You were a part of me.

I came to the conclusion that maybe the low percentage is just because open adoption just isn’t that well-known yet. People don’t know how lucky they can get, or how happy they can be, and if they did – if it was possible to find a way to measure or encompass how blissfully happy I am to have you and The B’s in my life – that percentage would skyrocket. Open adoption is a beautiful thing, and J and I are doing what we can to get the word out about it. We have all gotten so lucky in having you and finding each other through you, and happiness like that is a thing you want to share. I want pregnant teenage girls to know that there are options. I want potential adoptive parents to have a child to give all of their love to, because they truly have so much of it to give. I want people to know that they can create extended families like ours; that one tiny, perfect person can create an entire network of love. And you are my inspiration for all of that. You are my inspiration for everything.

Just about the time that we are discussing the low adoption rate in class and all of this is running through my head, I get a notification that J has posted pictures of me. They are pictures of you and I during your last visit. Since they are pictures taken by J, they are beautiful, stunning. And since you are the subject, they seem almost ethereal. I’ve been looking through them ever since, unable to get enough of them because I love seeing myself with you. And as I look at these pictures, I remember running around and playing with you as she took them, and I’m so happy I could burst.

I believe those teenage mothers who raise their children no matter what their situation have a unique and beautiful kind of strength. But your mommy dearest is in the minority – I am one person out of the many that make up 5% of teenage girls who felt as though they could give their children something better, something more than themselves. Five percent of us who were strong enough and trusting enough to follow through. And that is what I did. But in following through, I got something more and something better out of it. I got my B’s, and we all got you. And that right there makes this the best 5% of anything I’ve ever been a part of :)

Photos by J

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Music for the Little Man Soul

24 Mar

I knew before I even got pregnant that there was one thing I wanted to do when I did get pregnant one day. I saw a television commercial – I have no idea what it was actually advertising – but it showed a pregnant woman sitting on the floor with her back against the wall, listening to a CD player. Then she took the headphones off of her ears and put the earpieces on either side of her very pregnant stomach.

I fell in love with the image. I knew that when I was pregnant, I was going to do the same thing. Maybe if I serenaded my baby with my favorite music, they would grow up with the same taste in music as me. Grandma M says it’s not true. She says she listened to smooth jazz the whole time she was pregnant with me, and I can’t stand the stuff.

So when I did get pregnant, albeit a little earlier than expected, I knew what I was going to do when my stomach got big enough. I didn’t really start showing until I was about halfway through my pregnancy and I didn’t truly get my stomach until about seven months, but when I finally got it, I broke out the headphones.

My headphones are hilarious, just so you know. I bought them at Target in high school, thinking I was “trendy” for not having the ever-popular ear buds. When I brought my Target headphones home and opened them, I realized that the cord on them was about 10 feet long, no joke. I could plug them into my iPod at the bottom of the stairs, put them on my head, walk to the top of the stairs and still have plenty of leeway to move around without moving the iPod at all. Needless to say, I stuck with my ear buds after that.

But for you, I pulled the headphones out of storage and prepared to introduce you to my favorites of the musical world. Now, I don’t really have favorite bands or artists. I will have multiple songs by the same group so I guess I technically do have favorites, but I have a lot of them, and they change regularly. I get my music from everywhere – tv shows, commercials, movie trailers, my friend’s iPods, songs I hear over the intercom in a store or a coffee shop…they say variety is the spice of life, and my iPod can prove it.

But I made what I called my Baby Playlist – my favorites, a little of everything. I made sure none of them had swear words, just in case (the mom gene was bound to kick in sometime). I even put some classical music on there since I’d heard a lot about psychological studies between classical music, kids and intelligence or attention span or something. Who knows?  Claire de Lune by Debussy is an all time favorite of mine so it was inescapable anyways.

So one lazy day, I laid down on the futon which had become my bed (I was too big to be comfortable in my tiny twin bed), plugged in my headphones, placed them around my stomach, and started the playlist. I thought about the woman in the commercial and smiled. I can’t quite find the words to describe why I think it is beautiful, but I felt so happy and calm with my growing pregnant belly, thinking about the little boy inside it. The recognition that I was pregnant washed over me again, as it often did. I loved you. Amidst all of the decisions I knew I would have to make soon, I was happy in that moment with you.

And then you started kicking the headphones. You always rolled around when I laid down – I think it disoriented you, so you would always have to readjust. But then you kept moving. You kept kicking. It never hurt when you did – occasionally you’d kick my bladder or you’d lean a little too far to the left or right and my stomach would feel uncomfortably tight, but no more discomfort than that. I loved it when you kicked.

But just in case, I changed the song. You kept kicking or readjusting or whatever it was that you were doing. I started laughing. I changed the song again, to see if maybe you were just moving to the beat. I couldn’t tell – you were just a little kicking machine. You had good aim too, right for the earpieces. I took the headphones off. After you realized the noise was gone, you calmed down again. A few minutes later I put them on and the kicking started right back up.

You hated those headphones. I suppose it could have been an aversion to my taste in music, but personally, I think I have excellent taste so that couldn’t possibly be it. Actually, the more I think about it, the more I like to think that you were just dancing.

Your musical education has been taken over by E (he has great taste, don’t worry), and I’m sure C will do what he can to influence it too. I don’t mind. I figure musical education is something that should be taken on by the musicians of the family anyways. You can be sure they’ll do a good job :)

But just so you know, here is another one of my favorites. I never really understood the lyrics until I had you – I thought it was a love song. After you were born, I realized it was…just not in the way I had originally thought. No song has ever really described how I feel about you the way this one does. It is a perfect description of my feelings for you. So despite the fact you are apparently not a fan of my musical taste, give this one a listen whenever you have time: Lullaby by the Dixie Chicks. I love you, 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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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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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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