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Pain With A Purpose

6 Mar

Believe it or not, I’ve actually been writing to you since before you were born. I used to write for an online women’s magazine called Chickspeak.com. It doesn’t exist anymore, but when it did, I wrote for the Love and Relationships section…until I discovered you, that is. Then I started a column called The Young and The Pregnant. It was actually a great way to document my pregnancy – I wrote about what I was thinking, what I was feeling, what I was going through. I still have all of them saved, and they’re really neat to read back over.

When I first started e-mailing J after we met, I told her about my column. She said she loved it. She told me about the things we had in common based on what I’d written about myself – we both love Ben and Jerry’s, we both use Jergens tanning lotion, we both love Jane Austen…the list went on.

But there was one column I’d written that particularly touched her. I read what she wrote to me about it over and over again, until I had it memorized: 

“You mentioned needing a family who knew pain, so that they would understand the pain that you were about to experience. My heart literally jumped within me when I read those words. Infertility has brought us 5 years of pain, but our two failed adoptions have brought another pain, altogether. Could the pain that we have experienced over the past few months suddenly have purpose?”

The B’s told me their failed adoption stories when I met them. My heart hurt for them when I heard those stories. I had only heard failed adoption stories in fiction, mostly on television shows. I always thought they were a little overly dramatic, but I suddenly empathized. I was having a baby. I got to be pregnant. I got to feel you kick, I got to know what it was like to love someone more than life itself before you even met them, to know that a piece of me would always exist outside myself.

There are some people who dream of experiencing that kind of love, who dream of being mothers and fathers, who want a child to love or a family to build, and adoption is the only way. Getting their hopes so high, getting so close to their dreams of parenthood or an extended family, only to have them taken away…losing a child is losing a child, whether the connection is biological or not. And considering that I could never, ever imagine losing you, I’m amazed that The B’s survived that kind of pain and disappointment. I admire any adoptive family who has had to cope with a sadness like that. My heart goes out to them.

But J was right. The pain did serve a purpose. If that adoption hadn’t failed, The B’s wouldn’t have you and we wouldn’t have them. I imagine that it is that kind of hope that keeps potential adoptive families so strong – the faith that one day, their hurt and their sadness will pay off – that even though their road is a broken one, it will lead them somewhere better than they could have ever imagined. That’s how it happened for me. Being a pregnant teenager was tough. Giving you up was the hardest, most painful thing I’ve ever done. But I got you, and I got The B’s. And that’s a happy ending if I’ve ever heard one.

So in the long run, I suppose that both of our stories – The B’s and mine – are shining examples of what can happen when you keep the faith, when you never give up, when you believe that one day something good will come from something sad. In the long run, I hope that our stories remind you to be strong on the days that you feel like life is a little too tough. But in the short run, I just want you to know that you have healed so many broken hearts. My pain is gone. You brought me to the family that cured it.

So I just want to thank you, Little Man. You are certainly a special kind of miracle.

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You, Me and C Makes Three

29 Feb

Me and C at Senior Prom

I’ve been in love three times in my life, but as of now, only two of those times will matter to you. Because one of those times was with you. The other was with your biological father C.

I don’t know if our story will ever matter to you, mine and C’s. I think it will someday. I think that eventually, how you came to be will be important to you. And the good news is that our love story is a good one – one I’m happy to retell, one I look back on and mostly think of fondly. We didn’t last, as I’m sure you will be able to tell soon enough. We are on very good terms now, even if it wasn’t always the case. And personally, I think the beginning and the middle matter much more than the end.

We fell in love in high school. We were on the high school newspaper together, so we’d known each other for about a year when we started dating. I know most people don’t believe that kids as young as we were – 17 for me, 16 for him – have any idea of what love actually means. I think it’s subjective. I think you are the only person who has the right to judge how you feel. And we certainly felt head-over-heels for each other. We said “I love you” for the first time on March 1, 2009 and every day afterwards for almost a year.

I remember one time when I was having a bad day, he took me for a drive, cranked up the loudest, most obnoxious rock song he had in his car and told me to scream as loud as I possibly could to get it all out. We both started yelling over the music and pretty soon, I couldn’t stop laughing. Another day, we went to a guitar shop (C is a ridiculously talented musician) and looked around. I could tell he wanted to play one, but we started to leave because he didn’t want to bore me. I stole his keys and wouldn’t let us leave until he played. I supported him. He cared about me. We spent the time we weren’t together texting or calling. I spent every Sunday at his house with his family. He brought me coffee to school in the mornings. We kissed and hugged and held hands. Even thinking back on it now, I find myself smiling. We loved each other.

I just think it is important for you to know that you exist because of love. Though you were unexpected, I never, ever want you to think you were an “accident.” Accident implies a mishap, an unfortunate or undesirable occurrence, and you my precious baby boy, are anything but – you are my everything. You are the result of two people experiencing first love. Two people who would have done anything for the other, who cared about each other more than anything else in the world. Two people who fall more and more in love with you every day.

True, our relationship didn’t survive my pregnancy. But that is absolutely the result of things that were done or said by us – not you. We were young, and in the end, youth can prove to be just as unstable as it is exciting. But I do believe we were in love. When we were in love, I truly thought I was done with dating – C and I were a forever kind of deal, and at the time, that thought went both ways. We truly meant it when we said “I love you,” and we still say it today – it just has a different connotation now.

If anything, our love for one another might mean even more now than it did back when we were in the first throes of love – after surviving the things that happened during my pregnancy, when there were some times when I definitely did not feel loving towards him, the fact that we still care for each other now is incredibly meaningful.

We grew up very fast – our lives were not about us anymore, and though I came to terms with that faster than he did, that knowledge definitely impacted us – it changed us both forever. But the best kind of love is that kind that changes you; the kind that touches your soul and leaves impressions that never fade and that you never forget. And wouldn’t you know, I think it’s the best thing that has ever happened to us. Because you are definitely the best thing that has ever happened to me.

There is so much more to our story. One day, if you want, I’ll tell you the rest of it, and C will help me. We’ll get to share little pieces of the love that brought you to be the gift that you are. We’ll get to relive our story – a story that was already unique and special, and now, it has the best ending of all :)

 

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The Teacher and the Student

20 Feb

Do you remember me mentioning “The Handbook?” It’s how my parents always used to explain why they did what they did when it came to me…it was “in the parenting handbook.”

Now as we’ve discussed, you did not actually come with a handbook or any other kind of cheat sheet. But before I had you, before I even really considered whether or not I wanted to be a mother someday, I just assumed that it was every parent’s job to teach their children. Of course, what you taught your children could vary, but the fact that it was your job to teach something to them was just set in stone.

This weekend, I got to watch you while The B’s went to a local tourist attraction that we have in my hometown. We watched Elmo ( a lot of Elmo), played with a toy kitchen that I had when I was little, played in the bathroom sink, played the piano and did a lot of other little stuff in between. And I got to teach you some things – how to lock and unlock the door to the porch, how to turn the lights on and off on the lawn mower (Pop-pop 3 helped with that one). True, they’re little things, but we taught them to you and you picked them up pretty fast.

I have known for a while that I have the ability to teach you things –  that thanks to your observational skills, I was a role model to you. But one of the beautiful things about a parent-child relationship, especially ours, is that the learning is not just one-sided. Believe it or not, at the young age of 19 months (as of Wednesday), you have actually taught me quite a few things too.

On a small scale, you’ve taught me a lot of little things. That climbing the stairs – over and over and over again – can be fun (when I’m not terrified for your safety). You’ve taught me that splashing around in the sink can be a rather entertaining activity. You taught me that things that aren’t designed to be play toys (i.e. measuring cups, keys, etc.) can most definitely be play toys. You taught me a new way to say “hot dog” and “tractor” (“dot dog” and “at-too”). You taught me that we should all play now and sleep later. You reminded me that I used to love Sesame Street. You reminded me that when you’re little, every day is truly a new day.

Aside from these things, I’ve also learned quite a few big, life lessons from you.

The first one you taught me was not to be afraid of babies. embarrassing as this is to admit, I was mildly terrified of infants before I had you. I thought they were adorable (like every other woman in the world), but I didn’t like holding them and if I interacted with them, I preferred it to be from a safe distance. They always cried when I got near them, and nothing scared me more than a crying infant. But then there was you and you were mine and it all went away. I learned how to change a diaper. I learned that bouncing you when you cried would calm you down. I learned that if a baby cries when you hold it, it doesn’t mean that the baby hates you or that you somehow harmed it. Even though I read a million books and Googled a million things about how to be a mother, you were the one who actually taught me. You teach me that every time I see you.

The biggest thing I think I’ve learned from having you as my son is that I should take joy in the little things in life. When you were figuring out how to turn on the lawn mower lights, you had to watch Pop-pop 3 do it a couple of times – the first time you did it by yourself, you looked up at me and gave me the biggest smile! And I found myself absolutely thrilled. I was smiling and laughing and just utterly excited…about turning on the lawn mower’s headlights. It sounds silly, but those are the things that you find happiness in.

Everything is new to you – it’s why you do things over and over again, because it’s so exciting to have figured this “new thing” out. So unlike most 20-year olds, I get excited about lawn mower headlights, and turning keys in locks, and walking up and down the stairs. To you, everything is something worth discovering, and that is a kind of magic that can be lost on adults. We forget how fun and exciting the world can be because we assume that given our age and experience, we’ve figured it all out. Seeing the world through your eyes…it’s refreshing and beautiful, in a way. And though it’s humbling, you’ve taught me that maybe I don’t know it all.

As soon as The B’s and I figure out our next rendezvous date, I’ll start counting down my days again. But until then, I’ll just think of you when I use keys or stairs or bathroom sinks. And, most likely, all of the minutes in between.

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Big Shoes, Grocery Carts and Other Things You Shouldn’t Play With

16 Feb

For your first birthday, you got a lot of presents. I got you a little baby “walker” of sorts – you had just started learning how to walk, but you couldn’t do it alone yet. You had found a solution for that problem, though: you had a thing for pushing The B’s dining room chairs around the house, so I figured I could buy you a toy that would be a lot easier to push and would have fewer damaging effects on their hardwood floor. You took to it pretty well – after falling down a couple of times and realizing that you didn’t have to push on it with quite as much effort as you pushed on the chairs, you became a regular pro with your toy walker.

 Two days later, at your birthday party, you got another similar toy. It was a miniature grocery cart – technically it wasn’t a baby walker, but it had wheels and that’s all that mattered to you. Towards the end of your party, when we were gathering up all of your goodies, you decided you wanted to walk around and since the grocery cart was the only thing with wheels, you decided it would be you “walking aid.”

 Unfortunately, you had to push the grocery cart with even less effort than you had to push the toy I got you. And since the mini grocery cart wasn’t actually built to be a learn-to-walk tool, your idea of walking around with it backfired. You pushed down on it a little hard (since that’s how you did it with your other toys) and the part you were pushing on went down and the front end of the cart went up. The front end whacked you in face just before you went down to the floor with the back-end of the cart that you were pushing on. When you rolled over, I saw that you were bleeding from where your mouth had been hit.

 I was horrified. If there was one arena in which I failed as a parent that day, it was keeping my calm and comforting you. Because, of course, you immediately burst into tears…and so did I. Being surrounded by people as I was, I held it in pretty well, but I have felt so hurt in my entire life. I picked you up and held you and hugged you and eventually handed you over to J  when none of that worked. Eventually she got you calmed down and you were happy as a clam on the way home, but I will never, ever forget that.

 Apparently, I had a similar experience when I was younger. Pop-pop 3 would always tell me about the day when I was three or four, and I decided I was literally going to walk around in my mother’s (Grandma M’s) shoes. Of course, they were too big and I tripped…right into the corner of a bench on our porch. I still have the scar on my cheek. Pop-pop 3 said it was like watching slow motion – he could see it all happening, but no super human powers could get him there fast enough to stop it. He always relayed this story to me with incredible intensity, and I never understood what the big deal was, especially since I had come through it just fine.

 I finally understood after your incident with the cart. It hurt me more to see you hurt than any physical pain has ever caused me. Even though you turned out just fine mere minutes later, I think I’m scarred for life. I would have given anything to spare you those few minutes of pain. And nothing is sadder than you when you cry. You stick your little bottom lip out and your eyes get all red and you bury your face in the nearest person’s shoulder…it’s making me feel sad to think about.

 Witnessing your child get hurt results in the strongest empathy I think I’ve ever felt.

 Therefore, you are not allowed to: fall down, break any bones, play any sport that could result in injury, use kitchen knives, be within a foot of any outlet, drive, burn yourself, handle any hot food or beverages that could burn you, eat anything that could choke you, play with anything that has claws or sharp teeth, swim in bodies of water deeper than a few inches, wear scarves (Google Isadora Duncan), or go anywhere without wearing a helmet and knee/elbow pads.

 I’m glad we had this talk. I can’t wait to see you this weekend! We’re going to have so much fun sitting in the middle of an empty room, devoid of any objects that could possibly result in you being hurt.

 Just kidding.

 But just know that every time you get hurt, I get hurt with you. I guess it comes with the territory of being absolutely, completely in love with you. I promise to get better at not losing my head anytime I see you fall or otherwise injure yourself. It’s a tough promise to make, but in the spirit of letting you figure the world out for yourself, it’s one I’ll try to keep.

 But while I try to do that, maybe you could lay low on the cart pushing, and stick to wearing your own shoes.

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The Business of Being a Brother

15 Feb

 Your biological dad, C, has two adopted siblings. He’s the oldest – he has a younger sister and a younger brother, both of whom were adopted by his parents. When C and I dated, I got to know his siblings pretty well. They’re both great kids – actually, C is about six years older than his little brother, just like you and Sports Man.

 After I had been working with my adoption agency for a while, Bethany Christian Services, they had me go through “prospective family profiles.” Moms and dads who were looking for a little one to bring home would put together “books” that would tell birthmothers a little bit about themselves. The B’s had the coolest book by far (I still have it), but one of the many reasons I chose them was actually your big brother, Sports Man.

 When I was first considering adoption, I thought that if I went through with it, I wanted you to go to a family that had no kids. I thought that a couple without kids would appreciate you more since you’d be their “first.”

 But then one day, my dad – you call him Pop-Pop 3 – made an offhanded comment about couples who already had a child. He said, “If a couple already has a child and he or she is still alive, I’d say that’s a pretty good track record.” I found it humorous, but the more I thought about it, the more truth I found in it.

 I always wished I’d had a sibling. I thought it would be fun to grow up with someone, to have someone to share secrets with or play games with, someone who would always stick up for you and have your back, someone who would never judge you too harshly, who would always be there for you – I thought it would be like having a built-in best friend. Of course, never actually having a sibling, my idea of one is rather idealized; I know siblings get annoyed with one another and fight and call each other names. But I figured the days when you’re each other’s best friend would make the rest of it worth it.

 I picked The B’s to be your family for many other reasons that I’ll tell you about some day, but the fact that you would have a big brother was definitely one of them. It was comforting for me to know that you would always have a playmate, a “partner in crime,” someone a little closer to your age who could teach you the fun stuff about being a kid. And if anyone knows about fun kid stuff, it’s Sports Man.

 Sports Man has his name for a reason – he is a sports encyclopedia. He knows stats for every NFL or NBA team. He knows who plays what positions now, who played them in the past, how many winning seasons each team has, how tall every NBA player is, how many yards every NFL player has, the history of Super Bowl wins…I am astounded by his intellect most of the time. Maybe even a little intimidated. We met him when he was six and now at eight years old, he’s only gotten cooler. He loves to play games and learn things, and most of all, he loves to do those things with you.

 And he was so, so excited to get you as a younger brother. J and E told me all about how, before he even knew about you, he would go on and on about the things he wanted to teach his little brother or sister, or the games he would play with him or her when he finally got a younger sibling. The same August your adoption became official, Sports Man had to go back to school and he cried on his first day because he didn’t want to leave you. So on the days that you two fight or get annoyed with each other, just remember – you were a dream come true to him.

 And even more than that, Sports Man was a dream come true for me. It made me feel like I could truly give you absolutely everything by placing you with The B’s. As if J and E weren’t blessing enough, I got to give you something I never had. And Sports Man is a gift to me because he is a gift to you – you love him to pieces. You follow him around and play with his toys and you want to do the things he does. Sometimes, he is the only one who can make you smile. I’ve seen him make you laugh when you’re in the middle of crying. He loves you and you love him and one day, I hope that you’ll be the closest of friends. Grown men who come home for Thanksgiving and joke about the “younger days.”

 And not only that but I got siblings out of this deal too. I got a brother in E, and I finally got the sister I’d always wanted in J. While I may not have grown up with them, I tell my secrets to J. We go shopping together and go to lunch together and talk about the future together. She is on my speed dial and we talk frequently in between visits. I swap music with E. We have our morning routine of coffee and chit chat whenever I come to your house for a weekend. He send me cute, e-mail videos of you. I share stories and joy and laughter with both of them. I love them and they, like you, are my gift.

 I suppose this means that Pop-Pop 3 does have some wisdom in him after all ;)

The first time Sports Man met you at your adoption ceremony :)

 

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To My Handsome, Little Valentine

14 Feb

Hey there, handsome little man. Today is Valentine’s Day! I know that doesn’t mean much to you yet, so I’ll tell you a little bit about it.

Today is all about love. Love for your family, for your friends, for someone special. It’s about celebrating the people in your life that cherish you, and that you cherish back. It’s about loving yourself for who you are. It’s about realizing how much love you are surrounded by, period. Again, I know this doesn’t mean much to a one-and-a-half year old, but I find it to be very convenient since I am crazy, madly, head-over-heels in love with you.

However, when most people think of Valentine’s Day, they think of romantic love, which is also lots of fun. You won’t have to worry about this until you’re at least 45, so don’t think about it too much yet. But today E may be gifting J with a card or some flowers (or vice versa knowing how creative J is). Somewhere right now, a girl is getting chocolates in a heart-shaped box and a guy is planning a romantic evening. As you get older, things like this are what Valentine’s Day will be about.

I, however, like to think of Valentine’s Day as how I said it earlier: “It’s about celebrating the people in your life that cherish you, and that you cherish back.” I don’t save my love for one person (although if there was a list, you’d be at the top…sorry everyone else!), I like to give it freely to everyone important to me – my mom and dad, my beautiful friends, The B’s.

In a way Valentine’s Day is like Thanksgiving for me – it makes me realize how many people love me and care about me. It’s a day when I realize how wide my support system is and how lucky I am to have everyone in it. I have some of the best friends in the world, friends who have known you since you were just an 8-week old ultrasound picture, who love you almost as much as I do. They have always been there for me, whenever I need them. I adore them. They make my world go round, just like you do. Never underestimate the power of support.

So on this lovely Valentine’s Day, I want you to know that if you choose to celebrate Valentine’s Day the way I do, you are going to have the world’s biggest support system to be thankful for. You will have The B’s who already love you beyond words. You have J and E’s parents who think you are one of the world’s coolest kids. You have my parents you already brag about you endlessly and have their home wallpapered with photos of you. You have my friends who ask to tag along on every visit I take to see you and swarm my house whenever you come to town. You have your awesome big brother who already loves teaching you things and playing with you. You have everyone you’ve touched along the your journey from me to the B’s.

And lastly, you have me – no matter where you go or what you do. No matter if you want to be a rock star one day and football player the next. No matter where your dreams take you or what your interests are, I will support you. I will help you reach those dreams and explore those interests. Whatever you want to do or be, I want you to do or be. I am proud of you and I always will be. It is vitally important to me that you know how much I love you. Which part of the reason I started this blog – so I can tell you every day. Not just today, which is dedicated to love, but every day I possibly can, whether I’m with you or not.

So Happy Valentine’s Day, my handsome Little Man. I’m so happy to be yours.

You and I last Valentine's Day :)

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The Coffee Prodigy

12 Feb

 This year for your first birthday, I spent the entire weekend down at your house. Your birthday was on a Friday and J had your party scheduled for Sunday, so I was there all three days. I still have the party invitation on my bedside table. J came up with a Little Man theme and hand-made every invitation and they are ridiculously cute. Remind us to show it to you someday.

Anyhow, for that Saturday and Sunday, E would come and get me up right after you woke up. He would make coffee (did I mention how much I love him?) and then the three of us would hang out until Sports Man got up and J finished getting ready. Even though you could just barely walk, you preferred crawling and I came up with a game – wherever you crawled, I would get on the floor and crawl after you as quickly as I could, like I was chasing you. You would giggle hysterically and crawl a few feet away, turn around and look at me expectantly with a smile on your face, as if to say, “Come and get me!” We played games like that all morning and I absolutely loved it. I think I got more of a kick out of it than you did.

But if there is been one thing that has been true about you since The B’s took you home, it’s that you are a daddy’s boy. Of course you love J and she loves you and Sports Man more than anything, but there have been times where the Jaws of Life probably couldn’t have pried you away from E. This happened on the morning of your party. The three of us were hanging out as usual, and E remembered that he had to spray paint one of the party decorations, so he left you with me and went out into the garage.

Needless to say, you were not happy about this turn of events. You stood at the closed garage door, cried and yelled, “Da-da!” over and over again. I tried playing my crawling game with you, dangling toys in front of you, picking you up and and bouncing you on my hip, but no dice. You weren’t having it.

Finally, I tried setting you on the counter right next to the coffee maker so that you were facing me, your tiny legs dangling over the edge. You looked over at the coffee maker, stopped crying and started reaching for it. I picked you up again and pulled the coffee maker forward (and unplugged it…sorry kid) so that you could play with it. All of a sudden, you were pressing buttons and opening and closing the hatch where the coffee goes. And not just random motions and random button pushing – you were going through the actual motions of making coffee. We spent 15 minutes “making coffee” with that unplugged coffee machine.

Being a coffee addict of the highest degree, let me just say…I’m so proud of you! But honestly, I realized something when you did that. Whenever he was home, E would get you up in the morning just like he did the weekend I was there. And every morning, he would make coffee, just like he did when I was there. He would hold you on his hip with one hand while he made coffee with the other, and you noticed that. Not only did you notice what he was doing, you noticed the specifics of it.

I know it sounds weird, but this kind of blew me away. I know that babies observe their surroundings and that they learn by doing, but I had never seen it in action before. It’s common knowledge that children watch and mimic their parents, but this was the first day I realized that you had the ability to learn from me. That simply by being around you, I could be having an impact on you. And maybe, one day, you could learn things from me, too.

Apparently, I was right sooner than I thought. My impromptu crawling game became your new favorite game to play for the next few weeks and even though it was small and silly, it made my day when I heard about it -that something I had done had stayed with you, especially something fun that made you smile. That in some small way, I can still be with you even when I’m not. I hope all of the things you learn from me make you that happy. That’s one nerve wracking thing as a parent – knowing that you’re somebody’s role model, ready or not. But I want you to know that I am going to try so, so hard to be a positive influence on you. I am going to do my absolute best to make sure that the things you learn from being around me are all good things. I want you to be proud to call me mom.

And thanks to E’s morning ritual, you’ve already got one “good thing” down pat.

Teach Little Man to make coffee: check.

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