What’s In a Name…

22 Feb

I remember trying to pick your name. My parents have a couple of baby naming books, and one I day I pulled one off the shelf and started flipping through it. I wrote down all the names that I liked, and by the end of the book, I had about 7 or 8 names on my list. A few of them were eliminated pretty quickly but, as you might have gathered, Liam was on the top three. I ran it past C one day and he liked it too. It means “warrior” or “strong protector.”

The day I met J and E, we talked briefly about names towards the end of our meeting, and I mentioned Liam. J was excited – apparently, she had just talked to her mother about that name not that long before I mentioned it. However, The B’s had decided that if they ever had another boy, they would name him Hudson. After you were born, even though we had planned to name you Liam Hudson, they were going to call you by Hudson. But you were Liam in the hospital and you were Liam to the adoption agency and it stuck. Maybe that’ll change down the road. But either way, the fact that The B’s and I chose your name together has always meant a lot to me.

My name means “reborn” or “born again.” Supposedly I was named for a song that was played at my parent’s wedding, but I think it’s a very fitting meaning for me. My mom also told me that she liked Renee because it was difficult to get any sort of nickname out of it, and she didn’t want me walking around with any goofy “half-names” or anything.

And yet…

Children can’t pronounce the letter “R” very well, so when I started daycare, instead of going by “Renee,” it ended up just being “Nay” and then eventually “Nay-Nay.” It didn’t go away. For my 16th birthday, a friend of mine even gave me a licence plate that read, “Nay-Nay.” It’s still on my car today. Sorry, mom.

However, I find that I’ve become even more fond of my accidental nickname, because that’s what you call me.

I always wondered how the name thing was going to work. Whenever I brought up adoption to others, one of the FAQs was, “What is he going to call you?” I hated that question. Among the many wonderful aspects of adoption, I always felt as though that was going to be one of the not-so-nice strings attached. I knew that if you went up for adoption, I would spend the rest of my life watching you call someone else “mom,” and I didn’t really know what to do with that. But J had offered to share motherhood with me – that, coupled with the fact that you were quite a ways off from speaking, I figured it was enough and I let it go.

But then you grew up and, of course, the talking began. I’ll admit, the first time I heard you say “mama,” I immediately looked up and turned to you – it was just a reflex, I suppose. Only when I looked up, you weren’t looking at me. You weren’t reaching out for me. It wasn’t me that you wanted…it was J. I went to the bathroom and cried.

It was the one and only time I was upset by it. I had known it was coming, I had known I was going to have to come to terms with it. And if you’re going to call anyone other than me “mom,” I wouldn’t want it to be anyone else but J. That is what I focused on after that day – the fact that the woman you were calling “mom” was one that I loved, one that was strong and beautiful and wise and fun. One that loved me and loved you. One that I’m sure would have held my hand in the bathroom that day if I’d asked her to. I didn’t. I was afraid it would make her uncomfortable, but looking back I’m sure it wouldn’t have been. She loves me too much to let it matter. She told me once that she thinks of me as “her Renee,” which is one of the many reasons I am so glad you call her “mom.”

You call me “Nay-Nay” now. The B’s have been showing you pictures of me since you were only nine or ten months old, and when they point to my pictures they say, “That’s Nay-Nay!” Like usual, you caught on pretty fast – when I came to visit you for Christmas this year, I had barely been in the door for 10 seconds and you looked over at me and exclaimed, “Nay-Nay!” My heart felt so big, I thought it would burst. I feel as happy when you call me that as I would have if you called me “mom” because the most important thing is that you know me. You know who I am and I mean enough to you for you to remember me. And for now, that’s all that matters. That’s enough for me.

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In Case of Spontaneous Memory Loss

21 Feb

When I turned 14, my parents birthday present to me were my baby videos on VHS (I got a cell phone too, but that’s not the moral of the story). I know it sounds anti-climactic for a teenager’s birthday present, but I was thrilled with the videos. I had only known the older me, the me I was then – I had always wanted to know what I was like as a kid. Of course, Grandma M and Pop-Pop 3 had kept very detailed photo albums, but videos are different. You get to see yourself in action, you get to witness your personality instead of hearing about it second-hand.

In my first baby video, I threw up. Everywhere. It wasn’t exactly the romantic notion of my “adorable” baby videos like I had imagined. But luckily, that one was followed by cuter ones – I remember one of me laughing in my old bedroom, and it reminds me so much of you, just laughing at absolutely nothing but finding it hilarious nonetheless. The other one I remember really well is of me using myownbaby walker (like the one I got you) to run away from my dad. I remember that Pop-Pop 3 talked to me in every video, like he was narrating my life for me since I couldn’t do it yet.

Now, since J is a photographer and E is like lightning with the video camera and I play around with both of those mediums, you are going to have a very well documented childhood. But just in case you get the “what was I like then” bug and don’t want to wait for all of us to gather the mass media we have on you, here’s the abridged version of you as a baby, my Little Man.

You’re not afraid of anything. Not dogs or stairs or falling down. You dive head-first into everything.

You’re tough. You get right back up when you take a tumble.

You’re adventurous. Everything you see that you want to know about, you find out about.

You’re a quick learner. It doesn’t take you long to pick up on something once you’ve seen or heard someone do it.

You’ve been incredibly observational since you were a baby. I used to just walk around the house with you and you’d stare wide-eyed at everything we passed, like you were just taking it all in.

You’re mischievous. You’ve got the perfect I’m-up-to-something-I-shouldn’t-be smile.

You’re the world’s biggest daddy’s boy. If E is within a mile of you, he’d better be right next to you…or else.

You’re cranky after you wake-up from a nap. I still love you, though :)

Everything Sports Man does, you want to do. It’s cute to watch. You adore him.

You want what you want. I suppose that’s a universal toddler trait, but either way – when you want something, no one is going to stop you from getting it. That’ll come in handy later on in life.

Overall, you are and always have been a very smiley little guy.

You say “cheese” whenever someone points a camera or an iPhone at you.

You blow kisses every time you say goodbye.

You can outrun me when you have the element of surprise on your side, and I jog regularly. Not okay.

You love being around people.

When you accomplish something you’ve been working at, no matter how small it is, you smile the world’s biggest smile at whoever is closest to you. Sometimes you say “yay!”

Until you started walking, you loved being held. It might have had something to do with the fact that you were never put down (I remember J saying she had to vacuum with you strapped to her chest in the Baby Bjorn), but you’ve always been incredibly huggable so that’s not our fault.

If you’ve been sitting or after you fall down, the way you stand back up is by getting on all fours, walking your hands to your feet and sticking your tiny butt straight up in the air to regain your balance before you stand again. It’s the cutest thing ever.

You’ve always had my eyes and C’s mouth. The rest of you is just…you. 100% unique.

Everyone loves your chin. I have a feeling it will remain very popular.

You exclaim, “Doggy!” anytime a dog walks past you. Even if it’s walked past you a hundred times in five minutes.

You sleep with a “lovey” at night. It’s a type of blanket. If you wake up without it, you cry.

You stick out your bottom lip when you cry really hard.

You’ve definitely got your own personality. The grins (from the cute to the mischievous), the Liam laugh, the “come and get me” looks, even the cries – they’re all one of a kind.

And one last thing you may not know about yourself, but is undoubtedly true – you are special. To so many people in so many ways, and I feel very lucky to be able to know all of the things about you that I do. I promise to continue making videos of the things I see and memories of all of the things in between.

And if you ever get a girlfriend, I reserve the right to show, read and tell her every last one.

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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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See You Soon…

18 Feb

In an hour, you’re going to be in town. In an hour, you’ll be in my arms. We’ll go dinner with The B’s tonight and play all day tomorrow. We’ll make memories and take pictures and I’ll tell stories and listen to you laugh.

This weekend, I’ll read you your letters in person :)

 

See you soon Little Man!

Flowers Can Make a World of Difference

17 Feb

When you were born, I was in the hospital from around 9:30 a.m. on a Thursday to 3 p.m that following Saturday. I didn’t sleep much over those couple of days, partially because hospital beds are monstrously uncomfortable, but also partially because I didn’t to waste any time with you. Your adoption was impossibly imminent at this point – I knew that when we left the hospital, I would be going one way and you would be going another. I think I’m one of the very few women in the world who wanted her postpartum hospital stay to last as long as possible. So during the very few times I did sleep, I slept snuggled up with you, as you can see in the above picture that Pop-Pop 3 took.

You had a lot of visitors in the hospital. My friends, my friends parents, even your Uncle J (one of my best guy friends) flew in from New Orleans to see you. Actually, Uncle J and I had lunch and movie plans on the day you were born, so someday when he starts joking around with you about “messing up his plans,” you’ll understand why. Pop-Pop 3 and Grandma M stayed in the birthing room with me, but the waiting room was mostly crammed with your many admirers, just waiting to meet you.

You and I got a lot of flowers, too. A couple bouquets from your many aunts (my friends), a couple bouquets from my real aunts and some from other family members. My favorite bouquet, however, came from The B’s. I got it in the hospital on Friday, the day after you were born. The hospital social worker had just been in to talk to me about adoption; the procedure, the papers, etc. I felt like I was going to burst into tears just thinking about all of it – after finally meeting you and getting to spend time with you, “giving you up” was starting to feel more and more impossible. I loved you. After only spending 12 hours with you, I didn’t know how to exist without you.

As I was thinking all of this, a nurse walked in to deliver some flowers to me. They were beautiful – I remember that the roses were orange, and I loved the color. They were from The B’s with a card that ended up making a whole world of difference.

The card read, “Looking forward to spending a life time with you. Love, E, J and Sports Man.”

The timing couldn’t have been more perfect, almost as if it was designed that way. Although I was still sad and still scared, I felt a sort of calm and peace settle around me. We took the flowers and the card home and put them in our living room and over the next several days – some of the hardest days – whenever I would doubt or worry, I would pass by the card and it would help me to remember that I had chosen the right family – that The B’s wanted to love me as much as they loved you. And you just couldn’t go wrong with people who had that much love to give.

Tomorrow, The B’s are bringing you to see me, and we will get to spend the weekend together. And the month following this one, I’ll probably drive down to your house. And over the summer when I’m gone (I have an internship in NYC), we’ll Skype and send pictures and videos and e-mails, and I’ll keep writing you letters.

It looks like they weren’t kidding. It’s going to be quite a life time together, huh?

The flowers and card I got from The B's

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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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Little Man and Milestones

13 Feb

One of the many things you will learn about me as you get older is that I have a very unique memory. By this I mean that I’ll leave my apartment to go to school with my backpack…which will be empty because I forgot to actually put my books in it; but I’ll remember that I met one of my best friends, your Aunt S, at 11:30 a.m. on August 18, 2005. Go figure.

My stellar ability to remember dates is intensified by a thousand when it comes to you. I think it just comes with the parent territory – we’re just so excited to see you grow and watch you learn, and we’re always so proud when you do. We start creating mental scrapbooks the first day you so much as smile. As a result, all of your big, “milestone” moments are time stamped in my mind.

I found out about you on December 22, 2009 around noon at my doctor’s office.
I first felt you kick on Valentine’s Day  2010.
I found out you were a boy on March 16, 2010 at ten in the morning.
I went into labor with you at 7 a.m. on July 22, 2010.
You were born at 5:41 p.m. later that day (7 lbs, 6 oz, 19.25 inches long).
Your  adoption was official (or as The B’s call it, “Gotcha Day”) on August 2, 2010.
I first heard you laugh on November 20, 2010.
I first saw you crawl on April 2, 2011.
The first word I heard you say was “da-da.”
I saw you walk for the first time the day after your first birthday – you took four steps in a row, and as soon as you realized you were on your own, you plopped to floor as a myriad of your family members (myself included) gave you a huge round of applause.

When you were tiny, I used to wish that you’d stay small forever, but I’m having so much fun watching you grow and learn that I take it back (although I do occasionally miss the days where I could hold you and you couldn’t do anything about it). Watching you feel your way through the world is the most fun, entertaining thing I think I’ve ever witnessed. And the best part is, as you learn about yourself, I learn about you too.

But what I want you to know is that I think all of the things you do are important. From the little things, like learning to play with toys, to the big stuff – every milestone you reach, every achievement you make, even the ones you fall short of but tried to do anyways – I treasure every single one. Every second I spend with you is a special one to me and I’m sorry that I’m not always around it witness all of the seconds in between. I wish I could be.

That was a big deal to me back when I was weighing the pros and cons of adoption – I was so afraid of all the growing up you would do when I wasn’t around. I was so afraid of what I was going to miss – the cute, funny little things, the bruises or cuts I wasn’t going to be able to kiss, the milestones you were going to hit that I would only hear about after the fact, if I was lucky.

 It just so happens that I am lucky. Your parents are experts at keeping me caught up with you. When something big happens, I get a text from J, which is generally soon followed by a picture and then a video from E. I will never be able to thank them enough for doing things like that for me. But that’s one of the many reasons I knew they’d be wonderful parents to you – because they think that every milestone and every achievement and every other little thing you do is just as important as I do.

You are special, my Little Man, and don’t you forget it. Because even if you do, I’m going to have record books full to remind you with.

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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