I used to have labor and delivery fantasies. You know, I was going to go au naturel and be beautiful while doing it.
We all know that fantasy didn't have a chance to come true or not come true. Of course, I always joke that my labor and delivery consisted of a 16 hour flight with two sick infants who were miserable and cried 14 of those hours...and I can tell you that I most definitely was NOT beautiful while doing that. Shudder.
I guess much of life is about anticipation and maybe fantasizing about how you will carry yourself in certain roles and in certain situations. Or is that just me?
I used to swear to DH that I wouldn't gripe or complain about the angst of motherhood, that I would take it all in stride, that I would not fall apart when a certain fifteen month old needed a huge diaper change right after we arrived at the grocery store and thus I found myself unzipping sixteen layers of clothes (it was 38 degrees here this morning!) and changing said fifteen month old in the back of our car because the double carts at the grocery store certainly won't fit into the bathroom and really, I abhor those public changing plastic things anyway... but yet I found myself bitching and complaining about it to DH on the drive home from the grocery store. As if he needed/wanted to hear that story.
In the early days I felt so overwhelmed and tired and frankly, and it wouldn't have mattered how much I wanted to appear in control and not overwhelmed because to sum up our look in one word: pitiful. Pitiful, pitiful, pitiful. We both looked gaunt, dark shadowed, and stressed. Yes, we were happy! happy! happy! too but the physical toll was real. And I hated that. We couldn't hide our overwhelmedness. It was hanging out all over the place. I mean, let's get real: I started crying on that plane ride within twenty minutes of take off. Pitiful indeedio.
I wanted and fantasized about being the Mom who took care of her two long awaited and anticipated infants with ease, who didn't freak out over every little thing, who took mealtime antics in stride, who cooked and cleaned and baked and ran and wrote and read and still talked to friends on the phone and kept up with everyone else's lives and did it all with aplomb. And I wanted to be fashionable while doing it, too, just to throw that in there.
Universe? Is that you laughing?
But I'm going to rely on my old technique of faking it until making it. Because it can be done. I do not have to regurgitate every.last.detail of their naps or leaking diapers or vomit sessions or mealtime antics to anyone who will listen. That makes me exactly the Mom I did not want to be. Shudder again. I will decide to pretend to be handling it all with aplomb and eventually, as the saying goes, I will.
Wish me luck.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Am I an IF freak?--EDITED
I think I am a mutant IF victim/survivor.
I want to put this delicately because in no way is this meant to harm anyone because all feelings in IF are valid.
I keep reading about people who have had success--either a spontaneous pregnancy or success with treatment--saying how badly they still hurt over IF. How the pain will never go away.
Either I am just too busy/overwhelmed or I have scarred up really really well because I don't feel acute pain anymore. I don't even feel dull pain anymore.
The other night, the babies were sleeping, and I was getting dinner ready and the song "Sea of Love" came on. I motioned quietly to the hubs to come into the kitchen.
"Listen." I said.
Ahhhh, Sea of Love. He used to sing it to me so sweetly all those years ago.
We started dancing in the kitchen and the tears started falling. We had just rocked those beautiful babies before laying them down in their cribs.
"Did you ever think we'd be here?" he asked.
I could barely reply.
We are parents. We are the parents of two beautiful African children. In my wildest dreams from childhood I would never have predicted my life would have turned out this way.
I don't hurt over IF anymore because let's be honest, I crossed over. It may not have been the way I intended to initially, but I did. I am a mother. It's not all I ever wanted to be but it was something I always wanted and was denied for many long, grueling, agonizing months. I fought hard to get here. It did not come easily, but alas, I arrived.
Yes, I sometimes feel a strange pang when I see my friends' kids and they are spitting images of their parents. But not in a vanity way, just in a "isn't that cool" kind of way. I really don't feel any need to see someone who looks like me, but I think it's natural to want to know how you and your spouses genes might combine.
But my babies are beautiful and the way they came into my life has made it much easier for me to see them as unique little souls, not any sort of extension of me, just their own little beings with their own path in life. Of course I will want things for them, of course I will try to guide them and influence them and hopefully help make their paths easier. I always feared I would see my children as this quasi-extension of myself and even feared ways they might deviate from the things I wished and dreamed for them. I am relieved--and I think somewhat better able--to view them as their own beings because they have no genetic ties to me. I am relieved for them for a lot of reasons related to that. Yes, deeply saddened for them, too, but that goes without saying (I hope). When I cried for DH getting a vasectomy it was temporary, and as much about my inability to hold his hand through the procedure as it was for the loss of genes. And that was sadness for the loss of his genes, not mine.
So I don't hurt much anymore. Does that make me the anomaly here? I think that IF pain is unique, and awful, and excruciating, and unless you've been through it (like most pain out there) you may think you know, but you really do not. But I also like to think that it ends with parenthood. And I'm so sad to know that for many it does not, it just goes on and on and on.
Am I too tired to feel it?
I don't know, but that's entirely possibly given those 4:15 am wake times :)
And hello--I do not wake up and run simply to be able to indulge in desserts. I run because it clears my head. I run because it's time where I am one with myself, and no one is tugging on me or drooling on me or asking me to read Brown Bear for the tenth time in a row. I run because I like the sound of my breathing. I run because I like to sweat. I run because I like to feel a connection to my father, who taught me to run. (note: all of these feelings are on a good running day--on a bad running I plod along just so I can eat the dessert).
Edited to add:
Heather and Silver--Well, it's an interesting question and one I obviously can't answer with 100% honesty because we adopted two babies at once. But, I do remember saying, when I was in the most painful throes of infertility, that if I could just cross over and have one child I would forget the pain because I was sick.of.the.pain. Of course, easy to say then and easy to recall now, ha. I think the other thing I am realizing is that everyone has pain. Mine was IF. Others deal with chronic illnesses or conditions, or the loss of a spouse, or the disintegration of a marriage. And my pain was IF, and I'm done with IF. So I'm done with pain.
Oh yeah, also--my children aren't genetically related at all, yet they're full siblings to them and to us. So Silver, maybe you can give your son a non-genetic but still sibling all the way! Heather, I'm sorry the program you were using in the past is no longer available, I hope there are others you can consider.
Fellow freaks--thanks for the shout-outs :)
I want to put this delicately because in no way is this meant to harm anyone because all feelings in IF are valid.
I keep reading about people who have had success--either a spontaneous pregnancy or success with treatment--saying how badly they still hurt over IF. How the pain will never go away.
Either I am just too busy/overwhelmed or I have scarred up really really well because I don't feel acute pain anymore. I don't even feel dull pain anymore.
The other night, the babies were sleeping, and I was getting dinner ready and the song "Sea of Love" came on. I motioned quietly to the hubs to come into the kitchen.
"Listen." I said.
Ahhhh, Sea of Love. He used to sing it to me so sweetly all those years ago.
We started dancing in the kitchen and the tears started falling. We had just rocked those beautiful babies before laying them down in their cribs.
"Did you ever think we'd be here?" he asked.
I could barely reply.
We are parents. We are the parents of two beautiful African children. In my wildest dreams from childhood I would never have predicted my life would have turned out this way.
I don't hurt over IF anymore because let's be honest, I crossed over. It may not have been the way I intended to initially, but I did. I am a mother. It's not all I ever wanted to be but it was something I always wanted and was denied for many long, grueling, agonizing months. I fought hard to get here. It did not come easily, but alas, I arrived.
Yes, I sometimes feel a strange pang when I see my friends' kids and they are spitting images of their parents. But not in a vanity way, just in a "isn't that cool" kind of way. I really don't feel any need to see someone who looks like me, but I think it's natural to want to know how you and your spouses genes might combine.
But my babies are beautiful and the way they came into my life has made it much easier for me to see them as unique little souls, not any sort of extension of me, just their own little beings with their own path in life. Of course I will want things for them, of course I will try to guide them and influence them and hopefully help make their paths easier. I always feared I would see my children as this quasi-extension of myself and even feared ways they might deviate from the things I wished and dreamed for them. I am relieved--and I think somewhat better able--to view them as their own beings because they have no genetic ties to me. I am relieved for them for a lot of reasons related to that. Yes, deeply saddened for them, too, but that goes without saying (I hope). When I cried for DH getting a vasectomy it was temporary, and as much about my inability to hold his hand through the procedure as it was for the loss of genes. And that was sadness for the loss of his genes, not mine.
So I don't hurt much anymore. Does that make me the anomaly here? I think that IF pain is unique, and awful, and excruciating, and unless you've been through it (like most pain out there) you may think you know, but you really do not. But I also like to think that it ends with parenthood. And I'm so sad to know that for many it does not, it just goes on and on and on.
Am I too tired to feel it?
I don't know, but that's entirely possibly given those 4:15 am wake times :)
And hello--I do not wake up and run simply to be able to indulge in desserts. I run because it clears my head. I run because it's time where I am one with myself, and no one is tugging on me or drooling on me or asking me to read Brown Bear for the tenth time in a row. I run because I like the sound of my breathing. I run because I like to sweat. I run because I like to feel a connection to my father, who taught me to run. (note: all of these feelings are on a good running day--on a bad running I plod along just so I can eat the dessert).
Edited to add:
Heather and Silver--Well, it's an interesting question and one I obviously can't answer with 100% honesty because we adopted two babies at once. But, I do remember saying, when I was in the most painful throes of infertility, that if I could just cross over and have one child I would forget the pain because I was sick.of.the.pain. Of course, easy to say then and easy to recall now, ha. I think the other thing I am realizing is that everyone has pain. Mine was IF. Others deal with chronic illnesses or conditions, or the loss of a spouse, or the disintegration of a marriage. And my pain was IF, and I'm done with IF. So I'm done with pain.
Oh yeah, also--my children aren't genetically related at all, yet they're full siblings to them and to us. So Silver, maybe you can give your son a non-genetic but still sibling all the way! Heather, I'm sorry the program you were using in the past is no longer available, I hope there are others you can consider.
Fellow freaks--thanks for the shout-outs :)
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Hitting the ground running, almost literally.
I say almost literally because overuse of the term literally is something that annoys me and yet I am guilty of it as well.
These days--they fly by. Another week gone and I can usually barely remember it.
Yesterday I was awake at 4:15 am and running outside, headlamp strapped around my waist, by 4:31. So that I could be back by 5:15 in time to get a shower and get myself semi-ready/presentable by 6 am, when the hubs would leave for work and the babes would be awake and our day would begin. This morning I was running by 5:15, which felt late!
I don't do this often. I usually run at 7 pm, headlamp strapped around my waist, in the dark, right after they lay down for bed. Which means eating at 8:30 pm.
Yesterday after my run I fed them breakfast, then loaded them up for our weekly grocery store trip, list in hand, recipes and meals for the upcoming week planned. While they had their morning "rest"-->we don't do morning naps anymore but they still get to watch one Baby Einstein for 30 minutes in the morning whilst drinking delicious whole milk from a sippy cup--I cooked two meals that are currently in the freezer and we will eat this week. We eat each of them twice--thank God for a husband who doesn't mind a repeat--so I do not have to cook during the week. Then I let them in the kitchen to play with various kitchen utensils while I cleaned and scrubbed my destroyed kitchen.
Then we had playtime together. Oh the playtime! They are both walking/toddling and just delight in themselves when they take steps all around the room. It is a thrill to see.
During their nap it was housecleaning--dusting, toilets, vanities, showers, sweeping, baseboards. This morning it was vacuuming and steammopping to get ready for a playdate; I have to do that when the hubs is here because the kiddos are scared of the vacuum cleaner. Our daughter was a crankypants during the playdate and it had to be cut short, but it is what it is.
Oh yes, because I miss baking I decided to make homemade peanut butter cups yesterday (they're giant, though you can't tell in the picture) and last night I made homemade truffles for a friend's sister's wedding shower.
Work days aren't any less busier--up at 5:15, play with the babies from 6 to 6:30, out the door by 6:35, work at a frantic pace seeing patients all day with only a 30 minute lunch so I can leave 30 minutes earlier to get home to play with the babies some more (and who am I kidding--I never get a real lunch at work anyway because the patients, they just.keep.calling), make their dinner, clean up, get them ready for bed, read to them, rock them, put them to sleep, go running, get cleaned up, iron my clothes for the next day and then thankfully--THANKFULLY--there is food already made and we watch TV like two zombies while stuffing our pieholes.
I am not trying to say I am busier than anyone else, I know I'm not. But sheesh, sometimes the pace feels ridiculous. I do go to bed by 9:30 every night or else I would never make it. I don't run every day but at least four to five days per week. I don't always bake but I do enjoy it so I try to fit it in as part of my own personal therapy. We try to see friends but we rarely do, need to work on that. We're signed up to be back at the homeless shelter soon and that's a refreshingly good thing. We're back to going to church, our absence because of their morning nap and my fear of our son biting another child now ended, another refreshingly good thing.
It's no wonder the weeks just zip by.
So right now this very second I am going to just sit here. Maybe read, maybe just stare out the window at the lake (did I mention our neighbors cut down a tree and now from our enomormous front windows we are rewarded with a beautiful view of the lake we never knew we didn't have?) Close this post, click publish and just rest. Because they are still sleeping (have to love that longer afternoon nap) and as soon as they wake up, it all sort of starts up again.
But at least I've already run, because if I didn't, I wouldn't be able to enjoy these.
These days--they fly by. Another week gone and I can usually barely remember it.
Yesterday I was awake at 4:15 am and running outside, headlamp strapped around my waist, by 4:31. So that I could be back by 5:15 in time to get a shower and get myself semi-ready/presentable by 6 am, when the hubs would leave for work and the babes would be awake and our day would begin. This morning I was running by 5:15, which felt late!
I don't do this often. I usually run at 7 pm, headlamp strapped around my waist, in the dark, right after they lay down for bed. Which means eating at 8:30 pm.
Yesterday after my run I fed them breakfast, then loaded them up for our weekly grocery store trip, list in hand, recipes and meals for the upcoming week planned. While they had their morning "rest"-->we don't do morning naps anymore but they still get to watch one Baby Einstein for 30 minutes in the morning whilst drinking delicious whole milk from a sippy cup--I cooked two meals that are currently in the freezer and we will eat this week. We eat each of them twice--thank God for a husband who doesn't mind a repeat--so I do not have to cook during the week. Then I let them in the kitchen to play with various kitchen utensils while I cleaned and scrubbed my destroyed kitchen.
Then we had playtime together. Oh the playtime! They are both walking/toddling and just delight in themselves when they take steps all around the room. It is a thrill to see.
During their nap it was housecleaning--dusting, toilets, vanities, showers, sweeping, baseboards. This morning it was vacuuming and steammopping to get ready for a playdate; I have to do that when the hubs is here because the kiddos are scared of the vacuum cleaner. Our daughter was a crankypants during the playdate and it had to be cut short, but it is what it is.
Oh yes, because I miss baking I decided to make homemade peanut butter cups yesterday (they're giant, though you can't tell in the picture) and last night I made homemade truffles for a friend's sister's wedding shower.
Work days aren't any less busier--up at 5:15, play with the babies from 6 to 6:30, out the door by 6:35, work at a frantic pace seeing patients all day with only a 30 minute lunch so I can leave 30 minutes earlier to get home to play with the babies some more (and who am I kidding--I never get a real lunch at work anyway because the patients, they just.keep.calling), make their dinner, clean up, get them ready for bed, read to them, rock them, put them to sleep, go running, get cleaned up, iron my clothes for the next day and then thankfully--THANKFULLY--there is food already made and we watch TV like two zombies while stuffing our pieholes.
I am not trying to say I am busier than anyone else, I know I'm not. But sheesh, sometimes the pace feels ridiculous. I do go to bed by 9:30 every night or else I would never make it. I don't run every day but at least four to five days per week. I don't always bake but I do enjoy it so I try to fit it in as part of my own personal therapy. We try to see friends but we rarely do, need to work on that. We're signed up to be back at the homeless shelter soon and that's a refreshingly good thing. We're back to going to church, our absence because of their morning nap and my fear of our son biting another child now ended, another refreshingly good thing.
It's no wonder the weeks just zip by.
So right now this very second I am going to just sit here. Maybe read, maybe just stare out the window at the lake (did I mention our neighbors cut down a tree and now from our enomormous front windows we are rewarded with a beautiful view of the lake we never knew we didn't have?) Close this post, click publish and just rest. Because they are still sleeping (have to love that longer afternoon nap) and as soon as they wake up, it all sort of starts up again.
But at least I've already run, because if I didn't, I wouldn't be able to enjoy these.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
I'm taking suggestions...plus photos
I'm not sure what to write here anymore.
I don't know if I should still be blogging at all.
I do love to write, I know that. But I know I don't make the time for it or give it its due.
I wrote this post about zero population growth but realized it might offend anyone with more than two kids. Scratch that because that wasn't the intent. The intent was to show the irony of me, the girl who fought so hard to pass on her piddly genetics, to procreate, to make more babies when--to borrow a brilliant line from Paul Simon--the planet groans every time it registers another birth, and who finally relented to the voice inside of her that had been telling her so long to go a different route, that there is no such thing as better, only different, and now I've just written a ridiculously long sentence that encapsulates the heart of that post and I'm not sure where I was going anyway.
Oh yeah, to blog anymore or not? I'm not really an adoption blogger, I'm definitely not an infertility blogger, I'm not really a Mom-blogger, and I don't know how to be just a regular blogger. I'm not one of those adorable blogger who posts adorable iPhone photos every few days of her perfect life in pictures.
Oh wait. I do have some adorable iPhone pictures to share, those will come. I can say they're adorable because they're of the babies, not me. Hello.
I could be a sort of manic depressive Mom blogger...meaning, some days I have these higher than high type posts that I write in my head where I'm on top of the world and everyone is napping and pleasant and happy and eating well and my house is clean and I'm baking and I'm working and I'm not tired and I'm exercising and then it will all vanish--POOF!--in a flash when someone throws me for a loop and I realize I'm at best, a marginal parent, who is short on patience and suddenly I'm tired and I'm too fat and I'm not cooking enough and I'm not volunteering and I'm not balancing anything and then I'm lowest of lows and I write that post in my sad little brain. Does that sound interesting?
I will say this: I am currently in love with my Nanny. I would like for her to move in and live with us like Alice on the Brady Bunch. Seriously. The three days a week she is here are wonderful. The babies probably miss her when it's four days with Yours Truly, ha.
Of course she's amazing with the babies, that's the priority. But she also sweeps, swiffers, wipes down counters, leaves the high chairs cleaner than I'd seen them in recent months, and most importantly, doesn't get into my stuff. Yeah, I realize that's pretty basic--that last one about my stuff--and I won't go into details here, but our first nanny had a wee bit of a Single White Female kind of thing happening and I grew tired of coming home to realize she'd been in my closet or my drawers in my bathroom. Gives me the shivers just typing that.
Back to the good nanny--she is also doing things I hadn't thought of. I am not too proud to admit I am not an expert in child development and while I do a fair amount of reading I am always hitting others up for their opinions and advice. The good nanny helped us transition from two naps to one in a way I hadn't considered which--knock wood--seems to be working and the other day I came home to find two brilliant works of art created by H&H with finger paints. Finger paints with a 13 and 14 month old? I would have never ventured there.
And there was no mess to speak of. Ahhhhhhh. No mess.
I am not sure how this post evolved into a nanny post but it did, and I love her. She's also an amateur photographer and here are the shots she texted me yesterday while I was at work that brought tears to my eyes.
I don't know if I should still be blogging at all.
I do love to write, I know that. But I know I don't make the time for it or give it its due.
I wrote this post about zero population growth but realized it might offend anyone with more than two kids. Scratch that because that wasn't the intent. The intent was to show the irony of me, the girl who fought so hard to pass on her piddly genetics, to procreate, to make more babies when--to borrow a brilliant line from Paul Simon--the planet groans every time it registers another birth, and who finally relented to the voice inside of her that had been telling her so long to go a different route, that there is no such thing as better, only different, and now I've just written a ridiculously long sentence that encapsulates the heart of that post and I'm not sure where I was going anyway.
Oh yeah, to blog anymore or not? I'm not really an adoption blogger, I'm definitely not an infertility blogger, I'm not really a Mom-blogger, and I don't know how to be just a regular blogger. I'm not one of those adorable blogger who posts adorable iPhone photos every few days of her perfect life in pictures.
Oh wait. I do have some adorable iPhone pictures to share, those will come. I can say they're adorable because they're of the babies, not me. Hello.
I could be a sort of manic depressive Mom blogger...meaning, some days I have these higher than high type posts that I write in my head where I'm on top of the world and everyone is napping and pleasant and happy and eating well and my house is clean and I'm baking and I'm working and I'm not tired and I'm exercising and then it will all vanish--POOF!--in a flash when someone throws me for a loop and I realize I'm at best, a marginal parent, who is short on patience and suddenly I'm tired and I'm too fat and I'm not cooking enough and I'm not volunteering and I'm not balancing anything and then I'm lowest of lows and I write that post in my sad little brain. Does that sound interesting?
I will say this: I am currently in love with my Nanny. I would like for her to move in and live with us like Alice on the Brady Bunch. Seriously. The three days a week she is here are wonderful. The babies probably miss her when it's four days with Yours Truly, ha.
Of course she's amazing with the babies, that's the priority. But she also sweeps, swiffers, wipes down counters, leaves the high chairs cleaner than I'd seen them in recent months, and most importantly, doesn't get into my stuff. Yeah, I realize that's pretty basic--that last one about my stuff--and I won't go into details here, but our first nanny had a wee bit of a Single White Female kind of thing happening and I grew tired of coming home to realize she'd been in my closet or my drawers in my bathroom. Gives me the shivers just typing that.
Back to the good nanny--she is also doing things I hadn't thought of. I am not too proud to admit I am not an expert in child development and while I do a fair amount of reading I am always hitting others up for their opinions and advice. The good nanny helped us transition from two naps to one in a way I hadn't considered which--knock wood--seems to be working and the other day I came home to find two brilliant works of art created by H&H with finger paints. Finger paints with a 13 and 14 month old? I would have never ventured there.
And there was no mess to speak of. Ahhhhhhh. No mess.
I am not sure how this post evolved into a nanny post but it did, and I love her. She's also an amateur photographer and here are the shots she texted me yesterday while I was at work that brought tears to my eyes.
Can you stand it?
Just playing in our backyard.
So I don't know what to do. Write here. Not write here. Post adoralbe iPhone photos or not post adorable iPhone photos. Rant, not rant, manic depressively write about my experiences as a parent...I just don't know. One time I opened my old blog up to a Q&A and that was pretty interesting, I guess I'm open to that again if there's anyone interested enough to ask a question.
Bueller?
Anyone?
Thoughts?
Monday, January 2, 2012
My life is a Hallmark Movie
On New Year's Day we were at our big grocery store at 7:15 am.
Because that is how we roll around here. We drove to my hometown and back the day before to have a belated family Christmas with my Mom's large extended family. It was a good time introducing the babies to everyone. I got to see my Dad--more on that in another post. We pulled out of my Mom's driveway at 6:45 pm and the babies--exhausted from the festivities--both fell asleep by 6:47. They slept the whole way, all 175 miles. Until the last mile. I kid you not, a police offier pulled us over.
DH went mini-ballistic. I was not speeding! I am not drunk! It's 10:15 pm on New Year's Eve, why is he pulling us over and we have two sleeping babies in the back and we're almost home and we are both so damn tired and we just want to get home and people PUHLEEZE.
Here's a question for the masses: when police officers ask if they know why they are pulling you over do they expect an honest answer?
At any rate, apparently the little tiny light bulb that lights our license plate has burned out and that was reason to pull us over, on the worst night for drunk driving, when there were likely multiple other drivers out at that very moment committing real driving offenses.
When he shined his massive flashlight into the back seat illuminating my sleeping babies I half-hoped/willed that they would wake up and start wailing uncontrollably just to show him. Except. It wouldn't have shown him anything. What did he care? I would have been the one to then have to deal with their wailing, snotty nosed selves. So I quickly thanked God that they remained asleep.
But none of this has to do with the blog post title. Because if that were the Hallmark Movie, well, let's just say it wouldn't be a ratings killer.
Back to the the story of why we were at the grocery store so early. Because we didn't go out for New Year's. I could get all reflective on 2011 but if you're a reader you know it was a good year--ultimately, after some serious lows and scares--, a year that there really aren't words to describe, but it was definitely a year worth celebrating for us. I'll leave it at that.
Ahem. Back to the grocery store.
It's empty at 7:15 am which is why we like it. DH goes with me. Each baby gets their own shopping cart and they honestly act like they are king and queen of said carts--really, king and queen of the whole store. If there are other shoppers or workers around they laugh and flirt and engage them, they point at the lights, they point at the food, they babble constantly as they direct their grocery store kingdom.
I was steering my cart back towards the soup aisle, having forgotten some vegetarian broth when I saw an employee, a handsome young man, standing in the middle of the aisle, smiling broadly at me and my daughter. He kept staring, engaging us the whole time, and I thought it a bit odd, and anticipated him asking if he could help me find something.
"Hello!" he said and gave me a look like: hello, it's ME!
And then it hit me and my eyes welled up with tears and I nearly leapt at him to give him a hug.
Because it was R.
Our little brother. The one we mentored for seven years through the Big Brothers/Big Sisters Program and loved with our whole hearts and then watched as he accumulated a child, a criminal record, and dropped out of high school. Watched helplessly as we failed miserably as his mentors.
I haven't seen him in years, though we were just talking about him on the drive to my hometown, wondering what he was doing, wondering what had become of him. The last we knew he was living about an hour away, still married, with two babies of his own.
I will not go into details here, but suffice is to say that our relationship ended on a less than pleasant note and it was painful for me and the mister. And then our own lives became so much more complicated and we felt that our seven year mentoring relationship with R would just have to stand on its own, it was what it was, we did the best we could.
And there he was, bright and early in 2012, standing right in front of me, somehow in our grocery store in our little neck of the woods, returning my hug with such a force.
Note: the next parts are going to sound like I'm tooting our horn. I am not. I just want to repeat what he said, for the sake of my Hallmark Movie.
He told us he had seen us shopping a few times before but hadn't wanted to to talk to us because he was embarrassed. Embarrassed that we would be so upset with him and for all he had put us through.
I didn't want you to think your time with me was wasted. It wasn't. It meant so much to me. My life is hard and I'm just realizing how I need to do the stuff we used to talk about--go back to school, do something more. But you guys meant so much to me and I know I screwed up. Probably, if you hadn't done what you did for me, I would have been in a lot worse place. A lot worse. So thank you for all you did for me.
Or something along those lines. My head was spinning as I took him in with my eyes. All 21 years of him. He is handsome--always was.
We talked some more, hugged some more, introduced our babies to him, and exchanged numbers.
I floated out of that store.
We both instantly started talking about how we could have him back in our lives.
He's like our original kid, and he's back.
To be continued....
Because that is how we roll around here. We drove to my hometown and back the day before to have a belated family Christmas with my Mom's large extended family. It was a good time introducing the babies to everyone. I got to see my Dad--more on that in another post. We pulled out of my Mom's driveway at 6:45 pm and the babies--exhausted from the festivities--both fell asleep by 6:47. They slept the whole way, all 175 miles. Until the last mile. I kid you not, a police offier pulled us over.
DH went mini-ballistic. I was not speeding! I am not drunk! It's 10:15 pm on New Year's Eve, why is he pulling us over and we have two sleeping babies in the back and we're almost home and we are both so damn tired and we just want to get home and people PUHLEEZE.
Here's a question for the masses: when police officers ask if they know why they are pulling you over do they expect an honest answer?
At any rate, apparently the little tiny light bulb that lights our license plate has burned out and that was reason to pull us over, on the worst night for drunk driving, when there were likely multiple other drivers out at that very moment committing real driving offenses.
When he shined his massive flashlight into the back seat illuminating my sleeping babies I half-hoped/willed that they would wake up and start wailing uncontrollably just to show him. Except. It wouldn't have shown him anything. What did he care? I would have been the one to then have to deal with their wailing, snotty nosed selves. So I quickly thanked God that they remained asleep.
But none of this has to do with the blog post title. Because if that were the Hallmark Movie, well, let's just say it wouldn't be a ratings killer.
Back to the the story of why we were at the grocery store so early. Because we didn't go out for New Year's. I could get all reflective on 2011 but if you're a reader you know it was a good year--ultimately, after some serious lows and scares--, a year that there really aren't words to describe, but it was definitely a year worth celebrating for us. I'll leave it at that.
Ahem. Back to the grocery store.
It's empty at 7:15 am which is why we like it. DH goes with me. Each baby gets their own shopping cart and they honestly act like they are king and queen of said carts--really, king and queen of the whole store. If there are other shoppers or workers around they laugh and flirt and engage them, they point at the lights, they point at the food, they babble constantly as they direct their grocery store kingdom.
I was steering my cart back towards the soup aisle, having forgotten some vegetarian broth when I saw an employee, a handsome young man, standing in the middle of the aisle, smiling broadly at me and my daughter. He kept staring, engaging us the whole time, and I thought it a bit odd, and anticipated him asking if he could help me find something.
"Hello!" he said and gave me a look like: hello, it's ME!
And then it hit me and my eyes welled up with tears and I nearly leapt at him to give him a hug.
Because it was R.
Our little brother. The one we mentored for seven years through the Big Brothers/Big Sisters Program and loved with our whole hearts and then watched as he accumulated a child, a criminal record, and dropped out of high school. Watched helplessly as we failed miserably as his mentors.
I haven't seen him in years, though we were just talking about him on the drive to my hometown, wondering what he was doing, wondering what had become of him. The last we knew he was living about an hour away, still married, with two babies of his own.
I will not go into details here, but suffice is to say that our relationship ended on a less than pleasant note and it was painful for me and the mister. And then our own lives became so much more complicated and we felt that our seven year mentoring relationship with R would just have to stand on its own, it was what it was, we did the best we could.
And there he was, bright and early in 2012, standing right in front of me, somehow in our grocery store in our little neck of the woods, returning my hug with such a force.
Note: the next parts are going to sound like I'm tooting our horn. I am not. I just want to repeat what he said, for the sake of my Hallmark Movie.
He told us he had seen us shopping a few times before but hadn't wanted to to talk to us because he was embarrassed. Embarrassed that we would be so upset with him and for all he had put us through.
I didn't want you to think your time with me was wasted. It wasn't. It meant so much to me. My life is hard and I'm just realizing how I need to do the stuff we used to talk about--go back to school, do something more. But you guys meant so much to me and I know I screwed up. Probably, if you hadn't done what you did for me, I would have been in a lot worse place. A lot worse. So thank you for all you did for me.
Or something along those lines. My head was spinning as I took him in with my eyes. All 21 years of him. He is handsome--always was.
We talked some more, hugged some more, introduced our babies to him, and exchanged numbers.
I floated out of that store.
We both instantly started talking about how we could have him back in our lives.
He's like our original kid, and he's back.
To be continued....
Sunday, December 25, 2011
All I ever asked for and so much more...
Merry Christmas!
My son wanted to tell you that first I made him dress in a little tuxedo onesie and then I made him wait in a long line to see some man we kept talking about and then I made him sit on this scary man's lap and then I expected him to smile? Puhleeze.
My daughter said "meh."
My good friend and fellow IFer Larisa used to tell me she couldn't wait for my heart to be full. Ah Larisa, wise woman, it is. So full, so full.
Even without my Dad being here, this has been the happiest Christmas on record. Our babies are sleeping through the night, they're growing so fast, they're delighting in everything, our daughter is taking her first steps, I've heard them say "Momma!" and the Mister and I are trying to soak it all in. Did I mention they're both now sleeping through the night? not to keep dwelling on it, but a full night's sleep is one of the best presents I could have ever received!
But you can't hold onto anything, so you just have to move with them, through it all, and let the happiness wash over you. I wish that for everyone, I honestly do. Full and happy hearts!
Happiest of holidays to everyone!
My son wanted to tell you that first I made him dress in a little tuxedo onesie and then I made him wait in a long line to see some man we kept talking about and then I made him sit on this scary man's lap and then I expected him to smile? Puhleeze.
My daughter said "meh."
My good friend and fellow IFer Larisa used to tell me she couldn't wait for my heart to be full. Ah Larisa, wise woman, it is. So full, so full.
Even without my Dad being here, this has been the happiest Christmas on record. Our babies are sleeping through the night, they're growing so fast, they're delighting in everything, our daughter is taking her first steps, I've heard them say "Momma!" and the Mister and I are trying to soak it all in. Did I mention they're both now sleeping through the night? not to keep dwelling on it, but a full night's sleep is one of the best presents I could have ever received!
But you can't hold onto anything, so you just have to move with them, through it all, and let the happiness wash over you. I wish that for everyone, I honestly do. Full and happy hearts!
Happiest of holidays to everyone!
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
One year ago...
One year ago today we were escape artists.
We were escaping the 'regular' holidays and going to NYC, a place that always did our hearts good and our hearts were in desperate need of some good. We were at a low point, expecting nothing after putting our entire world into our Ethiopian adoption. Referrals were slowing down, the program seemed in jeopardy, we had announced to our family that if this, too, did not work out, we were done. Plain and simple.
In NYC we felt we could hide amongst the masses, and maybe avoid some of the more painful holiday reminders of families, and the fact that we did not have one.
Of course you know the rest of the story. Within hours of arriving in NYC we stood in front of Macy's, and posed for a picture in front of their "Believe" sign. I whispered to the mister that we had to believe, but honestly I didn't.
Minutes later those precious emails came through, with those photos of our babies.
Our babies.
They were tiny, scared, undernourished and frankly kind of pitiful looking.
But it was love at first sight.
I must have stared at those pictures, cradling my iPhone, for hours during that trip. Other people take and have hundreds of photos of their newborns--I have only these of each of my children. They are precious to me.
Everything changed in those minutes after receiving those photos. Everything looked different. Everything felt different. Everything.
And now, a year later, here we are, with two healthy, hearty babies underfoot, getting into everything, challenging us in ways we never even imagined, and bringing us joy in the most amazing ways.
A whole year has passed--I can hardly believe it. This morning when I picked up our son and he nestled his curly head into my neck, the tears started rolling. How could that little photo of that tiny little baby have turned into this, my big loveable boy? How could I be so lucky?
When I picked up my daughter and she gave me her patented drooly kiss my heart felt like it would burst with happiness. Oh little girl--you have come so far.
My babies--December 21st will always, always be a day to celebrate from our perspective. For it is the day we learned of you in a real and concrete way, instead of only imagining you in our hearts.
Happy Referralversary H&H!
We were escaping the 'regular' holidays and going to NYC, a place that always did our hearts good and our hearts were in desperate need of some good. We were at a low point, expecting nothing after putting our entire world into our Ethiopian adoption. Referrals were slowing down, the program seemed in jeopardy, we had announced to our family that if this, too, did not work out, we were done. Plain and simple.
In NYC we felt we could hide amongst the masses, and maybe avoid some of the more painful holiday reminders of families, and the fact that we did not have one.
Of course you know the rest of the story. Within hours of arriving in NYC we stood in front of Macy's, and posed for a picture in front of their "Believe" sign. I whispered to the mister that we had to believe, but honestly I didn't.
Minutes later those precious emails came through, with those photos of our babies.
Our babies.
They were tiny, scared, undernourished and frankly kind of pitiful looking.
But it was love at first sight.
I must have stared at those pictures, cradling my iPhone, for hours during that trip. Other people take and have hundreds of photos of their newborns--I have only these of each of my children. They are precious to me.
Everything changed in those minutes after receiving those photos. Everything looked different. Everything felt different. Everything.
And now, a year later, here we are, with two healthy, hearty babies underfoot, getting into everything, challenging us in ways we never even imagined, and bringing us joy in the most amazing ways.
A whole year has passed--I can hardly believe it. This morning when I picked up our son and he nestled his curly head into my neck, the tears started rolling. How could that little photo of that tiny little baby have turned into this, my big loveable boy? How could I be so lucky?
When I picked up my daughter and she gave me her patented drooly kiss my heart felt like it would burst with happiness. Oh little girl--you have come so far.
My babies--December 21st will always, always be a day to celebrate from our perspective. For it is the day we learned of you in a real and concrete way, instead of only imagining you in our hearts.
Happy Referralversary H&H!
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