It's amazing how memory works.
While we were in Josiah's home state, I wrote everything I could down in the best detail I could manage. I want to give him an accurate and honest portrayal of everything that happened, in case any questions are to arise in the future. I want him to feel confident in his past and in his future. So I wrote everything-- from every interaction with his biological family members, to the way the nurses were positioned when he was born, to the apartment we called home for two weeks. I wrote down every good thing that happened, every bad.
I have read through it a few times, mostly to do some editing. My hand cramped up early on so I took to a word document to write and sometimes in my haste I make silly errors. It is surprising that only 6 weeks ago at this moment I was sitting in a hospital room miles and miles away, awaiting the birth of a boy not yet my own. It's also surprising how much has become hazy that was so clear while we were there.
I don't know for sure, as I've obviously never experienced it myself, but I feel as though my memory is like that of a woman who has given birth. The pain is all but forgotten, a baby boy in it's place.
There are some moments during those weeks that have remained clear, those memories etched forever in my mind as "special" and important.
The moment Josiah was born, I saw him, but only a second later I was looking at the face of the woman who gave him life. I watched her close her eyes, I'm not sure if it was in relief that it was finally over or so that she didn't see him right away. I can recall that moment to my mind in perfect detail even now.
I remember his little arms and legs flailing on the medical bassinet and the very overwhelming concern I had for this boy that looked far too small.
Coming out of my first shower after we arrived and hearing Jim, the new daddy, talking to his son. I remember smiling at my own reflection in the mirror.
Having a conversation about our story with our hostess and then giving her a meager gift (not nearly worth the gift she had given us) and her gracious acceptance.
Josiah's fist clinging to my finger the first time. His first eye contact. Minutes after his birth when he snuggled against my chest, his hand laying peacefully in front of his face, his cheek relaxed.
These things I remember clearly.
The hard things, while still there, aren't as clear. The absolute fear I felt after a conversation went south that might have resulted in Josiah leaving our care, while still forever in my memory as a scary time, is a lot less vivid now. While we were there, I was horrified and, if I'm honest, a little resentful of her power over our life at the time. But now that there is a distance between us and the things that make his adoption a good decision, I find myself wishing his birth mother would text more often, because I kind of miss talking to her. Now that we aren't being forgotten at the hospital, it doesn't seem like that big of a deal that they ignored us for a whole day. Now that we are home, the not knowing where anything was doesn't seem like it was that bad. Taking our 3 day old out to a strangers house in the freezing weather to be held by a whole slew of strangers (to us) doesn't seem intimidating.
The first two weeks of his life were difficult, but they make a lot of things that we encounter here seem a little easier. Going to the grocery store alone with my baby? No big thing, he's been to a grocery store and a few fast food places before with no incident. Hold him at church for the whole service? Not a problem, he pretty much lived in our laps the first two weeks. Any other challenge that might arise? He was on an airplane for a three hour flight at three weeks and totally nailed it. I've done things with this baby I never pictured myself doing in all of my years of daydreaming about a baby, and I'm so glad I did. I may not be a confident mother, but I certainly don't feel as scared as I thought I would be.
Just some thoughts as I sit here holding my little slightly over 8 pound baby (unofficially) as he drifts off for his final nap of the day. He is getting three naps a day and sleeping through most nights with no incident. Though he eats every 3 hours, we have one 4 hour stretch at night that is slowly expanding, much to my excitement. His day includes some "tummy time", following toys around with his eyes, following my voice around and reading a few books. We also listen to and sing along with Christian nursery rhymes (thank you so much, Analisa! Side note; I'm a musician and for the first two weeks of Josiah's life I couldn't think of a single nursery rhyme. I could hardly think of songs with lyrics, plenty of melodies of classical pieces. It was as if I have never been to Sunday School). My absolute favorite thing we do in our routine, however, is our long walks in the stroller and getting out of the house for errands. He loves the stroller for deep sleeping, and I love my stroller of freedom. We have walked to the Lampstand for drinks, to work for a couple of hours every week, to the grocery store, just around town and have attempted a few times to walk with the dogs (still working on that).
So far being a mom is going pretty well. I'm pretty sure I'm pretty fortunate that he has been so easy going so far.
Thursday, February 18, 2016
Monday, February 8, 2016
Hey, Since You Are Still Listening...
I don't know how long people will find my little corner of the internet entertaining to read, now that the major prayer has been answered and our Disney-like minds want it all to simply be a happy-ever-after from now on. I don't know if my audience, which has grown in recent months as I have shared in the difficulties and the joys that we had in bringing home our son, will remain constant or dwindle with the lack of excitement in our lives. So before I lose some of you to more entertaining stories, I wanted to ask you all to read one final post, if you would. For the record, I'm not kicking you out, keep on reading as long as you want, I'll keep being honest and sharing whatever comes to mind.
Josiah Samuel is my son. I held him moments after his birth, cradled under my shirt with his bare chest against mine. I fell asleep to the sound of his rapid heart beat on the monitor only an hour before he was falling asleep to the security of mine. He has taken my heart and expanded it and I'm grateful every second that he is mine.
I am grateful that I get to raise my son in this small community with people who have been so supportive of his start in life and who have cheered for his presence in our world. I am grateful for the quality of people my son will grow up around in both talent and character. I am grateful that my son will have the influence of these people as he discovers who he is and who he is meant to become.
However, no matter where my son is raised, his unique start to life will always have the potential for miscommunication and lack of understanding and I want to do what I can to give my son the best upbringing possible. In our reading about adoption one of the common problems adopted individuals have brought up is the comments and questions by people who don't realize the damage of their words. Because of this, I want to share with our friends and family some things that these people who have been through it would rather have not heard or dealt with. It is my hope that my son has few instances where he has to deal with these. It may sound pushy of me and you might be thinking I'm "that mom", but if you would simply read the following, I would be grateful.
-Please don't talk about my son's "real" parents. Setting aside the sting Jim and I might feel (we are "real" parents, too), imagine for a minute that as a five year old you hear someone ask your mom about your "real" parents and how confusing that might be. Or imagine being asked about "real" family members as you grow up, and having to differentiate and decide how "real" your family is. We are his "real" family, just as his biological family is also his "real" family. It's already confusing without being asked about it.
-Please don't tell him he's lucky, fortunate, or blessed to be with us. We are blessed to have him as our son. He shouldn't have to be grateful for how his life started anymore than any other child. None of us choose our parents before we are born. He should be just as grateful as any other child but not any more because he came into our home differently.
-Please don't share what you know of his past. Some are privy to more information than others, but it is his past and his story. Let him tell his story and if he has questions about it, tell him to come to us, we will always be open with him. We are planning on sharing his story with him, and do already reference S when we oo and aw over him. However, there are aspects that aren't appropriate for different ages and we don't want him to think we were hiding something because someone brings it to him before us.
-Please don't ignore his adoption. It is a part of his life. He is our son, but he is also the son of someone else. I don't expect you to bring it up, but if he wants to talk about it, I would be so grateful to know that he has some listening ears to validate his feelings and encourage him.
-Please teach your children about adoption. Teach them that their words can hurt. A few common, thoughtless comments are "your birth mom didn't want you", "your birth mom was a bad person", "you don't look like your parents, you're weird" or simply joking about being adopted, as though it is a bad thing (many siblings joke that one or the other is adopted). These little comments can last a lifetime, just like when we were growing up. I remember being called fat, ugly, and weird on the playground and those comments from elementary school shaped my view of myself to this day. I couldn't imagine questioning my identity because someone told me I was unwanted or came from a "bad" family... and neither of these things are accurate, anyway.
I believe that every person who touches my sons life will impact him in some way. As I said, I feel blessed that the quality of people he will be raised around is so high. Will you, my community, help my son have a great childhood, just like the childhoods I've witnessed so far here?
Josiah Samuel is my son. I held him moments after his birth, cradled under my shirt with his bare chest against mine. I fell asleep to the sound of his rapid heart beat on the monitor only an hour before he was falling asleep to the security of mine. He has taken my heart and expanded it and I'm grateful every second that he is mine.
I am grateful that I get to raise my son in this small community with people who have been so supportive of his start in life and who have cheered for his presence in our world. I am grateful for the quality of people my son will grow up around in both talent and character. I am grateful that my son will have the influence of these people as he discovers who he is and who he is meant to become.
However, no matter where my son is raised, his unique start to life will always have the potential for miscommunication and lack of understanding and I want to do what I can to give my son the best upbringing possible. In our reading about adoption one of the common problems adopted individuals have brought up is the comments and questions by people who don't realize the damage of their words. Because of this, I want to share with our friends and family some things that these people who have been through it would rather have not heard or dealt with. It is my hope that my son has few instances where he has to deal with these. It may sound pushy of me and you might be thinking I'm "that mom", but if you would simply read the following, I would be grateful.
-Please don't talk about my son's "real" parents. Setting aside the sting Jim and I might feel (we are "real" parents, too), imagine for a minute that as a five year old you hear someone ask your mom about your "real" parents and how confusing that might be. Or imagine being asked about "real" family members as you grow up, and having to differentiate and decide how "real" your family is. We are his "real" family, just as his biological family is also his "real" family. It's already confusing without being asked about it.
-Please don't tell him he's lucky, fortunate, or blessed to be with us. We are blessed to have him as our son. He shouldn't have to be grateful for how his life started anymore than any other child. None of us choose our parents before we are born. He should be just as grateful as any other child but not any more because he came into our home differently.
-Please don't share what you know of his past. Some are privy to more information than others, but it is his past and his story. Let him tell his story and if he has questions about it, tell him to come to us, we will always be open with him. We are planning on sharing his story with him, and do already reference S when we oo and aw over him. However, there are aspects that aren't appropriate for different ages and we don't want him to think we were hiding something because someone brings it to him before us.
-Please don't ignore his adoption. It is a part of his life. He is our son, but he is also the son of someone else. I don't expect you to bring it up, but if he wants to talk about it, I would be so grateful to know that he has some listening ears to validate his feelings and encourage him.
-Please teach your children about adoption. Teach them that their words can hurt. A few common, thoughtless comments are "your birth mom didn't want you", "your birth mom was a bad person", "you don't look like your parents, you're weird" or simply joking about being adopted, as though it is a bad thing (many siblings joke that one or the other is adopted). These little comments can last a lifetime, just like when we were growing up. I remember being called fat, ugly, and weird on the playground and those comments from elementary school shaped my view of myself to this day. I couldn't imagine questioning my identity because someone told me I was unwanted or came from a "bad" family... and neither of these things are accurate, anyway.
I believe that every person who touches my sons life will impact him in some way. As I said, I feel blessed that the quality of people he will be raised around is so high. Will you, my community, help my son have a great childhood, just like the childhoods I've witnessed so far here?
Sunday, February 7, 2016
The Baby Shower
We have been married for a little over nine years and I can count on one hand the number of baby showers I have attended. For many years I have avoided the pastel clad aisles of department stores, choosing to ignore the ridiculously cute, miniature items for sale there.
I was always genuinely happy for each expectant mother. I was also sure that had I attended one of these parties I would have thoroughly enjoyed the companionship of the other women and the fun events that were planned. Seeing pregnancy announcements, the cute smile of a toddler, an adorable pair of tiny shoes, the way a pregnant woman smiles when she holds her swelling midsection-- these things have been joyful.
But there was always a chance. Always a chance that one of these joyful things would be the reminder that would crush me beneath the weight of my potential childless future. And while I would like to think I could pull my big girl pants up and deal with it well enough to hide any pain that might cause, I desperately didn't want to take the joy away from those celebrating. So, to avoid being the girl crying in the bathroom at another woman's party, I have just not participated and let them celebrate without the threat of having me melt down.
Yesterday, however, I attended a baby shower I was beginning to think would never happen. Surrounded by women who have prayed continuously for this little boy, I sat in a beautifully decorated room holding my little Josiah Samuel or opening gifts on his behalf. My best friend and her daughter were there, my boss (Granny Shanny, to Josiah), my mother, running partners, students and their mothers, women from all walks of life at my church.
Near me, a chair marked with his birth mothers name was reserved for her to represent her presence in his life. I have yet to send her pictures of the event, but look forward to showing her the number of women who attended and the staggering number of books he received.
After the presents were opened the women gathered around us and prayed over us. I've never been the center of a prayer quite like that before, but it was surreal. At one point, while I'm sure it wasn't particularly reverent of me, I looked through the crowd of women to peak at Danielle as she prayed not only for Josiah and I but for his whole family (biological included). I may or may not have gotten choked up during that prayer.
I admit to arriving to the shower tired and a little overwhelmed. I don't feel like I showed enough appreciation to those who attended or who put it on. But let me assure you, the significance of that event is a memory we will cherish forever. I loved the decorations, I loved the women who attended, every single gift was lovely (and he is now covered in the diaper, wipes, clothes and books departments). I know that the women who put it on put a lot of work into it. Thank you to everyone who came to celebrate Josiah. We know that he will be loved by his church, his community, and his "family" (like Aunt Danielle and Cousin Kylynn).
Thank you.
I was always genuinely happy for each expectant mother. I was also sure that had I attended one of these parties I would have thoroughly enjoyed the companionship of the other women and the fun events that were planned. Seeing pregnancy announcements, the cute smile of a toddler, an adorable pair of tiny shoes, the way a pregnant woman smiles when she holds her swelling midsection-- these things have been joyful.
But there was always a chance. Always a chance that one of these joyful things would be the reminder that would crush me beneath the weight of my potential childless future. And while I would like to think I could pull my big girl pants up and deal with it well enough to hide any pain that might cause, I desperately didn't want to take the joy away from those celebrating. So, to avoid being the girl crying in the bathroom at another woman's party, I have just not participated and let them celebrate without the threat of having me melt down.
Yesterday, however, I attended a baby shower I was beginning to think would never happen. Surrounded by women who have prayed continuously for this little boy, I sat in a beautifully decorated room holding my little Josiah Samuel or opening gifts on his behalf. My best friend and her daughter were there, my boss (Granny Shanny, to Josiah), my mother, running partners, students and their mothers, women from all walks of life at my church.
Near me, a chair marked with his birth mothers name was reserved for her to represent her presence in his life. I have yet to send her pictures of the event, but look forward to showing her the number of women who attended and the staggering number of books he received.
After the presents were opened the women gathered around us and prayed over us. I've never been the center of a prayer quite like that before, but it was surreal. At one point, while I'm sure it wasn't particularly reverent of me, I looked through the crowd of women to peak at Danielle as she prayed not only for Josiah and I but for his whole family (biological included). I may or may not have gotten choked up during that prayer.
I admit to arriving to the shower tired and a little overwhelmed. I don't feel like I showed enough appreciation to those who attended or who put it on. But let me assure you, the significance of that event is a memory we will cherish forever. I loved the decorations, I loved the women who attended, every single gift was lovely (and he is now covered in the diaper, wipes, clothes and books departments). I know that the women who put it on put a lot of work into it. Thank you to everyone who came to celebrate Josiah. We know that he will be loved by his church, his community, and his "family" (like Aunt Danielle and Cousin Kylynn).
Thank you.
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