Reassurances

From the time he was tiny, we've told him over and over how loved he is. How much we adore and cherish him. What an honour it is to be his parents. We curled up together and read his favourite book, Love You Forever.

But even our little one needs reassurances. We all do. Which is a good reminder for adoptive parents.

Last week Noah had his usual tuck-in, followed by his routine re-emergence from his bedroom. Typically the excuse for late-night roaming is "I need more water" or "You didn't tuck me in quite right".

It had gotten to the point where I've declared "If you're not bleeding, and nothing is on fire, you can stay in bed!" (Which worked until a few weeks ago when his chapped lip cracked and he declared triumphantly "MOMMA I'M BLEEDING! CAN I GET UP NOW?")

Last week was different. He didn't come out for water or an extra tuck-in. He needed reassurances.

"Momma, there's something I've been meaning to ask you," (this at 8pm from my articulate 5 year old who had just escaped from his room for the third time that night).

"Okay, ONE last question, then it's bed time." I winked at him.

"Well, it's really important. I've been thinking about it for a long time now when I go to bed."

"Okay, Noah. What is it?"

"Are you glad you adopted me?"

A thousand thoughts raced through my head. He was serious. He genuinely needed to hear that we were glad he had joined our family. For the thousandth time.

I answered his question. With a tackling bear hug, a thousand kisses (which he promptly "wiped IN" instead of wiping off) and a dozen affirmations "Of COURSE! YES! We love you infinity!"

His smile said it all ... our usually confident little man just needed to hear and be reassured that he was wanted and his place in our family was secure.

It's a good reminder. Even if our children don't voice their thoughts about adoption, they are thinking about it. Late at night after we tuck them in. They wonder, they imagine, and if we're lucky, they bring those concerns to light.

So reassure your little ones. And your big ones, who might be reluctant to ask and may pretend not to care.  

Dear Noah,

"I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always
As long as I'm living, my baby you'll be."

- Robert Munsch (adoptive parent).

Zombies over Cats and Dogs

Last night I dreamed that litters of kittens and puppies were overrunning my house. My son was trying to determine which of the animals would be staying and which ones would be "makin' an adoption plan". Every time I picked a kitten or puppy up and placed him back in his nest with his siblings, another escaped and I'd have to chase him down. Pick up, put down, repeat.

I spent the better part of a REM cycle trying to bottle feed a set of premature Weimaraners while a kleenex-box-worthy Persian devoured my shoelace. In between shooing the kitten off of me and fretting over puppies, I came across a kitten with five legs and one eye. I worried he would be overlooked due to his special placement needs.

Even in my dreams, adoption permeates.

Don't get me wrong. Kitten and puppy dreams are a refreshing change, especially since my recent adventures in dreamland have been overrun with creative renditions of last week's episode of The Walking Dead. I just miss the zombies. No one wanted to adopt a zombie, and I'm pretty sure none of the undead adults wanted children (except as a meal, of course.)  It was a nice reprieve.

Life got busy so I haven't been blogging as much. Adoption Awareness Month is upon us, as are plans for the new year and the busyness of the holiday season.

My son has started kindergarten, and it's been a rough go for him so far. So I set aside the writing for a while, not seeing how much value it had to me as a parent and professional to be able to share in this format.

I'm pretty certain my lack of blogging has forced my ever-present adoption focus into my dreams. I believe it's a choice: live and love and work and write about adoption or live and love and work and dream about it.

So welcome back, readers. It's been a long while. I love my family, I love my work. But I'd much rather battle it out with zombies then rehome premature pets while I'm asleep. I'm here. And I've missed this!

17 Sleeps Away

 

Earlier this month my husband and I did what a lot parents (especially parents of teenagers!) dream about: We went on a two week vacation across Italy and the Czech Republic. And we went alone.

Now, if Noah were fourteen, I wouldn't have batted an eye. But he's not fourteen. He's only four, and being apart is NOT so much fun for either of us at this stage in his development. But we did it, lived to tell about it, and are glad we went!

Eight years ago, we got married young and didn't have a lot of money leftover to spend on a honeymoon. So we kept saying "next summer" over and over again until we were suddenly 30 with a child headed to kindergarten and still no official honeymoon.

We decided this was the summer, and we nervously asked my parents if they would be willing to watch Noah for a 'few weeks' while we flew to Italy to drink lots of wine and eat lots of pasta and act like silly, childless twenty-somethings again.

They were more than happy to, and Noah was excited about going to "Grammy's for seventeen days, because I can do whatever I want!" (Uh, not so fast, Noah!) We quickly sorted out that Grammy and Opa's house was not a place to roam and misbehave and stuff one's face with ice cream for seventeen days straight, despite what previous short, indulgent visits may have led him to believe.

We prepared him well (me? not so much - I bawled at the ferry terminal after hugging him goodbye!) and saw each other on Skype almost every day. He played with his cousins and swam in the ocean and splashed in the sprinkler and was thoroughly spoiled by his grandparents during the 17 days and nights that we were halfway around the world pretending to be kids again.

The adoption-vigilant part of me worried needlessly about the impact of our 'abandonment' of Noah and how it make re-awaken feelings of grief and loss. Honestly, I think he handled our absence better than we did. After all, Grammy and Opa were Noah's foster parents from the time of his birth until his adoption almost seven months later. He'd slept in their home and smelled their food cooking and heard the same voices countless times before. He must have some sub-conscious memory of the place and routines.  

That's not to say there weren't tears, or moments where he demanded our immediate return. He had his share of tantrums and pouts while we were away. But he was all smiles when the trip ended and he leaped into my arms again. I did have to promise to take him with us next time, but that seemed only fair.

We got a wonderful belated honeymoon, and our son got to test out his independence under the watchful eyes of his grandparents.

Jealousy Does Not Inspire a Spay, Son

For a while now, Noah has been very, very curious about the possibility of kittens. His cat, Bella, is almost a year old now, and in his mind, old enough to be a mother.

Every few days, and sometimes twice a day, he asks:
"Momma, when is Bella having babies?" .... "She's not having kittens, Noah."
"Momma, it's time for kittens! When is Bella going to have them?" ... "She's not having kittens, Noah."
"Momma, I would really like it if Bella had some cute little kittens. I promise I'll be nice to them." ... "She's not having kittens."

Until one day, the conversation went like this:
"Momma, WHY WON'T BELLA HAVE KITTENS? She NEEDS TO!" .... and so Mommy cracked and said "Bella had an operation so she can't have any babies. There are too many cats and it's not fair to have any more. She will never have kittens."

Call me a bad mother for telling my four year old the sad truth about controlling the pet population. At least he heard it from me instead of Bob Barker at the end of a Price Is Right re-run.

Thankfully, he didn't seem overly upset by the news that we'd rendered his beloved cat sterile. He furrowed his brow and patted his cat on the head and bounded off to climb the tree stump in the backyard.

But he was thinking about it.

Yesterday we curled up on the couch, and Bella joined us. He had just settled into the crook of my arm when he whispered "I know why you gave Bella that operation, Mommy."

"Oh really, Noah?"..... "Yes! If Bella had babies you would be jealous. Because you don't have any more babies and if Bella has kittens you will be sad."

He turned over and looked me in the eye. I was trying to find a succinct way of dismissing his theory, while praising him for his (somewhat twisted) empathetic rationale, when he smiled and said:

 "Mommy. And there's another reason she can't have kittens." .... "Yes, son?"
"All that poo.... Don't forget the poo, Mommy". ..... "Okay, son. I won't. I promise. I won't forget the poo."

I gave my son a kiss, glanced at my sterile cat, turned up the TV, and tuned in to the Price is Right. 

I may not have spayed my cat in a fit of jealousy, but if it buys me a little acceptance from my 4 year old, I might just let this one slide.