Tuesday, July 15, 2014
It happened overnight, really. Something clicked. Two someones changed. I've always been the mom, but, I became MOM...or maybe just felt like mom? Either way, my baby was born to me, today.
Of course, it did not happen overnight. He's been in my house, in fact, for 150 nights, but today Sweet Boy called me "Mama". He meant it as deeply as I felt it.
It would sound so nice if I could have ended that sentence with "and we both cried". We didn't. In the circus that others might call "dinner time", he matter-of-factly asked for milk...but neither the "Mama" nor the "please" slipped my notice. Both words are new to his vocabulary...but, today, he wore them, comfortably, and I had time for a small smile on the way to the oven...and fridge - for milk.
I remember when we started preparing for a second adoption, long before we found LJ on MARE.org, we often wondered if and how we'd be able to love another child as much as we loved Ty. I thought about that, today, when looking at each of my kids, realizing my heart overflows for each of them from a well that could never run dry. Its depth is not measurable.
I felt like Sweet Boy's mom for the first, last week. The moment stands still for me. Sweet Boy is enrolled in a summer program (in part for Kindergarten preparedness, in part for the security that being in school brings him). When I picked him up, the teacher pulled me aside and gushed praise for my little man. She is impressed with his heart and attitude, constant willingness to help others, and innate gift to create. My heart swelled with pride at every word and I knew in an instant that I was his mother.
Since that moment, our hearts have collided over and over and over, again. Every meal Sweet Boy is the first to the kitchen and asks to help set the table and then sits to talk to me until we're ready to eat.
He had to get a few shots at his doctor appointment. last week, and although he faced the nurse with a brave face, in the last moment before the poke, he looked in my eyes and said in a squeaky voice, "Will you hold my hand?"
Nearly every morning in the last week, he snuggles close to watch cartoons, while I feed Little Miss. His little hand hugging my arm. One day (pictured above), he risked the inch toward me and grabbed the tips of my fingers. When I squeezed back he looked at me and smiled.
Two nights, this week, he ran to my bedside in fear of his dreams and I hugged him tight until his breathing slowed and his peace returned.
As his guard lessens its grips, our affection increases. My movements are bolder. I kiss without asking and run my fingers through his thick, curly hair. He loves that. Often, he'll sit with me as long as time will allow and let me, gently, massage his head and back.
He bear hugs my leg, frequently, asks to pray at the dinner table, seeks my lap for comfort, and, now, calls me "Mama"...
My heart is too constricted for eloquent words.
The Lord has done this and it is marvelous in our eyes.
I am proud of all of my babies...but my heart has a special sweetness toward Sweet Boy. He remembers the most and faced the greatest opposition. He has had to fight for love - giving and accepting - and process loss in a way most of us never have.
I'm not sure what lies ahead, but victory is ours. My son is home.