Halloween Baby.

Today is Brae's 6th birthday.  In honor of my Halloween baby, I thought I'd share his birth story for those who may not know.

We had been on the adoption wait list for nearly 7 months before we got the call that Brae's birthmom had seen our profile and wanted to meet us.  She was the first birthmom who had actually wanted to meet us.  We'd had numerous "false starts" before her. 

We drove nearly 3 hours to meet her for the first time.  It was September, and she was due in early November.  We met at a Mexican restaurant for lunch.  It was us, our case worker, her, her sister, and her mother. 

I remember thinking she was radiant.  A petite young girl, age 23, with a basketball under her shirt.  I was so nervous, I didn't eat a thing.

We all stumbled through the conversation, clearly in uncharted territory.  We gave her a small bag of gifts we had brought - magazines, books, little things to occupy her during her labor. 

At one point, she asked us if we had picked out names.  She had decided to not know the gender, so she asked if we had a boy and a girl name.

We told her we did not yet have a boy name, but we had a girl name.  It was Hannah.

The room fell silent. 

Oh no, I thought.  She doesn't like our name.  What could that mean? Will she still allow us to adopt this baby?

Then, she broke the silence with a smile.

"That's my last name."

Chills.  Up to that point, we had only known her first name.  To have our chosen girl name be her last name was truly a God thing. 

The next day, she chose us to be the family for the child she was carrying.

Fast forward a few weeks, and we got the call that she was going to be induced.  On Halloween.  It was a Friday.  The same as this year.

We had our last supper as a family of 2 (we hoped!), and drove the 3 hours down to the hospital.  We stayed in a hotel on October 30, and the next morning, went to the hospital.

She allowed us to be present for the labor and delivery.  When I walked in the room, she looked at me and smiled, "Are you ready to be a mom?"

I lost it. 

Over the next several hours, we talked with her and her family, prayed with her, and otherwise encouraged her as she made her way through the labor process.  At one point, she turned to us and said, "You know, I never asked if you had a boy name picked out."

Tygh and I looked at each other.  We had just decided the day before. 

"Well, it's a little unusual.  But we like Brae." 

Again, the room fell silent.  The familiar feeling of Is she going to like it? raced through my mind.

She again broke the silence with a smile.  "My middle name is Rae."

God was present.

I held her hand as she pushed our baby out, and then when the doctor revealed it was a boy, watched as they placed him on her abdomen.

I cut the cord.

Life breathed. 

Our birthmom is an incredible woman.  For many reasons.  But all could see it that day, from the nursing staff, to the doctors, to the caseworkers.

She allowed us to completely assume the role of his parents from literally his first breath.  We bathed him.  We fed him.  We changed him.  We held him.

And, as the night wore on, she asked if I would sleep in the room with her and Brae.

I did.

Not much sleeping went on that night, however.  She and I just talked.  It was magical.

The next day, she was discharged, and he was officially ours.

The hospital put him in a pumpkin costume, and we saddled up for the ride home.  I sat in the back with him, holding his hands the whole way. 

Six years later, and I haven't stopped.

Working Mom Guilt

I have posted about "Working Mom Guilt" before, and yet it is such a recurring theme in my life, it is never far from my thoughts.  This week was particularly challenging, perhaps because I think for one of the first times, my husband had Working Husband Guilt.

Sienna is in preschool.  Yes, I know even stay-at-home moms have their children in preschool, so I don't know why I associate Sienna's preschool experience with being a Working Mom issue.  I know it is not. 

And yet, every time I drop her off, I feel a sting of Working Mom guilt.

This week, Sienna gave me a good, healthy dose of it.

Three out of four days this week, when I dropped Sienna off, she melted in a puddle.  She even plastered her face and her hands up against the window, crying as she watched me drive away.

Knife. In. My. Heart.

Now, I know she loves her preschool.  She often scolds me when I pick her up, saying I've picked her up too early, she is not finished playing, or doing her crafts, etc. 

So what is it?  This has only become a recurrent theme in the last couple of months.

I think a couple of things.  One, she's there by herself.  I don't mean there aren't other kids there.  There are, including her best friend.  But she doesn't have her older brother anymore.  And, Graem is still at home with me while I'm on parental leave.  She's a sibling of three, flying solo.  And, as independent as she is, I think she misses being separated from her brothers.

The second thing is I think she misses me.  She has become more and more of a Mommy's Girl in the last several months.  She loves her dad, of course, but she is my shadow. 

So, Working Mom Guilt sets in.  As I left her at preschool this week, I'd just pray the whole way home.  That God would comfort her.  And me.

Tygh also got a healthy dose of Working Dad Guilt this week from Brae.  Tygh gets up early, before everyone else, and is often out the door before we are awake.  This week, Brae heard the garage door open as Tygh was getting ready to leave one morning.  He bolted out of bed, flew down the stairs, and raced to the garage just as Tygh was pulling out of the garage.  Tygh saw Brae, crying, reaching his arms out to him. 

Tygh stopped the car, parked, and came inside.  He carried Brae to the couch, who was inconsolable.  "I miss you, Daddy!" he wailed. 

Knife. In. My. Heart.

So where is this guilt coming from and what do we do about it?

I know that we are in the majority.  Two, full-time working parents.  Sure, one of us could stay home if we chose to.  Yes, we'd have to dramatically alter our lifestyle, but we could do it.

We have chosen, however, not to.  Tygh and I both love our jobs.  Our careers.  Our professions. 

We also dearly love our children.  The two are not mutually exclusive.  For me, I firmly believe I am a better mom as a working mom.  I am at my best when I feel fulfilled in my profession, and at home.  I need that balance.  My kids need me to have that balance.

But, I still feel guilty.  At times.  Not all the time, but at times. Like this week.

The ironic thing is that I'm not back to work full-time yet.  I'm still on leave, and have chosen to work part-time, from home.  So, yes, I could pull Sienna out of preschool (I suppose) and have her home with me, too.  I have chosen not to. 

And this is where some raw honesty comes in.  I want to be home, alone, with Graem.  I want Brae in school, and I want Sienna in school.  With Brae, it was just me and him, at home.  With Sienna, I kept Brae in preschool, and it was just me and Sienna at home.  I'm doing the same with Graem.  I need this bonding time with just him. 

I've accepted Working Mom Guilt.  So what do I do now?  Well, I've chosen to let some things go.  When the kids are home with me, I'm completely devoted to them.  The laundry sometimes stays in the dryer for days.  The dishes pile up in the sink.  The beds aren't made.  We've hired a housekeeper so I don't spend my weekends cleaning house.  I say "no" to other commitments that would keep me away from my kids. 

At church this week, the sermon was about living in the margins.  Creating more white space on your pages of life. 

I believe in that lifestyle mentality.

Because life happens in the margins.

Precocious

pre·co·cious

adjective \pri-ˈkō-shəs\

of a child : having or showing the qualities or abilities of an adult at an unusually early age

CloseStyle: MLA APA Chicago

 

Full Definition of PRECOCIOUS

1

:  exceptionally early in development or occurrence <precocious puberty>

2

:  exhibiting mature qualities at an unusually early age precocious

child>

 

 

This is Brae.  At least, according to his teachers.  I must admit, I had to look it up when they told me this is how they would describe him.  I didn't know if they were giving me a compliment or not.  (In truth, I still don't know).

 

You see, since Brae started kindergarten, we have been in regular communication with his teachers.  He throws pencils.  He can use potty words.  He has to be at the front of the line.  His paper has to be on top.

 

The teacher has a "behavior" chart.  Red is bad.  Yellow is a warning.  Green is good.

 

Guess where Brae has spent most of his kindergarten days.

 

When the teachers have called, asking for advice, I tell them the truth.  Yes, he's tired.  He's adjusting to a long day.  Yes, he is very smart, and if you do not keep him occupied, he will act out.  And, quite frankly, yes, he's a 5-year-old boy with a big personality. 

 

I don't want to break his spirit.  However, I also want him to get a job one day, get married, and stay out of prison.

 

So, we have been working on his behavior issues at home.  I'm told things improved last week at school.  "Improved" being the operative word.  "Improved" meaning he still got removed from gym class because he couldn't keep his hands to himself.  "Improved" meaning he still got removed from music class for using potty words.

 

Sigh.

 

Dear Brae's teachers, don't you see what I still see?

 

 

In two months...

In two months, we will meet Sienna's genetic family for the first time.  Face to face. 

In two months, Sienna will get to meet the genetic parents who chose life for her.  She will get to look into the eyes of her two fully genetic siblings.

And smile. 

We live in Oregon.  Sienna's genetic family lives in Ohio.  We've decided to convene in Florida. 

Disney World.

This trip has been in the makes for nearly a year  now, and we are beyond excited.  (Apart from the whole flying across the country with three small children thing). 

We have an open adoption with Sienna's family, and since her birth, we have regularly exchanged pictures, videos, emails, texts.  We are even Facebook friends.

This level of openness has probably been instigated mostly by me.  I am an open person.  Period.  And it is important to us that our children know their roots.  I'm just grateful that both Brae's birthfamily and Sienna's genetic family have welcomed this level of openness. 

But, we have never spoken on the phone with Sienna's genetic family.  Although we've heard their voices (via videos or recorded storybooks), I'm excited to hear their voice when they see our daughter in person for the first time and say, "Hi, Sienna!"

No, Sienna won't know what is going on.  And we haven't really shared the depths of Sienna's story with Brae yet. He wouldn't understand. 

But, we will take lots of pictures, and lots of videos, and we will make lasting memories.

And I hope this will just be the first of many visits over her lifetime.