I think time is moving backward. I feel younger. Lighter. With fewer bags under my eyes. Sometimes I look in the mirror and ask myself how a woman on the slippery side of thirty-five turned out to be such a young mom. What a joke. But, bye-golly, this is really how I feel.
It’s as though time is moving backward. My husband and I are tighter than ever. We are all touchy-feely and emotional like newlyweds and yet amazingly still us. I think we both lost a couple of years and are magically young again.
How could we not be with Wonder Boy on our side?
We adopted our beautiful son earlier this month after years of struggle. We pursued adoption of siblings through the foster care system. We pursued—and are still in pursuit of —an international adoption from China. We looked into Russia. We pursued private, domestic adoption. Every road we went down looked so promising at first. And then, it didn’t. A bureaucratic snafu. A mother’s change of heart. A father’s sudden interest in raising his child.
Until now. Until Wonder Boy. Smiling. Happy. Laughter. Eyes that shine. He is eleven months old and so sunny I call him Buttercup, a name my husband thinks is not fitting for a boy. He prefers Sport. But I don’t care. My Buttercup looks up at me, his mommy, with his long eyelashes fluttering and I melt.
Wonder Boy—I will relent on the nickname issue because I’m in such a great mood—came to us from another state, through a chain of miraculous events that led to this love match.
We had to remain in the faraway state for a couple of weeks while matters of paperwork were resolved. Finally, we got to go home, to the nursery I have decorated and redecorated as our vision of our child changed from Chinese daughter to Texas-born son. Our Chinese daughter (or son!) is still coming, though that process has slowed so much it may be a year or more before we see our child’s face. Our Texas-born son will not be our son after all. After speaking with the woman carrying him in her womb and believing her when she said she intended to place him with us, she broke off contact. We hope he and his mother are safe, wherever they are.
Just as we were grieving the son that would not be ours, a call came about Wonder Boy. And, suddenly, I’m a mom.
And a well-rested one at that. For someone who is Type A and always mentally alert, making lists, running through scenarios etc., and who never seemed to sleep as a DINK (Double Income, No Kids), I am suddenly drifting into sleep at night without necessarily going to bed any earlier. As a working woman who was a huge multi-tasker, staying home and parenting is almost a breeze. The life of playgroups, nap schedules, and teething remedies seems to suit me. I may have a twenty-pound weight on my hip, but the weight of childlessness has been lifted.
When we arrived home that first day, I sank into the rocking chair, whispering to my son in the room we slaved over for so long. Crazy. My body was having all kinds of emotional responses and they all involved tears. You can’t imagine how satisfying and affirming it was to sit there and do nothing but rock and sing.
