2008 November » The Chronicles of Munchkin Land

Birthdays & Individuality

Nov 242008

Today my youngest is turning one. As he is down for a nap, I am feeling very reflective, nostalgic and generally overwhelmed with emotion. I don’t know exactly how to word any of what I am feeling, mainly because one emotion contradicts another which contradicts another. I am living in some strange suspension of emotion where nothing is connected to everything is connected back to nothing again. Over and over.

The constant cycling of emotions and memories and feelings and general nostalgia is somewhat draining. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel. Is it ever right to think of someone else on your child’s birthday? If so, how much is too much? If it’s never okay, am I being selfish by singing in my concert on the Munchkin’s upcoming birthday and, as such, thinking of myself and/or the music? Should I be fully concentrated on each child on each of their birthdays, thinking of them and not the other?

Is it even motherly possible to emotionally remove one from the other?

I mean, sure, they’re all unique children. The Munchkin is the amazing, intelligent girl with hair, complexion and personality to die for. My oldest boy is a stubborn, smart, whirlwind of love and movement who will hug you and wow you all in the same breath. My youngest boy is a quieter, faster version of the other two with a glint in his eye that charms and worries me. Each of them would be their own unique selves without the presence of the other but, I wonder, how much has the existence of the other, in our home or not, attributed to how they have become who they are?

Maybe less so with the Munchkin as she hasn’t had the constant presence of the other two and has yet to meet her youngest brother. But how has her existence and my knowledge and processing of that existence affected how I have parented both of my sons? How has talking about her changed their perceptions (moreso my older boy at this point) of what family is and is not? How has my grief and, flipped, my joy, changed how I have interacted with all of them, separately and together?

If we remove any one of them from the equation, would another be the same?

I don’t know the answers. I do know, maybe moreso today and this season than at any other time of the year, that I am a blessed mother. My children, one currently playing, one currently napping and one currently doing something I don’t know about, are all healthy and happy. My children are all being loved, unconditionally, for who they are. My children are all being encouraged to be the best that they can and to find true happiness.

And, in the end, isn’t that what we should all want for our children?

In short, though I’m feeling emotional and confused about what I should be feeling, I am keenly aware of the blessing I have in my life at this point in time. I am so thankful for each of these children even if thinking about the other two takes some spotlight off of the youngest on his birthday. I’ll make up for it in hugs (and cake!) later.

Expanded From My Journal: The Concept of Mine

Adoption, in General, Birthdays, Motherhood, Postpartum Depression 4 Responses »

Nov 182008

I wrote this last night as I reflected about motherhood on the evening of my oldest son’s third birthday.

At this time, 9:35 on the third year of his birth, we were relaxing into our huge suite. My Husband was showering and I was spending some time alone with the little baby that was my newborn son. His eyes were mine. His face was mine. He was mine. I remember being overwhelmed with that concept, the concept of mine. I had gazed in eyes that were mine before but the child, herself, had not been mine in the end. And to look at him and know, without a doubt, that he was coming home with me was so amazing… and so scary… that my breath caught in my throat and my heart stopped and time stood still.

That feeling of “mine” still strikes me from time to time. I’ll be doing something very grown up and motherly and I’ll stop and think, “Wait? This is my life? These are my children? When did this happen?” In those moments, I realize that these two little boys are, in fact, mine. I am their mother, their mom, their mommy. I make the decisions. I soothe the boo-boos and hurt feelings. I plan the birthday parties and pay for the overly expensive cake. They rely on me for everything. At night I tuck them into their beds. And in the morning they wake me long before I’m ready.

It took me some time to grow into that after my oldest son was born. Perhaps it takes all parents some time to adjust to that reality even if they have never relinquished a child for adoption. I’ll never be able to personally attest to the differences because I can only live the one reality. I do believe, however, that I had more panic over someone taking him, especially while we were in the hospital. When he was taken in the morning for tests, I kept staring at the clock. I asked my nurse when he was coming back. My heart was tight in my chest. When they brought him back, I could finally breathe again. I didn’t want others to hold him (except for my Husband whom I trusted to give him back). I believe some of that fear attributed to that bout of postpartum depression. I was so fearful and anxious that something would happen to take my child away.

All the same, here I am, three years later. Another boy later. Another mine later. And I’m still caught off guard by all of it at times. I’ve been entrusted to raise these two boys. To help them learn to be great men. And the whole idea of it is so big and large that sometimes I feel just as overwhelmed as I did when I was making my decision to relinquish. What makes me think I’m a good enough parent to do any and/or all of this? I get into this cycle of self-doubt, pointing out any time I’ve lost my patience or forgotten to brush their teeth in the morning or generally dropped the ball as a parent.

And then I remember that all parents are human. We’ll raise these kids up just fine.

Somehow.