Hallmark commercials make me cry. When I’m not pregnant. Along that line of thinking, I’m also somewhat of a pack-rat. I have all of BigBrother’s cards for his baby shower, his first birthday. I keep cards from my Husband. (And I buy him random sappy ones as well.) I am into scrapbooking. And I take a bagillion and one pictures. All the time. I like to have documentation of things. As I said, I’m sappy.

How does this play into adoption?

I have kept everything D has sent. I’ve kept things left behind (that weren’t needed). Like, for example, one of her binkies. As an example, when we were cleaning out LittleBrother’s room, I found of Munchkin’s socks. They’re now sitting in the hall by LittleBrother’s door with some other things that need to be put in appropriate places. I don’t want to move them right now. They make me feel as if she is here.

It also means that I have my camera going non-stop during visits. It helps give me something to look back at during those long times between visits!

Anyway, that’s seven things about me. Not everything about me. Just seven simple (but true!) little things about me.

This is a blessing. And a curse. Once I put my mind to something, it gets done. So much so that sometimes I end up getting in trouble for being so stubborn about it. I try to use it to my benefit. Sometimes it bites me in the butt.

How does this apply to adoption?

It may or may not have been an indirect reasoning behind placement. It’s also hard for me to admit when I’m wrong at times or when I need some help regarding an issue. That can make communication difficult at times but I really try to keep my eye out for those times, just like in general life.

This post is coming late because it’s Sunday. But I didn’t go to church because of the whole bed rest issue. And I’m feeling kind of bummed about it. So I’ll talk about my faith for a few minutes before retiring for the day.

I am a Christian. I’ve struggled with my faith over the years. I’ve been mad at God on several (numerous) occasions. I’ve strayed. I’ve fallen down. I’ve acted like a non-Christian. I’ve been hypocritical. I’ve been judgmental. And still my Savior forgives me. That’s a good thing, in my opinion.

I’m currently in a decent place with my faith. I’ve been shown a lot about myself through my past judgments on people. I still have a few judgments I’d like to let go of, ones I jump to at first impressions, but God has been working on those. I try not to be hypocritical but, alas, I don’t know many of us who live our lives perfectly. Sometimes I do and say the wrong thing. I’m finding it easier to walk with God than apart from Him anymore. I’m enjoying my fellowship with other Christians and am enjoying learning more about the word.

And how does this relate to adoption?

Just go ahead and read my post (from way earlier this year) over at the birth/first parent blog: Where Is God In Placement? I still stand by it.

Prior to BigBrother’s birth, I knew I would like being an everyday Mom. But I had no clue how much. I still had some anxiety about how I would handle my then-beloved career and motherhood. I couldn’t yet imagine, prior to being knee-deep in everyday mothering, not putting my career first. I was the pregnant woman who claimed (in online due date communities) that yes, I was returning to my job, full-time, and I would love every moment of it. Then he was born. And I went back part-time. And then, by the time he hit eight months, I turned in my resignation. And now? I can’t imagine anything more rewarding than being with my kid(s).

I didn’t really know I’d feel this way. Or be good at mothering. I didn’t know I’d enjoy reading the same book eighty-bagillion times. I didn’t know that I wouldn’t mind doing the never-ending laundry. I didn’t know I’d find joy in creating foods that the Little Man will actually consume. I had no clue the joy that cuddling my own child would bring.

I love the little things. Even pee soaked sheets because we forgot to throw on a cloth diaper. I like doing laundry. And playing. And laughing. I don’t always like the hard moments (teething (which is over… FOR NOW) and tantrums, for example) but I can handle them as well. With style.

And what does this have to do with adoption?

It really, really saddens me. I remember feeling like the worst possible candidate for motherhood while I was pregnant with the Munchkin. Certain people (like TheHusbandMan) tried to help me see the mothering intuition that I possessed but I couldn’t see past what society and the agency were telling me: I was single, I was poor and I was young. I wasn’t fit to be a mother. It’s just sad.

It also had an effect on how I went into parenting BigBrother. It really worried me, this thought that I wasn’t a good enough mother. I thought I would screw up BigBrother. I thought I would be awful. Then TheHusbandMan got the flu and I spent the first three days of parenting as a virtual single mother. And I rocked it.

I get down, sometimes, realizing that I would have been a fantastic mother for the Munchkin. But I then remind myself that I could spend that negative energy (previous sentence) on being the best possible first mother for her. And that’s what gets me through.

(Late post again because I’ve been resting all day.)

Day Three: I’m not really good at pregnancy.

This post is late in the day. Why? I went in for my 33 week prenatal checkup. And got shipped over to Labor & Delivery. I’ve got protein in my urine, elevated blood pressure and some significant swelling (that isn’t heat induced at this point). Also, I was contracting! JOY! So, I got a shot of terbutaline, lots of blood work, a mini-catheter, an ultrasound on the baby (5lbs, 8oz with a head measuring almost three weeks ahead of schedule), an ultrasound on my cervix and a few hours of monitoring. Joy, fun, eh? Contractions were stopped with ease, thankfully. But me? I’m on Level 2 bedrest. (With a two year old. Mmhmm, right.)

This is the longest I’ve gone without bedrest, actually. With BigBrother, it happened at 32 weeks. (I’m 33w5d today.) With Munchkin? 18 weeks. I’m kind of proud to have made it this far but still bummed. (Also glad that we bought the laptop this week.)

And how does all of this relate to adoption?

I’m really kind of beefed with the agency (and other agencies that tell other expectant mothers considering placement the same thing). It was always said, “You can have more kids.” Yeah, okay, I’m “having” more kids. But I’ve had one miscarriage. And two, now, very complicated pregnancies. My own health has been put at risk. In fact, my child-bearing years are thus dictated by my health risks. After this kid, we’re done. It’s greatly assumed that birth mothers are young, fertile and strong and can go on to have umpteen babies. I’m mad that they didn’t say, “Hey, with the complications that you’re having with this kid (Munchkin) should you maybe get a second opinion about how future pregnancies will go before making decisions about children?”

But not REALLY mad. In fact, the only time that it bothers me is when I’m laid up in the hospital, unsure of my health, my child’s health and the future. Otherwise, I just don’t think about it much. “What’s done is done.” But with that, I tell all mothers considering placement, “Don’t bank on being healthy, strong enough or able to have more children. You just. never. know.”

Now I need to drink some water, watch some lame Friday night TV and thank my Lord that He has given us more time to bake this child. Who, seen via ultrasound today, is just as darn cute as his older siblings. (I also have a great hospital-adoption-talk story to share. Really. It’s positive! But I’ve got to rest.)

Day Two: I’m an internet junkie.

Which totally brings to mind the commercials from the 80′s that stated, “No one says they want to be a junkie when they grow up.” I was young enough that I didn’t understand the correlation between “junkie” and drugs, so the commercial was somewhat confusing. Confusion aside, I like my internet.

For those who don’t know, the Husband and I met via the internet. Not a dating site, though I find nothing wrong with those, we met via an earlier version of blogging. (LiveJournal, for those in the know.) It was completely accidental; I commented on his best friend’s journal, the future-Husband replied and a friendship was immediately sparked. We didn’t start dating for over two and a half years after that initial meeting because of time, distance and circumstance. But eventually things fell into place. It might have took that long because the two of us are rather dense when it comes to flirting. No. Really. I know everyone things that birth mothers are smooth seductresses. But my Husband can vouch that I, most definitely, do not fall under that stereotype. Really.

So, yes, the internet has a soft-spot in my heart. I love blogging, the friends that it has brought into my life and the ways I have been changed by it. I mean, in so many ways, I wouldn’t be writing, right here on this particular blog, if it wasn’t for someone or something internet related. I’ve met some good people. (I married one.) I’ve made some good friends. I’ve learned a lot of important things. And I learn everyday!

And how does this play into adoption?

Without the internet, I wouldn’t know jack about adoption. When I was pregnant with the Munchkin, my access to the internet wasn’t reliable. (When it comes down to paying rent and for food and then choosing an internet connection, I’ll go with rent and food every time.) I was online sometimes, but it was mainly to check e-mails, do a little writing and read about labor and delivery. I’m not quite sure why I didn’t think to research adoption related issues (for anyone in the triad) during my times of intermittent connectivity, but part of me believes that I was over-trusting in the information that my agency was giving me. Not knowing the darker side of adoption, I didn’t know that they had ulterior motives. I figured they legitimately wanted to help me. Oh, the naiveity of it all!

It wasn’t until after placement, when I had moved and secured some internet access, that I began learning about adoption above and beyond what I was told by the unethical agency in question. A month post-placement, I learned, too late, that open adoptions were not legally binding in our state. This was a huge blow. This lie of omission really took me down a few notches in my healing process that I was just beginning. I was very frustrated. Since that time and since the explosion of public blogging on the topic of adoption by all members (and non-members) of the triad, I have learned so much. Without the voices of adoptees, I wouldn’t know anything about what my daughter might or might not experience or what might or might not be expected of me in the future. I’d just be flying blind as my agency didn’t discuss one iota of information about adoptees and how they process adoption, adoption related issues or anything about a relationship I might forge with her over the years. I’ve also learned a lot from adoptive mothers on how important that consistent contact is between adult sides of the triad. I’ve read the devastation of these mothers as they look for answers to questions about why their child’s birth parent(s) disappeared. I decided I didn’t want to be one of those… ever.

And, of course, the internet lets D and I communicate much more regularly than we would otherwise be able to do. For example, we used to talk on the phone quite frequently. But, uh, BigBrother? He’s loud. And he loves him some telephones. So phone calls in this house are usually relegated to sleeping times. (But, alas, he’s nap skipping again today. Grr. Which means more work will have to be done after he goes to bed tonight, leaving no phone time.) Thanks to the internet, I can jot off a quick e-mail. She can do the same. Photographs are shared with super ease. (Mmm, flickr.) And, since we read a lot of the same blogs, including each others’, we are able to discuss topics that we might not have thought about on our own but might very well come into play at some point in our relationship.

And so, yes, I like the internetz and it has impacted our adoption experience. So, there. Day two. Rock it.

Day One: I’m a perfectionist with obsessive-compulsive personality trait who lives with anxiety on a daily basis.

No, I don’t have OCD. I don’t wash my hands repeatedly (though I do wash them). I don’t lock and unlock doors. I don’t have rituals. This site describes a lot of what my therapist diagnosed me in this way for, minus the money thing. I wish I hoarded money. Instead, I like to spend it. (Perhaps a Taurus trait peeking through the personality disorder.) Perfectionism is a trait of OCPT disorder but I seem to take it to new levels all the time. I don’t notice it, either, until I’m sitting in my therapist’s office, recounting the eighty-bagillion things that I’ve done recently. And she’ll look at me. And say, “Munchkin’sFirstMom, you don’t have to be everything, to everyone, all the dang time. Do you know that?” And I’ll realize that I really didn’t need to spread myself as thin as I did over x-amount of time in regards to y or z thing. But I don’t honestly notice it when I’m up until 3am working on a paper for a presentation. Mmmhmmm.

As for the anxiety, I usually have it in check. Usually. This pregnancy’s hormone fluctuation in the first trimester sent me into a tailspin that was pretty bad. Thankfully I just upped my therapy visits and employed some relaxation techniques. I’m hoping to avoid the use of anti-anxiety meds in this postpartum period, however, I am also realistic that it could come down to that in the end. My anxiety keeps me from socializing as much as I would like. (Really, I do like people but I just freak out!!) I don’t call to order pizza; TheHusbandMan has to do it. I hate (hate) meeting new people. I don’t walk first into a room, no matter how big. Movie theaters, friends’ houses and sporting events… it doesn’t matter. Someone else has to walk in first. When I was diagnosed with anxiety, it answered a lot of questions from my past and pin-pointed why my Mother and I had such a hard time communicating.

That said, my perfectionism creates some good things. For example, I don’t like living with anxiety so I do things to overcome it instead of just letting it overtake me. (Except when hormone fluctuations come into play. God, that was just AWFUL. Gah.) I’m currently very proud of the work I’ve done regarding my anxiety as of late. Munchkin’sFirstMom of two years ago, pre-diagnoses, would never have stood up and spoke in front of any sized group of people. I also wouldn’t sing with the choir or any solo-ops either. Both my determination to get the best of this thing and my faith in God’s help have brought me through the muck of all of this.

And how does this all relate to adoption?

I’ve been really working, mentally, on how some of that anxiety likely played in to Munchkin’s placement. I get stuck, though, because I get really down on myself for not recognizing that I was dealing with something more than just what was seen on the surface. It’s hard for me to step back and say, “But you didn’t know you were also fighting some other issues. You can’t hold yourself responsible for not knowing.” But then the other part of me says, “If you had demanded better care, perhaps this would have been caught.” Ah, perfectionism at its best.

All of this can hamper my communication with Munchkin’s family as well. As much as I’m a proponent for open, honest communication, my hormonal fluctuations with these things really got the best of me early in this pregnancy. I had to cancel a visit and, looking back, it seems so “silly” to have needed to cancel it. But at the time? I was so overwhelmed with anxiety that I wasn’t showering, leaving the house or doing much more than taking care of BigBrother and taking prenatal vitamins. It was a bad, bad time. Thankfully, my therapist and I have worked out some things that will hopefully keep a repeat of this issue from ever happening again, including CALLING HER to set up an emergency appointment and possibly involving D in a phone session before I would cancel something. Ya know, instead of just freaking out? Yeah. Cool!

Anyway, tomrorow’s simple/true thing will be more cheery. Promise.

As for tagging, I encourage everyone who reads this blog to get real in their blogs for seven days and address seven simple/true things about themselves. I’d love to learn more about my bloggy-friends. Holla back.

First and foremost, I was being recognized as a parent. True, I’m an everyday parent to BigBrother with another one on the way. But my family includes more than just these two boys; it includes the presence of my daughter and her family. Within that stretch, there are more than three different races being represented, bringing the issue into the core existence of what our family is, stands for and hopes to be in the future.

More over, however, was the fact that I’ve still been silently stinging over an issue that happened late last year (that I didn’t find out about until early this year). After the article and picture ran last November, featuring my face next to the Munchkin’s in newspapers and on computer screens across the nation, a very opinionated blogger took the story and basically decided to rip me a new one. For being a racist.

I cannot adequately describe the shock that I felt upon reading the hate-filled words that he and some commenters had for me, my daughter, her family, our situation and the adoption in general… without knowing any of us past two quotes, a smidgen of information and our pictures. Never, in my then-twenty-five-years on the planet, had I been called a racist. I was caught off-guard. It really took me off my center. I was upset for days. My Husband reassured me that it was the most ludicrous thing he had ever heard. A fellow birth mother tried to get me to realize that he was just looking for hits on his own blog. Munchkin’s birth father actually laughed, reminding me that our relationship hadn’t been based on my hatred of the African-American people.

But I was still left stinging. For months to come.

So, in case anyone was left wondering, I did not place my daughter because she is of a different race. The only time race came into play regarding my adoption plan was when I learned that J’s boys were also transracial; I thought that might give them an edge that other families didn’t possess. I figured if I couldn’t parent her (which is what I believed at the time), someone with experience on certain subjects would be a great advantage to themselves and the Munchkin as she will surely face issues in the future.

The stinging has mostly alleviated. I know who I am at the core: I am a mother to the most beautiful girl on the planet and two boys. And while I’m lots of other things as well, that mothering part of me wants my children, all of them, to be raised with the understanding that we’re all amazing. Not just because all humans share certain qualities, making us believe that we should love each other as ourselves, but because we all bring something totally unique to the table. Those differences fascinate me and implore me to continue learning about all kinds of different people and cultures. I hope to pass that love of people, in their blessed uniqueness, onto my children… daily parented or not.

And so, as Cloudscome asked: how did it feel to be tagged? Darn good. While some not-so-nice (and now not-living?!) blogger may have misjudged my character, others who have been privvy to my most-inner thoughts and outward deeds have seen me for who I hope to be: a mother who loves her children equally and who only wants the best for them in this life. I only hope my children will see the same exact thing and be forever blessed and changed by that vision.

(As a note, I will not link to the blogger’s post because, even though he’s now deceased, I do not want the blog to be receiving hits from any of my blogs. Contact me via e-mail for a link if you so desire.)

1. I am:

Polish, Irish, Scottish, British and a smidgen of Cherokee. I can’t remember, without calling my Mom up at work right now, if there is actually Hungarian on my paternal side or if Grandma just has a lot of Hungarian recipies. Either way, she’s a magnificent cook. I identify a lot with my Polish ancestry because of my paternal Grandma. In fact, I want to go to Poland someday to explore and seek out relatives that are still in the “Old Country.”

2. My kids are:

Unique? Obviously, Munchkin has my heritage and then from her biological father, she has some African-American, British, Jamaican and some other things that are slipping my un-coffee-laden mind. Of course, this is all genetically speaking; she has an entire other history from her adoptive parents. As for BigBrother and LittleBrother, they have my heritage and whatever TheHusbandMan’s happens to be. No, I don’t know the answer to the question, “Are you guys related to the infamous Hatfield clan?” No one has done their geneaology. I really need to get to work on that… eventually.

3. I first started thinking more about race, culture, and identity when:

I was in high school. Prior to that, I wasn’t really aware of race issues. While our school wasn’t overly diverse, I didn’t see a difference in playing with x-race or y-race. In high school, however, I “dated” (prior to being allowed out of the house to date, so basically we held hands at school, passed notes and talked on the phone) a guy who was a year older than me… and African-American. While Mom and Dad didn’t expressly forbid the relationship, Grandma (yes, the Polish one) was a bit more verbal. I was shocked by this fact. I had been taught to love everyone and I was very confused. I was also hurt for my (short-lived!) boyfriend.

4. People think my name is:

Oh, gosh. No one could/can pronounce my maiden name. No one. It’s aggravating. In fact, when people called and mispronounced my name, I would say, “Nope, no one by that name lives here.” As for my married name? The Hatfield and McCoy jokes just keep coming. (I just made a humorous post on the family blog regarding the issue.) To answer again, no, I don’t know if we’re related to any of the infamous clan. I can hope not to be, right?

5. The family tradition I most want to pass on is:

I’d like to see our boys pass their first name on to their sons as the middle name, as it’s gone through generations on my Husband’s side of the family. I’d like to see them pass a love of Paczki on to their families during Lent to identify with their Polish heritage. Part of me doesn’t want them to do the next one because I’m an over-protective mother but, in all honesty, if they also joined the fire service (like has been passed through the blood for generations), I would be a proud Mama. As for Munchkin, if she would pass on the Leigh to one of her children (as she also bears my middle name), I would feel honored. Heck, if she became a fire fighter, I’d be a super proud Mama (but that doesn’t flow through my genetic makeup… so it’s up to TheHusbandMan to influence her!).

6. The family tradition I least want to pass on is:

Let’s break the cycle of unplanned pregnancies (maternal side), shall we? While I can hope that by the time all three children are facing such issues and decisions that adoption will have been thoroughly reformed, I’m also realistic. It is my greatest fear that any of my children will have to face any of the issues I have faced (and continue to face). (That said, I would move mountains to support them in the wake of an unplanned pregnancy. Any of them.)

7. My child’s first word in English was:

I don’t know Munchkin’s first word. BigBrother’s, of course, was dada, followed shortly behind by ball.

8. My child’s first non-English word was:

I don’t know Munchkin’s. BigBrother was “hola.”

9. The non-English word/phrase most used in my home is:

Yia yia, which is Greek for Grandma. (Yes, I’m aware that we are not Greek!) It is what BigBrother calls my mother. We’re not particularly sure why; he just started doing it one day. When my mother told a coworker who happens to have Greek heritage, she informed my mom that it was Greek for Grandma. Apparently my Son is a freaking genius.

10. One thing I love about being a parent is:

Snuggles. I don’t get enough of them since a) Munchkin lives quite a distance away, b) she doesn’t stop moving when we do see her, c) BigBrother is a constant ball of movement as well. However, as BigBrother has been waking up early (!) as of late, we’ve been cuddling in my(our) bed in the mornings while he finishes waking up (thus fully waking me up as well!). The only other time I really get significant snuggles is when he’s not feeling well so I don’t really wish for those ones.

11. One thing I hate about being a parent is:

Judgment. I know. I should have a thicker skin. (I mean, I just wrote about it yesterday!) But it is one thing I hate dealing with as a parent. The fact of the matter is that I am a mother to the Munchkin and my boys. There are certain people or groups of people that don’t want me to wear that title for my daughter because I don’t kiss her boo-boos or do the daily (and hard!) work of a parent. However, I am her mother. When I talk about her placement, people automatically want to pass judgment on me, assuming I fit any of the multiple stereotypes that surround birth parents. They’re shocked when I don’t and want me to fail in some other way by stating that I must cross boundaries or cause her parents a lot of mental anguish. They tell me that my boys will be confused, that the Munchkin will be confused. And quite frankly, I’m done with all of that mumbo-jumbo. Our family is different. It is unique. It is not “wrong.”

12. To me, being an anti-racist parent means:

Teaching all of my children (in various ways) that we are more than our skin, more than our heritage, more than our past wants us to be. To do that, I continue to surround myself with others who think in a similar fashion, read books, blogs and articles that challenge me to think bigger and broader and pray for guidance on this issue that will hit my family in unique ways. Thankfully I was blessed with a Husband who thinks about these issues in the same ways (or, really, I wouldn’t have married him!) so we can also put up a united front for our children. Unfortuantely, being an anti-racist parent also means educating certain family members who use derogatory words and spew negative speech… without murdering them… so that my children will not be negatively affected by their hatred. I won’t stand for it. Ever.

As for tagging, I’m totally late to this meme because last week was crazy, crazy and thus, I don’t know who has and who has not completed the meme. If you want to participate, I’d love to read your answers. Leave me a comment to let me know if you participated!

1. First and foremost, Nicole at Paragraphein. Why? As I slowly came to terms with my adoption emotions, Nicole was someone I turned to via blog and other internet connections for words of advice, words of comfort, words of understanding. She went through her WTF moment and subsequent anger and processing phase before I did (though not too much before hand) and reading her words when I did made so much FREAKING sense to me that there were nights that I would sit with her blog open and just cry. She’s made a difference in how I view things like adoption reform and has inspired me to be the best parent, no matter the determiner, I can be.

2. Kateri of Wet Feet. No, she’s not just here because she’s super stylish. Kateri has a wealth of information on her blog, from birth parent stuff to breastfeeding information to cloth diapering to books to general good stuff. Her writing is intriguing. Her amazing, involved Motherhood shines through her words. The podcast which contains her story of what happened will break your heart but it’s a must-listen. Kateri was one of the first to welcome me to the birth mother blogging niche. I will constantly consider her an inspiration.

3. AfrindieMum. I love this woman. I do. Her words. Her heart. Her mothering. Her unwavering attitude. Her pictures. Her pink hair. The way she challenges others to look past themselves and into the ethical heart of adoption. When I met this Mama last year, I was amazed at how wonderful she is. She doesn’t have all the answers to all of life’s problems or adoption’s problems and she’s able to admit that but she has some unique perspective that I love hearing about in our own journey. I consider her a friend. Who lives too far away.

4. “Cookie Speaks” aka Jan Baker aka my co-blogger at the birth/first parent blog. Jan is, simply stated, freaking amazing. She challenges people in their thought processes. She challenges people to action. She challenges you no matter if you’re a birth mother, adoptive mother or adoptee… or random walk-by-blogger. She’s unapologetically challenging. I love that. It was challenging (ha!) when we first started speaking back in the day but simultaneously necessary in my own healing process. Since I’ve been blogging with Jan since October of last year, she has continued to teach me things about myself, about adoption, about ethics, about reform, about compassion, about action, about writing, about her awesome self and about the search for needed answers. She’s also boosted me up a little and given me more of an ability to speak what’s on my mind, regardless of what Joe Schmoe thinks. (PS – Anyone else annoyed with commenter “John” on the blogs? Good grief.)

5.  Brad @ Diarrhea of a Madman. Brad challenges birth father stereotypes just by having a blog. While he’s dealt with his own demons, his public presence continues to remind people that birth father’s are a real and vital part of the adoption triad. I personally love Brad because a) he’s not perfect, b) he’s got a sense of humor, c) he’s got a dark side, and d) well, he’s Brad. We bonded back in the day. I encourage all people to read what he has to say, even if he writes sporadically at times. Reading what birth father’s have to say on adoption, birth fatherhood, ethics and life in general can give us a great insight as to what NEEDS to change in the adoption world. Plus, he’s just awesome. Do it.

There are others. You know who you are. I have learned from every single blog I have ever commented on and some that I haven’t as well. Some of the most challenging blogs are the ones I learn the most from so, basically, keep challenging others to think.

AND, as for Judy from Just Enjoy Him for nominating me: you never fail to make me all weepy and snotty. I have learned from you as well, my friend. Please keep talking, no matter what crap people might try to throw at you. You have a vital and important viewpoint that the world needs to hear and learn about. You are unique. You are snarky. You are beautiful. You are wonderful. And you area a FABULOUS mother to one very lucky little boy. I love you all. Even Frank. :)