How do you feel after a visit?

After a visit is always a hard time. It takes a few days, sometimes a few weeks, to step back and evaluate the larger picture of a visit. The immediacy of “after a visit” is always fraught with deep emotions and anxiety and tears and the general “missing” of my daughter. I am often quiet and introspective, because I fear opening my mouth and saying or typing the things in my head. To be honest, I’m often afraid of feeling the things I feel.

The truth is that I miss my daughter all the time. I miss when she’s not here, doing the everyday things that we do every single day. But after a visit, it’s very much so in my face. I am face-to-face with the lack of her presence in our home. I am forced to acknowledge some of those feelings that I otherwise am afforded the right to ignore. It’s not that I ignore my daughter, but most days I am able to avoid dealing with the sadness, the grief, the loss, the guilt simply because I have too much else to do. The end of a visit brings all of those things to the forefront and I am forced to sit in them, to dwell amongst them. I am forced to take account of them, to feel them. I am forced to reevaluate where I was after the last visit and how I have grown or stagnated or even regressed since the last visit in terms of healing and emotions and appropriate responses to negative feelings toward myself. I am forced to answer the question, “Am I still doing this for the right reasons, even when it is hard. Am I continuing to place my daughter first in these decisions? Am I soaring or falling? Am I winning or failing? Am I enough?”

In short: the “after a visit” time is absolutely exhausting for me.

It’s more exhausting than keeping up with four children, multiple adults and, if we’re over there, multiple pets. It’s more exhausting than answering questions all the way to the Munchkin’s house. It’s more exhausting than being put on the spot with questions or statements that you couldn’t even imagine to expect. It’s more exhausting than worrying about a visit in the days before it arrives. It’s more exhausting than traveling, alone, with two very active little boys and a “60-year-old back.” The self-evaluation that happens in the immediate aftermath of a visit is just draining.

But, of course, firmly worth it as well.

Because eventually, the dwelling is dealt with and I come to a personal conclusion about the emotional work I need to do before the next visit, and I am able to step back and look at that larger picture. It is almost always a picture that I want to remember. And as I said in that post, after that emotional work is done — whether it takes a day or twelve, I come back to what keeps me going, to how I deal with this thing called open adoption:

I know I’ll remember that heavy weight of sadness that washes over me as we walk out the door to go home, but as I always do, I’ll remember the good stuff first. It’s how I function, how my brain works. I can’t focus on the negative. I can realistically accept the bittersweet aspects of visiting and how it’s never easy to leave. But we made some good memories on this visit.

And I will carry them with me until next time — until forever.

We’re gearing up for a visit at the end of May, so I’m doing some emotional work to prepare myself for the post-visit blues knowing, full well, that they’ll still sideswipe me, that I won’t really be prepared. And that, in the end, it will all be okay.

It’s funny to me that, while on a visit, I don’t always take a lot of photos. Me. The lady with the camera permanently glued to her eye socket under most circumstances. I am always snapping photos, taking pictures, preserving memories. It’s part of who I am, what I do.

But I get to Munchkin’s house and, first off, I’m tired due to the drive. And then, as she rushes forward and first hugs my sons and then me… I forget to take the photos. I am lost in the moment. In her hair. In her eyes. In her presence. I hate that I end up with, mostly, a few forced, posed pictures. I want more, but I can’t pull myself away from her to actually take more. It’s as if we need a photographer to follow us around reality TV style just so I can have the photos.

Though, to give myself some credit, the past two visits were good photo visits. In June, I also brought along the waterproof camera and let the kids have a field day in the pool with it. In November, I was able to photograph the Munchkin’s last two soccer games, so I have some really good action shots. These two visits made me want to make photo books. It would be nearly impossible to go back to the beginning, pre-digital, and make some, but I think I’ll start working my way backward.

I make photo books of seasons, big vacations (beach, camping), holidays, and birthdays for the four of us who live under this roof, so it just feels right to continue on and make some for the visits that we are so blessed to have with Munchkin and her family.

It doesn’t hurt that Snapfish keeps having stellar buy one, get two free sales. Not at all. I wonder if I can get two done before the end of their current sale. I bet I can. You know, if I don’t sleep. Which I don’t in December. So go!

I’ll have words soon. I always do. But for now…

Instead, here’s what I did this weekend:

I drove seven hours with two boys by myself. We only stopped once; this is a new record. They jumped on the trampoline while I caught up with Dee. We ate spaghetti and everyone laughed while BigBrother pronounced it as skahbetti; he didn’t know why they were laughing as no one corrected him (why would they?), so he laughed too. I panicked that something was wrong with LittleBrother — like some rare form of kindey-disease induced diabetes — as he went to the bathroom every fifteen minutes our first evening there; he was just checking out the remodeled bathroom. He is a bathroom tourist. I had my first Salted Caramel hickamajig from Starbucks; new favorite! I stayed up too late talking with Dee trying to find bad television to watch and snort-laughing about silly things.

And that was Friday.

I woke up far too early thanks to the two little dudes in my bedroom. I fed my sons. I ate a bagel and played on Facebook. I showered and made myself look presentable. We all ate lunch. I moved car seats from my car to Dee’s and cut my hand in the process. I went to Munchkin’s soccer game. I took pictures. I cried. I watched children jump on the trampoline some more. I went for sushi with Dee and Munchkin. (More on that tomorrow!) I found gold coins for the boys’ birthday party at Party City, where Munchkin tried on all of the sunglasses. We stopped at the grocery store to buy snacks for the last soccer game the next day. I endured an epic meltdown from LittleBrother because no one wanted to watch a movie that the other three kids didn’t want to watch; I eventually calmed him down, but all of the kids ditched Rio in less than 20 minutes. Dee and I let all four kids help make strawberry cupcakes; I think we deserve some kind of reward. I got the kids to fall asleep quite easily that night as they were exhausted. I went to Chickie & Pete’s with Dee; it was packed, so we ate our crab fries standing in a corner. Then we went to Target and I bought shiny shoes in kids’ sizes because I have crazy small feet. I stayed up too late again and fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

And that was Saturday.

I got to sleep until 7:30 and woke up to my sons sleeping in weird positions. I got them fed and gave them baths in the newly remodeled tub — which they thought was fantastic! I cried in the shower and got myself ready again. I helped Denise put soccer balls, flags and sprinkles on the cupcakes. I endured another epic meltdown from LittleBrother because he wanted to zip his sweatshirt his own damn self. I cried again. We went to the soccer game where my sons were mad because I wouldn’t let them play in the dirt — as we would be getting home late and not have time for a bath before bed so they weren’t gross before school this morning. Munchkin played a great game. And I cried again. We had lunch back at Dee’s house and the kids jumped on the trampoline with Dee watching while I packed the car. I cried again. I sat with Munchkin for a little bit before we left. I took some photos of the kids and Dee took one of me and the Munchkin — which I hate because my face is swollen due to salt intake this weekend. We said our goodbyes. We got in the car, got gas, money for tolls and bagels and hit the road. I cried again. The boys slept, woke up, argued, did a quick pit stop, complained when Burger King at the Sideling Hill rest stop on the turnpike forgot to put our water in the bags and fell back to sleep. I cried again. We arrived home 7 hours after leaving. My husband helped me get the kids inside, watered, bathroomed, pajamaed and in bed. I smelled the roses that my husband got for me, had a glass of wine, cried on my husband, briefly blogged as it’s NaBloPoMo, and fell asleep.

And that was Sunday.

So, Klout, you’ll just have to excuse me for not making time to, as your note says, “share more content and engage with my network.” Those in “my network” knew that I was traveling to see my daughter were engaged with me. They liked photos on Facebook. They sent kind messages on Facebook and twitter, even though they knew I couldn’t and/or wouldn’t take the time to reply to each and every note. They sent emails reminding me to be gentle with myself. They covered me with love that I so desperately need when I am enduring a visit. They have sent me more messages this morning offering love, understanding, compassion and offers to meet for coffee.

So while I wasn’t retweeting their tweets or sharing their links or asking questions or creating conversation, “my network” was doing what a network should be doing: caring for me in my hour(s) of need. And quite honestly, I was doing what I should be doing as well: engaging with my family when I am lucky enough to be in their combined midst. That, combined with the love of “my network,” (who, by the way, I like to just call “my friends”) is worth far more than any of the “perks” that “your network” is supposed to offer me if I use twitter, Facebook and other social media outlets in the way that you deem acceptable.

My network — my friends — deserve more than a $10 Subway gift card or the smallest bottle of Axe hair gel (which my husband has deemed awful, by the way) for the love that they showered me with this weekend. So take your network and shove it, Klout.

My network is more valuable to me than your score ever will be.

(Before anyone accuses me of not doing enough of x, y or z on this visit, please note that not everything was included in this post. Thank you!)

Dee said, “I think someone needs a guitar.”

She might be right.

I’m sweating. My stomach hurts. I can’t concentrate on the work I need to finish before I pack. My vision does that shaky thing that it does when my blood pressure it completely out of whack. I think my ears are ringing too.

In short, I’m a mess.

Dee and I were talking about it; she knows this happens to me before a visit. There’s nothing she can do or say to “magic” this feeling away. I won’t feel better until after we’re there and settled in — at which point different anxiety settles in. But this pre-visit stuff is just killer.

I said to Dee, “I totally get why some birth parents aren’t able to handle visits. This feeling sucks right now and it would be easier for me to just not leave the house.”

Of course, in doing so, I would not only be letting down the Munchkin, but both of my boys. I always wait until the week or two before a visit to tell them that we’re heading to visit their sister. When they were a bit younger, it was to avoid the “time is meaningless” sense of immediacy that accompanies toddlerhood. Nowadays it’s because I understand that last minute changes can happen — and I can only handle so many mornings of, “Is TODAY the day we leave to see Munchkin?” Though, once BigBrother figured it out that we were leaving on Veteran’s Day this time, he’s been handling the countdown on his own. It’s been kind of fun.

I deal with my anxiety because dealing with their disappointment would be far worse. In fact, dealing with their disappointment, Munchkin’s disappointment and my anxiety would be worse than just dealing with the anxiety in the first place. (See? A logical thought!) That doesn’t make it easy, of course. Even if my sons didn’t exist, I’d still push through the anxiety and make good on the visit because keeping promises I make to my daughter is important to me. I make it a priority. Letting her down is not really something I feel comfortable doing, nor do I want to make a habit of it. I always want her to know that she is a priority in my life. Pushing through my anxiety is something that I do on a regular basis for all of my kids — because I’d be just fine and dandy to sit home in my PJs and not face new people, crowds or new situations. Ever.

I’ll be finishing up my work shortly and then heading off to finish packing. I’m spending the evening with some friends, so I will have something to focus on until I force myself to go to sleep. It was an accident, but I think it might be a good idea for future visits to plan something with friends the evening before hand.

Tomorrow I’ll see my beautiful daughter again — which will be a lovely reward for a seven hour drive with two very talkative sons of mine. Eye on the prize!

One night Dee and I sat down on our separate sides of the computer with our various school calendars and extra-curricular event calendars and did our comparisons. Hooray for Veteran’s Day — of which my husband is one, mind you — because a three day weekend bodes well for a visit. A quick visit, mind you; we’re in around 3pm on Friday and leaving around 3pm on Sunday. But a visit all the same.

I thought, as I’ve been so busy with work and birthday party planning and the general hoopla of life, that I wouldn’t have time to freak out about the visit. Wrong. As of this morning there’s a lump in my stomach and a catch in my throat. If I think about it too much, my vision does that anxiety-shake thing that it does and I start to feel queasy.

Anxiety aside, I’m excited. I’ll get to see the Munchkin’s last two soccer games of the year. BigBrother also thinks that it’s super cool that we’ll get to watch her soccer games. I was hoping to get some photographs of the lot of us, but I’m not sure it’s going to work. We’ll see. Maybe I’ll just take the tripod, my timer and bribe the children to behave — with their own leftover Halloween candy? I think so.

• While on a visit, we’re so consumed with playing and laughing and doing things together, I sometimes forget to have my camera attached to my face. Shocking, I know.
• When I do have my camera attached to my eye, usually on the last day or next to last day, I’m usually trying to capture the boys with their sister.
• It’s the reality of the mommy photographer.
• Uh, I like being behind the camera. I feel safe there.

But I remember, eventually, that I need to document the two of us together. What we look like on any given visit. I like bopping back through albums and seeing us together. Us together. That’s important to me. To have a visual representation of time spent together. To print out and hang up until the next visit. To share with friends and family and say, “Yes, that’s her. And me. Together.”

I’ve realized that I don’t always share them here. I get caught up in how I look and forget how to Own My Beauty and all that jazz. So, enough of that. (Though, note: Yes, I was that pink looking. In the scramble to get four kids in the pool — with my bad back — I forgot to sunblock-ify myself. Whoops!)

This is what we look like.

[broken code]

This is what love looks like.

I won’t remember the arguing. I’ll remember BigBrother standing next to the Munchkin, laughing over whatever she was doing on the computer. I’ll remember JD and LittleBrother running around the back yard playing hide and seek. I’ll remember the four of them giving me a thumbs up. I’ll remember whack-a-mole and the “fat whacker” in the swimming pool. I’ll remember laughing on the couch until stupid hours with Dee. I’ll remember being spoiled with Starbucks. I’ll remember Finding Bigfoot.

I’ll remember the Munchkin playing the guitar and the looks she shot me. I’ll remember the funny pictures that she was taking underwater. I’ll remember the hug and how her arms felt around my rib cage. I’ll remember her hair floating on the hot summer breeze in the sunset as she jumped on the trampoline. I’ll remember how she read a book to me at bedtime instead of the other way around. I’ll remember pulling her hair up in a ponytail after she was already in bed because she was too hot… my fingers making their way through her long hair.

I know I’ll remember that heavy weight of sadness that washes over me as we walk out the door to go home, but as I always do, I’ll remember the good stuff first. It’s how I function, how my brain works. I can’t focus on the negative. I can realistically accept the bittersweet aspects of visiting and how it’s never easy to leave. But we made some good memories on this visit.

And I will carry them with me until next time — until forever.

And our ears.

But it’s good at the same time. And hard for my heart. I’ve been already hearing the “I wish we could live here” or “I wish Munchkin lived next to us” type stuff that started after our last visit. And we don’t even leave until tomorrow morning. It’s just hard.

At least I have cute pictures of the lot of them to look at over the next few months when it all feels like too much to handle. Because it will, here and there. And I’ll just make the best of it, as I always do.