I used to really like kids. Oh, and BABIES! I adored babies!
I was in absolute awe of their ability to soak up information and enthralled with the physiological processes happening as they were learning and growing. I loved the honesty of their innocence, lack of inhibition and the wonder they exuded at each new experience. I envied their emotional freedom.
Now...not so much. I look at an early human and see work.
We were at Yogurt Garden (frozen yogurt shop here in Natomas) a few days ago and I saw a family with five kids. Each child about a year-and-a-half older than the next. You could tell they had all the those kids on purpose! I couldn't stop staring. I was a little creeped out. What were they thinking?
I feel like a jerk for admitting that, but it is the truth. Which brings me to another truth. Sometimes, I wish my kids weren't so eager to be independent and so darn clever. I know that sounds awful. I should be grateful, yada yada, they are not delayed or disabled, and truly I am. What I mean is, I just wish most of my interactions with them didn't feel like a mental combination of The Amazing Race (without directions) and Wipeout (without a helmet).
Simple tasks are such chores now. Can I NOT just pour the milk? Must I have a small person questioning, demanding, critiquing and whining over it? Must we top off that glass with an emotional melt-down?
Daughter: I'm thirsty. I wanna drink.
Me: How do you ask nicely?
Daughter: (head tilted with a baby voice) Puwheeeeees mah-mah.
Me: You may drink water, juice or regular milk.
Daughter: I want chocolate milk.
Me: That is not a choice.
Daughter: But I saw it in the fridge.
Me: Yes, it is, but that's not a choice right now.
Daughter: Well, then can I have strawberry?
Me: (getting annoyed) No, that is not a choice. You may have regular milk.
Daughter: That's not fair! (Jumping up and down) C'mon Mom. C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, please, please, please, please!
Me: (face getting hot) No.
Daughter (whining): Well, can I pour the milk?
Me: No.
Daughter: (more whining) Why?
Me: (taking a breath) It's too big, you will spill it.
Daughter: (excruciating tone) No I woooooooooooooon't, please, please, pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease can I pour it?
Me: (can I pour it over your head?) Look at this container! You will not even be able to lift it!
Daughter: (more whining and angry sounds, hands balled into little fists, yelling) I WANNNA POUR IT!
Me: (through gritted teeth)You may drink the milk I pour or have none.
Daughter: (completely matter-of-fact now, like duh) You just have to pour it into a smaller cup and give it to me. Then I can pour it into my own cup.
Me: (think fast, think fast!) UGH! She is right. Am I an awful parent if I don't use this teachable moment and let my child have a new experience? Am I really in THAT much of a hurry? But I am so very tired and she is just going to spill it everywhere. I already have a bazillion things to do, I don't need another mess to clean up. I just want to pour this milk and move on to whatever the next tedious parenting task will be.
Me: (pouring milk) No.
Daughter: (wailing now, mouth open, purposely letting saliva drip out) Waaahhhh, WAAAAHHHHH, but I wanna pour the milk. Waaaahhhaahh, I wanna do it, I wanna do it!
Me: (with daggers in my eyes) You have a choice. Drink this milk I poured or have NONE.
Daughter (stomping off, wailing): I don't want it and I'm not gonna be your friend anymore.
Me: (I won!) Fine, but go have that fit in your room so I don't have to hear it.
I revel in my precious moments of victory. I was strong! I did not give in! I have once again established my authority as the parent! I walked my talk!
Daughter: (a few minutes later) Mommy, I'm thirsty.
Me: (siiiiiigggghhhh) You may drink the milk in your cup.
Daughter: No, I want water.
Me: (if I close my eyes, can I just disappear?) You already asked me for milk.
Daughter: But I can turn the water on by myself.
Me: (systems reaching critical) You cannot reach the sink in here.
Daughter: But I can bring out my stool from the bathroom. Then I can reach it!
Me: (crying inside)
How did serving become so much easier than teaching? Oh, and the inevitable emotional breakdown? Of course, I was referring to myself.
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Friday, April 15, 2011
Baby Daddy
My "baby daddy" is my brother.
I know that sounds horrible (and kind of sickly humorous to me) but I will expound.
I ADORED him and eagerly helped my mom care for him. He was quiet and very sweet natured. When I look back at his baby pictures, it is hard to find one where he isn't smiling. He was born blonde and blue eyed, taking after my maternal grandmother. Strikingly different looking than my sister and me, who were very obviously little Mexican girls. Eventually he got his brown eyes but his hair stayed light until he was about two years old. There is no doubt now that he is my father's son, however, my dad was not amused when people would ask if he was adopted.
When was about five years-old, he picked bouquets for all the ladies in the neighborhood. I think he tore the flowers out of their own yards, but they didn't seem to mind. He had a few pet hamsters and he cared for them gently. He would spend time taking things apart and then reassembling them, like watches, to find out how they worked. A smart, sweet boy with so much potential. What a shame he got lost. Lost, in the way small, quiet kids become when their parents get divorced and fail to pay attention when they should.
I know that sounds horrible (and kind of sickly humorous to me) but I will expound.
- I am the oldest of five, followed by my sister, my brother D, then two younger half-brothers.
- My adopted daughter, L, is actually my biological niece. The second (that we know of) child of my brother D.
- My (in process) adopted son, G, is my daughter's half-brother.
- My brother claims to be G's dad and is the "presumed father" by court rule.
- Currently, he is in jail, awaiting transfer to state prison in Florida. He is sentenced to 18 years for stabbing a man, who subsequently died. Yes, I am putting it lightly. For my own sake.
I ADORED him and eagerly helped my mom care for him. He was quiet and very sweet natured. When I look back at his baby pictures, it is hard to find one where he isn't smiling. He was born blonde and blue eyed, taking after my maternal grandmother. Strikingly different looking than my sister and me, who were very obviously little Mexican girls. Eventually he got his brown eyes but his hair stayed light until he was about two years old. There is no doubt now that he is my father's son, however, my dad was not amused when people would ask if he was adopted.
When was about five years-old, he picked bouquets for all the ladies in the neighborhood. I think he tore the flowers out of their own yards, but they didn't seem to mind. He had a few pet hamsters and he cared for them gently. He would spend time taking things apart and then reassembling them, like watches, to find out how they worked. A smart, sweet boy with so much potential. What a shame he got lost. Lost, in the way small, quiet kids become when their parents get divorced and fail to pay attention when they should.
As mentioned in my first post, I felt obligated to adopt my my niece and nephew. One of those obligations I felt was from the guilt I had about failing to save my brother, somehow. We were both growing up at the same time, in the same place and same family but worlds apart. By the time I was finishing high-school, he was in his early teens, suffering from dyslexia and getting into trouble. I am shocked, now, to hear about the things he has done. I regret not paying attention to him more.
I hope I can help my children to appreciate one another and become true friends, not just siblings.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
BEWBIES!
*I am going to talk about breasts so if that makes you uncomfortable please skip this post. Thanks!*
After L came to live with us, I experienced an unexpected dilemma. It was about my breasts. Particularly in relation to a baby that I had neither birthed nor nursed. Maybe I am completely crazy, but I felt a little weird holding her against my bare chest. She had never been breastfed but I thought she might spontaneously try and that totally creeped me out.
Not that nursing a baby is creepy, I completely support breast-feeding, even in public if it's modest (hey, who doesn't have trouble not gawking at bare breasts in public?). It's just she wasn't my baby yet and all of the sudden I thought about these parts of my anatomy in a completely different way.
I am sure almost every parent has realized it is sometimes easier, and more practical when you and baby are covered in food/vomit/excrement/etc., to take a baby into the shower with you for bathing than doing the whole baby-bath or sink thing. It's fun and cute at first, getting the little tub ready and taking pictures. But when they get big enough to start flailing around, grabbing at things and splashing, it's not always such an adorable task.
One of us would get into the shower the other would hand the smelly, sticky, crusty baby in and a few minutes later, Voila! From behind a steamy curtain, a soft, fresh, clean-smelling, smiling baby would emerge. Catch it in a big towel and the world is right again.
When it was my first turn to do the shower thing, I had no qualms, until I was actually holding L against my chest. She was wiggling around and cooing, grabbing at the water drops. Then she got all warm and cozy and cuddled up to me, her cheek resting on one boob. Her little hand resting on my other boob.
Again, I truly believe it is a totally natural, normal, nurturing, and necessary thing for a mother to hold a baby or small child skin to skin. But I was not a mother and this baby was a stranger. Also she was not a tiny infant. She was now a very active, determined, and inquisitive 7 month-old. What do kids want to do every time they think they see a button? Push it of course, and that's what she did.
Poke, poke, poke, (baby giggle), smack, smack, smack (more giggling). How come she was relaxed and almost asleep in the shower when daddy-to-be is holding her against his chest but with me she is playing her version of whack-a-mole? She kept prodding and looking up at me expectantly, what do these toys do? No flashing lights or funny sounds.
Upon reflection, I suppose I could have just ignored it entirely and she might have stopped but apparently I felt compelled to make it game. I think I was worried I might have the wrong reaction that would affect her negatively somehow. Each time she poked, I would say "beep, beep" or "honk, honk".
From then on, it was her favorite game. Whether or not I was clothed. She would get mad, fussing loudly and furrowing her brow, when I wouldn't play. Always, it would have to be in the grocery store check-out line or at appointments with the social worker. She tried it on everyone, men, women, children, and when they didn't respond she would poke harder and whine. Many times, I found myself awkwardly trying to explain why my baby was obsessed with poking boobs. As she got older, she would point to her own chest and say "haw haw, bee bee". Eventually, she forgot about it and so did I.
However, I was reminded the other day by G. I exited the shower and leaned over the gate to kiss his forehead. I think I actually saw a light bulb spark on in his brain, right through his saucer-like, olive-green eyes. He reached up with his little claw hand and grabbed my boob, laughing maniacally, refusing to let go. It wasn't the first time he'd seen me sans clothes but, suddenly, it was the funniest thing he had ever seen and still is. Now when I am dressing, he will point and giggle, giving me a giant silly grin, making squeezing motions with his little claw hands.
I have learned a few things about myself through all of this. I am now much more comfortable with my own body, especially around my children. I love it when they snuggle and nuzzle into my chest for comfort and closeness. Lastly, and possibly most important of all, my boobs are not clown horns.
This post lovingly and humorously dedicated to my friend Kaylyn S.
After L came to live with us, I experienced an unexpected dilemma. It was about my breasts. Particularly in relation to a baby that I had neither birthed nor nursed. Maybe I am completely crazy, but I felt a little weird holding her against my bare chest. She had never been breastfed but I thought she might spontaneously try and that totally creeped me out.
Not that nursing a baby is creepy, I completely support breast-feeding, even in public if it's modest (hey, who doesn't have trouble not gawking at bare breasts in public?). It's just she wasn't my baby yet and all of the sudden I thought about these parts of my anatomy in a completely different way.
I am sure almost every parent has realized it is sometimes easier, and more practical when you and baby are covered in food/vomit/excrement/etc., to take a baby into the shower with you for bathing than doing the whole baby-bath or sink thing. It's fun and cute at first, getting the little tub ready and taking pictures. But when they get big enough to start flailing around, grabbing at things and splashing, it's not always such an adorable task.
One of us would get into the shower the other would hand the smelly, sticky, crusty baby in and a few minutes later, Voila! From behind a steamy curtain, a soft, fresh, clean-smelling, smiling baby would emerge. Catch it in a big towel and the world is right again.
When it was my first turn to do the shower thing, I had no qualms, until I was actually holding L against my chest. She was wiggling around and cooing, grabbing at the water drops. Then she got all warm and cozy and cuddled up to me, her cheek resting on one boob. Her little hand resting on my other boob.
Again, I truly believe it is a totally natural, normal, nurturing, and necessary thing for a mother to hold a baby or small child skin to skin. But I was not a mother and this baby was a stranger. Also she was not a tiny infant. She was now a very active, determined, and inquisitive 7 month-old. What do kids want to do every time they think they see a button? Push it of course, and that's what she did.
Poke, poke, poke, (baby giggle), smack, smack, smack (more giggling). How come she was relaxed and almost asleep in the shower when daddy-to-be is holding her against his chest but with me she is playing her version of whack-a-mole? She kept prodding and looking up at me expectantly, what do these toys do? No flashing lights or funny sounds.
Upon reflection, I suppose I could have just ignored it entirely and she might have stopped but apparently I felt compelled to make it game. I think I was worried I might have the wrong reaction that would affect her negatively somehow. Each time she poked, I would say "beep, beep" or "honk, honk".
From then on, it was her favorite game. Whether or not I was clothed. She would get mad, fussing loudly and furrowing her brow, when I wouldn't play. Always, it would have to be in the grocery store check-out line or at appointments with the social worker. She tried it on everyone, men, women, children, and when they didn't respond she would poke harder and whine. Many times, I found myself awkwardly trying to explain why my baby was obsessed with poking boobs. As she got older, she would point to her own chest and say "haw haw, bee bee". Eventually, she forgot about it and so did I.
However, I was reminded the other day by G. I exited the shower and leaned over the gate to kiss his forehead. I think I actually saw a light bulb spark on in his brain, right through his saucer-like, olive-green eyes. He reached up with his little claw hand and grabbed my boob, laughing maniacally, refusing to let go. It wasn't the first time he'd seen me sans clothes but, suddenly, it was the funniest thing he had ever seen and still is. Now when I am dressing, he will point and giggle, giving me a giant silly grin, making squeezing motions with his little claw hands.
I have learned a few things about myself through all of this. I am now much more comfortable with my own body, especially around my children. I love it when they snuggle and nuzzle into my chest for comfort and closeness. Lastly, and possibly most important of all, my boobs are not clown horns.
This post lovingly and humorously dedicated to my friend Kaylyn S.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
P.E.A.S.
Your regularly scheduled blog has been interrupted to bring your daily serving of informational veggies via the Parental Emergency Alert System:
G's croup has evolved into an ear infection and slight pneumonia. L has allergic conjunctivitis. Neither are contagious. I just wanted to let those asking for it (those = my sister), why my next post is being delayed.
Ever try administering eye-drops to a preschooler? Guess it's better than a toddler who projectile vomits every time he has a coughing spell. It's like a sick kid rodeo over here. Precious moments indeed.
Thank you for your patience and continued interest in my blog ;)
G's croup has evolved into an ear infection and slight pneumonia. L has allergic conjunctivitis. Neither are contagious. I just wanted to let those asking for it (those = my sister), why my next post is being delayed.
Ever try administering eye-drops to a preschooler? Guess it's better than a toddler who projectile vomits every time he has a coughing spell. It's like a sick kid rodeo over here. Precious moments indeed.
Thank you for your patience and continued interest in my blog ;)
Friday, April 1, 2011
Mommy Stalker
I am not ashamed to admit it, I am a stalker.
I stalk mommies. Mainly at parks. I look for the ones with children about the same age as mine. I like the moms that are involved and actually paying attention to their kids, not just yelling from the sidelines. Any age or nationality, it doesn't matter to me. Even tasteful tattoos or small extraneous piercings are fine. Although, I usually don't make too much effort on those with long neon fingernails, wearing heels, copious amounts of makeup or jewelry. It's easier to make an introduction if our kids start playing together or near each other but a power-struggle or small altercation works just as well. Of course, complimenting their kid's cute outfit certainly can get your foot in the door.
The last thing on my mind during my daughter's whirlwind arrival was acquiring a support network. I had absolutely no idea how invaluable it would become to my survival as a surprise parent or what wonderful friends I would meet.
Fortunately, a new-mommy neighbor's small, thoughtful gesture would save me before I even realized I would need rescue. We crossed paths one day and both were shocked the other now had a baby. I didn't know she was expecting and of course our child was a total surprise. We joked about it and went our separate ways. Later, I found a note in my door. She had noticed I was carrying a Kaiser diaper bag and invited me to the Kaiser mommy group she attended. Funny thing is, I got the diaper bag from my sister-in-law. We also had Kaiser insurance but the baby was not on the policy so I didn't make the connection. I don't know how long it would have taken me to figure out I needed a mommy group or that I could attend one provided by my own health insurance.
All we had for the baby was what I brought back with her on the plane from Colorado. Our sole focus was tending to the needs of a 6 month-old we hardly knew. Diapers, check. Bottles, check. Formula, check. Mental health support for parents, not checked. Thankfully, through the support group, I met most of my current mommy friends. I am exceedingly grateful for their friendship, commiseration, advice and encouragement. It has also been wonderful to see our children growing up together and developing their own attachments.
My daughter climbed and walked early, about 4 months after she came to us. We were now playing at the park often. I wanted to expand my circle of mommy friends and I especially wanted L to have a little girl her own age to play with. This led to the stalking.
One day, I was driving away from the park and across a large field I noticed a little girl, wobbling around in the grass, about the same size as my daughter. I promptly pulled over and ran across the field with my baby in tow. I was sweating, out of breath and surely seemed a little insane, "Excuse me, hey there, hi, I noticed you have a daughter like me!" The woman was young, mid-20's, and few months pregnant. She seemed somewhat startled but was friendly. The babies toddled around together for a bit, we chatted and exchanged phone numbers. We texted several times but our schedules never seemed to match up for playdates. I am sure my first impression did not help facilitate another meeting.
However, I didn't give up. The mommy friends and their families that we spend the most time with now, I initially met at the park. And the neighbor I mentioned before, we are friends to this day. Weekly playdates and the rare mommies-only night out have now replaced the group meetings and have helped me get through the challenging times and celebrate the good times.
I am still on the prowl, though. I don't think I could ever have too many mommy friends!
I stalk mommies. Mainly at parks. I look for the ones with children about the same age as mine. I like the moms that are involved and actually paying attention to their kids, not just yelling from the sidelines. Any age or nationality, it doesn't matter to me. Even tasteful tattoos or small extraneous piercings are fine. Although, I usually don't make too much effort on those with long neon fingernails, wearing heels, copious amounts of makeup or jewelry. It's easier to make an introduction if our kids start playing together or near each other but a power-struggle or small altercation works just as well. Of course, complimenting their kid's cute outfit certainly can get your foot in the door.
The last thing on my mind during my daughter's whirlwind arrival was acquiring a support network. I had absolutely no idea how invaluable it would become to my survival as a surprise parent or what wonderful friends I would meet.
Fortunately, a new-mommy neighbor's small, thoughtful gesture would save me before I even realized I would need rescue. We crossed paths one day and both were shocked the other now had a baby. I didn't know she was expecting and of course our child was a total surprise. We joked about it and went our separate ways. Later, I found a note in my door. She had noticed I was carrying a Kaiser diaper bag and invited me to the Kaiser mommy group she attended. Funny thing is, I got the diaper bag from my sister-in-law. We also had Kaiser insurance but the baby was not on the policy so I didn't make the connection. I don't know how long it would have taken me to figure out I needed a mommy group or that I could attend one provided by my own health insurance.
All we had for the baby was what I brought back with her on the plane from Colorado. Our sole focus was tending to the needs of a 6 month-old we hardly knew. Diapers, check. Bottles, check. Formula, check. Mental health support for parents, not checked. Thankfully, through the support group, I met most of my current mommy friends. I am exceedingly grateful for their friendship, commiseration, advice and encouragement. It has also been wonderful to see our children growing up together and developing their own attachments.
My daughter climbed and walked early, about 4 months after she came to us. We were now playing at the park often. I wanted to expand my circle of mommy friends and I especially wanted L to have a little girl her own age to play with. This led to the stalking.
One day, I was driving away from the park and across a large field I noticed a little girl, wobbling around in the grass, about the same size as my daughter. I promptly pulled over and ran across the field with my baby in tow. I was sweating, out of breath and surely seemed a little insane, "Excuse me, hey there, hi, I noticed you have a daughter like me!" The woman was young, mid-20's, and few months pregnant. She seemed somewhat startled but was friendly. The babies toddled around together for a bit, we chatted and exchanged phone numbers. We texted several times but our schedules never seemed to match up for playdates. I am sure my first impression did not help facilitate another meeting.
However, I didn't give up. The mommy friends and their families that we spend the most time with now, I initially met at the park. And the neighbor I mentioned before, we are friends to this day. Weekly playdates and the rare mommies-only night out have now replaced the group meetings and have helped me get through the challenging times and celebrate the good times.
I am still on the prowl, though. I don't think I could ever have too many mommy friends!
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow
Today is one of those days.
Today I do not want to be a parent. I want a time-machine. I want to go back. I am fed up with trying to be a "good person". I am angry. Angry at myself for agreeing to raise someone else's children when I knew I never wanted that life. I am tired of being nice. Tired of doing the right thing. Just plain tired. I will choke down a desperate wail of frustration at the unfairness of it all. I will mourn the loss of my freedom. Today, I will spend my whole existence entirely for others and I will hate it.
Today, the title "Mommy" will be followed a wishful little echo in my mind saying, "Auntie". I will feel overwhelmed at the enormity of providing good foundations for the lives of two new people. I will feel trepidation at the thought of dealing with teenagers one day. I don't want this and I will feel guilty for thinking that. Today, I will try my best to hide my true feelings. Today I will feel sorry for myself.
That was actually yesterday. If I didn't give myself permission to acknowledge all of that, today might not have been a better day.
Today I do not want to be a parent. I want a time-machine. I want to go back. I am fed up with trying to be a "good person". I am angry. Angry at myself for agreeing to raise someone else's children when I knew I never wanted that life. I am tired of being nice. Tired of doing the right thing. Just plain tired. I will choke down a desperate wail of frustration at the unfairness of it all. I will mourn the loss of my freedom. Today, I will spend my whole existence entirely for others and I will hate it.
Today, the title "Mommy" will be followed a wishful little echo in my mind saying, "Auntie". I will feel overwhelmed at the enormity of providing good foundations for the lives of two new people. I will feel trepidation at the thought of dealing with teenagers one day. I don't want this and I will feel guilty for thinking that. Today, I will try my best to hide my true feelings. Today I will feel sorry for myself.
That was actually yesterday. If I didn't give myself permission to acknowledge all of that, today might not have been a better day.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Phantom Limbs
It is still.
Saturday evening, good music on, typing away, undisturbed, on the couch with a drink next to me. That would NEVER happen if my kids were home.
There would major disturbances and definitely no beverage, especially an adult beverage, resting peacefully on the table next to me. I could close my eyes if I wanted to and tilt my head back. No high-pitched screaming or relentless whining would commence. I can have an uninterrupted thought. No searing pain from unexpected head-butts to my face. I can do anything or nothing. No elbows digging into my chest or little fingers poking into my eyeballs. The possibilities are endless.
So...what's the problem???
I miss my babies (sssiiiiiiiiiiiigggghhhhhh). I LOVE them sooooo much, sometimes I think my heart will explode. Don't be so surprised, I do have a heart.
They have become little appendages to my physical body and consciousness, a bond not easily broken by time or distance. Usually with me everywhere I go and most of the time, clinging to me. My mind is always on child high alert. Where are they? What are they doing? Why is it so quiet? Any sounds they make or subtle expressions and my mommy brain perks up. They float and swoosh around me constantly and when they are gone, something feels amiss. A friend put it perfectly, like the unnatural calm in the eye of a hurricane.
G is a such a cuddler. He adores to snuggle and give kisses. L is a force of nature. My heart smiles when we sing together at night. They are smart, funny, curious kids. I treasure their adoration and sweet gestures, like when L softly strokes my face or says, "Mommy, you has pwetty hayer". Or when G clings onto me like a little monkey when I am carrying him, I feel important, like the center of his little universe. I shudder imagine what their lives would have been like had they been bounced around to different foster homes and/or returned to their bio-parents.
I truly appreciate the expressions of unconditional love I receive and and am able to share. I am not just faking it. Despite being at odds with my restless nature, I exercise my Vows of Motherhood faithfully. Regardless of this struggle, I am hopelessly bound by heartstrings. My children are innocents in all of this and I would protect them fiercely.
Enough with that, my drink awaits and they are at Gramma's house tonight. YES!
Saturday evening, good music on, typing away, undisturbed, on the couch with a drink next to me. That would NEVER happen if my kids were home.
There would major disturbances and definitely no beverage, especially an adult beverage, resting peacefully on the table next to me. I could close my eyes if I wanted to and tilt my head back. No high-pitched screaming or relentless whining would commence. I can have an uninterrupted thought. No searing pain from unexpected head-butts to my face. I can do anything or nothing. No elbows digging into my chest or little fingers poking into my eyeballs. The possibilities are endless.
So...what's the problem???
I miss my babies (sssiiiiiiiiiiiigggghhhhhh). I LOVE them sooooo much, sometimes I think my heart will explode. Don't be so surprised, I do have a heart.
They have become little appendages to my physical body and consciousness, a bond not easily broken by time or distance. Usually with me everywhere I go and most of the time, clinging to me. My mind is always on child high alert. Where are they? What are they doing? Why is it so quiet? Any sounds they make or subtle expressions and my mommy brain perks up. They float and swoosh around me constantly and when they are gone, something feels amiss. A friend put it perfectly, like the unnatural calm in the eye of a hurricane.
G is a such a cuddler. He adores to snuggle and give kisses. L is a force of nature. My heart smiles when we sing together at night. They are smart, funny, curious kids. I treasure their adoration and sweet gestures, like when L softly strokes my face or says, "Mommy, you has pwetty hayer". Or when G clings onto me like a little monkey when I am carrying him, I feel important, like the center of his little universe. I shudder imagine what their lives would have been like had they been bounced around to different foster homes and/or returned to their bio-parents.
I truly appreciate the expressions of unconditional love I receive and and am able to share. I am not just faking it. Despite being at odds with my restless nature, I exercise my Vows of Motherhood faithfully. Regardless of this struggle, I am hopelessly bound by heartstrings. My children are innocents in all of this and I would protect them fiercely.
Enough with that, my drink awaits and they are at Gramma's house tonight. YES!
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