Tag Archives: proud mama

My Son

Of all the things that surprise me, a whole year after our adoption, the biggest is the undiminished pride I feel when I slip the words “My Son” into a conversation.

Capital letters: MY. SON.

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And I might… possibly… slip them in more often than is strictly necessary.

Perhaps it is those years when all those typically “boy” things (which my girls disliked no matter how enlightened and gender neutral we tried to be) – the dinosaurs and matchbox cars and hockey gear and train sets – sent a little ping of grief across my heart. All the things I never got to have or do or be with the baby boys I lost.

Perhaps it is the length of time we had to wait for you. Wondering. Imagining. Making plans that ended with “… if we have a new baby by then.”

Perhaps it is the way I feel we earned you. Not like a possession or a prize… but coming home at the end of a hard fought, life changing journey.

And perhaps this is how adoption, and every other scenario where kids don’t come the easy way, is different. Most of the time, having a child requires only a small amount of planning, if any. Two of mine came without any planning at all (surprise!). They are not any less (or more) precious for it, but I took being their Mom for granted.

It just happened. It didn’t require much thought or soul searching. I never felt the need to prove it or defend it. I didn’t have to work hard to get there. Those maternal instincts came pre-assembled.

But you, My Son, we made this Mother-Son thing together. We built it ourselves.

So when I talk about you, I puff up my chest and emphasize the words: MY Son.

So here’s me, an obnoxiously proud Mama. Even more than usual (and I was already pretty obnoxious, according to the oldest kids).


Obnoxious, Thy Name is Mommy

I’m pretty sure it’s time for me to start meeting new people. Oh, there’s nothing wrong with the ones I know, but most likely I’m getting on their nerves. Or very soon will.

The problem is, they’ve seen them. The pictures of my son. More than once. But I can’t help but think they should want to see again. We aren’t allowed to post them online so we are forced to disseminate these amazing images the old-fashioned way.

I showed the waitress at Red Robin.

I showed every staff member at school.

I whipped out my iPhone at church, at school, in waiting rooms, the dance show and even the grocery store.

Have you ever seen a more adorable child than this… my new son?”

I can’t help it. I’m excited! After all, I am an expectant mom!

Unfortunately, that cute belly is just last nights Habanero and Lime Tortilla chips (far too delicious for my good). And I would rather you didn’t rub it, thank you very much. The glow = a new moisturizer I picked up for the summer (SPF 15, tinted for fair skin). The emotional outbursts… well, I can’t blame hormones (much), but it certainly seems to be part of the process.

Does this need I have to show him off demonstrate an unhealthy narcissism?

Possibly. I’m often embarrassed by the attention. Yet I still feel the need to talk about him, read and reread every document in his file, relive every minute with him, and show him off to the world.

Perhaps it’s a way of coping with a very sudden and somewhat unnatural family addition. We missed all of it: the pregnancy, the birth day, the cooing over a sweet newborn… We’re trying to catch up on missed years.

Most of all, it is a way to claim him as my own. Every time I say it out loud I confirm to the world, and myself, that he belongs with us: MY son. I’m trying to stop acting like the world, and the foster family, and the social workers are doing me a favour by letting me have him. I AM his Mom, and I am entitled to be.

I spend a lot of time feeling insecure and awkward, something I haven’t associated with parenting since that very first solo bath with my eldest child.

It’s difficult to “visit” my own child; to try to get to know him as he eyes me warily from across the room. So I try too hard and I fumble my way through familiar stories and every song or finger play seems SO very important and I probably am doing just fine but I question myself at every step and I hate to leave and I’m worried about stupid things and I’m kind of a neurotic mess… But then he gives me that huge grin and it seems like nothing.

And he loves his Daddy already! Reaching out for him, snuggling on his lap, following him down the hallway and waiting outside the bathroom door until he’s done. The feeling is quite mutual, and the two of them just laugh at nanny and foster mom and I for getting all teary and sappy about it.

Already with the eye rolling. “Girls…” Daddy shrugs. He’s just glad to finally have a compadre.

Don’t worry, I took some pictures. And a video. If you see me on the street I’ll be happy to show it to you. And to the neighbors. And the speech therapist. And for the first time I look forward to the J.W.’s knocking on our door.

So, thank you world for confirming it to me. That he is adorable (he really is). That he is precious. That he is mine.

So here’s me, and apparently my new catch phrase is “awww!” Hoping to bring him home for good in a couple of weeks…


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