Wednesday, June 12, 2013

ONE REMEMBERS, ONE CELEBRATES

Today is Miles' birthday.
Today Miles is four.
Four and still in diapers.

Is potty training in our future?
Nope.  Not yet.
Developmentally, he's just not ready.
His self-care skills are still too delayed.

I don't stress about it because, well, it is what it is.
But I get looks.
When I have to change him in a public restroom, I get the "that kid is WAY too big to be in diapers" look.  Which is completely understandable, especially since his legs are so long they actually hang off the end of those infant changing tables.

It doesn't bother me.
It's kind of true.
He does look to big to be in diapers.
And the taller he gets and the more he weighs, the more difficult changing him becomes.

And not just in public, it's hard even at home.

A couple of months ago, I was changing a nasty diaper that was completely filled from the front to the back.  You know the kind.  Well, since his core is still weak, he can't help lift his legs up, so I have to do it for him.  So, we were on the floor and I had both ankles with one hand, grabbing wipes and cleaning him with the other, and the nasty diaper off to the side.

He kicked his leg, freeing it loose from my grip, and his foot lands smack dab in the diaper.  He now has poop all over his foot, and still too much poop on his booty to be lowered down.  I grabbed his ankle and tried to clean his back off enough that I could lower him at least a little.  Miles, realizing he has something on his foot, starts rubbing both feet together.

So, now he has poop on both feet and he is still a mess.
I am starting to dry heave at this point because his feet are up by my face and I can smell it.  Like, really smell it!

I guess I had him in the air a little longer than he liked because he kicked his leg again.  Only this time, instead of his foot landing in the diaper, his poop smeared foot lands right on my face.

ON MY FACE!

Being a mom is hard.
And messy.
Real messy.

Today, as I celebrate Miles' birth, the messiness of parenting and the realness of adoption collide.  And my heart is heavy.

If you've never adopted, you might not fully understand.

With Alex,
I can tell him what it was like when I was pregnant.
I can tell him about the day he was born.
I can tell him who came to visit and how happy we were.

With Miles,
I've got nothing.
I don't know a single detail.

But that's not what weighs so heavy.
The weight comes from knowing that there is someone who does remember.
Someone who knows all of those details.
Someone who carried him for 9 months, heard his first cry, held him in her arms, and was still brave enough to make the decision to give him the chance at a different life.

I could never ever forget the day Alex was born.
I could never imagine having to make the choice that she made.
So today, I can't help but put myself in Fikirte's shoes.
And it's heavy.

Usually, the remembering is part of the celebrating.
But with adoption, she gets to remember and I get to celebrate.
And sometimes that just doesn't feel right.

Even though Miles isn't potty trained.
Even though we get 'looks'.
Even though I may get an occasional poop smeared foot to the face.
I get to be mommy to the little baby she named Misikir.

I get all the hugs.
I get all the kisses.
I get to tuck in him at night and hear him say cute words like norning (morning) and Minals (Miles) with the sweetest, softest little voice you've ever heard.

She gave me an amazing gift.
She gave life to the little boy that has forever changed my life.
I could never repay her.
I could never thank her enough.

So tonight, when I put Miles to bed, I gave him two kisses.
One kiss from the one who remembers.
One kiss from the one who celebrates.

Happy 4th Birthday, Miles Misikir.
I wouldn't want to the me before you.