Right before Christmas 2004, I received the referral of a baby boy that needed a home. This was my first Christmas as a prospective adoptive parent and my prospective son's first Christmas ever, albeit away from home.
When Christmas 2005 came around, my son was home with me! He had actually been home (safe and sound) for four months. This was our first Christmas together as Mother and son.
Christmas 2006 was the first "normal" year as Mother and son... we'd had a full year together and got into the family groove. We completed our post-adoption follow-up meetings and began preparing the court documents for the state readoption. It was a nice, productive, busy year.
By Christmas 2007 we had completed the state readoption and received his Certificate of Citizenship! Woo-hoo! It was the first Christmas as an official American citizen! Andy started really getting into this Christmas traditions, too. You wake up and this guy Santa just brings you a bunch of toys!!?? Cool.
This year, preparing for Christmas 2008, as I was driving into work one day, I thought hmmm... nothing new - no firsts this year... Andy "gets" Christmas... and is excited about seeing Santa to tell him about all he wants... but nothing I can consider as a "first". So, then my thoughts changed to my mental "to-do" list. Finish up with presents, get some things mailed out... prepare cards for a ton of people. Hmmm, this year Andy can sign his OWN name to the cards... THIS YEAR Andy can sign his own name to the cards!!?? Wow! Another first!
I know it sounds simple, but to a very proud Mommy of a son who just learned how to write his name- it's AWESOME! Okay, so Christmas "firsts" don't really stop afterall! I can't wait to see what's in store for next year! Merry Christmas, everyone!
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
I'm Not Raising a "Girly" Boy
One day I saw a plastic sword moving slowly towards my neck. I turned to “see” who was holding it, when I noticed a cute 3-year-old boy wearing a helmet and a towel cape strategically draped over his shoulders. Luckily, I had some experience dealing with this particular caped crusader. As I looked him deep in the eyes he cracked a smile, yelled “I’m Guard!,” turned away from me, and ran into the dining room. Whew, another close call!
As I began to sit down, I had to move a few toy cars and trains off the chair to avoid sitting on them. And while holding those toys in my hands, I realized something… I wasn’t raising a “girly” boy as I had feared would happen (because there is no “Daddy” figure in his life). With a sigh of relief as I started to relax in the chair here came that same caped crusader running around the corner again. A “knighted” Mommy doesn’t get much rest.
Anyway, in the beginning, I was worried because when I decided to create a little family through adoption, I told the adoption agency that I wanted to adopt a girl. After all, I was single and living with my sister at the time. I thought it would be best for the child.
Well, as I was buried in paperwork up to my eyeballs, something odd kept happening. I kept having these vivid dreams about being a Mommy to a beautiful baby. I’d wake up so immensely happy that I wished I could go back to sleep to keep dreaming. The strange part was that in my dreams, my child was a little boy- not a girl. I didn’t understand why I was dreaming about being a Mommy to a little boy when I knew I was at the top of the “official” list for any little girl that needed an adoptive family. I was basically guaranteed to be a Mommy to a little girl...
It just didn’t hit me yet.
Not until, my Mother called me one day and said that she had this dream that she was the Grandmother to a little baby boy. BINGO! It didn’t take me too long to realize that there was a little boy out there who was meant to be my son. I struggled with my decision for a few days… will I be the best Mommy for a little boy? Will I turn him into a “girly” boy because there would be no direct male-influence in his life?
I knew that this was the biggest test of my faith that I had ever experienced… and I left it up to God. I notified the agency that I was not looking to become a Mommy to just a girl and asked him to let me know of the next girl or boy who needs me.
Within a couple of weeks I got “the” call. It was a boy! I had never been so in awe. It all felt right. 100% right. From the day I brought my bundle of joy home to now- I have never regretted my decision to notify the agency of my change in heart about originally only wanting to adopt a baby girl.
From jean overalls, to fascinations with superheroes and fire trucks, my son is “all” boy; I am all Mommy; and that’s ALL that matters.
As I began to sit down, I had to move a few toy cars and trains off the chair to avoid sitting on them. And while holding those toys in my hands, I realized something… I wasn’t raising a “girly” boy as I had feared would happen (because there is no “Daddy” figure in his life). With a sigh of relief as I started to relax in the chair here came that same caped crusader running around the corner again. A “knighted” Mommy doesn’t get much rest.
Anyway, in the beginning, I was worried because when I decided to create a little family through adoption, I told the adoption agency that I wanted to adopt a girl. After all, I was single and living with my sister at the time. I thought it would be best for the child.
Well, as I was buried in paperwork up to my eyeballs, something odd kept happening. I kept having these vivid dreams about being a Mommy to a beautiful baby. I’d wake up so immensely happy that I wished I could go back to sleep to keep dreaming. The strange part was that in my dreams, my child was a little boy- not a girl. I didn’t understand why I was dreaming about being a Mommy to a little boy when I knew I was at the top of the “official” list for any little girl that needed an adoptive family. I was basically guaranteed to be a Mommy to a little girl...
It just didn’t hit me yet.
Not until, my Mother called me one day and said that she had this dream that she was the Grandmother to a little baby boy. BINGO! It didn’t take me too long to realize that there was a little boy out there who was meant to be my son. I struggled with my decision for a few days… will I be the best Mommy for a little boy? Will I turn him into a “girly” boy because there would be no direct male-influence in his life?
I knew that this was the biggest test of my faith that I had ever experienced… and I left it up to God. I notified the agency that I was not looking to become a Mommy to just a girl and asked him to let me know of the next girl or boy who needs me.
Within a couple of weeks I got “the” call. It was a boy! I had never been so in awe. It all felt right. 100% right. From the day I brought my bundle of joy home to now- I have never regretted my decision to notify the agency of my change in heart about originally only wanting to adopt a baby girl.
From jean overalls, to fascinations with superheroes and fire trucks, my son is “all” boy; I am all Mommy; and that’s ALL that matters.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Hispanic at Heart
When my 3-year-old son asked me if he has a Daddy, remembering my vow to always tell him the truth, and trying to come up with age-appropriate language, I responded by telling him that everybody has a birthfather, a birthmother, and a birthfamily. But all families are different, just like all people are different. I told him that our family is made up of a Mommy- that’s me (I pointed to myself), a son- that’s you (I poked his tummy with my finger, which resulted in a giggle); a Grandma; a Grandpa; an Aunt Suzie; and an Uncle Stevie.
I also told him that his birthfamily was in Guatemala and one day, when he’s older, we can visit them if he wants to. He had a few more questions that I gracefully answered before he went off to play. As I watched him walk away, I was wondering what goes on in his mind. I thought to myself… Did I do that right?
Handling sensitive issues, such as adoption, can be tough, especially, if you are a single adoptive parent in a multicultural family, like me. I am Caucasian-American and my son is Guatemalan. We became a family through an international adoption in 2005. August 1, 2008 was our third year anniversary of being Mommy-and-son.
When my son and I are in public, some people will ask me if he is “mine”. I always respond with a resounding and very proud, “Yes”. Some probe a little further and ask if his father is Hispanic. I answer the truth, and say yes, and sometimes elaborate by saying, “and so is his birthmother…” My reaction depends on my mood and the way inquirers ask. My son is always with me and although he may not act like he’s paying attention, he hears everything. So, I have to set the example for when he is older and chooses to answer similar personally-probing questions on his own.
My attempts to bring cultural awareness into our family is sometimes met by outsider resistance. I’ve received comments like, “Why do that, he is American now?” And yes, I made him an American citizen, but he was born in Guatemala. He is a Guatemalan by birth; American by his Mommy’s choice. I was born in America to two Caucasian parents, so I am American. However, the same way some believe my son is just “American” because I adopted him, I feel that I am “Hispanic” because I am his Mommy.
As so many of you know, something happens to new parents when they hold their child in their arms for the first time. For some it’s an awakening that the world no longer exists just for them, but for their child. Your natural parenting instincts take over and like a satellite your life now revolves around that precious child. All of my priorities changed. He is the one I want the world to be a better place for; and it is him who I want to see succeed more than anyone else in this lifetime.
Something happened when I first held my son in my arms. My heart melted as our eyes met. That’s the precise moment I became Hispanic at heart. I may be American by birth, but my heart and the most important thing in my world… my son, are Hispanic.
Published in September 2008 (c)
I also told him that his birthfamily was in Guatemala and one day, when he’s older, we can visit them if he wants to. He had a few more questions that I gracefully answered before he went off to play. As I watched him walk away, I was wondering what goes on in his mind. I thought to myself… Did I do that right?
Handling sensitive issues, such as adoption, can be tough, especially, if you are a single adoptive parent in a multicultural family, like me. I am Caucasian-American and my son is Guatemalan. We became a family through an international adoption in 2005. August 1, 2008 was our third year anniversary of being Mommy-and-son.
When my son and I are in public, some people will ask me if he is “mine”. I always respond with a resounding and very proud, “Yes”. Some probe a little further and ask if his father is Hispanic. I answer the truth, and say yes, and sometimes elaborate by saying, “and so is his birthmother…” My reaction depends on my mood and the way inquirers ask. My son is always with me and although he may not act like he’s paying attention, he hears everything. So, I have to set the example for when he is older and chooses to answer similar personally-probing questions on his own.
My attempts to bring cultural awareness into our family is sometimes met by outsider resistance. I’ve received comments like, “Why do that, he is American now?” And yes, I made him an American citizen, but he was born in Guatemala. He is a Guatemalan by birth; American by his Mommy’s choice. I was born in America to two Caucasian parents, so I am American. However, the same way some believe my son is just “American” because I adopted him, I feel that I am “Hispanic” because I am his Mommy.
As so many of you know, something happens to new parents when they hold their child in their arms for the first time. For some it’s an awakening that the world no longer exists just for them, but for their child. Your natural parenting instincts take over and like a satellite your life now revolves around that precious child. All of my priorities changed. He is the one I want the world to be a better place for; and it is him who I want to see succeed more than anyone else in this lifetime.
Something happened when I first held my son in my arms. My heart melted as our eyes met. That’s the precise moment I became Hispanic at heart. I may be American by birth, but my heart and the most important thing in my world… my son, are Hispanic.
Published in September 2008 (c)
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