August 12, 2006

Olfactory Memory

It is autumn. We are matched with birthparents, all of us waiting for you to be born. I spend whole evenings in your room, folding clothes, smoothing bedsheets, sorting diapers and formula into tidy rows. I am willing my hope to be as solid as the items I touch. Before bed each night I slip into the darkened room to look at the empty cradle and think of you sleeping in your birthmother’s womb. The space is filled with the smell of baby lotion, diapers, fresh linens, new clothes--sweetly mingled into an almost overwhelming scent.

It’s nine and a half months later and I’m reaching to the back of a shelf in your room when from deep inside the cupboard the scent hits me. Suddenly I’m feeling all of it again—the longing, hope, worry, joy, vulnerability. Again I’m waiting to hold you, waiting to know you, waiting for someone else to make me your mother.

August 08, 2006

Into the Void

Ten days from now we are moving, packing up our things and ourselves for what was meant to be a more affordable, sustainable life one thousand miles away. Leaving behind the heat, smog and soul-crushing compactness of the city, but also the vibrancy and color. This metropolis has been my home for the whole of my adult life. It is where I forged my identity. It is where we have built networks of dear friends. And it is the place where Puppy came to me.

The move date was set much sooner than we expected, leaving us busy with details and not sure how to say good-bye in the short time we have left. I was flipping through my date book this evening, looking at how the little squares were filling with last visits with friends, appointments and tasks.

Suddenly I turned to the day after the move and saw nothing but page after page of blank white. Time to write a new life, but also time to fall in to the emptiness with nothing left to catch you.

June 17, 2006

You know it's summer...

...when you wish your DMV wait had been longer so you could enjoy the sweet, sweet air conditioning.

May 07, 2006

It was bound to happen sometime

Puppy rolled off the couch today. While I was sitting right next to him. Distracted by (oh, the shame) something on the Internet.

Thankfully, he didn't bump the coffee table. He seemed more surprised than anything. But, boy, did I feel negligent.

May 04, 2006

Leaving Home

Puppy started daycare this week.

That's a sentence I never thought I would write--never thought I would allow myself to write. In the days when T and I had hours to sit around and talk dreamily about being parents, we breezily agreed that we wanted a parent to be home with our children while they were small. It didn't matter which one of us it was at home (how progressive!), but parenting would be our top priority (how dedicated!). During the home study process for the adoption, as we filled page after page with essay questions on our parenting philosophy, we waxed on about how flexible we were with our careers and how terribly committed to having one of us at home (although we had enough sense to throw in "if we can make it work financially").

By staggering T's paternity leave and my own maternity leave, we were able to be at home full-time for Puppy's first six months. Then we were faced with reality. By personality , T is a much better fit to be a primary caregiver. But even as a lowly public servant, T makes far more money than I do; living on my income alone was not an option. And, thanks to this crazy-expensive part of the U.S. we call home, neither was living on T's salary alone. So with much philosophical hand-wringing (on my part, at least), we picked out a warm, loving daycare facility close to our home.

The first morning I steeled myself for the guilt of leaving my precious baby for an entire day. But from the second we walked in the door, he never looked back. I kissed his chubby cheek as he lunged for something bright and shiny. When I arrived to pick him up in the afternoon, he looked up with a smile ("Oh, great, you've come to join us!"), then turned straight back to gnawing on his toy. It was that way every day this week. He loves it. He's in a room full of toys. There are other kids his age to squeal at. Multiple caregivers attend to his every need. If I didn't know better, I'd think my kid has more fun at daycare than he does at home with me.

It's a bit of a blow to the ego, you know?
Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...