English Is a Tricky Language

Puppy and I were driving in the car this afternoon. I was dropping him off at my parents' house before heading to a baby shower.

Puppy: "I am going to Nana's house. Where are you going, Mommy?"

Me: "I'm going to a baby shower."

Puppy: "A shower?"

Me: "It's a party for Jenny and Mark, to celebrate their baby. Did you know Jenny has a baby growing inside of her?"

Puppy: "Is it in her uterus?" Puppy pronounces "uterus" with three very distinct syllables: u-ter-us. It's adorable.

Me: "Yes, the baby is growing inside Jenny's uterus. When she is born, Jenny and Mark will be her parents. They're naming her Fern."

Puppy: "I don't know that word, 'fern'."

Me: "That's okay. A fern is a type of plant. Jenny and Mark are using it as a name."

Puppy: "But I know 'swip'!" I showed him what a boat slip was the other week when we were walking by the river. His L's are all still W's.

Me: "That's a good word to know."

Puppy: "Fern is in her uterus. I was in birth mom K's uterus!"

Me: "That's right. Every single person in the whole wide world grew inside a uterus."

Puppy: "Then she'll come out of her uterus?"

Me: "Yes, she'll come out when she's ready. That's what happens when a baby is born."

We drove for awhile in silence. I contemplated my deep, abiding dislike of shower games. Puppy was apparently pondering more practical questions.

"Mommy, how will you put the shower inside her uterus? What if the baby Fern doesn't like to get wet?"

By the Side of His Bed

When Puppy was an infant, I spent long stretches of time staring at him while he slept in my arms, especially during the quiet hours of the night. Taking in his delicious face, the whisper of his breathing, his tiny fingers. Wrapping my mind around the simple fact of his presence. I remember the hard wood of the rocking chair and the soft chill of night feedings, the mockingbirds who sang in the dark outside.

Three years later that baby is a rambunctious toddler. Now sleep is one of the only times that he stops moving and talking. Each night before going to bed I steal into his room to pull up covers and gently free picture books out from under him. Kiss him good night, murmur love into his ear. Take a long moment just to watch him sleep.

This late night habit has taken on a hint of ritual for me. Alone in the quiet night with the day's responsibilities finally laid to rest, my thoughts and emotions rise to the surface pure and unfiltered. I open myself to the moment, never knowing where it may lead. Sometimes I'm awash in awe and gratitude. Sometimes I smile, remembering a funny moment from the day. Sometimes I am simply content. Sometimes fears  or worries poke through.

More often than not lately what bubbles to the surface is regret. During Puppy's first couple of years, I thought I had discovered a bottomless well of patience. I was that parent who didn't lose her temper or snap at her child. This year ended that illusion. Firefly changed everything. We met her first mom a few weeks after Puppy's birthday last year and from that day on some piece of my mind has been taken with preparing or caring for the new baby. Meanwhile Puppy grew older and more vocal about his opinions and desires. Every day it seems my irritation spills out over some worthless thing.

I stand at the side of his bed and wish the day had gone differently. He seems so small and vulnerable curled underneath the blankets. I remember sharp words, frustrated sighs, times I turned away, desperate to be alone for one minute, just one minute without these tiny people who always want me so completely. I regret letting another day of his fleeting childhood go by scathed by my shortcomings.

All these months in, I still feel like I'm working out how to mother two children. The routines are in place, the logistics long ago figured out. But finding the emotional strength to be present with them from their waking up until their going down--that is where I fall short.

I know that parents aren't meant to be perfect. I know that children learn more from humility than they would from a parent who never failed. Yet of all the things I've ever done in my life, raising them is most worthy of my best effort.  So as each new day comes I try again and again and again.

Step 1: Freak Out; Step 2: Let the Internet Calm You Down

Thank you for all of the advice. I appreciated and reflected on every comment. I feel much more grounded after listening to your thoughts. It was good to be reminded just how straightforward kids are at this age. I think you are all right that Puppy will take this as it's explained to him for now. The basic facts probably won't trouble him yet, since the complexity behind the facts just won't occur to him. Any possible complications will come down the road. It always seems to come back to the basics: respect children's emotions, follow where they're pointing, answer in honesty and love.

I often do better in the moment with Puppy. It's easier for me to see things through kids' eyes--and put them into kids' words--when I'm interacting with them. Being surprised by this situation overwhelmed me and sent my mind into overdrive. I'm sure you're all shocked--shocked!--to hear I tend to overthink things. (Case in point: every other post on this blog.)

We won't talk to Puppy about it until we're closer to seeing her, but I'll let you know how it goes then. Do pray or wish good things or send positive energy for K's pregnancy.

And, Andy--I'm keeping your words close for later.

How did folks ever navigate unusual parenting situations like open adoption before the internet? Lordy, I'd feel so alone without it.