It was only on Christmas Sunday, while sitting in the women’s meeting, that I was overcome with painful emotion. All the memories of two years ago… hope, pain, tears, sorrow, the “pins and needles” effect…it was all there playing over and over again during the 45 minute lesson. And I could not escape it. Talk about suffocating.

I had not been thinking about babies or pregnancies or miscarriages or anything of the sort. It just came to me, blindsiding me into emotional upheaval. All it took were a few familiar scents and sounds, emotional triggers if you will. For a few moments in time, I was overcome with anguish.

I guess the reason I am writing is to remind myself that it never goes away. Even when I think I have it beat or think it does not matter anymore. It does! Also, to say to others that it really does get easier. I shed a few private tears during those moments. But after I left the meeting, I was able to move on. Sure, I thought about it throughout the week that I was there, but I never let it paralyze me. I don’t even think I shared my thoughts with Adam. That tells me that it is definitely getting easier.

Of course, I am quite sure that if I didn’t have the ninos to fill up those empty mommy moments, my experience last Sunday would have been profoundly different. Another reason to be extra grateful this holiday season.

I knew the ninos would slowly and eventually help me heal. I knew it in my head, but my heart didn’t rely on the idea much. And how could it a year ago? This time last year I was a three month old mom to four little strangers who didn’t speak my language. It was joyful to have them in my life. But it was still too early for me to completely let go of my could-have-beens.

I have grown up a lot this year. I feel less of a need to hold tightly to my infertility badge. Instead of feeling like a proud adoptive mom who was wronged by the fertility gods, I feel more like just a mom. I still see and feel a need to mourn the losses in my life that have made me more graceful. That will never change. My compassion meter has increased in ways that only loss can provide. I am grateful to be more compassionate. I am softer.

I have privately mourned two more miscarriages since last November. They were easier to work through than the first four years worth. In fact, I even like babies a little more now. I told my girlfriends the other day that I was thinking about getting a swing and Bumbo for the house so that their babies are more comfortable. After I realized what I had said, we kind of just looked at each other, commented and laughed a little. There was no need to talk about it for hours. It is visibly becoming easier for me. Having babies around is more comfortable for me. That makes me feel a little lighter inside. Walls that were built up so thickly around my heart continue to crumble bit by bit, as I continue my journey through motherhood. The person I want to become is more and more in my sights.

Now, I am not so healed that I never have twinges of hurt or irrational jealousy. At times, glowing pregnant women still take my breath away. Forcing me to hold a baby or play with it probably isn’t the best course of action. But all in all, things are better. I wonder what my November post will look like in five or ten years.

There’s even a song by grandma and aunties!!! :)

Well, it wasn’t the Famiversary we envisioned, due to some health and vacation issues, but at least we were all “kind of” together. My mom and sister remembered our One Year Family Anniversary, and they had hot fudge sundaes waiting for us when we arrive in Utah. We were able to video call Adam on Skype, at least. I think the kids were just happy to get ice cream. For them it was just another party. Next year, when their fluency has increased, I think it will mean more.

My Las Vegas girlfriends sent up a care package with Jaime Lynne including a cake, and bubbles for the kids. And Jes remembered, of course. Thanks for remembering, girls! What a year it has been, huh? Those who have traveled this journey with us, and have seen the kids grow by leaps and bounds every week and month, know what our yearly milestones mean to us.

One year in, the kids are reading three and four letter words, in English. Bedtime routines are smooth (most nights). And behavioral expectations are usually met. I literally shudder when I think about the place from which the kiddos came, especially when I think about all of the little ones we left behind. But my sadness is somewhat assuaged by the happy beautiful home we have created for and with our ninos. They have rescued us, and they have no idea! Hopefully, one day they will understand what their joyful spirits have done to our hearts, and our home.

I think I have a video. I will post it, if I can find it.

When the question seems sincere, I typically reply with a Yes, and then continue on by sharing our adoption story. And I can’t think of a single time that I have not been bombarded with sweet compliments and further inquiry. And yet, lately, I have become more annoyed by the question. Why? I have a couple of theories, which I will share in my next post. But last week I decided to try something new. 

The five of us were at the post office. This was the second post office and fifth errand of the morning. The ninos handled it like champs. I had them sitting a bit away from me on a bench where they were talking and reading quietly. The elderly white lady in front of me leaned back, not knowing I had any children with me, and struck up a conversation about how bored she was. We spoke for few moments, and then I turned to check on the children.

When she put two and two together, she asked surprisingly, “oh, are those your children?” I gave a warm, but simple, Yes. She looked at me as if expecting me to elaborate. I said nothing (which is hard for me to do:) She then leaned in and said, “all of them?” I said, yes–and laughed genuinely. She then complimented me on how well behaved my kids were…asking where my big stick was. It was adorable, and super flattering. And then, finally, she leaned in knowingly and whispered, “you know, most children today are not like that. You keep doing what you are doing.” I told her I would, and she turned around. Okay, she stole a few more glances back at the children before it was her turn at the counter. But still, she was the perfect person to experiment on.

Was she wondering what our story was? Probably. Should I have shared more? Maybe. But for that one moment, it felt freeing to have a conversation about my children with no labels attached or assumptions made. In that conversation, with a woman 40 years my senior who was clearly full of wisdom and prudence, the children were just mine. They weren’t my adopted kids. They weren’t foreign born orphans. They weren’t troubled children rescued from foster care. They weren’t even, and simply, someone else’s kids. They were just my kids–all mine!!!

There is lots I have written in my mind this summer-coming soon. We are finally in our house, and I finally have computer access. FINALLY! I feel like a coming of age is afoot in terms of fertility for me. It’s an exciting time in my relationship with myself, my husband, and my children. Can’t wait to catch up on all of my adoption buddies’ blogs too. I am sure there was much fun to be had by all of the Colombianos this summer.

I know how much I long to know about their past lives–I can only imagine what the wondering will one day be like for each nino. I long to know what their toddler years were like, who watched them take their first steps, who was there in those beginning weeks to see them smile and coo for the first time, who changed their diapers and perhaps rocked them to sleep. I long to know if they were adored, merely tolerated, or somewhere inbetween. I would give anything to know where all of the nics and scars on the boys’ bodies came from. Whenever I trace their skin, I think of that. I wonder who the first person was to truly bond to each nino. Were they read to, were they bathed regularly, were they soothed when hurting, were they truly loved?

But for now, and maybe forever, all I have are the firsts that we create together.

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1. So the other day, Ezzy came out of the shower very perplexed. I asked her what was wrong, and she said, “Mom, I was in the shower and I looked down and my feet were white (pointing to my skin) but my legs were brown.” She was laughing with delight, and then I started laughing because I realized that she had never had a tan line before. We talked for a few minutes about what a tan line is and how the sun makes our skin darker. She thought it was the weirdest coolest thing ever. She spent the next few minutes checking out her bathing suit tan lines in the mirror. Apparently, the girl had never before worn a swimsuit, let alone been out in the sun long enough to notice her skin color changing. Can you imagine? AMAZING. She is eight years old now, and loving her variety of swimwear. :)

2. Wompy learned how to read his first few words this week including “I” and “see.”

3. Last week, the ocean was a huge first, which I blogged about on the family blog. I still can’t get over the wonder of it all. I mean, I know there are lots of people who don’t see the ocean until they are much older, but it is different because these kids never had any expectation about ever seeing something so amazing. In fact, they didn’t even really know what it was until I explained it to them the week before. Imagine?

4. Yesterday, I taught the kids Yahtzee for the first time. And they did surprisingly well. In fact, Wompy kicked our butts. Danny really gets it, and I was able to see their different mathematical skill levels come out as we played the game. Although they’ve been taught Chutes and Ladders, Candy Land, etc…this is their first “real” game that I took the time to teach. And now, they are begging to play again. YES!

5. DICE–when we were playing Yahtzee I realized that the kids had never actually played with dice before. We take for granted that the dotted symbols on the dice are known by everyone. I don’t remember having to “learn” what the number on each dice looked like because I had watched my parents play boardgames from the time I was born. Just another little thing I never thought would be a first. And just in one day, Ezzy and Danny know what the numbers are without having to count the dots. Nikki is getting there. Wompy decided to play with blocks instead. :) 

6. First Fruit Pizza–Wompy’s birthday on Monday night.

As she was on her way out, she stopped at our table(s) and said, “I just want to tell you that I have so enjoyed watching you enjoy your children. It is so refreshing, and I thank you for the opportunity.” I told her thank you (slightly embarrassed, of course) and told her that I appreciated the compliment. She and her husband left, and I teared up just a little because she did not preface her compliment by asking if the kids were adopted/fostered/babysat/fill in the blank. She complimented me based on what she saw–and she clearly saw that I was their mom, regardless of our situation. That was a first for me, one that I will not soon forget.

She did not witness perfectly behaved little robots, nor did she witness little terrorists. She just witnessed a mom who was engaged and happy. Her compliment, after watching me handle dinner time with four shining ninos, gave me more confidence that I am doing a great job.

Remaining seated when the women were asked to stand was the only way that I could think to support and remember all of those who are still longing, and those who are still hoping. I remember what it was like to sit there, when I was dumb enough all those years ago to actually attend on Mother’s Day. The worst part of the service was always the end. If I did not stand, people would tell me I was a mother in spirit, or something else lame, and badger me until I stood. If I did stand, I would feel like a pretender, as if all eyes were on me feeling sorry for me. And the entire service, I thought about nothing else–just the decision to stand or not to stand. I suppose exiting is always an option, but that is even more lame. Now, after years of practice, I really don’t care what people think about my decision. And, truth be told, not many people notice, unless they are specifically looking. It is mostly in my mind. Of course, poor Mindy H. looked so confused when I did not want the gift she was passing down the row. Who could blame her. :) Whatev!

For me, enduring sappy mom-centered talks, and listening to the children sing (which was very sweet), was more than enough. The rest of my day was way better than church. I know that old habits die hard. I know that. We will see if, and how, I change over the next few years. But my current stance is that I would prefer to spend Mother’s Day away from church with my husband and children.

For me, it was just weird. And I really did try!!!

But it did come, and caught me completely off guard. It happened at Little League. Adam “got the text.” Finally, baby arrived safe and sound, mama too. Great! I sent a quick text and went back to reading. As I read, it hit me. My mind started reeling. I thought of my dear friends welcoming their long-awaited son into the world. I remembered all the times I had pictured that moment for us, and all the times it never actualized. I saw husband looking on wife, as if she had given him the world. I envisioned the bonding that moment affords, and it was almost more than I could bear. I felt myself fading. I thought for sure I was going to pass out.

I am glad that I had the ninos’ interest to motivate me to the hospital that night. I did not want to miss it, but after the experience earlier in the evening, I would not have gone otherwise. It was unbelievably hard for me…..harder than I expected. Of course, there was no pretense on my part that it would be a walk in the park, but I also did not expect the good old feelings of loss and grief to surface so quickly. The tears started as soon as I hugged Robert, although I did keep it together while at the hospital. Unfortunately, the 40 minute drive home allowed much time to think and to cry.

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Well, it has been a week now and I have realized where my jealousies lie, and why. The good news…I am not jealous of Baby. I am not jealous of Jaime. I am certainly not jealous of the pregnancy or the labor or the breastfeeding. The bad news…I am so very jealous of The Husband factor. As I think about it, this has been the only source of true jealousy with any of my sisters’ and friends’ pregnancies.

I am jealous of how he holds the baby with gentleness and reverence. How he carries him around the house not letting him out of his sight not even when he showers. How he now looks differently at his wife, and always will. How he smiles with that knowing smile that “He’s The Dad.” I am most jealous of the apparent and incredible joy that this tiny little life has brought to my friend’s husband! Since Adam and Robert are close friends, I see it and feel it more clearly. What do I see? I see with Robert what could have been with Adam. And even today, it breaks my heart into a thousand tiny pieces to know that I might never get to see my husband in that light. To give him that joyful gift.

My loving husband offered his shoulder after our hospital visit. He sweetly reminded me that he felt more bonded and closer to me during our first two weeks in Bogota. I appreciated his meager attempt. But he, of all people, knows it is not the same, not by a long shot. Our  “bonding time” has taken place in the midst of tough love, language barriers and paperwork. For some crazy reason, I think that bonding with, and over, a baby is a little different. If I did not love Adam so much, maybe I would not feel this loss so intently.

Shouldn’t I be grateful for what I have? I mean the ninos are now woven into our lives, our families, our legacy. We wouldn’t trade them for 100 billion dollars (give or take:). And yet, I still–and probably always will–mourn our losses when times like these arise. There are no conclusions or resolutions here, just feelings. Honest emotion.

Zackary has blessed his parents’ lives, and I am so grateful to be a part of the experience.