Do I Love Him?

When we were transitioning little man to our home, everything was so new.  I didn't know what his screams meant or how to comfort him.  I didn't know how many words he could speak or what he liked to do for fun.  At that point I was in love with the idea of him.

Since I was very young, I've felt an overwhelming desire to adopt.  It wasn't a passing fancy; it was God's purpose for my life.  I could feel it.  I spent hours crying over pictures of orphans online.  I followed my mom around the house sobbing because she refused to house and cloth a child in need and I just didn't understand.  Adoption isn't a hasty decision for us, but comes from the very depths of who I am.  I was adopted by God.  Fellow heir of the promise with Christ Himself.  I feel this.  I am adopted.  I must adopt.

Fast forward to our first day visit with little man.  I couldn't wait.  Could. Not. Wait.  Time didn't seem to move.  I couldn't even sleep the night before.  When we finally picked him up and took him out to Toys R Us with Kai and Averi, I imagined fun days filled with laughter, homeschooling children with big grins who wanted nothing more than to learn from their perfect mother, cooking dinner for thankful mouths.  Rose-colored glasses, anyone?

That didn't last long.  His first overnight visit at our house was great.  Then came the weekend visit.  Everyone got sick.  Oh boy.  I thought it was hard to be sick in college.  I thought it was impossible to be sick when my baby was sick too.  Having two kids sick at once?  Hell.  My first day with three kids and I'm sick.  Kai's sick.  Averi and little man are sick.  Visions of perfection fled like a man when he smells a poopy diaper (squeamish?  read a different blog;-)

I had in front of me one very grumpy little boy who didn't want me.  He had so much diarrhea that night that there was a pile of poop in his bed when I came in.  I had to throw away his pajamas because they were soaked.  But the heartbreaking part for me was that he didn't even cry!  He didn't let me in on his misery.  I found the mess at 5:30 in the morning when Averi cried for a feeding.  I don't even know how long he was sitting in it.

My heart was broken and my hands were filled with poop.  Literally.  I don't know if you have kids or not, but I'm going to let you in on a little secret.  Excretions from your own kids are really no big deal.  I always wondered how moms could ignore the huge bubbles of snot coming out of their kid's nose or how they could hold a kid when he was puking all over the place.  Turns out, it's not so spectacular.  It simply doesn't seem so gross from your own kids (in my experience, this statement applies to moms only, not so much dads).  From other kids?  EWWWWW.  Get those bodily fluids away from me.  I'm sooo not hungry anymore.

SO back to changing little man's poop-exploded diaper.  My body revolted.  I gagged.  It was gross.  Averi and little man were going through the same stages of the sickness at the same time, but I had no problem changing her diaper.  She had no problem being comforted by me.  It was not like that with little man.  He wanted me to hold him, but his body was stiff.  I changed his diaper but was disgusted with myself for being so disgusted.  

But down there in the trenches, somehow my heart turned towards him and his toward me.  He's only lived with us for a little over a week, but I can say that I love him just as fully as my bio kids.  I know because when he had a snotty nose today at the park, I reached over and wiped it off with my bare hands.  No thinking involved.  That boy is my son and I am his mommy.  I know it's not going to be laughter and fun every moment of the day.  It wasn't before he came to us and it won't be after.  But I do know that I love that boy fully and that whatever comes, we're going to be okay.