Learning to Walk

Gussie is walking! Like really, really doing it. Letting go of the furniture, standing up from the floor by himself, walking. It is amazing.  It happened practically overnight. He had taken a few steps tentatively from one of us to the other a month or so ago, but then lost interest. Who can blame him? His funny little one-leg-tucked crawl is fast. He's perfected it. It's his preferred way to travel.

So last week, he started taking a few steps away from the furniture to try to get the cat. He'd been walking around holding onto the furniture but showing no interest in letting go for awhile. Anytime he realized he was standing up by himself, he'd look around like, "WTF?" and slowly lower himself to the ground. But the cats, the cats were just too tempting. Indie was just a few feet away from the couch, and well, Gus just let go! The look on his face when he realized what he'd done was so cool. I clapped and said, "Good job!" and he broke out into the world's biggest grin. It was super fast after that. He kept doing these little journeys from various pieces of furniture out into the wide world. He got more and more adept. (He went from looking like Baby Godzilla to looking only slightly drunk in less than a week.) If we weren't there or didn't realize quickly enough to clap for him, he clapped for himself!! How awesome is that?

The reactions I've gotten to his new "talent" have been mixed. It seems to be some variation of one of two things. People in the first camp say "OMG! Watch out. Your life just got way harder. Get your running shoes." People in the second camp say "That's so great. He has so much more independence now." I find it very interesting. The first one is more about the parents, the second one more about the kid. I know it may complicate things in some ways, but I'm so happy. Because he is happy. I saw it in his eyes. And that helped me see it through his eyes. I hope he can always be that joyful and confident and proud of his accomplishments!

And He is so proud! I think it's really cool. I have a lot of trouble feeling proud. I even had arguments in my head with myself about whether it was okay to feel proud of him for walking (it was my first reaction). I thought, "that's just what babies do and why am I feeling proud?" Then a friend of mine told me that I totally had every right to feel proud. That I was here for him and loving him and that (Shelley and) I had a lot to do with how joyfully and confidently he took those first steps. I'm working on believing that.

Sometimes I think that raising children, in addition to being about evolution of the species, is about the parents' evolution. At least for me it feels that way. This gig is hard. As I've said before I know I think a lot, but I doubt I'm the only person that has shit come up for them when raising a kid. It makes you face your demons. Partly because you want so badly to banish them so your kid doesn't have to fight them, partly because you want them out of the way for your own sake, so you can just enjoy this amazing little person in front of you. I think learning to walk is a good metaphor for it. You take a few tentative steps. You fall down. A lot. You keep getting back up and trying again. You are unsteady on your feet but so excited about your newfound freedom. Then, you get more confident, more steady. Perhaps even start running. But you always are on the lookout for something in your path, waiting to trip you up. Maybe, just maybe, I'll have it mastered by the time he's 30.

Mirror, Mirror

Parenthood feels to me like a giant effin' mirror being thrust in my face all the time. I examine, and re-examine, and over-examine almost every decision I make during a day with Gus. I guess it's not totally fair to blame it all on the parenting. Some of it (okay a lot of it) is just me. But it does feel like decisions are more dire now. Before, if I forgot to eat or chose to eat badly, eh - it's only affecting me (and maybe Shelley cuz I'm supercrank when my blood sugar's low). But now, it's also affecting little dude. In multiple ways. There's cranky mom and also bad-model mom. I don't want to be grumpy with him for no reason. I also want him to learn to eat well. Anyway, you get the point.

The thing about mirrors, though, is that sometimes they can be distorted. Sometimes the glass is warpy or there's a crack that throws off the whole reflection. And, no matter how perfectly the reflection is coming through, it's also about what I choose to see when I look. I'm kind of a master at seeing all the wrinkles and flaws. But for Gus's sake, I need to get better at seeing the good stuff. I don't want him to necessarily experience the world in the way that I do. I want him to experience it in his own way. I want to be careful not to distort what he sees with my own warpy glass.

And, I am a mirror to him. I try to mirror back at him what I see on his face. If he's joyful or grieving or proud or whatever, I try to be attuned to that. I want him to feel felt and known. I want him to be as satisfied with the reflection of himself that he sees in me as he is with the one he sees in the mirror.

'Cause right now, he LOVES what he sees when he looks in a mirror. He smiles. He laughs. He leans forward and kisses his reflection. It is the cutest thing I've ever seen. And, I must confess, I'm freakin jealous! I wish I could look at my reflection and be that happy with it. I think, for his sake, I have to find a way.

The great thing, though, is that he's a little mirror, too. And the reflection I see of myself in his eyes blows me away! He doesn't care what I look like on the outside. He doesn't see all the flaws (inner and outer) that I do. All he seems to see is awesome. And needs met. And love. I'm sure as he gets older he will see things he doesn't particularly like. But that's okay too. All of what he sees is Mama.

Expectations

I've been thinking a lot about expectations (cause I'm a nerdy introvert who sits around and thinks about all kinds of weird shit. all. the. time.) People have all kinds of expectations about pretty much everything (or at least I do). And that's a giant set up for disappointment, in my opinion. As adoptive parents, I think we, by necessity in some ways, have less expectations about our kid than a biological parent might. Or, at least, we try to expect less. Or, rather, be open to more. Because we have less knowledge about the genetic things that may come into play. Our kid isn't necessarily going to look like us or stick out his tongue while concentrating like I do. But I'd be kidding myself if I said there weren't certain other expectations we had - about parenthood, and about open adoption. I don't think we expected an open adoption relationship to be easy - we weren't that naive. But I do think we expected it to be hard in different ways than it is, maybe.

One of the things I struggle with in thinking about our open adoption relationship - one of the ways it is not what I expected - is that it's not the rosy picture painted when we started down this path. It is not the relationship that other families we know have. In short, I am disappointed that it isn't this amazing, happy "we're all family" experience. I know that it is okay that it's not. I know that relationships can be hard and can be different at different times, and things can change. But I wish it could be easier. I wish I was less frustrated and triggered. I wish K (Gus's birthmom) seemed more interested in Gus, the person. And I don't know - I just don't know - what really is best for Gus right now. He is one. He is happy. He loves everybody he meets. Right now, will it matter to Gus when and where and whether he sees K? I honestly can't answer that. Separating out what is best and works for us from what is best and works for K from - most importantly - what is best and works for Gus is really difficult. There are a lot of feelings to maneuver. And also having to think about whether what might be best or work for all/some/any of those people now vs. what might be best for them in the future is a difficult task. Because, let's face it, I'm no Kreskin.

I know that I will feel guilty if we can't make a visit happen soon. I know that before he was born we made a commitment that was about him. I know that fear comes into play. I know that, frankly, we are overwhelmed and inconvenienced thinking about one more possible trip this year, one more thing on an impossibly long to-do list. I know that despite her seeming lack of interest in Gus over the past year, K is grieving and I imagine it is a very difficult thing for her to live each day knowing she is unable to raise this awesome kid she gave birth to. I know that the biological connection is strong and important, and that there is a reason we chose open adoption. I know that no matter what, the focus here, the most important person in all of this, is Gus.

But, of course, with all that I do know, there is even more that I don't. I don't know how to make Gus stop wanting to eat sand at the park or climb into the stream at the Discovery Museum. How to explain to him that he can't swim with the fish in the aquarium at the Academy of Sciences. I don't know where the heck he gets all this energy that allows him to go full throttle from sun-up to sun-down. And I don't yet know how we will handle negotiating this ongoing open adoption relationship.

Being a parent is hard. Navigating the day-in/day-out of it plus thinking about how what you are doing or are not doing will affect this tiny human in the future? Phew. It's like standing at the top of a zipline looking down into a ravine, hoping the rope is going to hold you and then - stepping the fuck off. And zipping at an impossible speed toward a sheer rock face. Over and over again, several times a day. Incredibly scary. But, sometimes, if you remember to breathe, open your eyes, and just let go, it can be a lot of fun, too! Terrifying, nauseating fun.

Full. Throttle.

This was after he tried to crawl in, but before he started
lapping up the water. Like a dog.

Obstacles? I don't see any obstacles.

I've been thinking about obstacles while watching my son. He doesn't know what they are. Something is on the floor in your way? No matter, you crawl over it, force your way under it. There is a step, or a piece of furniture, or a cat in your path? Just keep going. If only it were that easy for the rest of us. One of his favorite games at the moment is to have Mama (me) crawl around behind him on the floor. He crawls a few feet, then stops and turns to make sure I'm following. I'm usually closer than he expects, I guess, and he bursts into peals of laughter, his right cheek dimple on full display. Then he takes off again. Usually under the dining room table and chairs. Despite the bruises on my knees and the pain in my wrists, I kind of love it. But I can't make my way through the chairs like he does, I have to move them. I can't fly across the floor with abandon - I need to move the toys and pots and pans. I choose to go around the cats.

Psychologically speaking, I feel like I come up against a lot of obstacles. Many I put there myself. (I'm working on this) Some were put there for me. Some, quite frankly, are put there by this kid - the one who seems so rarely hindered. I'm not necessarily complaining about this. It's all a learning opportunity - and on the days where I'm feeling okay and I've had enough quiet, introverted time to myself and I've eaten as often as I should, I dig learning opportunities. But obstacles are still hard. They trip us up. Make us falter in our stride. Change direction.

As much as I sometimes think, "How can I encourage him to continue to be blind to obstacles?" I ultimately think that would be doing him a disservice. Not everything should be easy. Learning opportunities are vital to growth. Changing direction is how we deal, how we stay alive, really. But I do hope that he will continue to be mostly unfazed by them, or at least that they won't throw him as far off his path as they sometimes do me. I want him to learn. To grow. To cope. And to get up and keep going if (and, most assuredly, when) he falls down. I hope I can foster in him an ability to meet his obstacles with less anxiety than I meet mine. I hope he will always be willing to try. If his personality now is any indication, I think (fingers crossed) it's a real possibility.

What do you mean I don't fit under here with this pack on my back?

525,600 minutes...

I've written a ton of blog posts this past year. In my head. But i think it's time to put more of it out there. We celebrated Gus's first birthday yesterday and I thought I really should update the blog. So here it goes:
Quick summary: We finalized Gus's adoption. We got LEGALLY married, under a tree outside City Hall with our kid playing in the grass beside us (how cool is that?!). We began the journey of learning how to parent this really cool kid. (also - diapers, formula, teething, tummy time, crawling, smiling, solid food, walking!)
It's been an amazing year. A hard year. A shorter than short year and the longest year ever. The thing they neglect to tell you in those cute diaper and baby food ads is that even though kids are adorable (and mine is the most adorbz of all, of course), parenting is hard freakin' work. Taking care of an infant, taking care of yourself, maintaining a relationship with your spouse, maintaining friendships, staying sane - it's some of the hardest shit you'll ever do. I want to say that all the giggles and big slobbery open-mouth kisses and first steps and that way he twirls his curly blond hair when he's tired and the way the light catches in his eyes when he's full-on beaming at me makes it all worth it. I want to. And many days, even most days, it does. But I won't pretend that there aren't days where I wonder "what was i thinking?" Where I think I am definitely on the wrong side of mental health and on the way to crazy-town.
Some things have gotten easier over the past year. Other things have gotten harder. Finding balance as a stay-at-home-parent (me) is a challenge. So is finding balance as a working parent (Shelley). But what's life without challenge, right? It's adventure we signed up for and that's definitely what we're getting.
The adoption component of Gus's first year is something i'll write about later. I don't think it has necessarily made any of this harder than normal. I just think that once people are through this adjustment period, they forget what this kind of exhaustion feels like. They just look back at the pictures and hold onto the happy stuff. (at least i really, really hope that's the case!)
There's more in my head. So much more. I'll stop for now, though. Hopefully I'll have the time and wherewithal to continue with this.

Adoption Finalization Day

He's here!

As hard as it is for us to fathom, our wait is over! He's here! It feels surreal, so utterly natural and right on the one hand, and unbelievable on the other. Birthmom K has signed relinquishments, and they've been acknowledged by the state. There are a few more hurdles to get through before he's officially, officially a member of our family, but we're pretty confident, and he's felt like our kid for a while now.

But the adventure isn't over. In many ways it's only just beginning. Maintaining an open relationship with K, watching him grow, making tough parenting decisions - it's all ahead of us. For now, however, we're going to revel in this awesome, quiet moment before the ride starts up again.

So without further ado...

Welcome to the world Shaylor Augusten Asher Saraniti (aka Gus)
Born 5:09 pm on 8/8/12 - 8 lbs 20 inches

Connections

I've been struggling with how to write this post for a while now. I can't seem to come up with a metaphor that does justice to this part of our journey. Maybe there just isn't one. I've been thinking a lot about connection. In a myriad of ways, really. I am kind of a neuroscience geek and love reading about the brain. And the brain is all about connection. In fact, there are more possible connections between the neurons in your brain than there are atoms in the universe! That is absolutely mind-boggling and utterly fascinating to me. The thing about connections, though, both in your brain and in your life, is that you must maintain them. Sure, we all have a few close friends that we can go for months and months or perhaps longer without interacting with and then just "pick up where we left off" with them, but generally, those connections have to be nurtured. It takes work. It takes time. Sometimes we don't feel like doing it. Sometimes there are connections we'd be better off pruning. But, for the most part, when we have connections we are committed to, we're going to have to pull our weight.  Why the heck am I going on and on about this, you ask? Well, dear reader, I'll tell you.

We are matched! We have made a connection with a brave young woman who is committed to an adoption plan. We spent the month of June getting to know K over email, Facebook, phone and Skype.  And now, she has moved down to SF so that we can build an even stronger connection. We are excited. We are nervous. We are unbelievably busy! But most of all, we are committed to building and maintaining this connection with K for the sake of the kidoodle that's on its way.

Shelley's mom was adopted back in the "baby scoop era", when it was believed that cutting all ties between adoptees and their birthfamilies was the best thing for everyone. But there are fundamental, evolutionary reasons that humans desire to know their roots, where they come from, who they look like - and it is no longer believed that cutting those ties is healthy for anyone. Open adoption, though not perfect, is a way of maintaining those ties - that biological, fundamental connection.

It will be difficult at times, I'm sure. K will have to choose again to follow through with her adoption plan after giving birth, which will be excruciatingly hard. She may decide to parent, which is absolutely her choice, and one in which we will support her, but that, of course, would be difficult for us. This thing we're doing is not easy, and often daunting, but we have to stay committed and focused on why we are doing it:

This tiny human - he is the reason.