Rubbing my eyes

Some times I wake up and think, “Is this really happening?” I only reconnected with Dave in late 2008 and we got married in 2009. How can we possibly have crammed so much life and love into four short years? I’m sitting in our Florida hotel room dreaming up names for our son while my fabulous husband and my winsome daughter nap in the next room, tuckered out from Tess’ first steps in the sea and first swim in a pool. (She kicked studiously anytime we had her on her tummy. She had teenagers and grandparents alike swooning over her. Dave and I were beyond words. There may be hundreds of photos. Don’t judge.)

For a while there, I felt like life was treading water; everything felt inexorably slow, unproductive and unhappy. Now I feel like we’re making up for lost time, which means living at high speed! It’s exhilarating and rewarding, but it leaves me wondering how we got from A to B at times. I see people’s shocked expressions when they do the math on every part of our life, but we’re having a blast. And that’s the most beautiful thing in the world: we wake up with joy every day. Those trite words of advice about how tears make us appreciate pleasure are true in a way, in that my ability to experience and witness joy at the same time protect me from taking things for granted. Still, sometimes my heart is so full it hurts.

I’ve shared some of our fear of exposing our second adoption wait and hopes to the world, but really saying them out loud doesn’t make them any more or less likely to come true. The adoption process and our experience with infertility have educated us in patience, in relying on loved ones to soften our falls, and to really dance around like idiots when these miracles come true. I spent so much time afraid to make a change or take a step, and I’ve finally caught on: taking chances, smart chances, is rewarding and satisfying and inspires more chances and change. And the most important thing I’ve learned? After making a change, you can keep making changes until you get it right. Love is permanent (real, deep, family love), experience is permanent, death is permanent. Other than that, go crazy! Laughing at idiocy almost makes it enjoyable. For example, we have a great ocean view…across a parking lot. This is what I get for planning at midnight. Every morning, Dave and I get our coffee, settle in on the balcony with Tess, and laugh our heads off. No harm, no foul. It just makes our memories richer and our stories more entertaining (at least to ourselves; we thinks we’re hysterical. Take that any way you want.). I’m off to read a novel. I didn’t think I’d get to do that as a mom (and starting in April that may be accurate), but for now my page-turner awaits on our not-so-peaceful balcony. Who knows? Maybe I’ll find a good name in it. 🙂

2 thoughts on “Rubbing my eyes

  1. Allright! I finally have to chime in. Dave, There is no more denying that she is yours. Especially on the second picture.
    Might not be the case with your new soon to be son but in Tess’s case I don’t think anyone would ever think she was not yours.
    And let me tell you how excited I am about your growing family and the fact that Tess will be a big sister. So lucky to have a sibling so close in age. I am in Austria right now and everyone here is sending good wishes and crossing their fingers for you. What a great earl Christmas present. Congratulations!

  2. Oh my goodness. That little swimmer is absurdly cute! Love the penguin butt!
    It is so amazing to watch these teensy little people learning about the water and the concept of swimming – it’s so much fun to see them figure it out and then break into gummy little grins.

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