Shrinking holes

I was talking with a friend the other day about my feelings at this stage in the adoption process. There are good days, and there are not so good days. Lately, jealousy has reared its ugly head. I debated writing some of my irrational/negative emotions here, but decided against it. Writing them down seemed to validate them, and I want to be rid of them. So, I am pushing them aside. They are still there, but I am choosing not to entertain them.

Then there are the thoughts that I have that, while not positive, are necessary. They are necessary for our future, for our family. I read blogs by transracial adoptees. They scare the heck out of me, but I am trying to learn from them. I engage in conversations about race and adoption that are sometimes very uncomfortable. I don’t love it, but it is part of our new reality. I read books and try to learn all the ways I can avoid screwing my child up. There is no guarantee, but I figure that I’ve got to give it a shot.

It’s been nearly 3 months since we first saw Baby D’s face. If all goes well at our next court date, we’ll travel 5 months after our referral. Five months. Add that to the 2 months of his life before we got our referral, and that is 7 months of life lived before we meet.

I’m not looking for pity, because we don’t need it. We don’t feel sorry for ourselves. We knew the process from the beginning. There are many people who have waited longer. There are children that have been in orphanages for longer than Baby D. There are children that will never know the love of a parent, adoptive or biological. I hate to compare our journey to others, but what I am trying to say here is that we are fine.

Lately, my thoughts have been consumed with our ability (or lack thereof) to tell Baby D about his first 7 months of life.

“… I met your little guy and he's GORGEOUS and happy. He's definitely a favorite and gets lots of attention.”

So many of our memories of our own lives come from the pictures of us that others have taken and the stories others tell us about ourselves. We know things about our own lives because someone else knew them first.

“He is so sweet and easygoing! He is clearly very loved and doted on. You can also tell he really loves to interact with people.”

His first time rolling over, his first tooth, his first smile. What made him laugh, what he didn’t like, what his sleep patterns were like. His favorite toy, his favorite blanket. These are things that I would love to know, but not for myself. I want to know these things so that he can know these things.

“I know he is a boy, but I can say that I have seen him and he is beautiful!”

We really are very lucky. We get many updates from our agency, and we have been very blessed by traveling families. We have lots of pictures, monthly weight/measurement updates, personality snippets, and even videos.

I save it all. Every picture, no matter how blurry. Every update, no matter how short. It’s not for me. It’s for him. The baby boy that will one day be a man. A boy that will grow into his history. A boy that will have to come to terms with what he has lost. I’m doing my best to minimize the lost memories. I’m rounding up every bit of information he might want. I’m trying to anticipate what he would want to know.

I know I can’t fill in all the holes. I know he will live with missing pieces. But I don’t think I could live with myself if I didn’t grab every little piece I could. The holes will always be there, but I’m doing my best to shrink them.