Museling-iversary
This week marks the fifth anniversary of our Family Day, the day the museling was placed into our arms and joined our family. Due to the intricacies and many steps of international adoption, he wasn't officially in our family until eleven months later, but that's a distinction that hardly matters. He was in our house and in our care. He was part of the family.
In some ways it feels like he's been a part of our life forever, and in others I can't believe it's already been five years since he came home. I remember like yesterday the first feel of his solid weight against my chest, all compact and pudgy (and overheated from the many layers he was dressed in). I remember how tightly his fingers dug into my sweater as he cried in fear and fatigue against my shoulder. I remember the wonder in his eyes when he glimpsed our cat for the first time that night. I remember how terrified I was at being handed this child and told to go live my life and take care of him, like I knew how to do that.
Part of me wishes I knew then what was in store, because some of those awful, awful first nights of nearly non-stop screaming (the museling) and crying (mostly the museling and a little me) and singing (all me, and who knew that you could make any song a lullaby by changing the tempo, because I got bored really quickly of songs for kids and spent a lot of time singing show tunes to him) would have still been awful but would have felt less empty if I'd been able to know what a great kid he'd turn out to be instead of just being sure that we had to get through this part to see who he really was.
And who my son really is is a bright, hilarious, charming, sweet, loving, compassionate, thoughtful, analytical, reflective, curious, artistic, happy person who blows me away every day with how great he is. Sure, we butt heads every day as well, but I'm just madly in love with him and in awe of him. I can't tell him enough. I wish I could whisper it in his ear all day every day, because I know the world won't do it for me.
He's nearly six and is finally seeing the point of mr. muse, which is an odd thing for me, since he's been so Mama-focused for so long. They've been buddies for years, but the museling will actually pick mr. muse over me to hang out with more often than not now, and that's great and fine and normal, but it's still a melancholy realization. I used to be the center of his world, and he's doing what he's supposed to and is branching out. I suddenly see why people have urges for another child or a dog around this age. (Neither will be happening here, thank you.) It's nice to have a little more freedom with my body and time, but I'm increasingly grateful for the way the museling insists on sitting on my lap while we watch TV or only wants me to put him to bed. I know he'll always be mine, too. I'm not worried. And he's such a cuddle-bug I will happily take every snuggle.
Five years. Five amazing, exhausting years. I don't know how we got so lucky to be matched with this child, but I wouldn't trade a single second of these years together - not even the very hardest parts - for anything.
In some ways it feels like he's been a part of our life forever, and in others I can't believe it's already been five years since he came home. I remember like yesterday the first feel of his solid weight against my chest, all compact and pudgy (and overheated from the many layers he was dressed in). I remember how tightly his fingers dug into my sweater as he cried in fear and fatigue against my shoulder. I remember the wonder in his eyes when he glimpsed our cat for the first time that night. I remember how terrified I was at being handed this child and told to go live my life and take care of him, like I knew how to do that.
Part of me wishes I knew then what was in store, because some of those awful, awful first nights of nearly non-stop screaming (the museling) and crying (mostly the museling and a little me) and singing (all me, and who knew that you could make any song a lullaby by changing the tempo, because I got bored really quickly of songs for kids and spent a lot of time singing show tunes to him) would have still been awful but would have felt less empty if I'd been able to know what a great kid he'd turn out to be instead of just being sure that we had to get through this part to see who he really was.
And who my son really is is a bright, hilarious, charming, sweet, loving, compassionate, thoughtful, analytical, reflective, curious, artistic, happy person who blows me away every day with how great he is. Sure, we butt heads every day as well, but I'm just madly in love with him and in awe of him. I can't tell him enough. I wish I could whisper it in his ear all day every day, because I know the world won't do it for me.
He's nearly six and is finally seeing the point of mr. muse, which is an odd thing for me, since he's been so Mama-focused for so long. They've been buddies for years, but the museling will actually pick mr. muse over me to hang out with more often than not now, and that's great and fine and normal, but it's still a melancholy realization. I used to be the center of his world, and he's doing what he's supposed to and is branching out. I suddenly see why people have urges for another child or a dog around this age. (Neither will be happening here, thank you.) It's nice to have a little more freedom with my body and time, but I'm increasingly grateful for the way the museling insists on sitting on my lap while we watch TV or only wants me to put him to bed. I know he'll always be mine, too. I'm not worried. And he's such a cuddle-bug I will happily take every snuggle.
Five years. Five amazing, exhausting years. I don't know how we got so lucky to be matched with this child, but I wouldn't trade a single second of these years together - not even the very hardest parts - for anything.