Mama... Tell Me Again

Five years.

That is how old my sweet baby boy is now. Another beautiful September brought the joy of celebrating another year with our first gift, Caleb.

For those of you who know Caleb, you know his charm, his amazing intelligence, the way he can smile and melt your heart. Caleb has taught us so much over the past five years.

Here is some background on our growing boy...

It was early on that we noticed that Caleb struggled with some things. His speech was always a challenge for him. Along with his speech, his gross motor skills and some social abilities seem to lag behind those of his peers. After much medical testing, and months of therapies through the local 0-3 program, Caleb was diagnosed with Apraxia of Speech, and was found to have an atypical chromosomal combination in chromosome number 5. Apparently, a 'G' became an 'A', and an 'A' became a 'G'. It is all part of the way that God made Caleb, and we marvel almost daily at the things he can do at a higher level. And we are always working on ways to encourage growth in the areas that are struggles for him. Caleb has been a constant source of wonderment for us, and for the professionals that have worked with him. A respected child specialist told me that she didn't think Caleb would ever be able to communicate clearly or accurately enough to carry on a reasonable conversation with anyone. Ever. At age 5, he has certainly disproved that! His verbal capabilities are increasing all the time! His memory is one that leaves us in awe, as he often remembers things from when he was very small, and puts associations to experiences he had as a baby. Amazing! And though we struggle with various things, we realize that parenting children, whether they have special needs or not, is not a sprint... It's a marathon.

But because of the struggle Caleb has had with his speech, I still sit in amazement as he climbs in my arms, and begins telling me the things he is thinking of. He was over three years old before he could say "Mama" clearly, and it is partly because of those obstacles that my heart leaps with joy when he verbally connects in such meaningful ways. As Caleb's birthday approached, he has had an increasing interest in hearing about the day he was born. We talk about it often, but it is only recently that he has expressed an interest in it, too. It's pretty basic now, but I love how he crawls up into my lap, and just like the beloved children's book, asks me to tell him again about the day he was born. We talk a lot about his birth mom, and how I think he has her eyes... "Because when you grow inside someones tummy, you sometimes come out having things that look a lot alike!"

And we talk about how much Daddy and I prayed for him, before we even knew who he was, or where he was. And about how his birth mom was praying too... for just the right family for the special baby growing inside of her.

He loves to hear about how I was there to hold to him...

"Mama held cute and beautiful Baby Caleb!"

Yes, my sweet boy. I held you first. Oh, the gift that was to me.

I tell you often, Caleb, that you are so special to me, because it was you who God chose to make me a mother. Saying that I am thankful for that, does not even begin to express my heart.

And so it begins. Telling my son his beautiful story. Again and again...

Saying Goodbye... Again...

Is it like the appendix? Really?
Well, I guess for most women, they would not compare their uterus to their appendix. But for me, it seems, in a weird sort of way... similar.
The date is set. On November 3rd, I will be having a hysterectomy. It seems strange, really. As I prepare for the surgery, I try to think of all the things that one should think through before going through something that declares such finality.
As I have struggled with various medical issues, this is the end that we figured would inevitably come. Interestingly, the medical issues that I have, have not been the reason for our infertility. The diagnosis of unexplained infertility remains. And as things have progressively gotten worse, Matt and I have talked through, over and over, what the best decision would be. And now we stand at the end of this road, in all actuality, very prepared for the surgery. To be honest, really looking forward to the relief it will bring.
But here is the weird thing... I have said good-bye once. Okay, maybe several times in different ways. But I've said good-bye to the idea of growing a child inside of my own body. It's even something that Matt and I have very consciously decided not to pursue. IVF would be our only real option for trying to conceive, and for us, we have never had the desire to put our resources: emotional, financial, etc. into that. There are many couples who feel led to go that path, and I support them completely. But for us, it was never our desire. Our hearts have always been led towards adoption.
And because of that, I have three beautiful, amazing sons. Children I would not have if I had not journeyed through infertility.
Children that I could not imagine not having.
There is not a thing that I would change about the path we have been blessed to walk.
And yet here I am, on the verge of a surgery that will forever remove the possibility of carrying a child. And I find myself re-processing it.
Again.
Because here is the thing: Even though we have dealt with infertility, because of the nature of our diagnosis, the possibility of conceiving has always been...well... a possibility. And even though we feel our family is complete (for now) ;o), I still am left to ponder the idea that I will never carry a baby. And it's a desire that I don't even have. How weird is that?
Even though we love building our family through adoption, and even if I didn't have the surgery, we would choose to adopt if we wanted another child, and even though I don't even have a desire to become pregnant...I still have this strange need to process through it.
I am needing to remind myself that carrying a child, or having a uterus, does not define me as a women. As a mother.
And here I am. Saying good-bye, again. And really feeling pretty okay with it all. ;o)

Give up the Term: Give up for Adoption

I know. We are all inundated with the idea of being politically correct! We'd rather stick our finger down the proverbial throat then be told one more time that it's not 'politically correct'. As my disclaimer... I share your disdain for always feeling like I need to watch what I say. That is, until it comes to my boys. See, something happens when your a mom. Something akin to animal instinct, that tells all that is within us to protect our cubs. You can find amazing stories of mothers across all times, and all demographics, that have beaten all odds when it comes to the protection of their children. Yes, there are even stories of women, like myself, who by nature are fed up with 'political correctness', who actually embrace the idea.
If it's protecting to her baby.
So, here's the deal, and I say this with as much love as I can muster: Telling my child that they were "given up" for adoption tells them:
* You were given up on
* You weren't worth keeping
* You were too hard, therefore needing to be given up
You get where I am going with this??? It's not about giving up on. The idea of 'giving up' reflects so poorly on birth mothers. Women with whom I highly respect, and by all means, are not giver-uppers.
So, if you are new to the adoption realm, know someone who has adopted, has been adopted, or are considering adoption please remember: Women do not give their babies up, women who choose adoption are making an adoption plan. These women are being pro-active in making a decision that will forever alter their lives, and the lives of their children. Their selfless plan says:
* YOU are not a mistake
* YOU have a place where you belong, and I know just where that is
* YOU are worth all there is to make a plan for
* YOU are a gift worthy of purpose and of planning for
Thank you, Birth Mothers everywhere, who have made the selfless choice to make a pro-active adoption plan for your children. Without your selfless love, forethought, and planning, I would not be a mother.