We could've missed this...

I read these words in a facebook post by another adoptive mom. It wasn't long after I read her post I was sitting with this little face in our porch swing. It had been a stellar day.

It started with the lady behind me in carline telling me my back tire was almost entirely flat, after filling it up with air to get me to a tire place, I ran home to make breakfast for the boy, while throwing away a bad egg I missed the trash can by an inch. Then I had to head to a doctor appointment we couldn't miss. I fed Bozi lunch in the doctor's office parking lot, then i had to take care of the tire. So, I ended up going to two different tire places just to be told at each (even when I called ahead) that the wait was significantly longer than what I had originally been told. Side note, can I just say getting a toddler in and out of the car repeatedly is incredibly stressful? I had totally forgotten that. I never did get the tire fixed, the boy missed a decent nap and slept for a whopping 30 minutes in the carline for pick-up and I finally headed home with two crazy hyper girls and a sleep-deprived, delirious 2-year-old. I could barely set him down to do anything without intense screaming once we got home. I was done.

The porch swing is his fav and I was all about a calming non-screaming experience so we headed out to the porch. We sat there swinging and I looked down--that first picture is what I saw. The boy has a sweet way of making the difficulty of the day and the stress that comes from a demanding two-year-old--AKA himself--just melt away with one big cheesy smile. I could've missed this. This moment, that smile, the sweet giggles, the screams that come with his frustration, the tears about problems I can't fix and the heart entrusted to me to love and care for.

At bedtime, Bozi was rocking. He rocks side to side to put himself to sleep. It's a common self-
soothing behavior in orphanages. The workers are unable to rock the children so the kids rock themselves.  It's not a gentle thing either; he thrusts himself from side to side. He won't let me touch him. So, I just stay with him so he knows I'm there. As I sat there watching I thought, what's it like to be truly alone? To not have anyone who belongs to you or you belong to, nothing that is yours and only yours. What does that do to a child? What does a room full of rocking children sound like? It has to be loud. Bozi rocking by himself is loud and a little unsettling. He rolled over, draped his arm across me (checking if I was there) and leaned calmly into my body with a deep breath of contentment. Again, I thought, I could've missed this.

Adoption is hard. Honestly, from the stories I've heard, this kiddo is doing pretty darn good. But, would it really matter if he had more challenges? No. What if we hadn't taken steps to adopt? What if God hadn't taken steps to adopt us? This wasn't an easy process, but all it takes is a willing heart. It's not easy, it's kind of lonely. People don't always get it and sometimes you get some weird looks when you describe your day or your experiences.

Hanging with V.

Life was pretty easy prior to Bozi. The girls were getting to the age of doing things on their own. Two kids aren't too many, so we can provide most of what they want (although we still haven't made it to Disney). Adding to your family through adoption isn't just about the thousands of dollars it requires to make the initial act happen, it adjusts your entire family's future. All of a sudden, there is a naptime, an earlier bedtime, one more mouth to feed, one more person with one more schedule, one more extra-curricular activity, one more set of friends, one more set of goals, one more seat in the car/airplane/vacation. At first glance I see that and it looks daunting, then I realize the only reason it's daunting is for superficial reasons. All I have to do is look at that sweet face and I realize those things don't matter. Comfort and ease should never supersede the life and future of a child. Then there is the task of loving and caring for a traumatized child. A child who doesn't operate like your bio kids or most standard kids. This is just the beginning for us. We've just gotten started. Things could get easier or worse. We want to adopt more children, again things could get easier or worse. We won't be able to "fix" their trauma, but in the words of another adoptive momma, we can help them carry it.

Bozi has been with us for over a month, but I have already learned so much. He is teaching us patience. I can't move as fast as I would like to and I can't do everything I'd like to do. Some things have to wait. I am learning patience in dealing with him. You cant't unlearn two years of behaviors in two months. You have to pick your battles. He is teaching us not to be selfish. It's hard to think about whether or not you get to do what you want when you see a little boy who is lost, scared and confused by everything around him. He has taught us not to be materialistic. We aren't rich. Honestly, most of our friends who adopt or are adopting aren't rich. This adoption was a paid for by a combination of some of our money, grants, financial support and fundraising. Adding to our family will change how and what we can do, but when I remember where he came from I realize there are way more important things than a trip to Disney. Our girls are learning compassion. They didn't want to learn that lesson, but they are learning it. Chloe has handled the transition well, but my Baby V has struggled since we've come home. Just this week, Violet started asking to change Bozi's diaper. So weird, because as much as she loves her little cousin (and there is A LOT of love there), Joseph, she never wanted to change his diaper. In fact, we always joked about it and she would usually freak out... I was a fun game. So, Violet asking to change Bozi's diaper was odd, but I let her. While she carefully changed him I asked her, "Violet, you never wanted to change Joseph's diaper. Why do you want to change Bozi's?" Her response went straight to my heart: "He's my brother." I literally cried.

He wanted to hold both their hands as we walked.

We could've missed this opportunity. Our lives would've gone on. His life would've been different, but we would've never known. We wouldn't know the sweet smiles we would miss, the hugs I get when he has been apart from me playing for a little bit, or the goofy personality that has all of us dramatically searching for cats and dogs. We would've missed all the lessons he has already taught us in such a short time. I can't teach compassion. It has to be learned. I can't become less selfish until my selfishness has a big spotlight shining on it and I see it. It's hard to be less materialistic without having a forced shift in my priorities. We would've been fine, but we wouldn't have been all that we could be.

We are growing as a family, not just numerically, but as individuals.