And Then One Day, You Can't

"Mama? Did you know I can see the air?" Eden said.
"Uummmm.." I said.
Her eyebrows were high and her eyes wide. She nodded enthusiastically.
"Yeah, I can. I know I can. I really can."
"Really?" I said.
"I know I can. I can see it all the time. Even inside. Even at night. It's like little circles all across, everywhere."
My first thought was, is she on drugs? My second thought was, does she need another $500 eye exam?
Then I remembered something. Kids are weird. Quirky, beautiful weirdos. And this--I'm pretty sure I can remember seeing the air too. Maybe it's a superpower only given to girls who are ladybug magnets. Maybe you grow out of it. Who am I to say the girl can't see the air?
So I said, "That's cool, babe. Really cool."

Because we all know, someday, she'll realize she can't see it anymore.

Son

I used to imagine that after we received our referral, I would immediately blog about it, write out every juicy detail, every emotion I was feeling. And even now as I sit down to post for the first time since The Call, I'm still unsure how to convey the depth of the experience in a meaningful way. I decided I would sit with the loveliness of it, the joy, the worry, the sadness, (after all, he comes to us as his second family and fourth set of caregivers)---sit with all of it for awhile until I found a way to say it all with the weight it deserves. But I don't think I can. And that's okay.

I could talk about the poignancy of receiving the referral a year to the date of our official wait. I could talk about all the bumps in the road, the delays, the years of planning, the tiniest of details, a checked box here, a bureaucratic mistake there, which brings Yonas to us. Us, of all the many families waiting. I could write about how excited his sisters are, how I cried in the aisles of the second-hand store when I was buying clothes for him. I could talk about how just staring at a picture can make you fall in love. But it wouldn't be enough. I don't know what would be.

But I know I have a son. I don't know what he looks like when he smiles. I don't know what his feet look like. I know he doesn't have much hair. I know he has beautiful hands. I know he has a birthmark on his belly, but I haven't seen it or his belly button. I know he has fat baby thighs and juicy baby lips that I want to kiss. I know someday he will laugh when I put my mouth to his neck and nibble there. I know his eyes are soulful and tired-but-still-trying. I know he has ears with fleshy earlobes and I will whisper things he won't understand on the day we meet.

I know I am ready.