Millie's birth mother and I have recently been commiserating over how much Kanye West's song "Only One" makes us both cry. I suspect she cries because it's written from the perspective of Kanye's mother, who won't be there for every moment with his daughter, so he's picturing her telling him to tell his daughter about her. We tell Millie about her every day, and the part about God sending him two angels instead of one? That's how I feel about her birth mother and Millie.
For me, I cry because this little baby is my whole world, she's my only child, and I waited and prayed for her for so long. And I cry because, open adoption or not, there is a big "what if" in our lives. What if she's our only one? What if God has given us just this one opportunity to be parents?
I've mentioned before that I am an only child. I remember being asked if I had siblings as a child, and when I said no, the response was always, always, ALWAYS a resounding "lucky you!" I don't know if I necessarily saw myself as lucky. True, I was lonely at times. I even recall asking my parents (please don't judge me for how uncouth I was at age 8) "can't we just adopt a black boy named David or something?" I didn't care if we adopted a baby or my mom had a baby or we adopted an 18 year old. I just really wanted someone to listen to all my stories for the first time instead of the 50th time like my parents had to do. I also really felt like my driveway businesses of selling Save The Earth bookmarks (which my mother once ran over in her Subaru) and Webb's Rock Polishing would really take off if I had a family business partner. It was probably around this time that my dad told me if I brought him a sound business plan, he'd invest in it. I would've given me $5 too to stop talking about The Hair Store- a place you can go to chop your hair off, store it, and then get it glued back on when you felt bad about your haircut. But I digress.
I know certain things about who I am as an adult stem from my lack of siblings as a kid. I don't like to share food. If people take things that are mine or tread into my territory, I get defensive. I prefer to tackle challenging tasks alone, not in groups. I need extra time to spend alone after a long weekend of socializing. But I also love being around big families. My tons-o-sibling jealousy is at an all time high whenever I watch Parenthood or see friends with their adult brothers and sisters. I'm close with my sister-in-law and we like to pretend that we grew up together and Eric came along later because we don't like him as much as we like each other. She certainly falls into the category of people who would classify me as "lucky" for being an only child.
I didn't invent imaginary siblings. I did tell someone at school that I had a twin cousin, which was extraordinarily sad and a really difficult lie to believe, given that 2/3 of my cousins were asian and I was only half. The half makes a BIG difference.
No, I didn't need a pretend playmate. My mom was my sibling, friend, playmate, and partner in crime. She let me skip school the day the Woodlands Mall opened- a day I'll never forget. When I went through a rough patch in seventh grade, she'd take me to get La Madeleine after a doctor's appointment and wouldn't force me to go back to school. These days were dubbed "all day doctor's appointments" by my friend Daniel, who was intrigued by where I was going once a month. She encouraged me to do whatever sports I felt like doing (none). I got to spend my afternoons singing and taking voice lessons, my true passion. She let me write down every single feeling in my journal after school; she'd let me write and read for hours. And the most magical words she ever spoke to me were at a Barnes and Noble the day she bought me the first Harry Potter book (I swear this was before they were big): "I'll always buy you as many books as you want." That, to me, was spoiled. I was spoiled with affection, and time, and knowledge, and respect. She respected my opinion and my beliefs, and she let my word be my word. This backfired on me a lot, but now, I have a high regard for those who keep their word. Integrity means everything to me.
This relationship with my mom makes me excited at the prospect of Millie being our only child. I would hope we could have a similar time together. I already have the pleasure of sneaking a kid or two away from our friends when they're overwhelmed and taking them to Target or to get ice cream. I think I'd really enjoy that with just one child. I know how to be with just one child. That relationship comes naturally to me.
It's actually scarier to think there might be more than one baby in my life one day. How intimidating it is to think I'm going to have to find a way to love multiple children. I know my heart will stretch. It always does. But my brain? It's already half gone with just this one. I showed up late to my own baby shower because I thought it was at 2pm and it was at 11:30. Life is harder with only one baby. How will we manage it all? But if we DID handle it all, how amazing would it be to have this all over again with another one? And another one after that? Because the naps, the cuddles, the tears, the night feedings, the dirty diapers have all been absolutely amazing for me. Challenging, but so much fun. I do love a challenge.
If she IS my only one, I'm going to do this parenting thing how I feel like doing it. I'll let her take her naps in bed on my chest instead of in her crib. Bedtime doesn't have to be at 6:30 on the dot if it means she can still smile up at me with her big, tired eyes. I'll rub her baby belly while I change her diaper and stare at her in the sunlight. I'm going to show up late to lunches with friends and meetings with clients because I needed just one more second to memorize her face that day. I'll laugh at every coo and let my heart lurch with every pitiful cry. I'll keep her milky drool in my hair and her spit up on my shirt. She'll sleep in our bed when she's sick. I'll love every single second of this time when she's little, just in case I don't have another one to cherish like this.
In writing this, I've found the answer to how I'll be able to manage, regardless of how many children we'll have. Millie will always be our first baby. She'll be our only one only once. So I'll allow myself this time to be selfish with her and Eric. I won't feel guilty for wanting to soak up every minute of this as a family. I want so badly to balance this open adoption with time spent as a nuclear family of three, and time spent with her extended family. I hope everyone, including Millie's birth family, knows how much they're loved and how often their names are spoken of in our home, regardless of how often we're able to spend time with them. She is all of ours, our only Millie.
For me, I cry because this little baby is my whole world, she's my only child, and I waited and prayed for her for so long. And I cry because, open adoption or not, there is a big "what if" in our lives. What if she's our only one? What if God has given us just this one opportunity to be parents?
I've mentioned before that I am an only child. I remember being asked if I had siblings as a child, and when I said no, the response was always, always, ALWAYS a resounding "lucky you!" I don't know if I necessarily saw myself as lucky. True, I was lonely at times. I even recall asking my parents (please don't judge me for how uncouth I was at age 8) "can't we just adopt a black boy named David or something?" I didn't care if we adopted a baby or my mom had a baby or we adopted an 18 year old. I just really wanted someone to listen to all my stories for the first time instead of the 50th time like my parents had to do. I also really felt like my driveway businesses of selling Save The Earth bookmarks (which my mother once ran over in her Subaru) and Webb's Rock Polishing would really take off if I had a family business partner. It was probably around this time that my dad told me if I brought him a sound business plan, he'd invest in it. I would've given me $5 too to stop talking about The Hair Store- a place you can go to chop your hair off, store it, and then get it glued back on when you felt bad about your haircut. But I digress.
I know certain things about who I am as an adult stem from my lack of siblings as a kid. I don't like to share food. If people take things that are mine or tread into my territory, I get defensive. I prefer to tackle challenging tasks alone, not in groups. I need extra time to spend alone after a long weekend of socializing. But I also love being around big families. My tons-o-sibling jealousy is at an all time high whenever I watch Parenthood or see friends with their adult brothers and sisters. I'm close with my sister-in-law and we like to pretend that we grew up together and Eric came along later because we don't like him as much as we like each other. She certainly falls into the category of people who would classify me as "lucky" for being an only child.
I didn't invent imaginary siblings. I did tell someone at school that I had a twin cousin, which was extraordinarily sad and a really difficult lie to believe, given that 2/3 of my cousins were asian and I was only half. The half makes a BIG difference.
No, I didn't need a pretend playmate. My mom was my sibling, friend, playmate, and partner in crime. She let me skip school the day the Woodlands Mall opened- a day I'll never forget. When I went through a rough patch in seventh grade, she'd take me to get La Madeleine after a doctor's appointment and wouldn't force me to go back to school. These days were dubbed "all day doctor's appointments" by my friend Daniel, who was intrigued by where I was going once a month. She encouraged me to do whatever sports I felt like doing (none). I got to spend my afternoons singing and taking voice lessons, my true passion. She let me write down every single feeling in my journal after school; she'd let me write and read for hours. And the most magical words she ever spoke to me were at a Barnes and Noble the day she bought me the first Harry Potter book (I swear this was before they were big): "I'll always buy you as many books as you want." That, to me, was spoiled. I was spoiled with affection, and time, and knowledge, and respect. She respected my opinion and my beliefs, and she let my word be my word. This backfired on me a lot, but now, I have a high regard for those who keep their word. Integrity means everything to me.
This relationship with my mom makes me excited at the prospect of Millie being our only child. I would hope we could have a similar time together. I already have the pleasure of sneaking a kid or two away from our friends when they're overwhelmed and taking them to Target or to get ice cream. I think I'd really enjoy that with just one child. I know how to be with just one child. That relationship comes naturally to me.
It's actually scarier to think there might be more than one baby in my life one day. How intimidating it is to think I'm going to have to find a way to love multiple children. I know my heart will stretch. It always does. But my brain? It's already half gone with just this one. I showed up late to my own baby shower because I thought it was at 2pm and it was at 11:30. Life is harder with only one baby. How will we manage it all? But if we DID handle it all, how amazing would it be to have this all over again with another one? And another one after that? Because the naps, the cuddles, the tears, the night feedings, the dirty diapers have all been absolutely amazing for me. Challenging, but so much fun. I do love a challenge.
If she IS my only one, I'm going to do this parenting thing how I feel like doing it. I'll let her take her naps in bed on my chest instead of in her crib. Bedtime doesn't have to be at 6:30 on the dot if it means she can still smile up at me with her big, tired eyes. I'll rub her baby belly while I change her diaper and stare at her in the sunlight. I'm going to show up late to lunches with friends and meetings with clients because I needed just one more second to memorize her face that day. I'll laugh at every coo and let my heart lurch with every pitiful cry. I'll keep her milky drool in my hair and her spit up on my shirt. She'll sleep in our bed when she's sick. I'll love every single second of this time when she's little, just in case I don't have another one to cherish like this.
In writing this, I've found the answer to how I'll be able to manage, regardless of how many children we'll have. Millie will always be our first baby. She'll be our only one only once. So I'll allow myself this time to be selfish with her and Eric. I won't feel guilty for wanting to soak up every minute of this as a family. I want so badly to balance this open adoption with time spent as a nuclear family of three, and time spent with her extended family. I hope everyone, including Millie's birth family, knows how much they're loved and how often their names are spoken of in our home, regardless of how often we're able to spend time with them. She is all of ours, our only Millie.
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