Difference of a Year

       

One year ago today, I received the referral of my son. Not really. I saw a 16-month old (estimated) boy on the Waiting Children’s list and called about him. Twenty minutes later, I had info and a picture.

In that time, there have been quite a few changes. Some changes are physical and superficial, some are much more impactful.

• He is now 18 pounds heavier and 6 inches taller.
• His forehead gash is gone, replaced by several chicken pox scars that have yet to fade.
• His hair was thin and quite straight and is now long and curly, except for the parts his older brother trimmed for him.
• He wasn’t standing unsupported, but now he runs, climbs, jumps and generally terrifies me with his daredevil personality.
• He screamed at the drop of a hat to get his way. Now that he can communicate, his screaming is much rarer.
• He used to eat until he couldn’t see food anymore. Now, he eats until he’s full, until something more interesting comes along or his brother gets up from the table.
• He was terrified alone in a room. Now, he still does not like to be left in a room by himself, but he willingly goes to other rooms and will play solo.

Some things are still the same.

• He smiles all the time.
• He is a big charmer (or that could also be “manipulator” depending on what kind of mood I’m in at the time).
• He needs to be the center of attention and is jealous of me giving affection to others.
• He wants everything that somebody else has.
• He can’t fall asleep by himself.
• He lives in a home with people that adore him.

Some people state that they “can’t remember how life was before” their child came to be with them. I can.

• The house was quieter.
• The house was cleaner.
• There was less laundry.
• It was much faster to get ready in the morning.
• It was less effort to drop off/pick up at daycare.
• It was easier to have a night out.
• There were fewer loud fights.
• The cat was not afraid of short people.
• There were less snotty noses and poopy pants.
• Life was much more boring for my older son.
• The bathtub floor was less wet on bath night.
• We had to rent a neighbor kid to have a fun campout in the living room.
• Nobody followed and emulated my older son.
• There were less cookie crumb trails from the snack cupboard to the living room.
• There was much more space in my bed on Sunday mornings.
• There were fewer suffocating hugs.
• There were fewer squeals of laughter.
• There were less slobbery kisses.
• And, there was a lot of unallocated love just waiting to be used up.