Yokay?

The truth about adopting "older" kids

is that they do have baggage.

You were right all along!

They come with their own circumstances,

their own ideas,

their own opinions,

their own tastes,

their own memories,

their own fears,

their own everything.

And then you plunk them down in the middle

of YOUR ideas,

your opinions,

your tastes,

your memories,

your fears,

your everything.

And sometimes things clash.

Sometimes you just flat out FORGET.

You wake up one morning and you FORGET

that you are dealing with small people with baggage.

It's easier than you might think.

I forget that they have witnessed sickness.

I forget that they know all about death

and disease

and suffering

and hunger.

And I go and get sick.

Achy back, coughing, losing-my-voice, 

feel like just sleeping all day...

sick.

And I'm missing my other half this week.

I stumble through the day...

trying to keep things under some

semblance of control.

I realize I am getting worse,

not better,

no matter how many bottles of 

magical vitamins I consume.

I let the oldest make 

PB&J for dinner,

I slice the apples.

I haphazardly do teeth brushing

and pajamas

and be sure not to kiss them on their lips

as I say goodnight

even though I always do.

I walk into the hall coughing

and trying to catch my breath.

And there is this little voice.

"Mommy... Nay!"

He needs me.

He needs me to feel secure,

to feel comforted,

he needs me to be near

so he can fall asleep

and know he is safe

and secure

and loved.

So I delay my plans of a blissfully

early bedtime

with the heating pad,

some ibuprophen, 

and perhaps some cough syrup concoction...

and I go sit next to my baby.

He immediately stops crying once I enter the room

and just says "Mommy, stay?"

How can I not?

When the cough returns

he sits straight up in the bed.

"Yokay?"

"Mommy... yokay?"

Is it fear in his voice?

Is it concern?

He was so little when he would have witnessed

the trauma that brought him into our lives...

does he somehow remember?

"I'm okay, baby. Go to sleep."

"Yokay? Mommy yokay?"

"Yes, Mommy is okay. 

Lay down..."

He asks about Daddy...

He's at work.

Minutes pass.

He's watching me.

I breathe shallow, slow breaths

to try to keep from coughing.

"It's okay, baby. Go to sleep."

Then I start to feel his body relax into his bed,

his breathing gets slower and deeper

and I know he is finally

able to relax

and sleep.

So now I drown myself in potions,

magical lotions,

syrups and pills...

and pray that I am better tomorrow.