Yesterday: Morning, Noon and Night

Morning: Liam fussy. Liam Bratty. Liam giving me a run for my money. Me not handling it right, or even in the neighborhood of right. Me loosing my temper. Raised voices. Crying. Just really a super-duper craptastic version of me being a parent. Evelyn caught in the middle. I knew the hundred and twelve reasons he has to be cranky and cantankerous and hard to deal with yet I couldn't stop considering ME and how hard this all was on ME.
Then the dark thoughts came. The why's. The what if's. The, am I right for this. Then the intense dislike of self kicks in.
A desperate phone call to my sister who, just by being her made me realize that things were ok and going to get better.

Afternoon: I read two blog entries that snap me back into place. One reminds me of how these kids ache and how very, very hard this transition is, even after being home over a year. One shows me pictures of children in an Orphanage deep in the heart of China and my son's very real and recent reality is thrust into the forefront of my heart and mind.

Night: Bedtime for Bonzo. The days trials and tribs a bit behind us. A quick diaper change and the slipping on of his best rocket pj's. I make the move to put him into bed and he grasps frantically at me. He makes tight little fists full of my sweatshirt and hangs on for dear life. His breathing is rapid and shallow. His expression is deep and dark but eerily blank. I see this and hug him as hard as I can and still allow for breath to pass. We sit there, in the dark together and we hold each other silently in the dim light of his nightlight. Each time I attempt to relax my hold, his breathing increases and he hugs tighter than I thought possible.
He leans back a little and he is looking at me. Deep dark pools of raw, inexpressible emotion ripping through him, causing these little huffs of breath.
As I hold my son I realize how very insignificant and short his time with us must seem. I open my heart for the first time and truly let myself feel that pain that I have been holding at arm's length. I see that he still feels alone and lost. And I cry for him. I cry because he can't or won't.
I hold my dear little boy and I re-state my pact with him; I promise to never leave him. I tell him that he has finally landed. He is home. I hope my arms and heart beat could relay what my words could not.
Love. Love. Love. Forever love.
Eventually he leans back and nods his head at me. One little nod and a gesture for the crib. So I lay him down and I rub his face and I watch him drift off to sleep.
I walked out of his room and I was grateful that even though I mess up and yell and blow my stack, at least he thinks I am good enough to hold him during those dark moments.