I Didn’t Take A Picture
This past Friday, my son, Jax, and I went to the park. It was early, around 9am, and we were the only ones there. It was quiet and calm, a complete contrast to our typical park visits. Jax was free to run up and down the play structure that, in his head, was now an aircraft, parachute-jump off the swings, and yell to the control tower. He was laughing, smiling, singing made-up songs about Han Solo. His joy was palpable. I could see it, I could feel it. My kid was back. How did I miss this? Of course, I knew that…
If I Knew Then What I Know Now
Adoption blogs are like WebMD – if you want to sleep at night, be very careful with your search terms. If you want to read about families with perfectly-adjusted adopted children heading to MIT and Julliard, google “China doll, joy, blessed, adoption, America.” Add in #ILoveMyLife and #ItsASmallWorld for good measure. If you want to scare yourself right out of adopting, you’ll want to read about the broken children, the re-homing stories, the accounts of horrific abuse in orphanages and RAD. I land somewhere in the middle, and it’s a hard thing for me to write about. Not because it’s emotional…
