Adventures in adding another

Ok, I am crazy. I am in the process of adopting another son. Adopting Benjamin was about me and wanting to be a father. Adopting his brother is about wanting him to have a family and a sibling. So at this juncture I am immersed in the process again and riding the roller coaster associated with expecting another child. Home construction, home-studies, a second car, interviewing au pairs, new schools, and the list is endless but at least I have learned some things to make this time easier.

Sometimes I think this parenting thing is more creative thought than anything else and you will do things that you never thought you would and say certain things you “VOWED” you would never say. I remember calling my mother feeling like a complete hypocrite after my son learned the word “WHY”. The incessant questioning led daddy to a need for a martini and a call to mom. “I said it” were my first words to her…..she laughed. He kept asking me “why” and finally, it came…”Because I said so that’s why.”

I also vowed I would never lie or deceive my son, until we hit the monster nightmare phase of toddler hood. You might be amazed to know that statistically nightmares take place between the hours of 3 and 6 am. My son was a virtual statistical prodigy. Imagine being awoken at 4 a.m. for a period of 3 weeks while your child SCREAMS that there are monsters in the room. I bought a book. The books say this is a direct result of a 3 year old imagination turning on and the internal struggle that results from the need to separate from the parent and conflict as a result of still needing their parent. The book stinks, I wanted to club the author with the book or at the very least make her sleep here for a month. Despite all the consoling in the world and the fact that there were no monsters; I get from him, Elmo? “Elmo is a good monster”, I replied……”.good people and bad people” he stated, I was beginning to follow his logic in my sleep deprived state. I guess I was teaching him something.

I told him we were going to the magic store (Wal-Mart), so he could pick out a magic light (nightlight of his choosing). We got one that “magically” comes on when it gets dark. I told him that the magic light would keep monsters away. This worked for 3 nights, now we have bigger monsters. So, I created the story of Monk. My grandmother had a statue of a monk that was a family heirloom, one night I took monk and told Ben the story of Monk and how only little boys could talk to him but only Daddy could hear him. I told him that every night he needed to say good night to Monk and to say “keep me safe”. He does this nightly and magically we are getting some sleep, never say never.

Toddlers are also neurotic, once they learn certain words you never seem to get them off them. From the time my son learned BOO-BOO and ITCHY, I think I have gone through more tubes of aquaphor than any man on the planet. However, taken in the time frame of nightmares a simple itch can lead to an hour of wrangling and arguing with a toddler who has developed a psychosomatic illness that is bound to put daddy in the booby hatch. The best plan is a counter attack. On one particular evening, my son developed an incurable itch which prevented him from going to sleep. No amount of cream solved the issue...UGH! The kid was like a greased pig at a county fair, I was afraid to pick him up for fear I would drop him. None the less, the itch would not abate, neither would the clinging and crying all to avoid the inevitable bedtime. So, I reached into the parental bag of tricks. I lied.

Did you know when you become a daddy you get a magic pair of socks? They have to be red, (who would wear red sox anyway, they do not match any of his clothes, what can I say I am still gay after all) So, I told him they were magic red sox. When daddy puts the magic red sox on before bed, they will work all night long to cure any ill, and in the morning you will be all better. Every time we put them on the tears subside and in the morning I get, a hug and am told we are all better. I want my own pair.

My house has been under construction in preparation for the new arrival. I am thankful it is almost done. I am staring at the wall in my kitchen which contains the 40th birthday present I got for myself. Every one wanted to throw a pity party when I turned 40, I felt as though I was just hitting my stride. I have a favorite artist, Donna Estabrooks, in whose paintings I always took comfort and a message. There are three things I had here paint.

First, a painting about Ben, who has always been my wish; If you ask him who he is he will tell you his name and add I am “daddy’s wish”. Second, I had her paint one about his brother, to be named Bryce, who is my dream. I never could have dreamt the joy I get from being a father and his name came to me in a dream. Bryce means son of a noble man. Third, I had her paint my hope, that someday I will find another to share in all of this. The paintings are individual, so I can give each child their painting at a special time in their life to know how special they are. However, I shall never give up hope. The three paintings fit together and shall always remain interconnected and committed to one another, like family, each having a separate unique value when removed from the whole.

So are my ramblings as my son tells me his pasta is not cooked correctly (My next entry will be how to tell that a child was raised by a gay man, for instance at 4 they only want pasta al dente, know about art and sculpture and have traveled a bit to name a few things) In the interim, I wait for my new son and enjoy the adventures in parenting.