Friday, March 21, 2014

{these past two months took two seconds}


It's been two months since we met Sullivan for the first time. I think it's crazy that it's been that long. I think it's crazy that he ever wasn't here.

I remember the day we brought him home from the hospital, the sound of the key in the lock and how it seemed to echo into the empty house ahead of us. The clean floors and the neatly folded baby blankets. The waiting crib and inert rocking chair. Everything was there as we'd left it, but suddenly it felt like we were walking into someone else's home, in someone else's bodies, carrying someone else's kid.

I stood at the door and looked down at the tiny little person sleeping in his car seat. I pulled back the blanket and touched his wrinkly knees. I said, "Welcome home, baby," and then I cried and cried and cried because in all the years of waiting for him and dreaming about meeting him, I'd never gotten as far as picturing this moment.


It hit me, the sheer bigness of being his family.

I can't really describe the past 59 days very well. It's a blur of neon emotions. The two of us are often home alone, watching the days speed by from the couch or bed. I talk to him, sing to him, read to him. I haven't been to a show in ages; and leaving the house with him for an afternoon requires more preparation than I used to need to leave the country for a week. I've learned that I can't get too wrapped up in what I'd normally be doing or how fast I'd normally be doing it. This is a season outside of normal, and that's ok. I've learned to say "I get to" instead of "I have to", because the way you phrase your thoughts makes a big difference when it comes to diapers and ravenous baby appetites. I've learned how to survive on stupid amounts of sleep.

The weird thing is that sometimes, at three in the morning, I'm awake not because he needs me but because he's sleeping in my arms and I don't want to put him down. And I'm thinking, I'm so tired; this is ridiculous, I need to go to sleep... but I'm playing with his fingers and toes and watching his chest rise and fall and an hour will sneak by like that. He'll wake up and smile at me and there goes another thirty minutes.

I've learned that love is completely irrational sometimes.