I’m sitting here on the precipice of welcoming a third child into my home and I’m struck by how differently life is going than I had thought and planned it to go. Things are moving along for Primero’s adoption and I am still trying to get him enrolled in a local Catholic school, rather than the public school where we live. He is grateful for the opportunity to attend any school but the one he seems destined to be at. I’m praying it will all work out for him. His summer camp is almost over and the final rush to practice and perfect their play has him giddy with excitement. I can’t wait to see him perform and I know he can’t wait for me to see the show. He’s such a great kid, I am reminded nearly every day what a wonderful young man he is. And because I know he’s so fantastic, I get frustrated with his family when they flake on him. He was supposed to spend the day with his eldest brother today, they set it up two days ago. Primero was so excited he literally couldn’t sit still. He planned on what outfit he would wear and he assured me his brother would give him the biggest hug when they met – after all, it’s been over a year since they’ve seen one another. As I was going to bed last night Primero informed me that he would be going to camp instead. His brother bailed with some lame excuse about needing to practice his parking and that his guardian needed to run errands. Outwardly Primero was ok but I know inside he was crushed. I know how much this day meant to him. His brother said maybe next Tuesday. I wanted to punch him in the throat. The older brother, that is. It’s bad enough that the kids mom flakes on him and that his older sister brushes him off when he tries to get together with her, but he really looks up to this brother, so to have him make plans and then break them, well it just downright sucks. Primero asked me while I was at work if he could still go over later on in the day because his sisters will be there too. I said of course. It would mean all his siblings but one would be together for the first time in over a year. It’s good for him and I’m happy to make sure he stays in touch with his siblings. It’s a little strange for me, but everyone has been cordial and I don’t mind feeling a little uncomfortable, if it helps Primero.
We went to the beach on Saturday – or at least we tried to. We ended up on the boardwalk rather than the beach due to traffic and the weather. And as we marched up and down the boardwalk, me with the baby strapped to my chest via the infernal Moby wrap (is it just me or do you need an advanced engineering degree to get that thing on?!); the little girl with a bucket on her head because I bought it for her to play in the sand and she wanted to carry it with her all day; Primero intermittently checking his phone while also leaning over to whisper something in my ear about the various people around us; and my friend, who is 70 years young and full of vigor – I thought about what a strange band of misfits we were. My Italian friend with her dark tan, dyed blonde hair and tattooed eyebrows, me the plump and sleep deprived green-eyed foster mother with an infant of a different race pappoosed to my ample bosom, tall and skinny Primero with his fake nerdy glasses and ever-present cell phone, and the little girl with the wild curly hair and a pull-up because she decided she no longer wants to be potty-trained – how do we all fit together? None of us look alike with the exception of the baby and the little girl. Our ages reveal little correlation, since my friend is a tad too young to be my grandmother and a tad too old to be my mom, which I guess could be the same argument for me and Primero – too old to be his sister (which is what a lot of people surmise) and too young to be his mother. I suppose it would be easy to assume the baby is mine, since I am of childbearing age and the little girl calls me “mommy” so that would make sense. But, despite our ragamuffin appearance, we are a family by choice (even if it is temporary for the little ones) and so we conduct ourselves as a family. And so I guess this is how it goes when you choose to adopt – the family is like a patchwork quilt built of unique and differing color squares that complement one another and make a beautiful, warm blanket when sewn together.
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