Six Years Ago Today

I stepped off an elevator in an apartment building in Seoul and met my son. Not a lot of women can say they stepped off an elevator and became a mom. Some women endure nine months of pregnancy then hours of labor and delivery. Me, I endured nine months of paperwork and waiting and agonizing over the actions of various government agencies and then 13 or so hours on a plane.

If I weren't so lazy, Gentle Reader, I'd upload the video of the actual moment I just described. But the video would need editing, and the Mac is currently not set up for use. Yes, I am that lazy.

The Boy and I Get to Know Each Other

This picture was taken shortly after the husband and I met our son. We went into his foster family's apartment to enjoy a little snack and to converse with his foster mom with the help of his social worker. I can't tell you much of what we talked about during the time we spent there, and I can't even tell you how long we were there. I was too stuck in this awe that this little, wriggly, smiley proto-human was real and, in a few days, would be my responsibility--but moreso I was stuck on the reality of him.

Here's the thing, Gentle Reader. I'm a writer. I create characters in my head, and they seem very real to me as I work with them both in my head and on paper. However, they're not real. They're just images and voices and ideas in my head and on paper.

While we waited for him to get his passport and visa, which would enable him to join us in the U.S., I stared at the boy's picture and read and reread the various documents we received during those weeks. I...yeah, I fantasized about what life with a baby would be like. I wove stories in my head featuring him and me and the husband and the feline kids and so on and so forth--just as I'd done with my fictional characters.

You can probably understand then, Gentle Reader, why I was so in awe of the reality of those moments in that apartment in Seoul with that little, wriggly, smiley proto-human in my arms or in the husband's arms or in his foster mom's arms. This is really happening, became my litany because after so long, part of me had sort of assumed that the saga of the adoption was just another saga I'd spun in my head--real to me in a way, but not ultimately not real.

But the boy is very real. Motherhood is very real. Granted, this six-year anniversary of our meeting the boy we're spending apart from him, but our life together in one crazy household is very real. And as crazy as it all is, I look forward to more of it.

So how am I celebrating six years of motherhood? By running my ass off: I put in a half-marathon today at the gym. I also hit another running milestone.

Two observations on this noteworthy day:

1. Running a half-marathon and then biking home is not terribly fun. This observation combined with my inability to swim proves I'll never be a triathlete. No way no how.
   
2. As much as I'd love to do it, I'm not going to log 2,000 miles by the time my one-year anniversary of logging miles with Nike+ comes around on July 28. My pace is slowing and my desire to spend that much time at the gym is dimming. Oh well.

Of course, logging more than 1,700 miles in about 11 months is probably nothing to sneer at. I'm thrilled by that achievement. Being the overachiever that I am, I'm going to try as hard as I can to get as close to 2,000 miles logged as I can by July 28.

Yeah, I know, Gentle Reader. I'm pathetic.