I'm in love

I am. I am in love.

I am in love in a way I never imagined. I love my husband. I am in love with him. I fell in love with him as a teenager on the beaches of Fort Lauderdale.

But my little boys?

Everyone told me I would never understand the depth of this love. They told me so many times it got sort of gaggy-annoying. Okay. Yes. I hear you. Love. Got it. I'll love them.

But they were so right. So very, very right.

And the thing that is so cool is that I love my adopted son in the exact same way as my biological son. I am blown away by that. Blown away by the fact that it has nothing to do with genes or wombs or feeling babies move or anything else. I hope that is an encouragement to you out there travelling the adoption road without a biological road in sight.

It has to do with being called "Mommy." That's it. That's all it takes. It has to do with being in charge of their every move. It has to do with always having their best interest at heart. It has to do with loving them no matter what. No matter what you get in return.

Oh but what you get in return! I love the feel of their hands when they hold mine. When they put their hands on either side of my face to get my attention or give me a kiss. I love the way they turn when they fall and hurt themselves, looking only for me. I love the way that the word "no" can cause them to go into convulsions and the word "yes" to light up like I have changed their lives forever. I am their whole world. Our litle house. They don't need playdates and Skype and email and parties and other details. All they need is our house and our home and the security we offer.

I love dumb things. I love that Elijah has a favorite corner he goes to every morning to do his "business." And when we approach him during this time to ask him if he'd prefer to do that business on the potty in the bathroom, he puts up one finger up and says, "No Fanks! No Fanks!" Then he backs us up with that finger and returns to his corner. JB and I laugh so hard. We go ask him again and again just to see his little finger come up and the "No fanks" come tumbling out of his lispy little mouth.

I love that Isaac, in the middle of any conversation about any topic, can find a way to slip in, "Mommy do you like ice cream? I like ice cream" or "I'm allergic to eggs. Ewijah is not awergic to eggs. When I grow up, I can eat eggs," without breaking stride. His tiny voice, sweet and sincere. I love to hear him speak. Seems he's been doing it since the day he emerged from the womb, and yet, I don't grow tired of hearing all the new things he has come up with in his mind.

I love bath time when Elijah lays on his stomach, his little buns peering up above the bubbles. He looks at me to start singing, "Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming," from Nemo, and I do.

I love that Isaac won't go to sleep at night until JB gives him a tickle kiss and says, "See you in the morning." JB has a whole routine with them -- a whole way he does things at night to go to bed. Last night I turned off the lights before the countdown to seeing the stars had commenced. "What are you doing?" JB asked. "We have to countdown first." Oh. Okay. Forget brushing teeth. That's peripheral. But the countdown? Mandatory.

I love watching my husband love our boys. Especially Isaac. They share an amazing bond. He has one with Elijah too, but there is something about the two of them. I have very rarely met a child who chooses Dad over Mom without question. Isaac does that. Dad is always the preferred party. And I have to wonder what caused that? And JB. My big, tough husband can look at either of his boys and tear up in a moment. (He'll give me a hard time for writing this but he knows it is true.) He melts at a hug from Isaac or a triple-kiss from Elijah.

Love. Love isn't about genetics and DNA. It's about family. Truly. Adoption. Biological. However your family grows, the love that grows with it is not something you can compare to anything else.

I'm in love.