My heart is breaking for my little boy tonight.
Most nights at night-night time, we do stories. Sometimes for these stories we tell his story, our coming home story, where our two stories met, etc. Most nights he smiles and giggles as we tell about silly things we remember. Sometimes he barely pays attention as we talk about he grew in another mommy's tummy and lived with her and then later with lots of other children.
We sometimes look at pictures or videos of our time in Russia and he happily flips through telling us what he was doing.
And then there are nights like tonight. Nights that when he crawls into bed he's sad.
"Where is her, Mama?"
"Where is who, baby?"
"Where is her? My other mamas, my other babushkas? My kids too? My tummy cold and sad over there, Mama."
It's night's like tonight that remind me a little too much of where he was before us. He still grieves the loss of his other mama's, the women who cared for him in the orphanage and the children he was being raised with there. He remembers being hungry and all those feelings.
So, we talk about his other mama's and babushka's and tonight he wanted me to know one of his babushkas had black hair and she gave him candy. I'll never get to thank her for giving him good memories. Whenever he has sad nights like this, we talk about whatever it is, I don't mind. I love hearing what his little mind remembers and when he twists his memories into something more(apparently once he built a snowman with his babushka and Mr. Slick and I were apparently there too, lol). I want him to talk about it, I want him to know it's okay to talk about it. I want him to know it's okay to be sad about it.
I'm sometimes not grateful for all I have, but my boy reminds me of the wonderful things I have, starting with him. I hate it when he's sad but I am grateful he even has some of these smidgens of memories. His sadness is part of his story but it's not who he is, not anymore.
Most nights at night-night time, we do stories. Sometimes for these stories we tell his story, our coming home story, where our two stories met, etc. Most nights he smiles and giggles as we tell about silly things we remember. Sometimes he barely pays attention as we talk about he grew in another mommy's tummy and lived with her and then later with lots of other children.
We sometimes look at pictures or videos of our time in Russia and he happily flips through telling us what he was doing.
And then there are nights like tonight. Nights that when he crawls into bed he's sad.
"Where is her, Mama?"
"Where is who, baby?"
"Where is her? My other mamas, my other babushkas? My kids too? My tummy cold and sad over there, Mama."
It's night's like tonight that remind me a little too much of where he was before us. He still grieves the loss of his other mama's, the women who cared for him in the orphanage and the children he was being raised with there. He remembers being hungry and all those feelings.
So, we talk about his other mama's and babushka's and tonight he wanted me to know one of his babushkas had black hair and she gave him candy. I'll never get to thank her for giving him good memories. Whenever he has sad nights like this, we talk about whatever it is, I don't mind. I love hearing what his little mind remembers and when he twists his memories into something more(apparently once he built a snowman with his babushka and Mr. Slick and I were apparently there too, lol). I want him to talk about it, I want him to know it's okay to talk about it. I want him to know it's okay to be sad about it.
I'm sometimes not grateful for all I have, but my boy reminds me of the wonderful things I have, starting with him. I hate it when he's sad but I am grateful he even has some of these smidgens of memories. His sadness is part of his story but it's not who he is, not anymore.
Oh, sweet boy! That made me tear up. Amazing how such little minds can remember such things. I'm glad you guys are able to talk about and share those memories, the good and the bad. It sounds like he is a sensitive soul.
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