Asher.

I knew very little about him. 

I knew the majority of his life was spent in an orphanage in Kharkov, Ukraine.

I was very concerned that he would hate my guts.

He did. 

He is a tiny guy. He weighs 20 pounds. Up 2 pounds from when we left the orphanage…up 4 pounds from when he was discharged from the hospital. His 9-12-month-size clothing hangs on his body.

I was so surprised to see this little almost-4-year-old waddle into the orphanage director’s office. I think I was expecting a 4-year-old sized child, even though I had been told he was small. I was not prepared for a skinny one-year-old.

Even though he was nothing like what I was expecting, I fell in love.

Asher has been home for a month. I am still getting to know him. He doesn’t say Mama. He doesn’t seem to recognize me. Many days he seems to only tolerate my presence, much like he did in the orphanage. He still prefers his crib. He bangs his head on the floor when he cries.

There is a part of me that grieves for my boy.
For what he has missed…
birthdays and new-chicken-day at the farm.
spend-the-night-parties and family dinners.
Saturday evening walks and trips to the zoo.
Hugs when he is hurt and food when he is hungry.

I grieve even more, because right now, he doesn’t even want these things…
He doesn’t know that what could be is something that is desirable.
He doesn’t understand that self-preservation is no longer necessary.

This level of grief I don’t remember from the other adoptions.
Maybe I forgot…like labor pains…
I really don’t know.

So, for now…I will do all I know to do.
I will hold him. Feed him. Take him to the zoo.
Make play dates with friends. Keep him in dry diapers.
Clean his poop out of the tub and give him another bath.

I will clean his face when it is messy.
Get hair cuts when his bangs hang in his eyes.
Change his crib sheets. Wash his laundry.
Take him to the doctor.
I will correct him when he is wrong.
I will snuggle him and tell him he is wonderful.
Because he is.

I will do all of these things because I want to.
Because I love this boy.
Because I am his Mom.

May 13th is kind of like any other day…
Asher will poop in the tub. My other children will laugh hysterically when they hear me squeal from the bathroom after Asher poops in the tub…and then laugh some more while I squeal whilst cleaning poop out of the tub. Again.
But, today, after bath time…I will get Asher ready for his first birthday party on his 4th birthday.
He will get his first birthday presents.
His first birthday balloons.
His first birthday candles.

Happy Birthday, teeny boy.
We love you.