It's the end of the world as we know it

So this is what life has become: an REM song. I've become aware that the life that I have always known is pretty much over. Not that I had this most exciting, out-there life to begin with, but, you know, it was mine. I knew that things would be different, and, after waiting for so long, I expected to feel happy and excited, which I do. But what I wasn't prepared for was this unexpected sense of grief. Where could this be coming from? Probably the fact that I've spent thirty-odd years doing my own thing and suddenly (or, not so suddenly, depending on how you view the timing), my own thing is not mine anymore. I've realized the dramatic change is sometimes tiring, sometimes wonderful. But, I have noticed the change.

1. Time alone. For an introvert, this is a tough one. I like my time alone. Someone said to me recently that the first child is the hardest because you are used to your time alone and then it is gone. Subsequent children are a little easier because, by then, you are used to not having much to yourself anymore. Ok, note taken.

2. Social activities. Russ and I went to a birthday party a couple of nights ago and we found ourselves going over our plans ahead of time: we stick together and neither one of us is left alone with Caleb to chase him around, and we only stay for 30 minutes, tops. I also found myself re-telling the same story to two people who politely pretended that they hadn't heard it before. Is it true that I now have run out of things to talk about so that I am repeating myself?

3. The quiet. It doesn't exist anymore, except maybe during nap time. The constant din that goes on around our house has been one of the toughest things to get used to. I like quiet. I knew toddlers were noisy, but I didn't realize the amount of screeching, babbling, barking, "Old McDonald" songs I would be hearing on an hourly basis. In addition, I also didn't realize how much giggling, singing, and general levels of cuteness that would be taking place either.

We've been opening toys little by little to avoid some of the "Disneyland syndrome" that adopted kids can face. We broke out this little rider, which Russ and I loved, but I don't think Caleb really knew what to do with it. After sitting him on it, he managed to push himself around a little, tentatively, at least.

Caleb found one of those musical cards that plays a song when it is opened. He thought it was so funny to open and close it over and over to stop and start the song, which in this case was the theme song from "Dallas".

Overall, Caleb is adjusting very nicely. Whenever I feel like complaining about how much things have changed, I have to consider what he must be thinking. He was once living in a foster home in China before some people showed up one day and literally took him to the other side of the world. Talk about change. We have a book called "Caleb Crosses the Country" that we read at bedtime each night. It's about a camel named Caleb who was afraid to travel, but he learns that God can use anybody, even if we are afraid. Every night that we read it, it reminds me of how brave my little boy is. I'm so proud of him.