Oh sleep, where art thou?

Sleeping is my hobby, my passion.  A weird one at that , but it is what it is.  Ever since I was a little girl, I could be lulled to sleep almost anywhere including on a horse.  An afternoon nap on a Sunday afternoon is absolute heaven to me.  When Alex was born, I soaked up nap time like a junky.
Things are a bit different now.  My beautiful son is waking up almost every hour to two hours at night.  Whoa.  This is not easy for the girl who happily falls asleep at 8 pm for  fun.
I now find myself playing musical beds to my son's unrest.  Sometimes when he wakes, I will fall asleep on the single bed we set up in Jesse's room for situations like this.  Other times, I'm sprawled on Alex's bed with her arms dangled over me.  And every once in awhile I'll land in my comfy spot in my bed with Charlie the dog nestled in the crook of my legs.  It seems that when I hear him crying, I automatically awake from wherever I am upstairs, clog downstairs, grab a bottle from the fridge, rock Jesse to sleep while he sips a minuscule amount of formula, lay him down, clog back downstairs and sleepwalk my way to wherever I may land up there.  I have to tell you the best part, though.  Jesse seems to find comfort in grabbing my face and resting his sweet lips on my cheek and simply comforting himself there to sleep.  Every single night hearing those little lips pucker on my face is worth every second of sleeplessness; I don't care what anyone says.
Some people say to let him cry it out.  It's not that easy with adopted kiddos.  I feel strongly that we're still building trust.  Every time he wakes up and sees my face, he smiles.  His smile, in my mommy heart, feels like it's telling me, "Thank you for being there again."  I will be there until he knows in his heart that yes, I'll be there every time, and there's no need to worry.
So, I'm a little tired right now.  It's ok.  He's worth every sleepless moment.

PS.  We had the kids' pictures taken.  Here's a peak of my sweet babies on our photographer's blog, Melissa Hanley.  Enjoy!

Thanks, Melissa!  We love the pictures!!!

I Can't help telling you this story...

Ok, so I knew that I would receive a "look" every now and then.  I mean, people are curious.  They see this white mama with this black baby, and they wonder.  I get it.  There are so many options.
This past Saturday, I had this little girl just get down and dirty and ask me exactly what she wanted to know.  Steve and I took Alex, her friend Elizabeth, and Jesse to the mall to get a quick bite to eat.  We ended up at the Lego Store for a few minutes, and it was packed with kiddos putting together Harry Potter wands.
This little girl took one look at me with Jesse in his baby carrier, and the conversation went like this:
"Is that your baby?"  the little girl questioned.
"Yup,"  I answered with a smile on my face.
"He came from you?"
"No, he was adopted," I replied politely.
"You breastfeed him?"  she inquired further.
"No, he takes a bottle."
"Oh," she satisfyingly responded.
At this point, Alex walks over, as she sees that I'm engaged in a conversation with a girl around her age, curious about the point of discussion.
Alex enters, "Hi.  That's my brother.  He's adopted from Ethiopia."
The girl addresses Alex, "Oh."
"Yeah, he just came home from Africa a few weeks ago," Alex adds.
With an epiphany, the girl questions, "Your baby is an African baby?"
"Yeah," Alex says.
Now, Elizabeth walks over and joins in.
The little girl asks, "Why didn't you adopt her?"
"Well, she has a mommy and daddy, so she doesn't need to be adopted."
"Oh."
I must tell you, this is EXACTLY how the conversation went.  I couldn't make this up if I tried.  It's one of those conversations I don't think I'll forget.  It was so honest.  I appreciated her fearlessness in asking exactly what was on her mind.  It was perfect, but I was also relieved to have to go and give Jesse a bottle.  I'm afraid what other questions she may have had for me!  Kids are awesome.

Adjustment

My goal today is to take a shower, actually try to do my hair, and put some type of make up on before I pick up Alex on her last day of camp.  This is in contrast to the homeless looking woman in running shorts driving the brown Honda Odyssey who has been picking her up this week.  I am so jealous of the moms who pick up their kids with hair in place, pristine eye shadow, and a mani/pedi to boot.  What the heck?  How do these moms find the time to use hairspray let alone sit in a massaging, leather chair while their feet soak for an hour once a week?  God Bless them.  I hope they don't look at me and wonder what's wrong with me... Oh well.
After eight years being out of the baby game, I'm back in, baby.  And let's be real, I think the "cocooning time" that we're taking right now is really for the moms.  My Jesse Getiso is a champ.  He's got this place down.  Me, I'm learning to juggle motherhood with two, keep my house somewhat picked up, and not let the dogs drive me up a wall.  I'm completely amazed when I walk into someone's house with four kids, and the house is in tip top shape.  How does this freaking happen?  I need a course.  Today, I vaccumed the house with Jesse in his sling after two shedding dogs and attempted to do the couches and mop the tile.  I didn't get to the upstairs.  I figure I can "hide" that if someone comes over.  Huh.
I scheduled pictures for Alex and Jesse for Tuesday.  I'm totally excited, but realized Alex didn't have one thing that to wear that didn't have a stain on it.  After Jesse and I picked up Alex, I thought we could make a "quick trip" to Old Navy to purchase a white shirt for Alex.  Well, my eight year old has an opinion now.  You could only imagine.  She says to me yesterday as we're walking out of the dressing room for the third time, "Mom, I feel like you always say, 'no' to everything I say."  This is what I get after four months of counseling with her after TJ passed; now she knows how to tell me how she feels.  Don't get me wrong, this is a FANTASTIC thing, but it's hard to have a deep conversation with her while your 21 pound infant is attached to you, pulling your hair and giving you kisses (which I DON'T want to discourage because it's so stinking cute!), you're holding five white shirts, which are all too big or too small, and your "quick trip" to Old Navy turned into an hour of carousing through the girls section which may or may not still fit your eight year old because she's almost as tall as you.  Whew.  We just had to get out of there.  I made an executive decision, told her to stop blowing in her brothers face because it was overwhelming even though he thinks it's funny, and paid the man.  I didn't even get to pick out anything for Jesse.
Ok, so it sounds like I'm complaining.  I don't intend for that.  I'm adjusting.  I'm learning the ropes.  My son is teething like a lion, I'm a little short on sleep because he hates solids and is up every three hours, and I'm discerning with my daughter which battles are really the important ones to fight.  We will be fine.  Thank God we have a lot of love in this house, and I have a husband who could care less if everything is spotless and doesn't mind Lean Cuisine.  My son is the most lovable person ever; he just loves to smile, laugh, and play; he's amazing.  And my daughter...well, she's gonna change the world; she has the biggest heart & more passion than any of us combined.  So, I'm certain we'll be ok.  I just don't think my house will be too clean or a gormet meal will make it on the table.  
Now, I gotta go.  My kiddo woke up, and I'm typing one handed now.  So, bye.