A Weekend Away

Last Friday morning Bob and I packed up the car and joined our good friends Audrey and Walt at Lake Anna National Park in Virginia to enjoy a camping - "cabining" is the more appropriate term - weekend. Saturday was a beautiful day spent fishing from the docks, and evening brought an intense rematch of the card game Pitch from the night before.

It was relaxing and fun, and I did fine being away overnight for only the third time since we brought Owen home. I knew he was safe and happy with his Nana (despite not feeling great she came to our house to stay with the little guy - thanks Mom!), and although I missed him, I did enjoy myself.

But come Sunday morning, I was eager to get on the road. Two hours into our drive found me on the edge of my seat with anticipation of seeing Owen. As we got closer to home, I had a lump in my throat thinking of walking in the door and swooping him up in a big hug. Ah, happiness!

I've always felt that Owen was meant to be our son; and so I don't linger on the periods of pain on the path we took to reach him, or regret anything that happened along the way. I celebrate all the special moments we've had with him: the first time Bob and I saw him; the evening we brought him back to our Kokshetau apartment, "officially" our son; the day we finally brought him home to Maryland. There are so many moments of joy, and I know without a doubt there is no child I could love more.

Yet there is one thing about Owen's life and adoption that breaks my heart - that we were not there when he was born. That no parents held him close and told him he was loved; nor counted his ten perfect fingers and ten perfect toes in hushed amazement. No Mama gazed into his eyes or wiped his tears; no Daddy held him tenderly and whispered "my son". No family celebrated his arrival on that, his first day in this world. I like to believe (and do) that Dr. Natalia and the nurses at the Maternity Hospital treated him with care, tenderness and professionalism, but oh, how I wish he was surrounded by love on the day of his birth.

So perhaps I treasure each day with Owen a little more. For as long as he'll let me, I will smother him with kisses and wrap him in hugs, and tell him over and over how I love him. I gladly forgo the perks of a career, the protection of an extra paycheck, the freedom of my own schedule to spend each day letting Owen know how very glad we are that he came into our world. And I hope it is enough to make up for not being there at his first breath. I think it is.