I write this post with an optimistic but slightly wistful tone. Tomorrow morning, my little boy will be going into surgery.  Although I’m certain the sight of him with a little IV and hairnet will make me well up with tears (I’m getting sniffly now just typing it), he will perhaps surpass his current maximum cuteness potential.  Packing for his hospital stay, I’ve tried to think of things that will soothe and comfort him– and as of now, most of what I have packed is stuffed animals and his beloved sheep blanket, Kokkonisto.  Having taken great pains to rid him of his pacifier, he’s been struggling the past few days to latch onto something for comfort aside from our presence and the ubiquitous Mr. Clam.  I just hope that seeing us as he’s wheeled out of recovery will be a hint of stability for our little man.

When I corresponded with a fellow adoptive cleft palate mom before we brought Alexander home, she told me that you experience a form of loss when your child first goes through surgery.  Her words didn’t quite resonate until now. When I think of Alexander, I first imagine that big, wide grin that was so heart-warming and comforting when we wondered in China whether we had the stamina to be his parents.  I think of his signature “La” and how it will be impacted and altered by the trauma of his surgeries.  Then I take a moment and think about everything he experienced in life before meeting us, and yet even with the huge change in being handed over to complete strangers from a different continent who smelled and sounded different, he adapted. I know, I know, everyone says kids are resilient and bounce back quickly, but let’s face it.  No one would volunteer their child for surgery unless it was absolutely necessary. (Heck, I know most people evaluate the minor bumps and bruises of their children in hopes that a bandaid and ointment will do in place of an 8-hour trip to the local ER. I mean, they didn’t lose THAT much blood, did they?!?).

For months, I had printed photos of Alexander on my dresser in our bedroom. One of the first things I’d see in the morning and last things before bed was the smile of our future son. I’ve tried not to think about it too much, but I do wonder how his face will change, his voice, his smile… While I am absolutely ecstatic about his surgeries in light of their long-term impact, I will freely admit that I’m not looking forward to the immediate future when he’s home, scared, and most likely in some form of discomfort and not in any mood to be his jovial self.  I also feel a little saddened knowing that his name for me (“La La”, as a response to my coaching of “mama”) will most likely change. Although I know that all kids change and grow, I’ll always keep his first enthusiastic “La La” in response my to hand signing of mama in my heart long after he’s more articulate and trying to convince me why his curfew needs to be later.

And so I don’t end on a sad note, I’ll leave you with some photos from this past weekend, when my Aunt Carla came to visit and meet with Alexander. There was a lot of smiling and clapping, and Alexander even had his first experience on a swing set and slide. It was quite the weekend.

Once again, proving that it’s next to impossible to photograph this kid without him smiling. Look Mama! No pacifier!

I think they get along  — posing with his Great Aunt Carla (emphasis on the great!)

This kid is going to LOVE Six Flags.

Alexander inquires as to whether Mr. Clam can also ride on the tractor from Great Aunt Carla.

I ask you, dear friends and loyal readers, to keep Alexander and his parents in your thoughts and prayers tomorrow morning. We could certainly use them.