a boy on his belly
I have a vivid memory of a beautiful boy playing on his belly as I tenuously walked down a set of stairs in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia a year ago today. He had a full head of curly dark hair, and as he picked it up to look at the "odd" couple coming his way he reared it back to let out a bellow. He was afraid, and rightly so, he had never laid those incredibly bright eyes on us, and who were we anyway to be picking him up? Perhaps these were his first impressions of us, but ours were very different.
For me, it felt like what I suppose was the feeling every mother has when the doctor places a wriggling new baby in their arms. Albeit mine was a mite heavier than most newborns, I felt the same feeling of exhilaration and trepidation. Would this little person ever feel comfortable with my arms, my smell, my kisses on his sweet little cheek? These were the questions I asked myself those first few moments together, while our social worker snapped the picture below.
Most moms begin feeding their children next, we did too, but our first feeding was a silver cup of fruit juice. This little wonder proceeded to spit it all back out at us. I think expecting him to manage the consumption of this juice on a day when for sure his little belly was unsettled from meeting us, was a bit much.
Most moms spend a day or two in the hospital and then strap their perfect little babies into a great big car seat for the ride home. My reality was handing him back to his nanny for another five months without him. We did not know this at the time or perhaps it would have even been harder to walk away than it was. It was if I was leaving him at the hospital with no hopes of holding or seeing him again for a very long time.
December 17, 2010 was a day I will never forget. A stack of papers, visits to the police, doctors, finger printing offices, became a boy on his belly. Temesgen. The day I first laid eyes on my son. The son I share with a very special family who still resides in Ethiopia. We pray for them everyday, that they would somehow know that Temesgen is growing, learning, loving and being loved. That boy on his belly is thriving.
For me, it felt like what I suppose was the feeling every mother has when the doctor places a wriggling new baby in their arms. Albeit mine was a mite heavier than most newborns, I felt the same feeling of exhilaration and trepidation. Would this little person ever feel comfortable with my arms, my smell, my kisses on his sweet little cheek? These were the questions I asked myself those first few moments together, while our social worker snapped the picture below.
Most moms begin feeding their children next, we did too, but our first feeding was a silver cup of fruit juice. This little wonder proceeded to spit it all back out at us. I think expecting him to manage the consumption of this juice on a day when for sure his little belly was unsettled from meeting us, was a bit much.
Most moms spend a day or two in the hospital and then strap their perfect little babies into a great big car seat for the ride home. My reality was handing him back to his nanny for another five months without him. We did not know this at the time or perhaps it would have even been harder to walk away than it was. It was if I was leaving him at the hospital with no hopes of holding or seeing him again for a very long time.
December 17, 2010 was a day I will never forget. A stack of papers, visits to the police, doctors, finger printing offices, became a boy on his belly. Temesgen. The day I first laid eyes on my son. The son I share with a very special family who still resides in Ethiopia. We pray for them everyday, that they would somehow know that Temesgen is growing, learning, loving and being loved. That boy on his belly is thriving.
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