Having M in our home was one of those experiences that was so deeply bittersweet. He wore clothes we bought thinking we’d see Theo and Elliot in first. He slept in a crib we set up not for them but for him. He played with toys we had picked out with them in mind.
And then I realized today why M leaving hit me so hard: He’s the first child that has ever called me “mommy.” It took him only a few hours before he started doing it. We’d correct him, and his little “Nah-yee” would switch back to “mommy.” He’d yell it from downstairs with Dan while I was in the shower. He’d yell it at night when he woke up in the night and couldn’t find the one thing that helps him sleep. He’d yell it when he needed “help” or “up, please” or “eat eat.”
M calling me mommy was so bittersweet. He has a mommy. She just couldn’t be with him in this time. And I have sons. But they don’t know me, and they likely call their foster mom “mommy.” He was without his mommy, and I am without my sons. I’m so thankful God saw fit to put us together for a time.