30 Short Days

30 of the shortest, long days of my life. 

Someone asked me last night if Eyob (long e, long o) was transitioning well. Maybe I’m being naïve, but I think he’s doing great, given that a month ago he left a couple dozen people he’d spent his whole life with. Part of me is just waiting for the other shoe to drop, so to speak. In the meantime, I’m just trying to soak up the joy he’s brought into our home. We’ve laughed so, so much since he came home.

As for his adjustment, I guess ask me when he’s 15 or 25 or 45. We’ll know better then.

For now, I can tell you briefly what the first 30 days have been like. The transition so far has looked like this:

From screaming bloody murder in the bathtub to splashing like a fish.

From crying non-stop in the carseat to peaceful rides (mostly).

From running from siblings to arms open wide for a quick pick-up.

From clinging to mom constantly to asking sister to turn on the singing Christmas ornaments.

From staring blankly when we asked questions to signing "please", "thank you", "more" and "all done"! He even waves a greeting, if you don't scare him too much. 

From no words at all to "eat", "up" and "hot". And some swear he's trying to say “sissy.”

From eating only baby oatmeal to begging for my potstickers.

From being terrified of outside to pulling brother to the door to play in the snow.

And my favorite:

From bearing 1,000 mommy kisses to puckering up and leaning in all on his own.

Sigh.