Throughout the last 7 months that Felmata has been home with us, I have been surprised at how many similarities there are to raising Noah and Ella. It would seem like more would be differences, but in actuality, our life together as mother and son has been more the same than different. There have been some unique struggles and also unique accomplishments, but our day to day has been similar to how it was when my other 2 kids were this age.
Yesterday was an exception. It was Felmata's 4th Birthday. Not really his birth-day; but the day that is recorded on his legal documents as his date of birth. We don't know the actual day he was born, so through some research, the little information we had, input from the kids, and some figurative dart throwing; we came up with a birthday of 3/3/06.
On Noah and Ella's birthdays, we often tell stories about what that day was like. How we were feeling (excited! nervous! filled with joy!). What the weather was like. What the nurses said (most beautiful baby ever!). I am instantly taken back to that day; and how it changed me forever. I can pull up those 2 days as if they happened just an hour ago.
3/3/06 has absoutley no memories for me. I don't know where I was on that day, or what the weather was like, or what the nurses said (if there even WERE nurses!). It wasn't even the day he was born.
Yesterday I felt a sense of loss. I will never know the details surrounding Felmata's birth. It's a strange, unnatural feeling.
We have 2 big parties planned for this weekend. Every 4 year old should celebrate another year of life. And celebrate we will!
I'll make the cake (shaped like a fire truck!), and sing happy birthday, and run the video camera and do all the "mom birthday things" ... but in my heart it's not quite the same.
More than this weekend, I am looking forward to 7/15/10. Because on 7/15/09 I met my son for the very first time. I lifted him high in the air and kissed him and hugged him and gave him a great big teddy bear. He called me "Mama" and didn't want me to set him down. The nannies cried as he left; and it's no wonder why. We had a strange pizza lunch, and french fries with ketchup and then played with a ball all afternoon. We made symbols with our fingers of the airplane we were going to ride on. We slathered on lotion, and medicine on his ouchies. We sang songs together and giggled and looked at pictures of his new life in America. We drank water out of a bottle! We lined up our shoes, and didn't let them out of our sight. We laid down that night; exhausted but elated to be together at last.
Those are the memories I will cherish. That is the day that I can truly celebrate. Even if it's just for me.
BUT ... very VERY soon ... it will all be put in a box for another year ... and the thought of saying good-bye to a cold, grey winter makes me almost giddy! 
Our lives haven't been the same since. That day we were filled to the brim with a love we had only heard about before. A love that was truly unconditional. A love that has grown, and overwhelmed us and continues to change us. Continues to change our family. This child is mine, and the depths of my love for him still surprise me. He is mine, and yet he is his own as well.