First off - things aren't looking much better from the last time I wrote. (Health wise) Although this post is dedicated to my oldest son. The other day in the midst of my pity party I wanted to share something with our oldest son. I explained to him that we chose to adopt him from a bulletin board. It was a snip of who he was. He was turning eleven years old when we first found him out of hundreds of children to adopt. It was very exciting for us to know we've found the children we wanted to finish raising. When we first seen his picture, I remember noticing what BIG feet he had. It reminded me of counting a newborns baby toes except for he was wearing extremely massive shoes! I also noticed his wispy hair with his big bright eyes. He was a good looking boy. After accepting the proposal package, we pushed for movement. Eager new adoptive parents, we wanted our new children home. Although we had to wait another year because he was First Nations. We needed to have an exception from his band to be adopted into our family. Month after month we waited. Then came June, it was time. I explained to him that I knew he didn't want to be adopted. We also didn't want to adopt a child/children who didn't want to be adopted either. Well.....the process continued for some reason. Meant to be perhaps. For two months, every weekend we would go back and forth to his community. On our wedding anniversary, August 14th our son and his sister was placed for adoption. It was a hard transition. After all, it was just before our daughters 10th birthday and our sons 12th. Adopting older children is difficult for everyone and especially the children. That was 8 years ago this year. He's now turning 20 years old! We had more then a rough patch between 16-18 years of age. As forewarned, he sought out his birth family, seeked independence and didn't want me as his mother, us as his family. Now, he's just amazingly respectful, he seems appreciative and he reminds me over and over again that I am his Mother. He taught me something. He taught me to say, "I love you" more often. My almost 20 year old son tells me every time he sees or talks to me that he loves me. As much as I can say, "It was love at first sight" It wasn't. The first picture I saw him in, I would stare at every detail. I would look at his picture daily like you do when you give birth to a child. Love came later. I think it's really special now that he's a young adult, and we have over come, we made it together as a mother and a son. Now I can honestly say, older adoptions can work. My son and I have a good relationship. I think, a better relationship then ever before. Now, I step back. I'm his mother but he's also an adult. Instead of constantly focusing on parenting him, we hang out like adults. It's nice. He has a beautiful girlfriend I adore. A great full-time job. He interacts with all his brothers and sisters. I'm proud of him and I'm grateful he never gave up on his family, on me. He's our first success story and I know he doesn't hear it enough - that we love him. I thought I would write and explain it's difficult raising children sometimes, it's more difficult starting at age 12. I understand......and now I'm just happy I get to be a part of his next milestones in life. His adulthood. Son, if you're reading - Momma does love you, and I'm proud that you're my son. So there's this boy. He kinda stole my heart. He calls me, "Mom" and means it. I am honored.