Day 39: Dangerous

Adoption is a dangerous thing. I suppose there are some adoptive parents who are made of iron and bronze and can weather anything. They stand resolute, protected by their iron-clad hearts that don't allow them to be disappointed or frustrated or dare I say overcome by hope. I'm not like that, never have been. I get involved, all of me, and I hope, and for that reason, adoption is a dangerous thing. Iron and bronze don't bruise, but flesh does, and tonight my flesh is exposed. I'm angry and I'm hurt.

I'm hurt because Rex called another man "Daddy" today. When he was calling other women "Mommy," it didn't bother me because, well it wasn't personal. But this is personal. How the heck can Rex call another man daddy? I thought we were making such great progress. I thought we had established our routines and our rituals, that they were unique moments in the life of a father and son. I guess not. I guess they don't mean as much to him. I guess Rex can do them with anyone, any man at least.

And this is why I'm angry. I'm angry that I let myself get hurt over this. I'm angry that I expect that 38 days of these routines and rituals should be enough to show him who I am. I'm angry that I allow a two year-old to have such control over me. I'm angry that when things are going wonderfully, they can so quickly turn. But most of all, I'm angry at myself. I realize how selfish I'm being. I think I want him to call me daddy for my own reasons, not his. I think that being his irreplaceable daddy will meet a need to be irreplaceable in me. I think I'm looking to Rex to heal me in some way. And that's not fair to him. It's dangerous.