I am supposed to be at the grocery store. I haven't been in awhile. The bonus kid has Skittles for dinner last night. And for breakfast this morning. The Brit commented that he noticed that his sandwich was made from two heels turned around. "Like I wouldn't notice," he says. He didn't notice the chunks that were missing from the fuzzy green stuff I picked off. "Why does it taste like penicillin?"
"Must be that light Mayo, babe."
When my niece Emma was born, we had a special bond. I was there to cut her cord (my brother-in-law was not excited about that part) and ever since then, I have loved her more than I have ever loved a person. It scared me sometimes. Then came my nephew, Mark. Then came Belle and then my bonus daughter (I got her when she was 6), and most recently Ollie. I love them all differently. And differently than I love my husband, my sisters, or my parents, or Dani.
And then came Finn.
This is day 3 without him. If I had posted this at 9 this morning it would have been day 1 without tears. But it is 5:22. So the count starts over.
The normal things we do are never very normal, but having a missing link in our entourage is heartbreaking. Today we went to the zoo and then to El Nopal. Two places he has been and would have been today. When we got home, and I went to throw stuff in Lily's room, I expected Finn to come bursting out of his bedroom.
He did not.
We still text and he sends pictures, but it is not the same.
I never believed my mom when she told me she loved each kid differently, but it's true. One of those horrible things you don't understand until you have kids of your own. Bella (she's 4) said today she didn't want to have children. Her mom told her that was ok, Kiki didn't have children. "But you do have kids," my bonus daughter says.
I do.
And now I understand. You love them all differently. Not more. Not less. I don't always get it back (Belle is weird, Lily is awkward and Finn is a teenager), but I always tell them, every chance I get.
I love you.
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