It's hard to type in the car

The key to a quiet drive home seems to be to run the kids ragged for three days; we're halfway home, and they all conked out after ten minutes in the car. I felt a little bad, telling Kevin we had to leave because he was having a great time and getting the hang of the snowboard, but Char's Dad and sister will be waiting at the house, along with Erin and the grandkids, solely to celebrate Kevin's birthday. Erin baked a cake, which was enough to get him off the board and into the car; he was excited about seeing them all and can't wait to tell them about learning to snowboard, but it didn't take long for his chatter to slow and then stop, and for Rachel and Alex to both drift off, too (needless to say, Char's driving; I'm not stupid enough to drive and type at the same time. Not quite.)

I woke up at 4:30 this morning and without intending to, woke Char around 5 with the aroma of coffee. She didn't seem to mind too much; we took the chance to sit there and take in the view one last time, musing over the scramble eleven years ago when we got the call to tell us Char's cousin was in labor and had decided she would just "hold that baby in place" until we got there. We called Brad and woke him (are you fucking insane? It's the goddamned middle of the night and that kid isn't popping out for at least twelve fucking hours, and can't Conor watch the damned kids until after lunch? I'll be fucking awake by then. Yeah, if you thought I had a mouth, you should wake him up at five in the morning sometime) and were headed for the airport by six (and yes, my Dad was able to watch Alex and Rachel for a few hours, but not for a few days; he needed Brad's help for that) and in California in time for Kevin's birth.

(So there you go. One state to cross off your Where in the World are Undr and Char? list.)

While we weren't in the delivery room, Char was the first non-medical person to hold Kevin, gave him his first kiss, told him for the first time how loved he was. When she handed him to me, it was just as overwhelming as the moment I first held Alex and first held Rachel; it didn't matter whose DNA this baby had, he was every bit my son, and I felt that instant connection. I loved him before he was born, but that moment--it was no different than what I felt with our other kids, and honestly, that surprised me.

It was hard as hell to let the nurse take him; we had agreed, reluctantly, that if she wanted to, his birth mother would be able to see him without us, to hold him just once to say goodbye. That terrified us; she still had the right to change her mind, and who could not want that perfect little boy? She was only 13, but she carried him for nine months and gave birth to him; it was a haunting possibility that left us both scared as hell until his biological grandmother, Char's aunt, sought us out to tell us to not worry; she'd been with her daughter while she said goodbye to him, and while it was hard, she knew she just couldn't keep him. She was grateful that we wanted him so badly; it wasn't just that we would be able to give him anything he needed and much of what he just wanted; she was handing him over to someone with her own blood. Like Char, one of her parents is black, the other is white and hispanic. Kevin's biological father is white and hispanic. She wanted Kevin to fit in; like Char, she'd never felt like she fit anywhere, and knew she was stuck where she was at until she was old enough to run.

Char's aunt said simply She's thirteen going on thirty. She made a mistake, but she's smart enough to know the right thing to do.

We both wonder from time to time how often she dwells on him; she's twenty four now, graduated from college, and has gotten out of the neighborhood Char ran from when she was eighteen. We also both wonder when Kevin will ask to meet her; I have mixed feelings about that, but I know he's curious and sooner or later he'll want to. We agreed years ago that once he was eighteen we wouldn't stand in his way, and we would facilitate the meeting, but if he asks before then, we're just not sure.

But we have right now. And right now our youngest son is drooling in the back seat of the car, and we're headed towards home where he'll spend what's left of his birthday with most of the people who love him. I only quantify that because I have no doubt that his biological mother and grandmother love him; the people waiting at home, though, are the people who matter most to him right now.

When the kids got up at 6--they purposely got up early to get in as much time on the skis and snowboards as they could--Char dug a tape measure out of her purse; it's a tradition, measure the kids on their birthday to see how tall they've gotten. In the last year he's shot up over 3 inches and is starting to lose that small-for-my-age look. He's a shade under the five feet tall I wasn't sure he'd actually see before becoming a teenager, but he hasn't lost his goofy, funny, bright outlook to the teenage gloom and doom, and I hope he never does. He's an amazing kid, and there isn't a day that we aren't grateful that Char's very young cousin trusted us to give him a good life.

But damn. He's eleven. This is the last of his little-boy years. Next year he'll be a pre-teen, and the year after, a teenager.

Damn.