I can't tell you how many times between November 3 when we got the call until January 4 when I put him back in his father's arms I pictured where I would put the Mr. Potato Head and "Zachary John" and what font. When he was born on Christmas, I thought it would be cute to do a Santa hat.
But when we gave him back, that tattoo no longer seemed right. He wasn't our Spud. Still a hard pill to swallow. Trying to figure out how to move on with the dream of Spud, our adopted child, and still honor this baby boy who was completely loved and perfect.
Squishy and I decided pretty quickly that we still wanted to get tats for our second son. A few weeks ago, he got kind of a gingerbread boy outline and the name Zac.
It has taken me a little bit longer to get mine though. Part of it is trying to find the time, and part of it is that tattoos hurt dang it. But the real reason is that I think I was still holding out hope that maybe, just maybe, they will call and say "it was a mistake, he really is yours." Or maybe, just maybe, I'd wake up and he'd be sleeping next to me and this would have all been a bad dream. But, once again, I have to face the fact that he isn't coming back.
And so tonight, I worked up the courage and got my tattoo. It is simple and small, but a reminder that for a brief and shining moment, I was a mommy of 2. And it carries the hope that I will be again. The dream of Spud 2.0 lives on.
Meanwhile, this evening my college BFF and my grad school BFF both gave birth to baby boy's. They have never met, though I think they would get along smashingly, and were both due on the same day next week. This is baby #2 for both of them. Congratulations my loves! And give those babies lots of kisses from me!
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It is going to hurt for a long time. My heart will never completely heal; there will always be a Zac shaped hole. But it will be okay.
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