I tell all of my children that I loved them before they were born. I did. I dreamed of my children when I dreamed of becoming a mother and no child was as vested in that dream as Peter, my firstborn. He was the culmination of 29 years of wanting to be a mom, of longing to parent, of loving a baby that had yet to be born. He didn't disappoint. He was loving and sweet even in the throes of withdrawls that lasted for three months. He bonded to me in 30 seconds and that has never waivered. I used to read articles about bonding and wonder if I really knew what it was because so many people reported so much trouble bonding with their adopted children. I had never felt one moment of awkwardness or inability to love Peter and for his part he , for all intent and purpose, seemed to long for my love from the moment I picked him up. The first time I picked him up in the nursery at the hospital he crawled up my body and made his way to the only skin available on my neck and nuzzled his tiny face in there. He wasn't interested in eating or playing, just melding his body into mine as if to fit us together like two pieces of a puzzle, as if to claim me as his own. I dreamed of Peter for so long and the clarity with which that dream was fullfilled was evident from the day I met him. Other things in our life have not been as clear.
Peter has been at Solnit Hospital since December 12th. 94 days and counting for both of us. He is off every medication except his sleeping pills at night. He attends school every day and group several times a day. He sees a psychiatrist once a day, a therapist several times a day and engages in social skills groups weekly. Bob or I see him once a day and he is offered limited passes home on weekends. He calls each night to say goodnight even if I have just seen him. I am his parent but at this point I am barely parenting him. The counselors comment about how I nurture Peter with food and how spoiled he is compared to the other kids, recieving videos to watch and games to play whenever he asks for them. I balk at their suggestion that we refrain from giving him so much and I do it for selfish reasons. I miss my son. I miss being his mom. I miss waking up in the morning to a hug, helping him choose his breakfast, clarifying his decisions for the day of what to wear and when to get ready for school. I miss knowing his friends and hearing his laughter in my house. I miss hearing him talk with his siblings and fight over the TV remote. I miss holding his hand at grace, kissing him goodnight and forcing him to go to church with us on weekends. I miss my son. I miss him like I have never missed anything in my life. There are times when I feel like someone is squeezing my heart because it hurts so much not to have Peter with me everyday, not to be his parent and make his parenting decisions. I never take pictures of the girls anymore unless there is an event because I don't want a period of time when Peter is missing from all of the pictures. I nearly went ballastic on the staff at the hospital when I heard that they had put Peter on Vitamin D and iron pills without talking to me. It was a medical decision based on his labwork but I was not consulted nor talked to until it was done. Those are the things his mother decides, those are the choices his mom makes in his life. When I visit Peter in the hospital I have to make sure not to make a spectacle of myself. He is 14 but I long to hug him for longer than I kn0w I should, breathe him in, memorize him and take him with me. I have nightmares about a fire at the hospital. I dream of paying off a staff person at the hospital to make Peter his favorite. I want to beg someone to choose Peter first if it ever comes down to it. If there is a fire save my son first, if there is a danger protect my son first, if I can't be there to protect him you be my proxy. If he's scared or sick or lonely choose him instead of reading your e-mails or gossiping at the desk - take care of my baby first because I can't and it's not fair.  
Someday Peter will know he was loved because he will understand that sending him to Solnit was not the easy thing to do. Someday when he is a parent he will understand that what seems so easy was actually the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. He will know that parenting him was my dream and to give that up in the hopes that someone else knows better or can help more right now was a truly heartwrenching for me. Right now it is 94 days and counting. 94 days of missing my son. 94 days of praying for a miracle. 94 days of loving and hoping and believing in other people to take care of my baby, my dream.