Identity Crisis

Our return tickets are purchased and we have a date marked in our calendars. It's official. We're going home.

Well, I'm going home. And Jim, he's going home too.


But this little bugger who proudly sports his England hat and binkie (it's World Cup season you know), now that's a little more difficult. Is he going home, or is he leaving it?

Mr. T has spent well more than half of his life in Mother England. Every one he knows, loves and associates with on a daily basis has an accent. He sat up, crawled and walked for the first time on the Queen's rich soil. This little flat on Cheddars Lane is the only home he's known. He knows where to find his toys, he knows the bedtime routine, he knows how to cleverly open the bathroom door and make a break for his toothbrush. This is his life and his home.

He has no idea that in a matter of weeks he will be ripped away from his home, to go "home."

My heart aches at the thought of his transition. Maybe it's because his transition from America to the UK was so awful, or maybe it's because all of a sudden I understand that he's aware of his surroundings to an unreal degree, but motherly guilt has been sweeping over me daily as our departure date creeps closer and closer.

How do I explain the concepts of moving, time change, jet lag, goodbye and change to a one-year-old? How do I help him understand that while life is spiraling crazily around him, there is stability in our family? How do I explain to him that while saying goodbye is sad, it can also mean the beginning of a new and exciting adventure? How do I comfort him when sleep deprivation and a major time change create an overly-sensitive and furious baby boy?

Sometimes I'm grateful for all of these adventures we're giving our son, and sometimes I just hope I'm not messing my child up! But for better or for worse, we are coming home, and just in time to celebrate the 4th of July--now isn't that fitting ;)