In nine days, we’ll board a plane to Beijing. Five days after that, we take custody of our new son, and our lives change forever.

I’m scared.

I’m happy, of course. Thrilled, in fact. But I’m also scared. I won’t just have one child anymore. One child, I realize, is a relative breeze. Right now, nine days before Beijing, I have only one little person to look after, one person to get packed off to school, to do homework with, to drive to basketball practice. I have free time, which I spend doing freelance work, or walking my dogs, or cleaning my house, or going to Barre3,  or seeing friends. It’s nice. And it’s all going to change.

I’m not usually so great with change. I can be pretty uptight. But I’m feeling really zen about all this. No, we didn’t have airplane tickets until four days ago, and no, I don’t yet know what we’re going to name our new son. I don’t have any idea where we’re staying in China. I’m winging it on the whole language-difference thing, too. But I do know that over-preparing and expecting the worst is a joyless way to live life. I should know — I have 44 years of experience doing it. This time, with the help of pharmaceuticals, I’m just rolling with it. That approach is much easier. I rather like it.

When we adopted Bini, I didn’t write anything down. I thought I’d be able to conjure up the sights and smells and emotions of that visit, so I didn’t document any of it. I really regret that. Because although I can pull up the memories, the details are fuzzy. I’m not going to do that again. I’m going to write, even if the posts aren’t perfect, and even if I don’t have much to say. I want to remember this.

Yesterday, I went to work out and didn’t feel one iota of guilt because Bini is 6, and, save for the constant back-talking, he’s pretty easy. Last night, Bini went to a friend’s house for a sleepover, so we had eight friends to our house to play Cards Against Humanity. We drank mojitos and laughed until nearly midnight. I’m guessing that’s our last late-night social gathering for awhile.

This morning, because our son was at said sleepover, I didn’t rise at 7, as I normally do. Well, that’s not true. I got up and let the cat out, because he was meowing repeatedly next to my left ear. Also, I was worried that the dogs might pee in their respective crates. So I got up at 7, let the animals out, and went back to bed. Until 10:15.

I haven’t done that in … well, I can’t remember. The last time I slept past 8:30 a.m., I had the flu. It felt delicious and slightly naughty to just luxuriate in my giant king-sized bed BY MYSELF. (Steve went to fetch Bini.) I suspect that sleeping in will be infrequent, at best, in two weeks time.

I just finished putting my only child to bed. The routine is that he gets a story, and then closes his eyes to try and sleep. Steve or I stay with him and read our Kindles until we’re sure he’s asleep. Bini’s been increasingly clingy since the trip to China got closer, so we’re being extra comforting. He wants to read books from when he was much younger, he lapses into baby talk. He knows everything is about to change, too, but he’s excited that he’ll be there for the whole ride. I am too.

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