Jung Sook

We had been parenting for a little while, when I decided it was time to have a discussion with my wife, who, I am grateful to say, humors me when I take things too seriously.

Things are going pretty well, I said, but we’re about to leave the diaper phase of parenting, and once we’re out, I have no intention of going back.  So, either we stand happy with one, or it’s time for a second.

Her response was unphased and immediate.  OK, she said, but this one needs to be younger.

Hmmm.  Our first came to us at seven months, and overseas adoptions are not always run with the precision of a McDonald’s kitchen—so the paperwork alone might prevent this.  In addition, he came to us speaking, and, most crucially, sleeping through the night.  This last point was a streak I would gladly preserve until, say, I was parenting a teen who had curfew issues. But when you are married to someone who, among many other things, is one with all children, you don’t toy with relative minutiae.

This round of paperwork was much smoother, as we worked with the same social worker who had guided us through our initial process.  We answered most questions with examples of what we had experienced with our first, and while we hadn’t been perfect, the balance of our efforts spoke for themselves.  I don’t remember any discussions about how long the wait would be, but for some reason, I thought it might be a while.

Nope.  Our wait time for Number Two was about three months, shortcutting nature with room to spare.  It was also a little more euphoric; while we were delighted when we first became parents, the almost daily articulations of our toddler about the joys of having a sister were more pronounced, and therefore, more inspiring.  We didn’t share our news with anyone beforehand.  The miracle is that our son did, but since he was at that phase of language acquisition where only we understood him, everyone smiled, nodded, and said “Yes! Yes!” with not the faintest clue as to what he was saying.

The big day came, and we headed to the airport as a trio.  Our second was coming in on a day flight, so the airport was more frenzied than when we picked our first up at night.  That, and our first could not contain his delight at impending brotherhood, despite many, many, many trips on the airport escalator as we waited.

And then, like magic, there they were.  Younger babies get chilly, so there were ample blankets and the cutest little beanie covering the head of a body that was clearly much smaller than our first had been at his American debut.  More important, any effort to soothe them by cradling them was absolutely futile.  If the goal was calm, you put them over your shoulder, so they could see—where they were, where they had been, and where they were going.  That has been their story.

After ample soothing and cooing with Mama, they had their chance with me.  Three month-olds do not have the heft of seven-month-olds, and as I held them—yes, over my shoulder– I was convinced I was either going to drop them, or heave them into the air and have them land in the next terminal.  But I got the hang of things, realized how much this moment reflected their Korean name, and hoped every moment here on in would do the same.

You see, Jung Sook, so we are told, is Korean for right and pure.

Essence

What do I do if I am loved by Love?
What do I do if I am made by Love?
What do I do if I am governed by Love?
What do I do if I am the reflection of Love?
Love.

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