There’s this thing that happens when you cross the line from filling out paper work to being a waiting parent in adoption. There’s no word for it (unless you’ve invented one- please do tell). It’s just a thing that happens. To your heart.
And I’ve avoided this. I think I’m avoiding it now, maybe. Stuffing it. Because it feels stupid. And at the very same time it feels very real.
Our adoption is ultimately about our someday child and what is best and good for him or her. It is about lovingly and willingly providing a home and a family for a child who will grow up into an adult and function as a part of society. Maybe get a degree and start a family.
But, it is also about us. I can’t deny that at this moment my arms feel terribly empty. That I am sad.
And I am so thankful- so so thankful for the people in our life. Because, you have been loving and understanding. You’ve helped us raise money and read our blog and prayed for us. You’ve given sacrificially. And we’ve sat together dumbfounded at your support. It seems like almost every evening, I have a thank you note to write to someone who has loved us more than we deserve.
So know that I am thankful. But, tonight I’m also sad. After chatting with a few girlfriends this evening, I walked by our “extra room” a few times- avoiding it. The lump in my throat was already there and I knew if I opened the door, I’d wilt.
But I did. And I did.
I inhaled and surveyed what few things we have ready for our baby; a white dresser adorned with baby shoes (given generously by friends whose children have outgrown them), a few baby books (our Christmas present this year from my aunt Pam), a few stuffed animals (all mine from childhood except for the little sheep that Chris bought when we were in Africa this summer) and the little side-snap tee-shirts by gerber (from my mom). My exhale left in sobs.
Unwrapping a few baby blankets, the tears pooled. And as they fell- the little hooded duck towel, white and trimmed in orange, made me smile.
I cozied myself in the rocking chair and opened one of our baby books- Let’s Play In The Snow. The tears dried as I read through, imagining the late-night giggles we’ll have reading through this book with our little one. And as I neared the heart-wrenching you-belong-to-me-and-are-my-favorite-thing-in-the-world ending that we can all count on in children’s books, my eyes warmed with tears again.
I know I’m not lacking anything at this moment by not being a mother. I know Chris and I are wonderful- just the two of us. We’re happy, in-love, never bored together and enjoy our life. But, there’s something about waiting. It’s just this thing that happens.
His high-school saxaphone sits beside the changing table, dust-covered, and I’m reminded of where we’ve come from. We were two decently messed up kids when we met. Our marriage almost fell apart less than 24 months of it’s birth. Yet, here we are and only by the grace of God in our lives.
It will be through that same grace and mercy that the Lord brings us a baby to love. Until then, my heart will ache and I’ll find a way to be patient, pursuing the One who created us both. The One who saved our marriage and is knitting our sweet spectacular child together.
Thank you for walking through this with us.