You are not the momentary whim of a careless creator experimenting in the laboratory of life. . . You were made with a purpose.

 

 

Little One, we're only given this one life. Just one... and if there is one thing I want to teach you in this world, it's to find your purpose and appreciate everything in this beautiful journey we've been given. 

 

Appreciate the quiet calm of a sunset. Appreciate the purity of the air that fills your lungs and sends oxygen to your beautiful brain. Appreciate that brain of yours- marvel at the intricate, mysterious way it works without us even knowing how or why. Appreciate your sense of wonderment and your talents.

Appreciate waking up in the morning- even on the days when you've woken up on the wrong side of the bed, even on days you don't want to get out of bed...appreciate waking up. It's a luxury many see come to an end far too soon. 

 

Appreciate the bad time, for they are the shading on the bright focus of a picture. Without the bad, we wouldn't see the beauty in the good. I want you to believe that there is good in everyone, as hard as it is some days. I want you to see beauty in the darkest of places, because that is often where the beauty of life is hiding.

 

I want you to live. Really live. I want you to take the long way home, driving with the windows down as you feel the wind tickle your hair around your scalp, sending shivers down your spine.  I want you to see and do everything on your bucket list. I want you to try new things, even if they are scary or foreign. I want you to never stop learning, to want to know more always, to seek out the truth and meaning behind everything.

 

I want so very much for you, Lo.

 

I want you to have the best life possible. 

I want you to find your purpose, because once you do- you are really living.

 

My purpose is to be your Mom. 

My distinct feeling throughout this whole process has been just that... I was put on this earth to find you, to be your Momma. My purpose is to give you these things, to show you the beauty of this world and teach you everything I possible can....

And above all, my purpose is to love you. Sweet baby, I am going to love you in a way only a parent can- that fierce kind of love, the kind of love that would stop a freight train. That is my purpose in life. My purpose is to be a mother. 

 

But I know I am more than that. My purpose to be a mother was not accidental. My purpose to be a mother was set apart from the rest, because I  will be a mother through this miracle that is adoption. It's a purpose I don't take lightly, baby. It's a purpose I appreciate and try to learn from every day.

 

I will not know motherhood the way most women do. I will not know what it's like to feel the cold jelly of a sonogram machine on my stomach to find out your gender. I will not know what it's like to feel your kicks from the inside, or to hear your heartbeat for the first time. 

I will know motherhood in a completely different way. In what is possibly the coolest way. My motherhood will be so instant, and at the same time so gestational. I get to experience what most other Moms don't. I will get a call to know your gender. I will be able to hold you, this tiny person already formed,  whose soul I've been connected to for so very long, and get to know you in a way most mothers can't understand.

 

My purpose is to advocate for that amazing miracle. Once you're in our arms, adoption will still be ever present. It will be in our lives every day, in one way or another. It won't always be front and center but it will be part of the background scenery forever. My purpose is to be there for new adoptive mothers, to be a sounding board and help them through this scary process. I am so thankful for the brave women put in my journey so far to help guide me, that I want to give that back as much as possible. 

Once you've found your purpose in life, there is a fire lit from under you that cannot be extinguished until it's fulfilled. It's a drive that takes over you, body and soul, and consumes you. It's a beautiful energy that comes from nowhere. It's the will that tells you not to give up when you're exhausted from trying. It's the whisper in your ear telling you to keep on hoping after another failure. 

 

I appreciate the purpose. 

 

I don't know what your purpose will be, sweet baby. That is for you to find out... but just know your Dad and I will support you in the journey to find out, and we'll always be here patiently waiting to see what you find. We'll do everything we can to support you following your dreams. Maybe in thirty years when you look back and read this you'll think, "Really Mom? I was your purpose in life? Dream a little bigger next time.... I mean, I am going to be President*, and all you wanted to be was a Mom and adoption advocate?" (* or doctor, or lawyer, or sanitation specialist---again, that part is up to you!)

 

But then I'll look into the eyes of the beautiful child that I worked for five (or more) long years to bring into our lives, the one who appreciates life and learning and the pursuit of their own happiness... and I will smile and tell you how very worth it it was. 

 

I will always appreciate you. You are my purpose in life, and I will appreciate every breath that fills your lungs, and every thought in your amazing brain. 

 

Being your Mom is going to be the most amazing journey I've ever embarked on. 

 

I can't wait to fulfill my purpose.

 

With love and wind in my hair,

Love always and forever, sweet baby, 

 

Mom 

Remember, the storm is a good opportunity for the pine and the cypress to show their strength and their stability.

 

Little One, we weathered the storm. This Monday hurricane Sandy hit, locking your Dad and me in the house until this morning. Monday night was one of the hardest we've been through together. The eye of the storm passed right over our house. We slept in shifts on the couch, one of us asleep lulled by the sound of our hand cranked operated weather radio, the other holding a flashlight, vigilant to any noise of creak that could signal a tree about to crash onto our home. We huddled on the couch as a family, your Dad and I and all the pets. We protected each other.

In the quiet hours before the storm hit, but after the electricity had gone out your Dad and I made the best of it- we played pictionary, did crossword puzzles as a team and made hand shadows on the wall. We attached glow in the dark neon wristbands to doorways and the staircase to be able to navigate our own house. It's such a weird thing when there is no light- you're in a place so very familiar and yet it all looks so different, so alien. It's like meeting someone you forgot you met the first time- so familiar, yet so distant.

When the light of morning hit, we braced ourselves to open our front door and assess the damage. Walking hand in hand out the door, we were at the ready to call insurance agents and discuss deductables. Miraculously, nothing was damaged. There were branches, leaves, even garbage cans littering our front yard- but no damage.

We weathered the storm.

The most eerie part of it all was when our home was directly in the eye of the storm. It was one of my shifts to be awake, and as I stood looking out into our front yard, the hum of the generators making the air feel electric, everything suddenly fell quiet. No gusts of wind that howled like freight trains as there had been all night, no rain drops pelting the sidewalk with force- nothing. Just calm. Eerie, scary calm. It's that calm that comes right before an accident. It's that calm you remember last before you've forgotten everything else. It's the calm where all you can hear is yourself.

And I realized while looking out that window pane, that it's the calm we're in right now.

We're in the eye of the adoption storm.

The homestudy was hustle and bustle, the fall through and the scam were a mixture of hurt and picking ourselves back up and dusting ourselves off. We've stood strong in the wind and rain, and lately it's been calm. Quiet. Waiting.

But I know that soon, the winds will pick up again. The rain will soak through to our bones, we'll have to stand strong like we always have. But after that, it's over. The storm is gone, and the sun shines again.

We can't wait for your sunrise, LO.

Today is Halloween. It doesn't even feel like halloween, because your Dad is working late to make up lost time from the storm and we have barely any trick or treaters. And yet, I'm still lonely from it. I miss the children dressed head to toe in costumes, holding out bags asking for those sugar packed candies with bright eyes. I remember the days of my youth, going out with my parents in gorgeous homemade costumes my mother had spent months stitching together. Then, as a teenager- opting for the pop culture references that adorned the party store walls. I'm ready to be on the other side. I'm ready to cross over, to be the holder of the little hand across the street, the pusher of the stroller, the impromptu coat rack when costumes get too tiresome to wear at the end of the night.

I hope that next year, we'll have our little sunshine to dress up. I hope next year, I can cross over.

I hope that we're out of the eye soon, because we're well rested now.

We're ready for the wind now.

Waiting for you sunshine, 

Love always,

Mom

Though the wait is long, my dream of you does not end.

Little One, this blank page is haunting me. I've been trying to write to you for weeks, and the words just aren't coming. I'm not really sure why, but I think I have an idea.

 

It might sound insane, but a fraction of me feels like with every passing week that goes by that you're not here, I'm failing you. I'm doing something wrong. I'm not doing enough, I'm doing too much, I'm looking but not finding. Every day that goes without you here, I feel like I'm not living up to my full mother potential.

 

I know that sounds insane. I know, logically, that I cannot control a lot of the aspects of this journey. But for some reason, I can't help feeling like a failure when people ask if we've adopted yet, and I tell them no. Or when I open up the door to your nursery, and I can almost physically feel the emptiness of the room hanging in the air. Or when anniversaries pass-- which seem to be happening more and more often. We thought we'd have you in June, but no. Then we thought you'd come into our lives in October, and we would get to buy your first Halloween outfit. But no. Then we thought, okay- by Thanksgiving- this match should come through.

But no.

 

Week after week after week.

Holiday after holiday.

Ridiculous date after ridiculous date.

 

And the craziest part about all of this is that we're making up these insane deadlines in our head. Yes, we've talked to potential matches in every one of those scenarios that haven't worked out for one reason or another (fall throughs, scams, lost contacts). But it's not the other person that is putting these ideas of a timeline in our head- it's us. We're the ones who are putting this pressure on ourselves.

And it has to stop.

 

You're going to come into our lives when you do. If a situation doesn't work out, then it just wasn't the one that was meant to be. Then it wasn't you. It's so hard to remember that, but we have to in order to keep a level head. When I think of these dissapointments, I try to remember the red thread.

I've talked about the red thread in here before: but basically it is the idea that an invisible red thread connects us all in the adoption tried- us, you, and your biological family. We're all connected by this invisible thread, and it will come together when it's meant to be, because that thread is unbreakable.

And yes, I obviously wish I had a blacklight that would light up this invisible thread and we could follow it to you. But it doesn't work like that. I am a firm believer in things happening for a reason, and though the wait is hard I'm not giving up that idea. When we have hurt, setbacks, pain and heartache- they are all for a greater good. We might not be able to see that good in the present, but in the future we can look back and realize how much we learned and grew in this time.

 

Just the other day I heard a song on the radio that took me back to my college days. More specifically, this was a song I listened to on repeat after a particularly bad breakup. And it made me think (the way music often does), that if time wasn't so linear I wish I could jump back to that time, to face that young college kid and explain to her that her tears are for nothing- because in just a few short months, she would meet the man she's going to marry- her true soulmate. That very quickly in the scheme of things, she'd be married and own a house with this wonderful man. That her life is going to be more amazing than she could ever imagine. That she is crying tears over something she doesn't even understand yet- because when she meets this man she'll finally understand what head over heels, earth shattering, life changing love feels like. That she'll be happy, very soon- for a long time.

And it made me wonder- in years down the road, will I want to travel back to this time to tell the present me that I'm worrying for nothing? To not waste the tears? That this is going to happen, soon, and that this whole waiting process will feel like a blink of an eye?

 

I sure hope so, LO. And that is one reason why I want to push myself to continue writing to you, no matter how hard it might be for me. I want you to be able to read these words and have your history with us, even before it begins.

 

Because though you're not here yet, you are here in so many ways.

 

And this way, you'll be able to look back and read and understand just how much we loved you before you ever came to be in our lives.

 

Though the wait is long, my dream of you does not end.

 

And it never will.

 

 

With love and hope,

Love,

Mom

I've learned the hard way that some poems don't rhyme and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next. Delicious Ambiguity.

Little One, life has thrown some curveballs at us recently. I'm not a big fan of change and unpredictability, but with change comes opportunity. The changes we're making right now might even lead us to you one day, and they will all be for a reason.

Last Friday a terrible storm slammed the entire east coast. It was 600 miles long, spanning across several states. Trees fell, hundreds of thousands lost power, and unfortunately, people died. We are incredibly lucky though, Little One. Even though I was mad that our power was out for three days and that we lost all of our food in the fridge and freezer, we're still lucky. We were camping over the weekend, and all we heard was the soothing pitter patter of raindrops that fell on our camper roof, lulling us to sleep. Incredibly bad things could have happened to us, but they didn't. Sometimes the curveballs that are thrown at us are for the better, even if we can't see it in the moment. 

On Saturday night, the campground pool was open late. They held a pool party with a DJ, and there on top of a mountain your father and I swam. Nothing above our heads but the clear night sky, the stars shined like diamonds. Off on the horizon fireworks went off silently- too far away to hear the noise, but close enough to see the spectacle. Your Dad and I danced, laughed and swam to the sounds of the DJ, the smell of honeysuckle tickling our noses and the summer air blowing through our hair. 

 

And on this perfect summer night, all I could think of was you. 

 

Will you like swimming? Will you be the one dancing to the music or sticking to the side of the pool wall watching? Will you think we're crazy to be your parents, or will you love our passion for fun? 

Life is so unpredictable, Lo. Right now, you're so unpredictable. In a way, that is scary for me. I'm a planner by nature. I like to know the whens and wheres of life, and if there are none I like to find them and put them into place. But over the past week, as we've been thrown things good and bad, I'm remembering a very important life lesson: it's all in perspective. Bad things are only bad if you make them that way, sweet baby. A lot of things in life are out of our control, but how we react to them and how we view them in this world is the one thing we do have control over. 

Unfortunately, as an adult, you want to control everything but you just simply can't. And sometimes no matter how hard you work or how much effort you put forth (especially if you enter the corporate workplace), someone is going to try and trample all over you. Stick up for yourself, don't let anyone ever hurt you - and take as much control as you can. What you don't have control over, have faith in. Whether you believe in a higher power or not, have faith that it will all work out in the end, and if it's not worked out yet, it's just simply not the end. 

Sometimes, it's hard to see the success you've already met. Success and opportunity are like icebergs: you only see a preview, a portion of what is to come. And when you least expect it, the larger and greater good beneath the surface will emerge. I feel like the changes we're experiencing now are just the tip of the iceberg, that what lies ahead is far greater than what we can see in the immediate future.

 

We're still in the waiting to wait phase, but it is quickly coming to an end. We should have the homestudy back in our hands in less than three weeks. I feel like now this time seems to be moving incredibly slow, but that life will move a lot quicker soon and that this time will feel like a blink of an eye in the future. 

 

But now we're prepared to get our profile up. Last weekend, your Dad and I got pictures taken in the park for our profile. It was lovely, and I love the way they turned out (here is a preview): 

And my favorite: 

 

 

I see the tip of the iceberg, sweet baby. Now comes the time to wait for the rest.

 

With delicious ambiguity and lots of love,

 

Love,

Mom 

It takes a village...

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="602"] Reflection: the view from the hike we took in the park by our house on Saturday.[/caption]

Little One, I've been reflecting a lot lately. I've realized lately that adoption is the ultimate truth to the old adage that it takes a village to raise a child... only with adoption, it takes a village to find our child.

And boy, Lo. We've got quite a village around us.

 

Over the weekend, we recieved gifts from complete strangers of the following:

[caption id="" align="aligncenter" width="570"] Your future things![/caption]

It's a baby bath tub, a co sleeper, a high chair, a changing table pad and a closet organizer. My sister has also put a lot of stuff aside for you from your cousins. Our neighbor is holding on to things for us. There is an entire community cheering us on every step of the way. It's such a beautiful thing to be thought of and given things from strangers, neighbors, family and friends. We're so incredibly lucky, Lo.

You're so incredibly lucky.

I have friends calling to tell me they've seen our flyer up at places where we haven't put it up. Our family, friends and neighbors are working hard to get the word out on our behalf. They are all so involved and caring. They ask how we're doing, they excitedly inquire about potential nursery decor and offer words of encouragement when we're having bad days. Strangers happily say congratulations when we tell them the news that we're trying to adopt. The world has been painted in a much more positive and beautiful light for us since this journey began.

 

Here is the thing, sweet baby... this whole village isn't just surrounding us for the here and now. The village surrounds every aspect of adoption. You're so lucky in that aspect. Most children have two people involved: their Mom and Dad. To make our family, there will be at the very least six people involved just for the match to be made. There will be us, your biological parents and two lawyers. That is not counting the potential counselors, social workers, physicians, nurses, extended family on both our end and your biological families end. There will be an entire team getting you to us: a team Little One. We're part of the founding members of team Lo, but trust me your team has more members on it than an NFL league.

It will take a village to even get you here, baby.

 

If you've never seen the symbol for adoption, it empitomizes this theory. It's a triangle intertwined with a heart. It symbolizes the three sides of adoption: the adoptive parents, the biological parents, and the adoptee (that would be you, Lo). They are all intertwined within a heart to show that all three sides are touched with the unwavering love of the adoption, and each other. We're going to love your biological parents so much, Little One. They are giving us the best gift in the entire world. Hopefully, they'll love us an incredible amout as well. After all, they are trusting their greatest gift with us, in our hands and our care.

 

And you will love both sides, and that is perfectly okay. We want you to love both. We want you to realize the sacrifice your biological family made for you, and realize that we're no better than they are, and vice versa. We're just pieces to a big family puzzle, Lo. We are people that love and care for you above all else, and we just happened to be in different places in our lives at a certain place in time. That doesn't mean they don't love or care about you, and we want you to love and care about them too.

 

Don't ever, even for a split second think that you loving them will make us feel threatened. It won't. And to that point, we're not the important piece here, we're not whose feelings matter in this equation. It's ultimately you who matters most, sweet angel. It's your feelings, your love to give. We respect and honor that. We realize that your heart has so much room in it, room for more than just us. And that is okay. That is a concious decision we made when we  decided to adopt, and why we would like an open adoption. We realize that you have enough love to give to this entire village that brought you here.

Love the village, Lo. Love every entire person in the equation. It will only make you a better, more well rounded person.

I've thought a lot lately about how it may seem for you as a child. Will it be normal to be adopted? Will it be special? Will you boast with pride when people ask about your family? If you have a visit with your biological family, will that seem normal to you, or will you wonder why other children don't have those visits?

No matter how you see it when you're young, I hope you see that we are making the decisions that we think are the best for you. You might go to school and talk about your Mom and your First Mom, and that may confuse your classmates. But always know that it's a blessing to have so many people care and love for you, not a curse.

It's a blessing to have this village. I hope you see it as a blessing too.

 

I'm sure it will also take a village to raise you. But I'm not worried. Between our supportive family, the beauty of open adoption and the community around us, our village will be nothing but people ready to help you and our family.

 

We have a full team of "love soldiers" working on our side. When you make your appearance, it's only going to get better. You're going to have this love and support forever, as are we- and for that, we're the luckiest little family in the world, Lo.

 

The Village Waiting Mother,

Love,

Mom

Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans...

Every day, in every way it's getting better and better, Lo! I love the song Beautiful Boy by John Lennon, and I've been listening to it on repeat lately. Whether you're a boy or a girl, it doesn't matter- you are already beautiful in our eyes.

Music helps your Dad and I a lot through this journey. We've been listening to a lot of the Beatles (In My Life has been another favorite) and I've also been obsessed with  the Michael Buble song Just Haven't Met You Yet. I know it's a song about romantic love, but the lyrics are so perfect right now. It's full of hope and faith: the love is there, we're just waiting for the right moment.

And when it happens, it's going to be amazing and life changing in a way I don't think we can even understand until it happens.

Do you know that moment, Little One? That moment where you can feel something big coming on and your heart beats heavy and leaps into your throat? That moment when you know you're standing on the edge of greatness? I've had this moment only a few times in my life, but lately I have this overwhelming feeling that something big is about to happen. I had this moment when I graduated from high school, and again from college. I've gotten this feeling after a great interview when I've gotten a really good job. I got this feeling when we bought our first home. I had this feeling when I married your Dad.

It's this indescribable feeling, and I'm not doing it justice with words.

But this time the feeling is different. All of those other life events were things I controlled, completely. This is one situation where I cannot control every aspect, and I can't see the future. But I still have this feeling, and it catches me off guard some days. It's like a good surprise you didn't see coming at all.

We're almost done the homestudy. Just one more visit, and we'll be finished. Maybe that is sparking this feeling of a hopeful completion, but something in my heart tells me it's more than that. We don't have any solid leads or prospects right now, but something tells me it's going to happen. I wish I could put it into words, Lo. I wish I could articulate it to you. But it's this weird faith that I have and can physically feel in my chest and in my bones.

It feels like we're in the build up part of a story. Like when you're watching a romantic movie, and the music swells as the two protagonists kiss for the first time and it's magical. It's that moment you've waited for, and before it happens your entire body floats with anxiety and hope, and you feel weightless. It's that moment on the rollercoaster when you're at the top of the hill looking all around, and you get the feeling in your stomach that it's about to drop, even though it hasn't yet. It's standing backstage before a big show, looking at the lights and the crowd before you take a deep breath and jump out (unless you have terrible stage fright like your Dad, because while standing in the wings is exciting for me, it's dreadful for him.)

It's that moment right before the greatness.

Look, Little One- when you come onto the scene, life for us is going to change immeasurably in a great and powerful way. Life is never going to be the same. We're going to fall in love with you in a way neither of us has ever loved before, and we cannot wait. You are the greatness, and we're stuck in that moment right before the big kiss, the opening night, the adoption day.

But we know it's coming because we've got that whole faith thing down. And for now, before we get to the greatness we're enjoying the anticipation. It's going to be so life changing, so beautiful and amazing when it happens. It's going to be surreal and other wordly.

It's going to be us, as parents, and you, as our child.

Really, Lo, you're going to blow us away, just like all the dandelions we've been wishing on lately. Until then, we're holding on to the edge of greatness, and loving every moment of this feeling.

With a floating heart full of anticipation,

Love,

Mom

Hope says, "I wish my future will be bright," where faith says, "I know my future, and it is bright."

We had an inspiring weekend Little One. Your Dad and I took a trip to Virginia to attend the Families for Private Adoption Seminar. Words cannot describe how amazing it was.

We arrived Friday afternoon and stayed at a nearby hotel, so we were able to relax. We went to a movie, walked around the Tysons Corner mall and had a nice dinner out. It was wonderful to feel like we were getting away for a little while.

The next morning, we were on our way to the seminar. It was a gorgeous spring day, the sun was shining and the sky was blue as ever. We walked into the church conference room where the seminar was held, and immediately it felt like a big hug. It was such a friendly, warm environment that felt so supportive. We heard stories from all walks of adoption life- successful adoptive parents, adoption lawyers, social workers and even a birth mother. It was wonderful to get perspectives from every angle.

Looking around the room, I couldn't help but think I was surrounded by the best parents in the world. Not to pat our own back, but adoptive parents are a certain kind of special, Lo. They are the parents that fight for their children from the very start. They are the parents that want more than anything to be parents. They were just like us. We're not alone in this.

It was amazing to hear from adoptive parents who had sat where we were sitting not long before, and knew what it was like to be in the trenches. It was amazing to hear their stories of how they did it, and see their beautiful babies. It was amazing to hear from a birth mother who was still okay and proud of her decision, even though it was 28 years ago. It was amazing to hear how she was a part of her daughters life, walked her down the aisle on her wedding day with her adoptive parents. It proved that our idea of family does work, that we're not crazy and that thousands of families get there this way.

 

The last speaker of the day was a psychologist who is an adoptive father himself who gave a spirited talk about the difference between hope and faith, and it really resonated with us. Faith is knowing something is going to happen, whereas hope is, well, just hope. It's easily lost, a short fall from despair. But we have faith, now more than ever. We know this is going to happen, because we're going to make it happen.

One thing almost all of the speakers at the seminar said repeatedly was, "You only fail if you give up. If you don't give up, don't quit, you'll get your baby."

 

Well, Little One- if there is one thing your Dad and I aren't it's quitters. We're never giving up. We won't quit until we get you in our arms.

 

Tonight is session 2 out of 3 with our social worker for the homestudy. The last one is on Thursday. We're nervous, but it's a completely different feeling from the first visit. She knows us now, she's seen our home and now she's just trying to get to know us as people. It's hard to believe that soon the homestudy will be over and our focus will be solely on finding you. Hopefully the search won't last long, but we're willing to wait.

 

We're never giving up, Lo.

 

With faith,

Love,

Mom

Water is patient. Dripping water wears away a stone. Remember that, my child. Remember you are half water. If you can't go through an obstacle, go around it. Water does.

Little one, I'm having difficulty lately. I'm trying so hard to be patient, but patience is still alluding me and I can't seem to pinpoint the cause. We've only just begun this journey in January, we've only started the homestudy process in March, but I'm feeling incredibly antsy lately.This is not good, considering we could have months or years of road beyond us until we reach you.

Mothers Day was actually really nice this year. I even received pre-Mothers Day gifts from my Mom and Sister, and they are gorgeous and made me bawl. Here is what they look like:

Grandma made you a binky blanket with owls that is so soft that you Dad and I want to cuddle up in it and nap until you get here. Your Aunt made you a sign we're going to hang in your room that says, "Little One, You Grew in Our Hearts." It couldn't be more true.

It was the first Mothers Day in five years that I wasn't depressed. I have hope now, Lo. It's amazing.

 

Other than Mothers Day, I've been incredibly busy with work lately, so I've had little time to write. That doesn't mean that you don't weigh heavy on my mind every moment of every day. I'm in a coffee shop and the barista is pregnant. I want so badly to ask her if she knows anyone who is looking to make an adoption plan, but I know it could end up coming off as rude and hurtful so I bite my tongue and order my coffee, sans small talk. But she's pregnant, so she must know other pregnant mothers...what if this was our one shot, and my Miss Manners mindset blew it?

Sometimes, I feel like I want to be your mother so badly that my skin crawls with anticipation. I get so jittery at the very thought if it that I want to leap out of my body and find a way to fast forward time like some magical plot in a sci-fi movie.

Unfortunately, life doesn't work like that, and I need to practice patience.

I'm not good with patience, Lo. I hate to admit that, and I hope you don't get that quality from me. I wish I were patient, and I try my best, but some days are a lot harder than others. Lately I'm having more hard days than easy. Who knows how long this process will take? Some couples take years, others weeks. We have no crystal ball, no way of knowing what the future will hold for us or how long it will take. In a way, that is a beautiful thing. How often does life get to surprise you with something amazing, something out of left field? It's a rare time in our lives that we should be treasuring, not frittering away with worries and tapping our feet while staring down the clock.

 

Of course, that is much easier said than done.

To be completely candid with you Lo, I've always been impatient with exciting things. I remember one year my sister tested this theory. It was my eleventh birthday, and she got me a Will Smith CD (yes, I can already imagine your eyes rolling. At the time, it was an awesome CD. Big Willie Style defined my eleventh year on this planet. Oh my goodness, just writing that sentence made me cringe.I promise not to hold your pre-teen music choices accountable when you're an adult...because I'm sure there will be some winners there too). So it was in a CD case (which, considering the way technology is going- I will reference for you since I doubt they'll be around much longer in the future. A CD case is 5.5 inches by 5.75 inches- thanks to Google for that answer. I'm sure Google will still be kicking in the future, so I won't explain that one)... back to the story, she put the CD case inside of about ten boxes, all larger in size- all stuffed into a giant box leftover from a newly purchase recliner.

It took me a solid hour and a half to get to Big Willie Style, and she thought it was hysterical. Looking back, it was- but at the time, I just wanted to hear Mr. Smith serenade me about biting on cigars but not lighting them.

I never let your Dad surprise me. Every anniversary, birthday and Christmas he tries so hard to keep presents a secret, but I always figure them out. I'm probably the worst person to surprise, because when I hear there is something exciting coming I turn into a private investigator so skilled that the FBI could recruit me to learn my tactics.

So you can see how this process would be the ultimate test of patience for me. You are no CD or Christmas present. You're no birthday surprise party or hidden wedding shower. You're the greatest thing that will ever happen to us, and I've never been this anxious about anything in my entire life.

We keep hearing about situations from those around us, and yet none have resulted in you being here. It's difficult to hear, "Well I might know someone..." and getting nowhere with a promising lead. It's going to happen though, and it's a good thing that it is happening because it shows that the word is getting out and we will eventually make the match that leads us to you. But it makes it incredibly hard to remain hopeful and patient, and unfortunately the closer June gets the harder it's becoming for me. I'm trying to not let it, I'm working extremely hard to stay positive, hopeful and faithful. But it's the hardest thing I've ever done, Little One.

But it will be so incredibly worth it. And I promise I will never expose you to Will Smith's attempt at music. That's a promise. 

 

Patiently Gettin' Jiggy With It,

Love,

Mom

 

When you are a mother, you are never really alone in your thoughts. A mother always has to think twice, once for herself and once for her child.

Little One, it's been a crazy long week! I've been in Philadelphia for most of the week for work, and Rick has been home. It's been tough being away, but it was a good distraction from the impending black cloud of Mothers Day this weekend.

That was until tonight, when your Dad and I made the pilgrimage to look at Mothers Day cards at Target. Pouring through pink envelopes filled with sappy sentiments, cheap jokes and childish poems we found an odd card among the mounds of Mothers Day greetings. A card about waiting. The label actually said it was an adoption card. It even included the phrase, "you can finally bring your little one home."

And it hit me, Lo. This card was in the Mothers Day section, because I am amother. I'm just a childless mother.

 

It's a weird predicament not many would understand.

Lately I've been thinking a lot about motherhood. What does motherhood mean? How do you define it? When in adoption do you actually become a mother? Am I a mother because this is our decision? Am I a mother when you're placed in my arms? Am I a mother when the home study is complete? Am I a mother when the final adoption paperwork is signed?

 

I believe it's all of the above and none of the above. I am your mother now. I put your needs before my own, I think about you night and day, I live and breathe and would take a bullet for you. My every breath is only an effort for me to live to move one step closer to you. For the shot to hold you in my arms. For the chance to be your mother. I'm going through hell in my own head and heart in order to just have a glimmer of hope to be your parent. I love you more than life itself.  

My God, if that isn't a parent then I don't know what the hell is.

 

I am a mother. I am expecting you, I just don't know when. I have to say, maybe selfishly, that takes a bit of the sting off of mothers day. In the past, I didn't feel like a mother on mothers day, I felt like a woman who was bitter over infertility. There is still that woman inside of me, fighting to come out and hem and haw at mothers day cards and hallmark commercials. But then the adoptive Mother bear in me comes alive and fights that bitter woman down. and roars in her protective voice, "I AM a mother, whether society sees it or not."

It doesn't matter that you're not here yet. Motherhood to me means love, protection, fighting for your children tooth and nail for them to have the best life possible, nurturing, caring, placing the needs of your kid before your own. I do all of that and more already, I am Mom.

It might not be traditional parenting yet. I'm not yet changing your diapers, feeding you a bottle, watching you drift peacefully to sleep in your car seat on a long ride home. But I'm placing fliers up, handing out our business card, cleaning up for social workers, going to adoption seminars. I'm laying the groundwork for the diapers and bottles and car seat naps of the future.

My love for you surpasses everything right now. I love you beyond what a greeting card encompasses.

 

And Hallmark doesn't make a card for that.

 

Waiting for the Mothers Day card aisle of next year,

Love,

Mom

Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter, little darling, it seems like years since it's been here...

Here comes the sun, little Darling.

For some reason lately, we've been getting signs everywhere. I'm not sure if they are signs from those who have passed, signs from God himself or signs we're just making up in our own head. But regardless, we're taking them for all they've got.

My grandfather used to collect dimes. He'd give us dimes each time we'd visit, filling our piggy banks with the beautiful click clack clack of our dime collections from him. He'd always have dimes in his pockets, large dime replicas in his bedroom and books of collected dimes on display. He died when I was thirteen, and ever since then whenever I'm having a bad day or I need some reassurance, a dime appears out of nowhere.

This has been happening quite a bit lately.

On the night of our first home study, I found a dime shining right outside of our doorway. The other night I was frustrated and tired, and I opened the door of the oven to get out dinner and there was a dime in the bottom of our oven. Shiny and silver it stood out, and I audibly gasped when I saw it there. How does a dime get in ones oven? How would that even happen? It certainly wasn't there when I put dinner in the oven, so how would it get there?

My grandmother, who has also passed, always wore the same perfume. Every time I feel scared or I'm having a bad day, I will smell the same perfume. It's a strong smell, like when I was younger and she'd wrap her arms around me and my face, snuggled into the side of hers, would get a big whiff of the familiar scent.

I know these are not tried and true signs, Lo. But this is a little something I like to call faith. I know when I see and smell these little signs that they are my grandparents up there looking out for me. I know with my logical brain that they are probably just things I'm pulling from the environment around me that I'm sensitive to, but then my spirit comes in and knocks some sense into my logical side- and I know my heart that it's them.

The other day my father had to have neck surgery. Thankfully he's doing well, and in the long run it should help him a great deal. While my mother was waiting for him to be released, she took a cruise around the hospital gift shop. Next to a pink owl, she found this:



If anyone knows anything about me, it's my love of Owls. Your Dad and I are planning on doing your nursery in owls, and what did she find? An owl frame, with the phrase Little One. Now I know logically they sell hundreds of these frames in gift shops across the US, and that Little One is not a proprietary name that only we call you (though I must admit, we sometimes feel like it is!) But here it was, a sign.

I know I probably sound a little crazy right now, Lo. But in this process, all we have to go on now is faith. Faith in each other, faith in adoption, faith in our family and friends, faith in how we're doing this, faith in God, fate, kismet...and most of all, faith in you.

And we have faith. That is something I want you to have and cherish, Little One. Life is crazy. Life is unpredictable. The surprises of life sometimes bring terrible things, but more often than not it brings joy and situations so amazing and wonderful you wouldn't have been able to plan them yourself, because they would far surpass your wildest dreams.

Have faith.

Have faith in us as your parents, that we love you and care about you more than anything in this world. Have faith in yourself, because I know you'll possess more smarts and power than you even know. Have faith in the world, and whatever God you believe in. Have faith in life, that it always gets better, that you have a purpose and meaning in this world. Have faith that things will work out.

We do.

Things will come together, I'm sure of it. You'll come into our lives when the time is right, we know that in our hearts to be true. In the meantime, we'll be clinging to the signs we have and carry them around with us for comfort.

But we have faith, Lo. And no one can ever take that away from us.

The sun will shine on us soon, little darling.



Love,

Mom