Jul 9th

I just got home from a late night diaper run to Target (of course we were down to ZERO before I finally made it to the store!) and need to do some therapeutic writing.  Since I was in the baby section, I just had to peruse all of the baby stuff (duh!) and, y’all, I just about lost it.  If I had about an ounce less self-control, I may very well have just sat down in the middle of the aisle in Target and ugly cried.  Admittedly, I’m super tired today…we are going on day three of no nap for Judah and him “accidentally” waking up Eden from hers after about an hour (when she usually naps 2-3 hours!)…and I know that makes a huge difference, but still.

I’m beginning to come more and more familiar every day with the ugly side of adoption (and I know it will only continue when he arrives home).  I’ve always known that adoption was so beautiful, such a miracle, etc.  But before any of that beauty and redemption can occur, something so dark and low and awful and just sad has already happened.

I’ve been so busy since the start of this whole journey…filling out applications and paperwork for our agency, prepping and completing the home study, then filling out the taxing paperwork for a million grants…I’ve had stuff to do that made me feel like I was working as quickly and furiously as I could to get to my boy.  And God has been so merciful and generous to us- unmerited favor was lavished upon us and our sweet boy so that we no longer have the burden of finances!  I’m speechlessly grateful for this…but I’m now staring down 12 months (plus or minus a couple months) of waiting.  Waiting.  Waiting.  There is absolutely nothing we can do now, but wait and pray with all our might that it will be sooner rather than later.  It’s such a helpless feeling, and I didn’t anticipate the heavy grief that has begun creeping into my heart with each passing day.

I call it Heartsick.  That feeling that’s simultaneously a lump in your throat, a pain in your chest and a punch in your gut.  I just wanted to sit in the aisle in Target and just weep and scream, “IT’S NOT FAIR!”  None of it!

It’s not fair that while we were celebrating your big sissy’s first birthday in Mill Valley under the shade of the Redwoods that your birth mama was in her loneliest hour of darkness waiting for your arrival just a few short days later.  It’s not fair that just two days after your very first Christmas, you lost everything that you came into this world possessing.  It’s not fair that I don’t know if you sucked a paci, or have a blankie or a special song or book.  It’s not fair that when I go to the store, I get choked up looking at the bottles and baby food because I know I’ve already missed it…I didn’t want to, baby boy.  It’s not fair that I feel nervous packing up your very first care package because I don’t know your size, or what toys you like or what things you really need.  It’s not fair that I didn’t get to cuddle you in the middle of the night and pick you up every time you cried.

I think about that so often when I’m at work.  In the hospital, whether it be lunchtime or 3am, not one baby is left to cry for long.  If his or her nurse is busy, another of us will step in and give a paci, pat on the bottom, re-swaddle, change a diaper, reposition, talk to, sing to- love on.  Before you went to live with your foster mama, sweet boy, did you cry alone?  Did someone pick you up and kiss you?  It’s not fair because wanted to be there when you were a little baby.  wanted to give you that essential, life-giving bond of trust and unconditional love.

And although I love your birth mama and your foster mama with a strange and mysteriously deep love for giving you life and keeping you safe until your forever Momma could get to you, I wanted it to be me all along, sweet Titus.  I’ve known for much of my life that I loved you, I was just waiting and searching to find you.  And, even though I was scared, sweet boy, I knew in my heart that first phone call that I heard about you that you were the one I’d been waiting for all that time.  I’m coming to you as fast as I can, baby boy and, if I could move Heaven and Earth to make it tomorrow, I would…and I am praying for the Grace and Mercy of God to shine upon us, yet again, and make it sooner rather than later.

I’m grieving these things that we all lost, Titus Elliot.  But my Hope remains in our Lord, who created
adoption and remains my strength on these hard days and nights of waiting.  I know on those days or nights where you were alone…you really weren’t alone.  The Spirit of the Living God was with you, comforting you, interceding for you.  And He was working on us, too!  He was and is preparing us to be your Momma and Daddy forever.  He is going to redeem the time between us that was lost.  I will not lose hope, for my Hope is in the Lord.

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