Letters For You: August 25, 2014

Hey there pipsqueak. Well, our paperwork has officially been in the hands of your caregivers for the past 21 days. Three weeks. And yet I feel like I've been pregnant with you for the last two years! My back definitely aches, my emotions are all over the place, and yes I've been eating way too much chocolate lately. But the good news is, I think we've reached the third and final trimester. We don't have an ultrasound or doctor's word to confirm it, but a mama knows when her baby is near. And you have never felt closer to me than you do today.

It's bizarre to realize that this part of the wait - waiting to know you - will soon come to an end. I've always wanted to be a mother. It's the one thing in this world that I've always been certain of. When I was a little girl I used to cut out pictures of my future children from JCPenney's catalogues and arrange them in family photo albums. As I grew, the desire to adopt started to grow within me as well. I can remember eyeing adoptive families in church, thinking how crazy awesome it was to see their beautiful, unique families in the middle of small-town Iowa.

Then I went to college and pursued a Women's Studies degree alongside some of the most amazing, awe-inspiring women I have ever met. I immersed myself in readings and discussions about women around the world, and the universal experience of motherhood. For the first time, I saw that adoption isn't just about providing a family to a child who needs one. It's also about joining hands and hearts with another woman somewhere around the world - a woman whose daily life is undoubtedly very different than my own, but whose intrinsic desire to provide the best for her children rings true with my innermost desire. I started to imagine your mother, and your future siblings' mothers, and how beautiful it would be for me to come alongside them and pick up where they've had to leave off. I will forever cherish the fact that you have another mama, and I know I'll spend many days sending quiet whispers her way, hoping that I'm doing right by her.

So now here we are, 21 days in, waiting for a simple phone call. Waiting to hear your name spoken aloud for the first time. Waiting to hear how many trips around the sun you've made without us. Waiting to find out if you'll clutch our fingers tightly, or squirm in our arms, or prefer to keep your distance for awhile. Waiting to see your spunk and your sass and your hurt and your strength. 

I hope someday you know how deeply loved you've always been. How much I've always believed in you, and how hard I've searched to find you. I often wonder what I was doing on the day you were born - if I was in front of a classroom teaching students, or walking around Park Slope with my headphones on, or if I was playing with one of your cousins, or falling in love with your daddy. Wherever I was, whatever I was doing, I know that our lives intersected that day. Ever since then, I've been taking steps towards you- not always knowing what I was doing, or why, but knowing that I was searching for something wildly amazing. 

You are my wildly amazing. 

Someday soon, when you get home, I'm going to walk you through the back fields and show you this hidden spot. I'll hold your hand as you cross over the wobbly pieces of wood that serve as a makeshift bridge across the creek. You'll run ahead, bubbling with laughter as I chase behind you. We'll duck under the long hanging branches and shoo the gnats away before turning the corner and feeling the sun spill down over us. Then I'll look at you and marvel that we somehow, someway, managed to find each other. 

Thinking of you tonight sweet little one,