Sometime in September we passed a little milestone in our life together. Half of his life. Half of his life has now been spent with us. Seven and a half months apart, seven and a half months together. The first half of his life went much slower for me than the second half. Funny how that works.
Having him with us is the sun and the moon and the stars and everything wonderful. We are so lucky to be his parents. To go from watching him grow up in pictures to watching him grow up in front of us is a treasure. I can still remember the ache of missing him and the thrill of first holding him. There was a time I thought our dream of adopting had died, and it still surprises me sometimes that we have a baby. That he’s really here, with us. That this little family of ours where no one shares a bloodline somehow all stumbled into each other, met each other, have each other.
I think of the people who questioned if we would regret not trying to have biological children and I can happily say we haven’t. Not for one second. This is the path I was meant to be on. This is the type of mother I want to be. I still don’t quite understand where God’s will and destiny and man’s choices intersect. I’m not sure why some babies get the luxury of growing up with their first families and why others need second ones. Why some are giving so much much and others so little.
But this I know. I love my son with every bone in my body. And I’m going to cherish every moment I’m given with him.