adoption related seriousness

a year ago

A year ago I woke up with a pounding in my chest. Every part of my body felt numb and wooden. I can hardly move with the weight of excitement crushing down on me.

And then this happened. Then we met the baby we had loved so long from so far. Then he was with us. And today the little moments come back to me. Sitting on the bed and feeding him his first bottle. Willing him to drink when he didn’t want to. Anxious thoughts about him being sick right before coming home. Trying to get his last dose of medicine in him for the malaria. Little gray sleeper with elephants on it. Laying on that bed looking up at us, strangers in a room together, strangers that were somehow now family.

“Home” doesn’t happen instantly. Or it didn’t for us. It took time. But time we have. So that day was a first step. It was the coming of home, not the realization of it.

When I think of his trusting little body lying in my arms for the first time I feel unworthy. How did I get so lucky? When I think of sending that first email to our adoption agency  I get chills thinking of how close I was to not sending it, to not ever hearing about him. Why did I send it that day? I can’t remember. I can barely remember sending it.

And that first moment he opened his eyes. I was holding him. He blinked and looked around. He looked at me. He looked at us. And I wondered, how could this have happened? How could we be sitting here with this most amazing treasure held in our arms?


A few weeks ago someone at the indoor playground, watching my son run in circles and laugh asked me where he got his energy. Not from me. They asked if he got his friendliness from us. He didn’t. I joke that my husband and I make introverts look outgoing. We’re a step above cave people. Really nice cave people though.

So that personality that is outgoing and engaging and draws in a crowd? Not from us. That’s all him. I like that. I like that I see a personality and worldview so different from my own. I love that he’s open and bouncing with energy. One of the beautiful things about adoption is there’s no subconscious beliefs at play that see this little person as a mini version of the parents. You can’t delude yourself that all his giftings and specialness come from you. Because they don’t.

I feel sometimes as I watch him that I’m watching the generations collide in him, the other parents, grandparents, whole histories of people coming together to form his unique self. What a gift to watch that unfold. What a weighty thing to realize I’ve been entrusted with that treasure. That life and pain somehow wove together a story where I get to be a second mother to another woman’s creation. That our family is richer and fuller and deeper because of that blending of bloodlines and histories.

And a year ago today I felt that weight in my arms. I felt the unworthiness and the blessing, the unfairness and the beauty come crashing down on me like a rush of water, I feel it still. And all I can do is lean into the wave, let it take me where it wants to go and count myself blessed to be here. To be holding the amazing child I get to hold today. To watch his life unfold. To watch the gift he is to the world unfold. To sit in the sacredness that is the life of every person on this planet. To watch that spark of God’s breath inside his soul come to life.

A year ago I woke up with a pounding in my chest. I feel it still. It’s anticipation. Not of what he’ll do, but of who he will be. The lives he’ll love and blend into his own life. The person he is and the person he’ll become. Him. My son. Created in the image of God. Created unique. Perfect.

adoption related mushiness, cave paintings of the soul, waiting

a true story and a note about onesies

True story: On Friday night our adoption agency contact emailed us with pics of K. I wrote back. “I love you. If you send me an email Monday morning telling me we have our <name of paperwork we’ve been waiting forever on> I will love you forever.” Monday she emailed me to say we had it and would have a scanned copy the next day.

I’m debating between flowers or chocolates to celebrate our undying love.  I already owe her a statue of herself for something from Thane’s adoption process.

Update pictures are like finding an ice cold Fanta while you’re crawling your way across a desert floor. They keep you sane. Well, saneish. And this set was exceptionally great. Because my baby has chub. CHUB. His little legs actually have chub on them. I squealed when I saw them. His new formula is agreeing with him apparently. Not being in the hospital for a few months helps too I think.


This is the onesie he’s wearing. This one right here. The one I bought for him. The one I sent in a care package after carefully making note of the size. Which means I touched something that has touched my child. There are no words for how good that feels. This is the second time we’ve gotten a picture of him wearing a onesie I sent. The first time I cried. Adoption hormones are insane I tell you.

He’s such a serious little guy in his photos. We have one from very early on with a little half smile and an amazing 26 seconds of perfection on video where he’s with his foster mummy where he gives her a little half smile as well. But the rest are very serious. I love his eyes. His little face is filling in now so they don’t seem quite so big. But they are just as beautiful.


And in one of those “I’m going to paint this on my soul in happiness” moments he just happened to be wearing this one in the picture that went with the paperwork we got this week. You can’t see the words in the picture of course, but I recognized it and smiled when I saw it. We’re so ready for him to indeed be our family’s little brother. And by ready I mean excited. The actually preparedness could be debated. Among other things I have closet shelves to finish, clothes to hang up, and a coming home outfit to buy.

It’s a good feeling to see him in clothes I sent him. It will be an even better feeling to dress him in them myself.

adoption related randomness, waiting

adoption process update

That title makes it sound so cold. Clinical. And ultimately the process is, it’s just piles upon piles of paperwork that sit on various desks until various people grab their various writing utensils and sign them. Then the news sorts its way down to us where a little email icon pops up on my phone screen telling me we have movement. And this week, finally, we have movement again. Another little checkmark in another box that brings us one step closer to meeting the little man we’re head over heels in love with.

A form we’ve been waiting on came in. We got the news yesterday and have a copy in our little virtual hands today. This means we have a due date for our next step, which will happen in just over two weeks. It means we’re now in a two and a half month window of time in which K will probably be joining our family. It means that just maybe in a few more months we’ll breathe again without feeling that tightness in our chest.

Because beyond all the cold and clinical parts of the process is a mom who really wants her baby home. Is a dad who works so incredibly hard everyday to provide the funds needed to pay the lawyers who help us bring him home. Is a 19 month old who loves to look at pictures of K on my phone and who kisses the screen whenever he does.

We’re getting closer baby boy, getting closer to getting you here, with us. And I know you don’t know any of this is happening. I know you’re happy with your foster mummy. I know while I lay awake at night wishing to hold you you’re happily content with the one who cares for you so, so well. It will take time once you’re here for you to know this place as home. That’s okay. We’ll wait. We’re good at waiting.


{{My sister and her family sent us these balloons a few months ago to celebrate passing another milestone in our adoption. So grateful for a family that walks this path of waiting with us. And who never once said we were crazy for diving in again six months after Thane came home.}}


the profoundly ordinary

The first blank page of the new year is staring me in the face.  Daring me to write something profound or meaningful or life-altering.  But what won’t leave my mind is the magic of the ordinary, the little daily moments that can make me catch my breath and pause.  Not trying to find a meaning or moral or life-lesson.  Just the sacredness of a moment that is and then isn’t.  A whisper that life is worth celebrating.  The little moments are worth celebrating.


in the snow with angel