adoption related seriousness

a broken hallelujah–remembering our referral

A year ago two pictures changed my life. Two pictures of a sleeping baby boy with a head full of curls and the sweetest lips in existence. Adoption is an imperfect answer to an impossible question. I happen to wish that all Babies could be raised by their first mothers & fathers, the people who brought them into this world, the people whose blood history they share. But we don’t live in a world where “shoulds” always happen. Life is messy and []

home

All throughout the process of adoption I tried to be careful about calling our life here “home” for Thane.  Even on his birth announcement I put “together” instead of “home”. I’m not sure all the reasons for the hesitation.  Certainly I thought it, I believed it, I wanted it.  But I also knew it wasn’t. He wasn’t coming home, he was leaving home. Leaving home to come live in a strange place that yes, would eventually BE home. Sometimes I think I []

the kindness of strangers

“How old is your son?”  she asked me.  It was a few weeks ago and my mom and I were walking past the line of people waiting to speak to the pharmacist.  Most of them stared at us.  Just a normal trip to the grocery store for Thane and I.  But she asked that question and my heart jumped a little.  “Your son”, not “the baby”, not “he”, but “your son.”  Just an ordinary question I suppose, between two moms.  I answered []