This Mother’s Day I was tempted to feel sorry for myself. Our adoption process is still on “pause” while we wait for the Tutterrows‘ case to go before a judge, and hopefully pave the way for the rest of us to bring our babies home. There is no real timeframe which has been maddening.
Meanwhile, my book appeared on Amazon and Barnes & Noble for pre-order one day last week, and I have been vacillating between the thrill of a life-long dream come true and a strange and guilty sense of “pretending” that I guess is a form of imposter syndrome.
I honestly had the best Mother’s Day I can remember this year, though. My parents were visiting, the weather was beautiful, no one was sick, Jason had the day off, and we all spent the day picnicking at the park. True, I do feel that I am still missing “someone” that I love. And I covet the assurance that this will all work out in the end, and I will hold that someone in my arms someday. But as we were all sitting down in the shade at a weathered picnic table with a red checked tablecloth to share fried chicken and fresh fruit salad, I felt such a feeling of contentment, I heard myself breathe, “This is really all I want. Just this.”
I realized then that even though this wait is frustrating, I shouldn’t be wishing it away. I should be savoring it. I may never again have this sweet hope and anticipation, this closeness and deep dependence on God, this overwhelming support and encouragement from friends and family who genuinely want us to succeed. I get to prepare for and dream of a new little person who will never be this “new” again. And likely, my kids may never be this excited about a younger brother or sister again.
After this wait is over, we will travel to pick up our baby, and that will be the climax of this long wait and all of the anticipation. That moment will be a tiny window of time when the world will seem to smile on us. And then we will come home; it will be the morning after the party, the day after Christmas, the long march home after a battle won. And life will continue. We will have to figure out what a new “normal” looks like, and it will be a lot of work. The attention will ebb, the excitement will wane. We will be left to our own routines.
This delay is precious.
I was suddenly so grateful to be a part of this process. Instead of feeling cheated and wronged by this complication, I started to feel honored to be included.
I have found it easier this week to quell those little voices that harass me, “You won’t get a baby. This will end in disappointment.” We said at the beginning that we would just keep going until God told us “no,” and so we keep pressing on. We have continued to raise money despite the uncertainty, and including travel we only have about $18,000 left to raise. I feel confident that we can do it.
I am thankful and blessed. Maybe that is what God was waiting for me to figure out.