Knowing trees, I understand the meaning of patience. Knowing grass, I can appreciate persistence.

ImageIt’s already started, Little One. Mothers Day is less than two weeks away, and the ads are everywhere. They are inescapable. They are every other commercial on TV, the radio, Internet ads- they slap my in the face everywhere I turn my head.

And every time I see them, it’s like a punch in the throat. I choke up, and unable to breathe all I feel is the sting of the pain.

I am a childless mother.

I’m a mother from the ends of my hair to the tips of my toes. I can feel in my bones that I was born to nurture in a way only a mother does. I a mother without children, an odd paradox that gets abhorrently ignored in the greeting card aisle on Mothers Day. It hurts every year. Each May I think it will change, that either we will finally have children or that I will ignore my heart and soul and defiantly rise above the pain and ignore it. But I can’t, and it hurts me to my core.

I try to focus on the positive. This weekend was very positive, it was wonderful. Your Dad and I went camping like we do many weekends. We drove the hills and valleys of Pennsylvania farmlands Friday evening, the gorgeous sun setting over the hills in front of us. Holding hands the whole ride we talked about life, where we’ve been and the exciting places we’re going. It felt good to spend time with RB and my parents, to relax and reconvene with nature. Goodness I hope you find nature as amazing as I do. We spent most of the weekend driving around the campground on a golf cart, breathing in the fresh air and staring up in amazement at the large trees.

Saturday RB and I went to the pool and started talking with a fellow camper. Through our talk we told her we’re trying to adopt, and she revealed to us that her eight year old daughter is adopted. She was adopted from Guatemala, and she was the sweetest kid. When asked how she liked being adopted, her reply was, “I’m so glad God picked me and my Mommy and Daddy to be matched together as a family.”  Our hearts melted on the spot. You just never know who you’re going to meet, Lo, or what their story will be. People come from all different backgrounds and if you’re accepting and open and just listen for a minute, you’ll see the ultimate beauty in humanity.

On Saturday night my Mom and I went to play the campgrounds bingo. Let me tell you a little secret, Lo: I’ve never won a game of bingo in my life. Ever. And I’ve played – from elementary school classroom bingo to Catholic church basement bingo to campground bingo. Never a win, ever.

But Saturday night I had a thought. After playing seven rounds of bingo and coming no where near winning a single game I realized that maybe I have horrible luck for a reason. Maybe we’re all born with a certain amount of luck to be doled out throughout our life, and mine has been reserved for finding you. Each bingo game, raffle and lottery ticket lost is all because that luck is going into our Little One Luck account. If that’s the case, I’m totally fine with losing everything game in the world.

The next two weeks are going to be rough. Mothers day is still a hard one. But I have hope, Lo. I have hope in my heart that this will in fact be the last year I’ll be a childless mother.

But I need to be patient. I need to trust in hope and be like the nature I love so much: be patient like the trees above my head, but persistent like the grass beneath my feet.

I have hope that next year, I’ll finally be able to celebrate Mothers day with you – and that’s worth more than any bingo game or lottery ticket in the world.


Standing tall like the trees and grass,




YouTube Video

Little One, I’m not sure if in years down the road there will be YouTube. But I hope there is firstly, because it’s awesome, and secondly, because I want you to one day watch this.

This is what your Dad and I spent the night doing tonight:

Trying every avenue,


Mom and Dad

Any fool can criticize, condemn, and complain but it takes character and self control to be understanding and forgiving.

Lo, there are going to be people in life that just don’t get you. No matter how hard you try, not everyone in life is going to like you or the things you do. It’s an unfortunate fact of life that we all have to face. Sometimes, however, it’s a lot harder to face it. The more you care about something and have passion for it, the harder you take the criticism.

Admission: I hate the adoption criticism.

I thought I would get used to it, that I would let it all just roll off my back. But I’m not that strong yet, Lo. I’m trying to be, but I’m just not. And I will tell you why I’m not: because I love and care about you. I already have that mama-bear instinct to protect you at all costs. When people speak of adoption, they are indirectly speaking about you- but my mind makes a B-line from whatever they are spewing about right to your heart and soul. I spread my arms around the thought of adoption and you and get defensive to try to protect the very thought of you.

Lately we seem to be facing vitriolic criticism around every corner, and it’s only going to get worse with the more exposure we’re reaching. I understand that people have opinions, and our search for you and putting ourselves out there in the limelight that it comes with the territory. And do not get me wrong, I am more than willing to take the bullet for us to get our forever family. But what drives me crazy is that most of this feedback comes from people who don’t know or understand our story. They don’t take time to read my innermost thoughts to you. They don’t understand adoption, and yet they feel the need to spew their opinions all over other peoples dreams.

This is something we’ll have to face a lot, Lo. Unfortunately, not everyone understands or accepts adoption. I hope to help change that. I hope that when you’re older and you tell people you’re adopted, your announcement is met with love and understanding, not hate.

There is a life lesson in all of this that I want to drive home to you: Be curious, not judgemental. Be that way with everyone and everything you meet. Things are going to be different than your way of doing things or what you’re used to. That’s okay, in fact, it’s more than okay. It’s beautiful. Being different and diverse makes us an amazing pattern on a tapestry of humanity. It should not incite hate just because it’s not something you’re used to.

I want you to be curious, ask questions gently. Don’t form an opinion off of looks, culture or little information. Learn all you can, seek out the information and when you do form an opinion don’t push it on others for the sake of your own gratitude. Be an advocate for others. Never be a perpetrator of hate or injustice. Just because those around you are believing or not believing in something, I urge you to step outside of the circle of your peers and examine life for yourself. Form the opinion and view that is in your heart and mind, not theirs. God gave you your beautiful brain for a reason, use it for good.

I wish everyone had a mother that could teach them those lessons. But they don’t, and instead they push their insecurity and hate on those of us who are fearless enough to have dreams and share them with the world.

People are going to ask you these same questions, Lo. They are going to judge you for our views on life as well. Don’t let this ever get you down.

Let me explain the two biggest ones we’re facing right now- so in case you ever encounter them (which I hope if you do, it’s from people with a curious heart and not a mask of holier-than-thou hatred like we’ve experienced lately) you can answer them with our reasoning.

1. Why are you adopting independently/not through an agency or the state: We’ve gotten this one a lot, and sometimes it is out of curiosity, and on the other side of the coin we’ve heard people tell us that “something must be wrong with us” to have not adopted through an agency or the state, or we’re trying to hide something, or we’re doing something wrong or illegal. Let me assure you, that is not at all the case. Thousands of adoptions happen outside the confines of an agency or the state, and they happen that way for a reason. They are completely legal, done with the care and coordination of an attorney. The reason we are doing it this way is for your benefit, Little One. We want a relationship with your biological family. We want them to have a relationship with you. And I’m not at all saying that cannot or is not done through an agency or state arrangements, it most definitely is and often. But we want control of our marketing, we want control of speaking with expectant Moms. We want them to get to know us through us, not through a profile book (again, not every agency employs profile books or anything of that nature, some have direct contact). We’ve had to go through the same steps everyone else has, the homestudy, meetings with the social worker, the home exams, physicals, everything. The biggest reason is because this is what we feel in our hearts to be right. Other people feel that agencies are right for them: that is perfectly fine. Everyone builds their family in their own unique way, and that is to be respected and honored. Maybe one day we will use an agency- I’m no fortune teller (no matter how hard I wish it to be so). But for now, this is how we’re doing it- and I wish people would educate themselves and respect our decision.

2. Why are you adopting an infant? Why not an older child? This one really, really gets to me. I’ve been called a hypocrite numerous times in regards to this. I think the reason it gets me so angry is because it reminds me of another question we used to get before we started the adoption process: Why don’t you just adopt? (that phrase STILL gets to me). These questions are so hurtful because they minimizes the adoption process. They don’t take our feelings in to consideration. We’re not on a mission to save the world, we just want a family like so many others. Every time I hear this question I just want to ball my fists up and scream back in their face, If it’s so easy, why don’t you have adopted children/teenagers? Because it’s not easy! No matter what age you adopt a child from, it’s a hard, difficult process. I give huge kudos to families that foster, they are strong enough to put those children in front of their own feelings and know that while it may be difficult, it will be best for them to go back to their biological families when they are ready. I’m not in that positon right now. Maybe one day, but not now. I’m also not in the position to adopt a child who has had an abusive past (not saying that all foster/older adoptive children have), or an older child who might not bond with us well. It’s a whole other process to adopt an older child. It requires a lot of other emotional needs for both the adoptive parents and the child, and we’re just not there right now. We don’t want an infant because they are “cuter”, we want an infant because we want to have a family from where we feel comfortable. I’m not going to lie, Lo. I want the experience. I want the diapers, the late nights, the clothes ruined from burp-ups, the bottles and teething fits. Most parents despise those aspects of parenting, but I actually want that experience. Is that selfish? Maybe. But isn’t it selfish to think that just because you feel older children should be adopted that everyone should feel that way? Of course. Pot, say hello to kettle. I want to be in your life from a very early time. I want that bonding experience for you and me both. And if wanting what is best for our future child is wrong, then I guess that makes me a terrible hypocrite.


The point in all this is, we want to build our family the best way we see fit. I don’t come into other peoples lives who are posting pictures of their children or storm into baby showers or weddings or their birthday parties and scream at them, “WHY DID YOU BUILD YOUR FAMILY THIS WAY? HOW DARE YOU! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” Why do people feel they have the right to do that to ours? Why do they feel that just because we’re putting our story out there for awareness and advocacy that they suddenly are welcome to having a hateful opinion on our decisions?

I wish I understood, Little One. But I don’t know if I will ever understand hate or ignorance. But I do know that your Dad and I will teach you better than those people were taught. We are a family built on tolerance, love and understanding. I shudder to think that you would shut someone out just because they have a differing view than your own. People with closed minds don’t get very far in life, Lo. And I want you to soar.

I’m going to vow to myself to try and let these comments roll off my back, and focus on all the love and support we’ve recieved. There has been an immeasurable amount of good wishes and supportive messages coming our way, Lo.

And I’m not tell you this so that in years from now you can read back and feel bad that we’ve been through this, but I’d rather you read this and think, “Oh man, my parents weren’t joking about critical people with closed minds. I’m glad I was raised with love and tolerance.”


And bottom line? Haters gonna hate.


I know, you’re mom is a dork.


With nothing but love,


Don’t Ignore Adoptive Parents this National Infertility Awareness Week


Little One, this is an important week. Not only because of our good fortune the past two days, but also because it’s National Infertility Awareness Week.

I think it would be remiss for me not to mention our infertility to you, Lo. After all, it does play a part in how you’re going to be in our lives.

The other day, the TV reporter asked me a question that I’ve been asked several times, and it’s always a difficult one to answer: What were your first thoughts when you were diagnosed with infertility? I stared at her, unable to speak. I stammered over my words, and blurted out some rote response.

It’s a difficult question for me to answer not because it was some life altering moment, but because it wasn’t. I didn’t have my stomach drop to the floor, my head didn’t spin, I didn’t cry or have any reaction.

I was only sixteen.

My mindset at that time was, “Okay, deal with it later. What am I doing this Friday night?” There was never really an earth shattering emotional breakdown, just the truth. And I’ve realized something important Lo: that wasn’t my defining infertility moment. My defining moment would come years later: my legs spread open on a doctors table, my loving husband grasping my hand, a trans-vaginal ultrasound wand in places trans-vaginal ultrasound wands are built to go but should never go, the white coat straight faced reproductive endocrinologist saying softly, “I’m sorry Mrs. Miller. It looks like that round didn’t work either.”

That was my moment. Not when I was sixteen.

But I’m very lucky that I had that moment when I did. Sixteen year old minds aren’t meant to comprehend such news, and neither are twenty-something to fifty-something minds. What gave me a leg up when coming to my diagnosis realization wasn’t my age, it was my years of experience. I was not blind sided. I didn’t get married with hopes this would happen right away, I didn’t always picture a bouncing baby with Dads eyes and my nose on my lap. Because I had years to marinade in my diagnosis, take it in during small windows of my life, a bit at a time. Your Dad and I had plenty of time to discuss our options before we even walked down the aisle and said a single I do. My diagnosis didn’t hit me like a freight train- so it didn’t derail any image I had of a future family. I knew it was coming, I had time to prepare.

That is one of the reasons I’m such an advocate for infertility. It is not because I feel like I’ve been through so much, or I want pity or attention for my disease. Instead, I want people to have the experience I had. My infertility has been painful, it’s had moments where it’s hard to go on, there have been weeks of depression. But despite the hard moments I had a clear and concise early diagnosis. That is such a beautiful gift in the world of infertility that very few get the chance to experience.

I want to change that.

I want every woman and man who has to face this terrible disease to have a warning. I want young women and men to get tested for diseases that cause infertility early. I want there to be awareness. One in eight couples will face infertility. One in eight! So many women and men are walking around in this world, blissfully unaware of the freight train coming their way. I want to jump in front of them, knock them off the tracks and give them their due time to soak up the information, support and resources needed to overcome infertility before it really hits home.

There is this stigma around those with infertility. I’m not really sure why it exists, but I want to break the stigma. I’m not ashamed that I was born the way I am. My poly cystic ovarian syndrome is something that is a part of me, completely. I embrace it, I respect it, and I treat it as best I can. It has made me who I am, it has given me the grief of infertility, yes, but it’s also given me so many gifts. I am a strong courageous fighter because of my infertility. I have a voice that I’m not afraid to use because of it. It’s something I hope you never have to face, Little One, but if you ever do or know someone that does: I want them to know by the time you’re a twenty-something what to do about it. How to treat other people who face it. I want you to see the compassion and heartache the way your Dad and I do, and not run from it like so many people. Instead I want you and everyone else to be brave, look into the eyes of someone facing infertility and say the only words that need to be said, “That’s awful. I’m sorry. I recognize this is difficult because it’s out of your control, and it’s not your fault. I’m here for you, you’re not alone.”

Break the stigma.


If the stigma is broken, then the realness of infertility as a disease can heal and rebuild anew. Doctors will recognize the disease, as will insurance companies. They will begin to cover it, and people won’t have to stare down their bank accounts to see if having a family is even a feasible option. It will be treated as it should be: as a disease that should not be ignored.

I don’t want you to take any of this the wrong way, Lo. I advocate for infertility just as I do for many diseases and causes, not because I feel like you’ll be a second best, or a second option. Never, ever mistake it: you are the first choice. Your Dad and I have no qualms about adopting. There will never be not for an instance of your existence a doubt that you’re our child. Genetics be damned, you’re our baby, Lo. Already, and we haven’t met you yet: you’re our family. You’re a part of us in such a beautiful way.

And just for that fact alone: adoption advocates for infertility, and the multitude of ways to build a family.

There are so many wonderful ways to build a family, sweet one. Our way is the way we’ve chosen. It’s what is in our hearts, what we feel is best for all of us. Other people turn to IVF, IUI, clomid, injectables, surrogates, donor eggs, FET, donor sperm, donor embryo’s, gestational carriers. That is their decision, and it should be honored and respected.

People take their families for granted every single day, and not all give a passing thought that there are others out there that don’t have that luxury. We can change things in this word, Lo. Don’t ever forget the amazing power you possess as an American and human being on this earth. We have to band together for each other, and fight for what is right for all American families.

Genetics, whose uterus you were carried in, how many rounds of medicines it took- that isn’t what matters. In the end, a family is a family is a family.

Our family is strong because of infertility. We have love in our hearts because of it.

And the best gift we’ll ever get out of this will be you, Lo.

Never giving up the fight,



This week, don’t ignore adoptive parents. Learn about the different ways to build a family, and educate others. To learn more about infertility and National Infertility Awareness Week, please visit:

If one is lucky, a solitary fantasy can totally transform one million realities.


Wow, Little One. The past two days have been a rollercoaster of opportunities and good luck.

Yesterday I recieved a call from a reporter from a local news station. They took notice of our website (which I had posted on their facebook wall) and wanted to do an interview with us about our adoption journey. We happily obliged, and ten hours later we had a television reporter in our living room asking us about our journey to parenthood. It all happened so fast!

We hope this will get us more exposure, that possibly the right person will see us at the right time. Yesterday was one of those examples of how amazing this life really is, Lo. When I woke up yesterday morning, it was a just like any other normal day. But one phone call turned into an amazing opportunity for us to get our story out, and life hit us with a huge stroke of luck. We’ve said this before, but we want you to take note of this: every single day in this world counts. You have the opportunity to make it great, never lose sight of that, sweet baby.

Tonight was another huge milestone: we submitted our home study packet. We spent two hours taking up three workstations in the print shop while we copied, stapled, white-outed, inked in and stapled again. Everything was in order when we took our neatly arranged pile of paperwork up to the desk and asked for the mailing label.

The kind woman at the desk took our papers and envelope and put them on the scale. Her sweet eyes looked up and us and she said, “The total’s going to be $11.11“.


Our jaws dropped.

We looked at each other. Just me and your Dad, standing in front of the precipice of our make it or break it moment, and this sign came out of nowhere. Our eyes locked, and we whispered to each other, “Make a wish!”  Our hands squeezed tight, and we let out a huge sigh of relief.


We hope you come true soon, Lo.


On pins and needles waiting for our next day of luck and opportunity,


Mom and Dad

I have learned, that if one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours.

Little One, today is full of life. I’m trying to make a conscious effort to make everyday full of life, as it should be. This life we’re given is a short one, and we need to live it, soaking up every single second possible.

This morning felt light and dreamy. The rain came in yesterday, but today is so full of spring and sunshine that it makes my soul ache for the beauty of the plush green trees and striking blue sky (which unfortunately my tiny cubicle does not afford).

Despite the rain, yesterday was very productive. Our health department home inspection was tedious, but we passed. Our physicals went great, they were passed. We’re just a few steps away, over three quarters of the way done at the least. We’re getting so close to the finish line. It’s such an exciting time in our lives. This morning I booked a hotel and pre-registered for a private adoption workshop in a month. RB is excited about it too. We’re taking in as much information as we can: eating, sleeping, breathing adoption.

I have to make a note about this adorable thing your Dad does. It’s such a trivial thing, most people would not even notice it. But knowing your Dad, I know this little thing is a testiment to his love for you. Every time we hear the phrase, “Little One” – even if its not referencing a baby (ie, a car commercial where someone says, “I’ll take the little one”) your Dad gets this huge grin on his face and whispers to himself, “Aw, Little One.” It’s downright adorable, and it makes my heart sing every time I see it happen.

I have confidence that you’re out there, and that somewhere someone might be reading this and sharing out story, gettin the word out to the ears that are meant to hear it.

 I have confidence that soon, our day is coming.

I have confidence that in ten years, we won’t remember the paperwork, the waiting, the hard days. We’ll just be living our lives as a happy family, making memories each day.

We’re living every second of these precious moments before you come in to our lives, because we know once that happens we’ll be too busy pinching ourselves and being wrapped up in our love for you that we won’t notice that life is still going on around us.


Waiting for the common hour,



When the world says, “Give up,” Hope whispers, “Try it one more time.”

Little One, let me tell you about the day I knew there was still hope to find you out there. It’s going to sound a little weird, but it’s also the day we found out the expectant mom due in June has decided to parent.

That day is today.

I know it sounds odd, Lo, that we have found hope today. But we did. It is such a weird feeling that few would understand. We’re happy for that Mom. She gets the greatest joy in the world, the chance to parent. We actually feel blessed that we could be a part of that decision- that we could be a blip in her journey to decide how to make her family, because whether she knows it or not, she’s given the same gift to us.

That baby that we’ll likely never meet was a catalyst, a link, a tiny butterfly. They helped us learn that we wanted to, and could adopt right now. They are an important key in the journey to getting to you. And we’ve known all along it was a long shot (with adoption, it always is) but we protected ourselves and prepared for today. I’m not going to say my heart didn’t sink, because it did. I think that is a natural reaction. But after a deep breath, it rose back up and hope filled my heart once again.

I went outside to call your Dad and let him know we got word, and that it was a no. He was quite the same as I, sad, but happy at the same time. This is what was supposed to happen. This is how the pieces were meant to fall, and even though it may be hard to realize that now- it will all make sense one day. I’m a firm believer, in case you haven’t been able to tell, that everything happens for a reason. Nothing in this life is random. There was a reason we knew about that baby, and it was to get to you. Now we’re ready. Our website is up and running, our facebook page is active, our homestudy almost complete.

After hanging up the phone from RB, I stood alone in the courtyard at work. The gravel covering the ground is made of thousands of rocks, big, small, all different colors. My eyes glanced over the entire courtyard, and to my surprise there was one tiny shining penny, all alone. I picked it up and put it in my pocket.

You’re out there, Lo. Somewhere.

When I lifted my head and looked up at the sky, the gray skies parted and the sun shined right through them.

Our time is coming.



With unwavering hope,



Life is too ironic to understand. It takes sadness to know what happiness is, noise to appreciate silence, and absence to value presence.

Little One, is it weird to say I miss you? Is it weird to say I love you, though we’ve yet to meet? Because it’s true. Though I’ve never heard your tiny cry, the pitter-patter of your little toes on the bare floor or your silly laugh, I yearn for it. Though I’ve never seen your sparkling eyes, marveled at your long fingers grasped around one of mine or smelled your fresh baby skin, I miss it. It’s there in that space where it’s never been, and yet I feel like I’ve been there before. Almost like walking into a room you haven’t seen since you were a child. There is a musty memory where you’ve forgotten there was one, and seeing some glimpse of familiarity sparks a fire inside your heart of love and remembrance and yearning.

I’m in love with a child I have yet to meet, Lo.

Over the past few days, I’ve been kind of down. Looking around at the people in my life, I feel stuck. They are all getting married, moving in to houses, having children- then second and third children. They are on a line that’s constantly moving, and I’m watching as they go further into the horizon, but I stay in place.


We’ve been married three years now, Lo. We accomplished a lot early. When we bought our house, RB was only 21 and I was 20. Now, five years later, everyone is catching up. They are getting houses, having weddings- and we’re done that part of our lives. We’ve been struggling to start the next chapter for all these years. And my ridiculous fear is that they will now surpass us. I’m nervously awaiting more pregnancy announcements, more forced smiles while I say congratulations, more nights crying over the hurt of not having our dream come true yet.

Let me make something undoubtedly clear to you sweet baby: life is not a race. It’s so difficult to step outside of this culture and realize that not everything is a competition. That is what I’ve been struggling so hard with lately, is taking that step outside of myself and reflecting. I’m not racing against anyone, everyone is on a different path. But it’s so hard to keep that in mind when milestones pass everywhere around you, and you’re not one of them.

But that’s not what life is meant for, no matter how hard school, work and advertising will try to tell you otherwise. We’re on our own path. RB put this in perspective for me on a long ride home this weekend. He comforted me with his kind words, “Few people are on this journey that we’re on, and you can’t compare it to anything else. How many people do you know, personally, that have been down this path? A few? Sure. But not many. Not nearly as many that are having families through traditional routes. This is our unique journey, and no one elses. It’s too beautiful to compare.”

I know, he always knows just what to say. You’ll get to experience that too, Lo. He’s going to be one amazing father to you, and you’re going to be on lucky Little One to have him to call Dad.

I need to bow out of this silly race I’ve made up in my own head. I need to stop worrying so much. Yesterday, feeling overwhelmed and crushed under the weight of the important things this week (our physicals, the health department check) I freaked out. I became someone I’m not usually- I became bewildered, frozen, scared to death. I took it out on RB by being angry that we weren’t further along in the process than we are, when really we’ve done nothing but work as hard as we can to get everything done.

We sat on the couch, cradling each other and crying about how much we just want things to be perfect and go right. We wiped each others tears, held each other tight and talked about how important this is to both of us. We just want this to happen so badly, Lo. And we want everything to go smoothly so there are no bumps in the road to get to you, so we can have our family as fast as possible.

We’ve been waiting a long time for you. Our hearts are so filled with anticipation and joy and anxiety about this process that sometimes they stop us right in our tracks. Like a deer in the headlights, we stand frozen, unable to move- afraid one tiny movement will rock everything back in to place, and all our hard work will be for not. I don’t think RB and I have ever been filled with this much passion- except for each other.

It’s such a hard feeling to describe. Not many people would understand how we can miss someone we’ve never even met. But we do. We get it, we understand it, and we recognize it. We are so in love with you in our hearts, that we miss what we don’t yet have. And I’m so scared of someone coming along and telling us we can’t have it that it is killing me. I’ll be so happy when we’re home study approved, just to have the peace of mind that no one is left standing in our way to get to you. It’s a motherly instinct that took no hormones to achieve. It’s a pretty amazing thing to feel, because it is such a deep, unwavering, cerebral love.

I know I’ve said this before, but I realize it more and more in life: timing is everything. Timing is what can turn a bad situation into a life changing good situation. Timing means life or death. Timing means everything. And I feel like timing is on our side. Never in my life have I felt more prepared for you, and the same with RB. We have good jobs, we own our house, our cars, our camper. We have a great relationship with both sides of our families. We have amazing friends. We have a great support system. We are head over heels, heart-beating-out-of-our-chests-cartoon-style crazy in love with each other.

The timing is right on our end. But is it right on yours?

I had a dream the other night about my grandmother (your great grandmother) who has been gone from this earth for quite a while. In the dream, we were at dinner with the entire family when she came up behind me, put her hands over my eyes and exclaimed, “Guess who?!” I could feel the warmth of her hands, the weight of her soul and the smell of her perfume, but I couldn’t see her face. She continued to give me messages to give to my Mom and sister, but nothing for me.

After telling my mom about the dream, she thinks Guess Who is my message. I don’t exactly see it.

But maybe she is right. Maybe your great grandmother is holding you right now, figuring out the timing from your end. Maybe she’s waiting for the right time to release you to our arms after holding you tightly in hers.

I’m not sure, Lo. I’m not sure when you’ll get here, what your cry or laugh will sound like, or what color those sparkling eyes will be. But I’m sure of this: the timing will be right when it is right for you.

This is not a race, its a journey. We have to stop running, because maybe somewhere along the path you’re already waiting. And I wouldn’t want to miss a single step.


Walking slowly hand in hand with Dad,



There is power in numbers and there is power in unity.




Well Little One, this post is not really to you (though it is about you).

Nope, this post is to you.Yes, you read that correctly, its to you, our loyal readers. This post is to everyone out there: we need your help.

Our Little One needs your help.

I hate to be this person. I hate asking for help, for guidance, and above all else: I hate asking for money. But we need help  to get to Little One. We can’t do this on our own. We’re only two people, trying to become three. 

So far, this blog has had almost 2,000 views. Thats 2,000 people that could help us find our missing family puzzle pieces. Thats 2,000 people that could pass the word along. Thats 2,000 people that if they only found one friend to help us get the word out would make 4,000 people helping us find Lo. Ask them to find one other friend, and we’re up to 8.000 people. Asking them and we’re nearing in on 16,000, and well – you get the drift.There is power in numbers, and power in unity.

Wednesday I returned home from a business trip , and I turned on the TV and the first thing that came on was an episode of Anderson Cooper. The subject of the episode was how social networking can change lives. On the show they had a couple who found their adopted son through facebook. They put up a flyer, and within three weeks a woman contacted them about making an adoption plan for her unborn baby.

And it got me thinking.

You might think you don’t make a difference in the world, reader. But I can tell you, whether its about this or something else: you matter. You make a difference, and if anything we’re happy you’re on this planet. We love you for you, just because you’re reading these very words right now. You might think this world is so big and vast that some days you are lost in it, but I can gaurantee you, you’re not. Just the fact that you’re here, you make a difference in someones life.

Please help make a difference in ours.

I have a call to action to anyone that reads this blog. Please, in any way you can, help us. Support us. Be there for us.

For those who cannot be here physically, pass this blog around (or our website:, or our facebook page:

 If you have financial means, please purchase something from one of our fundraising stores (, and we’re in the process of setting up a T-Shirt shop through adoption bug which will go live next week). If you don’t have financial means, please pass our link along to someone who might have a few extra dollars to buy some cofffee or tea.

The point here is: you can make a difference. If you’re reading this, you can help us. And we need the help. We need voices like yours to speak for us in places we can’t. We need you to share our information with people- friends, family, coworkers. We need your ears to be open to possibilities. We need you to bring us up in conversation. We need you to share out links on facebook, twitter, tumblr, stumbleupon, your own blogs.

We need you so much right now.


I know you might think that you don’t know anyone trying to make an adoption plan. You don’t know any pregnant women or women who are considering adoption for their children. And that might be true, but someone you know might know someone. Or maybe they know someone that knows someone.

It’s like the six degrees of Kevin Bacon at play here. It’s six degrees to our Little One. Be the first in the chain, be the catalyst in making our dreams come true. It’s so easy, just spread the word for us. Be one of our soldiers of adoption love. Our whole family will have you to thank when it’s all said and done.

Again, I hate being that person. But I want nothing more than a family, so I will be that person right now. I will fight as hard as I can to get to our Little One. I will keep putting this in the public eye and spreading the word around until we find our family. But I only know so many people.

But you 2,000 amazing people? Chances are you know tens of thousands of people.

And somewhere out there, our little one is waiting. Somewhere out there in that circle of people is a woman looking for a family to be on the other end of her adoption. We want to be that family, with your help.


A few weeks ago I wrote about chaos theory, and this is a beautiful example. Be the butterfly flapping the wings in Africa, be the change that helps us realize our dream. Just like the song, I ain’t too proud to beg. I am down on my knees pleading that you help us, and find other people willing to share our story and get our pages out there.

You have so much power, and you don’t even realize it most of the time. You have more power in your ten fingers than you can even fathom! Use that power. Help us get the word out. Send emails to family and friends with these links, put them up on facebook, share them with everyone you know.

You make a difference in this world. You can help us, and we love you for it. Be the angel that helps guide us. Be the miracle we didn’t see coming. Be the butterfly.

Help us find Little One.


On my knees begging please,


So lying under the stormy skies she said, “Oh I know the sun must set to rise.”


Little One, last night, RB and I were watching a show called How I Met Your Mother (which is kind of ironic, considering this blog is how we met you- and your biological mother when that happens!). The plot-line in last nights episode was about how three of the characters got together every three years and watched the Star Wars trilogy while imagining where they’d be three years from then. Every year the main character Ted had the same aspiration for three years down the road- to be married and have a family. And now in 2012, everyone around him is realizing that dream but him, even people who didn’t want that for their lives originally.

I am Ted. For the past few years, I keep telling myself, “next year this time, maybe we’ll have a baby. Maybe this will be the Christmas we’ll be chopping down a tree for three, or buying little gifts from Santa.” But every year like clockwork my time-line keeps going without my dreams on it. Every holiday passes with no children, every birthday I get older is one year gone from my life that I’m not a mother yet. And with Mothers Day just around the corner, I feel the ache the hardest. Will I be a mother next year? Every year for the past four years I thought, “OK, not this year. But next year- that’s the year I’ll finally celebrate being a Mom.”

But not yet.

That doesn’t mean all hope is lost, Lo. In Ted’s defense, in 2015 he was watching Star Wars holding his newborn baby girl. It made me wonder- in three years, where will we be? Will I be holding you as an infant? Will you be three years old, if you are in fact born to the expectant Mom due in June? Or, worst case scenario:will we still be waiting for you?

I don’t know what the future holds, Little One. I wish I did. And honestly, a lot of what the future holds is far beyond my realm of control, and to be honest that kills me deep down inside. It hurts to know that I can’t say this is the year we’ll have a family and then boom, it magically happens. It works that way for a lot of other people, but not our family. It’s a curse and a blessing. We appreciate the time without you, because we know we won’t waste a single second when you’re finally here.

I have hope that in three years I’ll either hear the sweet pitter patterof your tiny toddler feet throughout the house, or be rocking a squirming you to sleep. I have hope that in three years I won’t be writing on this blog to a nameless you, a hope out there in the ether – but instead I will be writing to a very real you, a person made of flesh and bone and kissable cheeks. I have hope that even though I’m the one who has been saying next year, it’ll happen for the past four years, that next year it really will happen. I have hope that this will, in fact, be my last mothers day not being a mother.

I have hope for you, Lo.

I know the storm must come on strong to make a beautiful rainbow. I know the sun must set on a bad day in order for the sun to rise beautifully to a new day full of hope. I know you’ve got to hit the very worst before you can get to the very best.I don’t know if we’ve hit the worst part yet, Lo. I know that we’ve been waiting out this storm for a long time, and we’re just now learning how to dance in the rain.

I can imagine that the best feeling in the world will come when the sun peeks from the skies again, because we’ll appreciate sunlight more than anyone else who hasn’t been stuck in the storm for four years.

Waiting on a sunset in a storm,