Little one, I can’t believe it’s been so long since I’ve last written. I am so, so sorry. Mommy and Daddy have been extremely busy. Since we got our homestudy approved, it has been as if life is stuck on the fast forward button, and we can’t seem to be able to hit pause.
The past three weeks have been a whirlwind of setting up online profiles, creating and posting more fliers, and advertisements and handing out our pass along cards and getting your nursery in order. And we’ve only been active on the profile sites for less than a week, but I can already feel the panic start to set in.
What if we don’t get the call?
What if no one likes us?
What if we never get you?
I naively thought that once we had the homestudy approved, the weight would be lifted. But it’s not true. Some days I feel so hopeful that it feels like my heart might burst into a thousand pieces like confetti inside of a popped balloon.
Other days it feels like I’m staring down a dark hallway, and I can’t see where I’m going and I can’t see the light at the end. I don’t know if this hallway is ten feet long or ten miles long, and I can’t just give up and sit and wait. I have to keep moving, grasping for a solid ground, soldiering on even though I can’t see the end of this journey. Even though I’m walking slow to avoid danger. Even though I have your Dad holding my hand, walking with me. Even if I have a whole arsenal of people walking behind us, pushing us ever so lightly and supporting us the entire walk, not caring if they have to stand in this hallway with us forever.
And I feel like I’ve already walked so far. I feel like we’ve been walking for months, though really it’s only technically been a few weeks. But no matter how tired I get, no matter how much it hurts or how frustrated I get, I’m always going to keep walking. Even on days when I feel like I can’t walk any further, I will take a few steps. I will do anything to get to you.
I will be patient.
I will be persistent.
I will never, ever give up on you.
I will wait for you.
With a heart full of courage and hope, I will walk this long hallway for as long as it takes. Even if it takes years.
Not seeing how long the hallway is or if it ever ends but walking anyway is called faith, Lo. And your Dad and I will never, ever lose faith.
Lately, I’ve been staying up late into the night brainstorming ways to find your first Mom and you. What am I missing? There has to be some other ways to get the word out that I’m not thinking about. I wish I could just stand on the top of the highest point in the world and scream loud enough for the world to hear me that we want to adopt, that we would make great, loving parents, that we would welcome your first family with open arms and we’re committed to open adoption. I want to scream that we’re looking for our missing baby.
Because that is how it feels, Lo. It doesn’t feel like I’m trying to find a stranger to adopt. It feels like I know you already, like your little soul is already a part of me and your Dad. I have no idea what your face looks like, what color your skin is or how your personality will be.
And yet, I know you. I can feel you. You’re in my heart.
I can’t give you life. That is not my part in this journey. That is your first parents part. But I can find you, I can love you forever and be your forever Mom. I don’t diminish either parts, sweet baby. Without your first parents, we won’t be parents. Without us, your first parents wouldn’t have the opportunites they need to get ahead. We work together in this.
We need them, and they need us. And you need all of us.
But another big part of my role is to find you and first Mom. And I am trying everything.
You’re out there baby. I don’t know where yet, but I am going to find out. This is the biggest journey of all of our lives, but we’ll come out with something so beautiful once we get to the other side.
Looking and searching, searching and looking,