For the Fall of the year is more than three months bounded by an equinox and a solstice. It is a summing up without the finality of year’s end.



Little One, people like to make comparisons. It’s the best way to help view this world we live in, and I above all am guilty of doing so (as you know from reading this so far). 

But there is one comparison that is continually being thrown in my face that I’m not incredibly fond of these days. It’s ironic, because I have even made this comparison in the past. But now, getting further down the road, I realize it’s not an equal or proper comparison at all. It’s apples to oranges, really.

“The wait is your labor. This time spent is your pregnancy.” 


I used to think it was true. But now, nine months in to this journey. I am still without you. I continually sit and wait.

And Lo, it’s not like pregnancy at all. 


If I were pregnant with you, I’d be able to feel you. With a slight movement of your tiny foot or hand, I would feel it in my bones that you rested safe within me. Every twinge would be a perfect little sign from your soul to mine that your physical body is okay, that I am doing what is right as your mother. 

There would be finality to this part of our relationship. I would be able to count down the weeks until we meet: a date would grace my calendar for a reunion: the only type of reunion you can have to someone that you’ve already known so very intimately for nine months prior. 


People would know by looking at me. They would see my watermelon swollen stomach and smile with that knowing smile. They would ask questions, wonder about genders and want to feel that special kick- just because, though they are strangers, they also like that feeling of physical closeness. 

I don’t have that. 


It’s not your fault, and it’s not really anything to be faulted anyway. It’s just not a comparison that makes sense. 


I have no idea when you’ll be here, and that reality is hitting me now more than ever. There is no date of finality gracing my calendar. There is no such thing as counting down the days until we meet. 

The worst part however, is that there are no tiny kicks to let me know you’re there. And I feel my faith slipping lately, as hard as I try to not let it. With every week that goes by without any progress, I feel that ache of not knowing if you’re out there or not- of not having you safely in my arms or my body. I am jealous that other women get this luxury, to know exactly where their children are from the moment they came into the world. 

There are so many positives to adoption, sweet baby. I don’t want you to ever think that these negatives make you not worth it. You are worth it, one hundred percent. 


I know I am being selfish for wanting these things that I cannot have. But it’s not about the big belly, it’s not about missing the feeling of you growing inside of me- it’s a motherly instinct to want you here, now. It’s the pain of not knowing how or when that will happen. It’s a primal need to know where you are and that you are safe and coming home to me soon. 

And I don’t have it. I never will, not until you are tucked safely into my arms with papers signed that legally make it the truth. 


As much as I wish it didn’t, it bothers me. I wish I had finality. I wish I had a date, time and place for your arrival. 

But more than anything, I wish I knew you were okay, and that I’m doing the right thing. 


Should I be posting places I’m not posting? Should I be driving cross country putting up flyers? Should I be signed up with agencies? Am I missing the opportunity to meet your first family with every misstep, every place I don’t make a move? I wish I could know in my heart I’m doing this right. 


But it’s our first time in this journey, and I know I’m a novice. But I don’t want to mess this up. I want to do everything right by you. I want to be the best mother I can be, from the very start.


And when I feel myself slipping and feel my faith dissipating, writing to you here helps. Sitting in your nursery helps. 


And when I get upset about the lack of certainty in this journey, I remember what it feels like to write to you and to sit in your nursery. I think back to the past nine months, and I realize again how far we’ve come. It may seem like we’re running in place, but really we’re running a marathon. I can only hope that we’re nearing the finish line soon. 


Until the date is on the calendar, I’ll be searching for you Lo. 


With faith and love forever, 




One thought on “For the Fall of the year is more than three months bounded by an equinox and a solstice. It is a summing up without the finality of year’s end.

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