Most of the important things in the world have been accomplished by people who have kept on trying when there seemed to be no hope at all.




You’re the most important thing in this entire world to me, sweet baby. So it pains me that I haven’t written more in these past five or six months. As I said before, there has been a lot going on- but beyond that, there is a more important reason I haven’t been writing. 

There are parts of your story that are going on before you’re here. And that is part of the reason for this blog, so that you have an account of how you came to be and how your life started out. It’s a memory book for you before you have your memories, a history predating history.

It’s your baby book before you’re our baby. 

That being said- there are things, as your mother, I’d like to shield from you. Pain in this journey you don’t need to know about. Disruptions. Failed matches. Heartache. Nights up crying the bellowing cry of a childless couple in turmoil. Pain, pain, and more pain

. I already have that motherly instinct to guard you from all the pain of this world, to keep you tightly cradled to my chest so you don’t have to know the kind of hurt that happens out there in the wilds of modern society. I want to keep your beautiful innocence and happiness in tact at all costs. 


Even when you read this blog years down the road, I don’t want to you to know the details of the pain your Dad and I have experienced in this journey. That pain is not a part of your story, just a story. That burden is not yours to bare, and it’s never, ever not even for a split second ever something you should feel guilty about. This is what we signed up for in this journey- a rollercoaster ride of emotions from the highest of highs to the lowest of lows.


It’s a delicate balance here, Lo. I want to keep you from the pain and absolve you from ever having a guilty feeling- but I also want you to know the hell we’ve been through before you are going to come in and light up our lives. I don’t want to ever hide anything from you, and I want to be completely transparent in this journey. So here it is. 


We’ve had six disruptions so far. Six.. One was twins.


We’ve had seven babies called ours that would never come to be in our arms. Seven. Seven times we’ve had our hopes up and had them crash upon us once more. Seven times we’ve thought this was it, you’re going to be here– and it never happens. We just can’t seem to get to the finish line. We get chosen- and then disruption after disruption. Moms deciding to parent, Dads refusing to sign off rights- another hopeful couple swooping in and offering more name it. And those seven are just counting the ones saying “this is a match.” They are not counting the seemingly endless line of possibilities, or the never ending rotation of scam artists vying for our attention and our wallets. 


But they just weren’t you, Lo. They weren’t you. We have to remind ourselves of that. This is all for a reason. We are firm believers that everything happens for a reason, that fate and God and the forces of the universe combined are leading us to you, that this is bigger than us.


And through the pain and the hurt and the sorrow, there is always a silver lining. There is always a shining light peeking through the darkest of clouds. We have met amazing people. We have met moms and dads that will go on to be great parents. For every bad person we’ve encountered, there have been two amazing friends in adoption we’ve made in their place. 

And we believe we are where we need to be right now. That this journey has not been all for naught, that it’s shaping us to be the best parents we could possibly be. 


And if there is one thing I can say for your Dad and I, it’s that we are strong people. We’re not quitters, we don’t give in easily or at all. We keep going. We hold each other up, lift each other when the other one is down and we find joy in the darkest of nights. That is why we’re true soulmates, sweet baby. We just get each other. Your Dad knows when I’m having a bad adoption day, and he does all he can to make it better. After we lost the last situation, he looked me right in the eyes and said in his sweet voice, “It is going to get better. February sucked. It just plain sucked. But we’re going to get through this and find our baby, no matter what.” Then he made surprise dinner reservations and took me out for one night of adoption-free discussion. I couldn’t have asked for a better person to share this journey with, and he is going to make one fantastic Dad.


So where do we go from here, Lo? What do your parents, the fighters, do when they’ve been knocked down six times? 


We stand up seven. Because maybe the seventh time is the charm to get to you. Or maybe it’s eight, or nine or ten-  the number doesn’t matter. What matters is, it could be ten million and we’d still stand up for you. That’s just the kind of parents we are for you. We’re never, ever giving up on you. 


You’re the most important thing in this entire world to us. And though now it might feel like there is no hope at all, your Dad and I know better. We’re just going to keep trying, keep going until we get to you.

Hoping the seventh time is a charm.



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