The real person smiles in trouble, gathers strength from distress, and grows brave by reflection.

Little one, the past few weeks have been a huge mix of emotions. The highest of highs and the lowest of lows. I’m not going to get into it right now, but this journey has been a rollercoaster.

Going through the past week has prompted me to reflect quite a bit. I went back and read some of our old entries, the very first ones in January and February. I have to say, it was a bit painful to read and tears were shed- but it helped.

I realize when reading those words that were written only ten and eleven months ago, it feels like a lifetime has passed. And it has. A lifetime of experience, anyway. Reading back I can see the hope we had in the beginning that everything would work out like clockwork, the images in our head that we’d have a baby born in June and that we’d get the storybook ending. I see the trust I had in this before. I see how crazy naive we were back then.

But that is not an entirely bad thing, Lo. Being naive and not knowing the outcome gave us the strength to even pursue this, and now that we’re in it- we’re in it until you are here. Besides, a storybook ending really is not our style.

And when I look back and read all of that, how we were taking baby steps and thinking it was all going to work out great, it makes me both happy and sad. Happy, because with reflection comes knowledge and perspective. We’ve come so very, very far in this journey. We’ve gone through things we’d never dream we’d have to go through, and we’re still fighting. We thought we’d have a bouncing six month old on our laps for Christmas this year, and that life would just go on like nothing happened. But as you know, that is not how this story panned out. Oddly though, that part doesn’t make me sad.

What makes me sad is the amount of hope and trust we had when this all started. I feel like with the experiences we’ve had as of late with failed matches, with scams, with hurt…it feels like the hope and trust we once had a mountain of in our hands is now slipping through our fingertips like sand. I’m clenching my fingers tight to keep any semblance I have left, but it just keeps pouring out.

That is the saddest part of all.

We’re not losing hope or faith in you, sweet baby. We’re not losing our sense of you being in our family. That we will never lose. We’re losing our trust. Every connection we make, I have to guard my heart. If I let myself feel attached and get invested, I ultimately end up getting hurt as I have every time. So to guard myself, I try to look at it objectively, logically, without emotions.

But I’m not a robot, baby. I cannot help but fall and let myself feel every ounce of hope, trust, faith…and then it all comes crashing down on my head again. It’s like filling a balloon with your entire self: your love, your hope, your faith, and someone just keeps popping it with a pin and letting all the air out. I’ve repaired it so many times, and I promise myself I won’t let it get filled up again, but it does. I can’t help it.

I can’t help it because it’s so personal, so close to my chest. It’s you in that balloon, sweet baby, because it’s you in my heart.

When I think back to the person I was earlier this year, I barely recognize that person. She was excited about this, she was learning new things every day about adoption and taking each day as it comes. When I put that person that I was next to the person I am now, it’s easy to spot the difference. Now I am tired. I am running myself ragged. I am hurt. I am healing. I am trying to take each day as it comes- but it’s harder than it has ever been.

I knew this journey would be hard, but I don’t think my head or my heart were prepared for it being this hard. This doesn’t change anything with us wanting to adopt, with us fighting for you as hard as we possibly can. It just means that your Dad and I are far stronger than we ever knew, far braver than we’d ever realized, and so in love and in this together than anyone could ever imagine.

I love the saying that it is always darkest before the dawn. We didn’t know this journey would get this dark, we didn’t know it would take this much out of us. But we’re strong, and so are you sweet baby. Your soul will find a way to get to us, no matter what. You are meant to be with us.

That is what this is all about, and all it’s ever been about, Lo. It’s about you. It’s not about our desire to be parents, our wants or needs. It’s about you, your life, your future.

I wish I had all the answers. I wish I knew why things happened when they happen. I wish for a lot of unfathomable things, especially lately. I just hope you’re not unfathomable. I hope that someone can open up their trust to us as we will to them. We’re ready. We’ve been ready for months now. Our hearts are still hurting from all the pain we’ve experienced lately, but we’re not broken. We’re ready with our arms wide open, but we need the other side. We need someone who is going to open their arms up and trust us just as we will trust them, and clasp our hands tight to form a circle of love around you.

Because this is all about you, sweet baby.

It’s always darkest before the dawn. I’m hoping to see that sunrise soon, Little Darling.

With love, reflection, and a renewed sense of trust and hope,

Never ever ever ever ever ever giving up.




Hope says, “I wish my future will be bright,” where faith says, “I know my future, and it is bright.”

We had an inspiring weekend Little One. Your Dad and I took a trip to Virginia to attend the Families for Private Adoption Seminar. Words cannot describe how amazing it was.

We arrived Friday afternoon and stayed at a nearby hotel, so we were able to relax. We went to a movie, walked around the Tysons Corner mall and had a nice dinner out. It was wonderful to feel like we were getting away for a little while.

The next morning, we were on our way to the seminar. It was a gorgeous spring day, the sun was shining and the sky was blue as ever. We walked into the church conference room where the seminar was held, and immediately it felt like a big hug. It was such a friendly, warm environment that felt so supportive. We heard stories from all walks of adoption life- successful adoptive parents, adoption lawyers, social workers and even a birth mother. It was wonderful to get perspectives from every angle.

Looking around the room, I couldn’t help but think I was surrounded by the best parents in the world. Not to pat our own back, but adoptive parents are a certain kind of special, Lo. They are the parents that fight for their children from the very start. They are the parents that want more than anything to be parents. They were just like us. We’re not alone in this.

It was amazing to hear from adoptive parents who had sat where we were sitting not long before, and knew what it was like to be in the trenches. It was amazing to hear their stories of how they did it, and see their beautiful babies. It was amazing to hear from a birth mother who was still okay and proud of her decision, even though it was 28 years ago. It was amazing to hear how she was a part of her daughters life, walked her down the aisle on her wedding day with her adoptive parents. It proved that our idea of family does work, that we’re not crazy and that thousands of families get there this way.


The last speaker of the day was a psychologist who is an adoptive father himself who gave a spirited talk about the difference between hope and faith, and it really resonated with us. Faith is knowing something is going to happen, whereas hope is, well, just hope. It’s easily lost, a short fall from despair. But we have faith, now more than ever. We know this is going to happen, because we’re going to make it happen.

One thing almost all of the speakers at the seminar said repeatedly was, “You only fail if you give up. If you don’t give up, don’t quit, you’ll get your baby.”


Well, Little One- if there is one thing your Dad and I aren’t it’s quitters. We’re never giving up. We won’t quit until we get you in our arms.


Tonight is session 2 out of 3 with our social worker for the homestudy. The last one is on Thursday. We’re nervous, but it’s a completely different feeling from the first visit. She knows us now, she’s seen our home and now she’s just trying to get to know us as people. It’s hard to believe that soon the homestudy will be over and our focus will be solely on finding you. Hopefully the search won’t last long, but we’re willing to wait.


We’re never giving up, Lo.


With faith,