We move in May. It’s anything but smooth. Russ is getting back from a last minute trip to Chicago, and I’m recovering from a week of state testing at school. We barely make it out of our apartment in time and when we do, Gatsby is so nervous he gets sick all over our backseat. Silver lining: our movers we hired are amazing and within 30 minutes, everything is unpacked and taken up three flights of stairs. Compared to the stress leading up to the move, unpacking feels like a breeze.
Russ starts classes and my nights are suddenly wide open. We don’t have cable anymore, and Netflix doesn’t exist yet, so I’m not tempted with show-binging. I fill my time two ways: Reading or writing. The more I blog, the more I know what I want to write. A funny thing happens where I’m beginning to understand more about how words form within me and how they develop on the screen. I think it’s something close to finding my voice.
I stumble across multiple blogs during this season, and one in particular has a link named Adoption Story. I click on the tab, and I’m greeted with about five videos documenting when they picked up their son from Korea. I’m sucked into the story, and before I know it, I’m searching for other adoption stories. I’m searching for gotcha day videos. I watch strangers meet their children for the first time. I’m trying to ignore the way my heart has shifted beats and an ache centers itself in my throat. I clear the history, not wanting to explain to Russ while I’m searching for adoption stories, and shut the computer. It’s not long though before I’m opening it back up and reading another blog walking me through the process.
We’re about to celebrate four years of marriage. We still have one more year to go before we start talking about kids. I keep reminding myself of that with each new story. Watching these videos, though, I can’t ignore the growing realization that I’ve caught a glimpse of our future.