walking through target i heard the mom before the daughter. look at you, beautiful.

i turned my gaze and smiled at the legs bent in half and the arms cradling a girl in tutu and leggings. she giggled against her mom's neck and bounced up and down in glee.

that's when my heart cracked.

it hits when i least expect it, this fear-turned-waiting. some days, i secretly gloat over the time between now and then - when i'll nuzzle my own against my neck and whisper you're beautifuls or how handsomes. i know at this moment, to hand me a child i'd break in two. i see this in the hesitancy of little girls resting on my lap and waiting for a story. i see this in the shrug of paperwork and the inability to connect my life with little hands and wobbly legs. i hear phrases from growing up, thoughts from others that echoed you know, couples who have no children tend to be selfish.

and i promise this isn't selfishness but self-preservation.


the fissures form in moments where i remember stick-figured families haphazardly drawn on construction paper and i think of the millions of children who can't draw this and our child who won't be able to draw this until we hold him for the first time and oh! my mom-heart sings. i want this. i really, really want this.

i'm learning to dwell in this ache - this tension. the in-between is hard and makes square-in-the-eye honesty uncomfortable. but slowly, this mom-heart is taking over and more than anything, i want to hear the tiny giggles of play in my home.

and this realization brings some wide-eyed fear-turned wait.


switching it up a little and writing imperfect prose on our adoption blog. have you subscribed yet? we'd love to have you follow along in our story of bringing home our child{ren} from ethiopia...



Posted on April 20, 2011 and filed under Thoughts.