Two Hands

We pulled into Caroline and Mark’s driveway in our boxy blue Volvo that morning.  I couldn’t tell you what we talked about during that 20 minute car ride.  A lot of nothing.  What do you say when you’re about to lay eyes on your baby boy, 3 weeks new?  What do you say when the past few years of struggle and longing and anger and hoping are about the unfold in an instant? When your journey is about to alter in ways your eager and naive selves have no way of predicting?  I don’t know what we talked about, but when we saw Caroline standing in her driveway, holding a little bundle we knew was our son, we parked that Volvo and carefully b-lined toward that sleeping bundle.  Caroline was teary – handing someone their long awaited child will do that I suppose. We stared at him, I held him to my chest, and he was ours.  That instant, 10 years ago, altered who we would become, truths we didn’t know to be true, love we had yet to reveal, growth we couldn’t have anticipated needing, patience we hadn’t needed to muster, advocacy we didn’t know was in us, heartache foreign to our existence, joy unfounded, and faith in a God we didn’t yet know .

He’s 10 today.  Two whole hands.  Double digits.  That day in the driveway of his foster family wasn’t his birthday, but it’s the story I can tell of the beginning of his journey into our fold.  The day his blue eyes met mine and I vowed to be his mom.  I smile at that version of myself.  She was in control and confident.  She wore rose colored glasses and assumed life was predictable and sweet. She didn’t understand trauma or struggle or grace.  To be fair, she didn’t understand her own infertility or the deep caverns of adoption.  She was a version of who I am today.  So much of me now is a result of that little blue eyed bundle.  So many of my passions and dreams and the fight in me are because of him.  For him.  A result of him. God knew the kind of mom I would become and He knew the path I would need to take to become her.  He had plans for our son and I was to be his Mom before he entered this world.  This I’m sure.

Happy 10th birthday my little bundle.  I can’t imagine the mom you’ll bring out in me as I walk you through the next 10.

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1 Comment
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