Already A Mother (Inside My Heart: Part 2)

My son.

He is half way around the world. I miss him. I love him. I am already smitten. Every morning, I wake up thinking about him. And every night, I fall asleep dreaming about his future. I can't wait to take him to the park. For him to play with his puppies, Jack and Charlie. For Dave to be his daddy and to teach him how to throw a baseball. I think of him always. I am his mother.

Yet I have never seen his face.

Some days, my heart feels broken...like someone's squeezing the very life out of it. It hurts. Aches. It's hard to describe. More than the way you feel when you miss someone...it's a deep aching. The only other feeling that I can think to compare it to is when I realized that I was in love with my David, and that we were going to be separated an entire summer before we were married. Oh how my heart hurt as he stepped onto that plane that would take him away. I had never felt that feeling before. It felt like my very breath was being sucked out of me, while simultaneously my heart was being grasped with a grip that would not let up.

I suppose this is love.

On those days, I'm ready to cry at the drop of a hat. In fact, I usually do. Just ask my sweet friends who pose a simple question, "How's the adoption going? Have you heard anything?" Only to be met with my instant tears as I choke out, "No, nothing new." Or when my husband briefly mentions our adoption in his sermon, and I find myself sobbing in the front pew for the next ten minutes. Or when I rejoice with another friend, who's announced they're expecting a child-and as I calculate the time in my head, I realize that their child will be in their arms still before mine comes home. These are the days when I cannot possibly read another adoption blog--follow another story of someone else who's hurting this way. Pain.

Because there are no outward signs of my coming child-no swelling stomach, hospital check-ups, ultrasounds-I think it's hard for other people to imagine what's going on inside. Before I began this process, I don't think I would have understood either. I mean, after all, it's not like I've even seen a picture of this boy--how could I feel attached or already feel like a mother? It seems like most people imagine that Dave and I are just a regular childless couple, going about our regular business. That could not be further from the truth.

I think the best way to illustrate would be this:
Moms, when you found out you were expecting-you already knew you were a mom, right? It's not like you started being a mom only when your child was on the outside of you...no, it started right away. You were so incredibly excited. You began to prepare the nursery. You started to purchase clothes and toys. You chose a name.

This is exactly how I feel. A few exceptions.

I have never heard my baby's heartbeat. I have never had a sneak peak at his picture with an ultrasound. I know he's coming, but I have no idea when it will be. Nine months seems so very short...a dream. No, there is no time limit set on his arrival. It could be anything. He may not be tiny. He may be running already when I meet him. He is not safely tucked away inside of me, where I can take every precaution to be sure that nothing harmful comes in contact with him. No, I actually have no idea where he is. I cannot protect him or be sure that he is getting enough to eat. He could be sick or starving. I cannot shield him from pain--he's probably already experienced the excruciating pain of separation.

But I am his mom. And I love him.

Some days feel like this. In many ways, it's heartbreaking. In other ways, it's beautiful. In fact, it is so beautiful and inexplicable how God could already knit this little boy's heart into mine. God is the Sovereign One who can take a little boy in need of a family and fold him into a mother's heart, long before we've even met. This is beautiful.

Again, I write these things to you not because it's essential that you understand how I'm feeling, or so that you feel guilty that your child only took nine months to get here, or because I want you to feel sorry for me...None of those things. I promised that I would share with you the ups and the downs of this journey-the joys and the heartaches. I don't want to paint adoption to be this glamorous thing. That wouldn't be true. I want you to see the journey for what it is...because perhaps you too will be coming down this road just behind me. I pray that be the case.