pure and undefiled
I can’t think of words anymore. So much of my day is spent walking back to the room where I had a thought to maybe jog my memory and remind me what it was I was going to put on my list or on the stove. When my kids go to bed at 8:00, I am so exhausted that I can barely blow Seth a kiss from across the room.
I have three little boys. Yes I’ve mentioned that before. Have I also mentioned that I’m a dreamer, a rabid imaginer? And I can’t even do it anymore without seeing her or at least a brilliant outline of her.
I’ve already monogrammed her name on an Easter basket liner. In Ethiopia, her name means “she emanates light” or “she shines.” We painted her room a silvery grey and made her a nice closet with room for many clothes with flowers on them.
A minute ago I filled out a few things with an agency, and at the top of the page it said, “Congratulations! You have just completed the first step of your adoption journey.” I cried. It’s not like taking a positive pregnancy test. It’s an entirely different and wonderfully scary way to sign up for a miracle.
If I thought that having babies to come out of my body would outdo this, or even compare, I wouldn’t do it. All I know is that when I think of her, she’s already glowing – making me warm on the inside like I’m the chosen one, like one successfully grafted in.