To my dear, distant Camryn:
How I wish that I had gotten to hold you in your first year of life! I would have cuddled your tiny body up on my chest and patted your bottom until you fell asleep. I would have dozed off with you, sharing air and dreams and warmth. I would have propped you on my knees, tickled your toes and made silly baby coo's until you spluttered out your first laugh. I would have hauled you around on my hip, making lunch for your big brother and sister, enjoying the weight of your presence.
You are learning a harsh truth well before your time: Life is not always what we hope it will be. We have a say, but we don't have total control.This feels extremely unfair, sometimes unbearably so. Like when I get pictures of you half a world away, and know it will still be months before I can touch your hand or whisper into your ear. Like when your birth-mother was faced with the impossible decision of loving you by letting another care for you. Like when you cry and there are no arms to comfort or when one day you learn of your origins and wrestle with all the why's. Life can seem unfair.
But life can also feel extremely miraculous, sometimes unbelievably so. Like when I watch your big brother and sister adore you and rave about you before you have even met. Like when I think about the old woman by the river that found you and delivered you safely to arms that will one day deliver you to us. Like when I think about the years we will get to live together and the man you will someday grow to be. Life can seem miraculous.
On any given day, in any given moment, it seems we have the opportunity of noticing both the unfair and the miraculous. Of both counting the blessings and naming the breaking.Some will choose only to notice the unfair and will spiral into pits of despair and despondency, sarcasm and hatred. Some will choose only to notice the miraculous, weaving alternate realities, ignoring or even trampling on the very real pain of so many around them. But some will choose both, and I pray you and I will be among them.
I cannot wait until the day I get to hold you, Camryn. I cannot wait until the birthday when you are sitting right in front of us, smiling at the glowing candle before you while we all sing and smile. I cannot wait to sing you to sleep and hush you when you cry. I cannot wait to watch you run and giggle with your big brother and sister, learning their games and speaking their language. Camryn, I cannot wait to be your mama.
If you are interested in learning more about our adoption story or finding out how you can help us bring Camryn home, please go here.
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