Out of the Mouth of Babes

I have been trying so hard to understand and get a grip on my emotions of late.  Life is very busy for us.  We are so blessed with our two sons, and at ages 11 and 7 there is never a dull moment.  Currently it is little league wrestling season, our oldest couldn't participate because of his broken arm much to his disappointment, but we have still been very busy with practices and duals with Ian.  I literally have to sit on my hands to keep from biting my fingernails and waving around like crazy every time I watch a match.  They are such boys and love it so much, me I really think we should focus on golf and I have a feeling I have a lot of nervous moments in store.  We are also very involved and busy at our church.  I assist with the Children's Ministry, together we serve as Youth Ministers, my husband is our Praise and Worship leader, and I sing on the Praise and Worship Team.  Combine all that with work and life in general, you get the picture, we are very busy.

 In the middle of all the busyness and fun-filled moments there is still this constant ache around my heart.  It seems I'm crying every time I turn around.  I cried on the way home from our sale on Saturday, from joy at being so blessed, and feeling so overwhelmed at how much we still need.  I cried for my new friends I've met in a Thailand Adoptive Families group, over their joys and frustrations that match mine.  I cried when I made a Thai dish for our supper and realized how hard it will be for her at first with everything being so different, including the most basic things like food.  The crying seemed incessant, so much so that I thought, girl get a grip! 

On Sunday I was reading an adoptive mother's blog about the emotional roller coaster of adoption and how you are constantly two things at once:  Happy/Sad, Frustrated/Patient, Angry/Calm...it was me in a nutshell but I still couldn't put a finger on the ache around my heart.  Today, my rambunctious but sensitive 7 year old asked, "Mom, when are we bringing Cherish home?"  I said, for the hundredth time, "Probably not for a while."  "Man," he sighed, " I miss her."  and off he went.  It hit me so hard.  That is the ache.  I miss my daughter.  She has already been born to our hearts and our world and I miss her.  I understand waiting is all part of the process, but understanding does not lessen the ache. I miss getting to experience her first smile and first little laugh.  I miss feeling her little hand reach up to stroke my face as I rock her.  I miss not being able to give her eskimo kisses, or duba do's as my boys have renamed them, whispering the nonsense words under their breath as their noses rub mine. I miss sharing her wonder at new things, and seeing her eyes light up in excitement.  I just miss her. 

I have been reading several blogs of families who have brought their children home, or are currently in the process like us, and I glean a little strength knowing they feel exactly as I have and have survived.  One wrote that when you finally meet your child the wait is washed away.  I'm holding onto that, as I sit once again with tears streaming down my face.  I can't help but smile through them, earlier Ian asked AGAIN "when are we bringing baby sister home?"  Again I said, "It will be a while, we have to wait."  Another sigh, "geez," he said rolling his eyes dramatically, "are we going to have to wait like 45 days or something?"  And I am reminded how time feels to children, and one day it will be like she has always been with us and the missing will be over.