I sit here in our nursery and look at the empty crib and the books on the shelf. I think of the child whose laughter will fill this room and of the joy of watching our child sleep and wake in that crib, of all the memories we will make here.
My sister and sister-in-law turned the nursery back into a guest room after Oli died. I was so thankful for that. I was so glad that I didn’t have to pack away all of his things and say goodbye all over again.
When we had completed our home study, I decided to start decorating the room like a nursery again. I moved the bed out and put the crib up. I got a bookshelf and started filling it with books and toys. I decided that I would do a little something in the nursery each week.
Unlike a pregnancy, I have no lead up this time or framework on how long this will take. For me, this allows me to to engage in the process by creating and decorating and dreaming; it’s my own way of making a place for our child in our home and getting to find joy in the journey.
As I have done these things, it’s also like I am making a place in my heart for this child. When I was pregnant, our babies had a place in my heart from the moment I saw that blue line. They were eternally connected to me, and I think that’s why it was so hard to let them go.
This journey is different; there is no blue line or week-by-week progression. There is no app to tell me what to do each week, so instead I have to make my own journey. I decided to go in the nursery daily and turn the lamp on and pray for our child. Although I can’t talk to him/her or sing to them like I did to Oli, I can find a way to connect with the process and make a place for them in my heart and our home.
This adoption process is certainly an emotional roller coaster. Nearly every week we apply for a new case and hope for the best. We hand in our papers and pray and hope each time, and so far every time we’ve been disappointed. There are days when it’s so hard to find the courage again to apply for another case knowing full well we could be disappointed, but we try to hold to the fact that this time it could be “our” child.
One day we will apply and we will get the call that we have been chosen. “Chosen” is an unusual word because it basically means to be preferred. It means that a birth-mother somewhere has decided that she would prefer us to care for her child rather than anyone else.
I don’t get a chance to sit down with these birth-mothers and convince them that I would be the best mother for their child. I don’t get to show her the nursery and explain that I have prayed for this child every day. I don’t get to do any of those things, so all I can do is wait.
