And then there were three

That coffee shop seems like a lifetime ago- all the waiting, the phone calls, the anxious chats with God. Here we are a month later.  The dream has arrived . . .

It didn’t take much to startle me at this point.  I fidgeted on a purple leather sofa.  My husband had gone to the car when she walked into the waiting room - the Social Worker’s assistant.  She had a hesitant look as if she was afraid to tell me someone died.  My heart fluttered, and I stopped breathing for a moment.  My eyes must have been the size of donuts.  I stood up as she approached. 

“The baby needs to be fed so they wanted me to come get you.”  She said sheepishly.

I sighed and a grin spread across my face, the only thing to brighten a sleep deprived and worried expression.  “Is it over?  Did they sign?”  I asked.

“Not yet, but the baby needs to be fed.”

I made my way to the hospital room where a host of social workers, nurses and the birth parents sat amidst a slew of papers.  Awkward.  I took the baby and they asked me to leave the room.  I did.

Before I knew it, our dream of adoption had been fulfilled.  Nurses were handing me blankets, bags and formula, going over discharge papers and ushering me into a wheelchair with my son in my arms.  But, before we left the hospital, we spent time with the birth parents.  Twenty year olds who loved their child, but knew they couldn’t provide.  We hugged.  I kissed birth mom on the cheek and told her we would always be praying for them.  And thank you.  Thank you?  Thank you seemed like such an inappropriate understatement as if she had just handed me a gift certificate to Starbucks.  But, what do you say when someone hands you their child and trusts you to raise and protect them?  I couldn’t find enough words to express our love for this child and our overflowing respect for their decision.

A month later here I sit, my son napping in a pack -n- play in the next room, overwhelmed with thank you notes and bottles to be washed and I couldn’t imagine anything sweeter.  I stare at him and constantly say, “Thank you God for entrusting him to me.  Thank you, thank you.  Oh, thank you!”