We’ve been warned, “The adoption process is an emotional one.” Understood. We continued to forge forward, prepping paperwork, emailing, calling, organizing, scheduling, meeting guidelines, pushing time frames. Screaming at the slugs. I didn’t have time to think about disappointment, I only wanted to keep moving and check these tasks off my to do list.

 We felt that first moment of disappointment a few weeks ago. We’ve known from the beginning that the waiting period for our daughter to be home in our arms was 12-18 months. For us, that waiting period started in April. But a few weeks ago we were told that because of some changes in the program our wait time hasn’t actually started yet. It won’t start until our dossier is in the hands of the South African team. 

It was our first setback although minor, was still disappointing. I’ve always been one to set unrealistic goals. I’m not sure there is a medical term for it, but if so I would be diagnosed with it.   Push hard, think big, get it done, make it happen. This summer we went through each week saying, “Next time this year this will look differently. Maybe we will  do it this way. How will she fit into our lives when were doing this next summer?”

 We’ve been told that those questions are most likely irrelevant. It’s probable we will ask all these questions, say all these things, and dream all these dreams again. It felt a little disheartening. First because our plans changed, secondly because I didn’t want to feel this way. I don’t want to let this process strangle me.

 I want instead to trust and be at peace. Trust His timing and His purpose and His plan. Just a few days ago I had a 30 second conversation with someone that gave me tremendous help. She simply said 

 “We also had to wait a while to adopt, but once he arrived I realized how much all the waiting didn’t matter.” 

This was so profound and struck me exactly where I needed it. It was a soothing balm to my deflated hope. I could wait. I could wait for 18 months or two years or three years or four. Because when she is home she will be home forever. I’ll never not be her momma, and she’ll never not be mine. 

 In 100 years from now I’ll be gone, but we’ll still be family. 

I can wait for you little girl. We can wait. We don’t want to but we will. In the meantime we’re going to dream about the sparkle in your eyes, the smile on your cheeks, and that belly laugh I’ve heard in my dreams.