I have to share this article I saw in the Huffington Post.  It's perfect and beautiful and so near and dear to me;

Dear Mom of an Adopted Child,

I met you in adoption education class. I met you at the agency. I met you at my son’s school. I met you online. I met you on purpose. I met you by accident.

It doesn’t matter. The thing is, I knew you right away. I recognize the fierce determination. The grit. The fight. Because everything about what you have was a decision, and nothing about what you have was easy. You are the kind of woman who Makes.Things.Happen. After all, you made this happen, this family you have.

Maybe you prayed for it. Maybe you had to convince a partner it was the right thing. Maybe you did it alone. Maybe people told you to just be happy with what you had before. Maybe someone told you it simply wasn’t in God’s plans for you to have a child, this child whose hair you now brush lightly from his face. Maybe someone warned you about what happened to their cousin’s neighbor’s friend. Maybe you ignored them.

Maybe you planned for it for years. Maybe an opportunity dropped into your lap. Maybe you depleted your life savings for it. Maybe it was not your first choice. But maybe it was.

Regardless, I know you. And I see how you hold on so tight. Sometimes too tight. Because that’s what we do, isn’t it?

I know about all those books you read back then. The ones everyone reads about sleep patterns and cloth versus disposable, yes — but the extra ones, too. About dealing with attachment disorders, breast milk banks, babies born addicted to alcohol, cocaine, meth. About cognitive delays, language deficiencies. About counseling support services, tax and insurance issues, open adoption pros and cons, legal rights.

I know about the fingerprinting, the background checks, the credit reports, the interviews, the references. I know about the classes — so many classes. I know the frustration of the never-ending paperwork. The hours of going over finances, of having garage sales and bake sales and whatever-it-takes sales to raise money to afford it all.

I know how you never lost sight of what you wanted.

I know about the match call, the soaring of everything inside you to cloud-height, even higher. And then the tucking of that away because, well, these things fall through, you know.

Maybe you told your mother, a few close friends. Maybe you shouted it to the world. Maybe you allowed yourself to decorate a baby’s room, buy a car seat. Maybe you bought a soft blanket, just that one blanket, and held it to your cheek every night.

I know about your home visits. I know about your knuckles, cracked and bleeding from cleaning every square inch of your home the night before. I know about you burning the coffee cake and trying to fix your mascara before the social worker rang the doorbell.

And I know about the follow-up visits, when you hadn’t slept in three weeks because the baby had colic. I know how you wanted so badly to show that you had it all together, even though you were back to working more-than-full-time, maybe without maternity leave, without the family and casseroles and welcome-home balloons and plants.

And I’ve seen you in foreign countries, strange lands, staying in dirty hotels, taking weeks away from work, struggling to understand what’s being promised and what’s not. Struggling to offer your love to a little one who is unsettled and afraid. Waiting, wishing, greeting, loving, flying, nesting, coming home.

I’ve seen you down the street at the hospital when a baby was born, trying to figure out where you belong in the scene that’s emerging. I’ve seen your face as you hear a nurse whisper to the birthmother that she doesn’t have to go through with this. I’ve seen you trying so hard to give this birthmother all of your respect and patience and compassion in those moments — while you bite your lip and close your eyes, not knowing if she will change her mind, if this has all been a dream coming to an abrupt end in a sterile environment. Not knowing if this is your time. Not knowing so much.

I’ve seen you look down into a newborn infant’s eyes, wondering if he’s really yours, wondering if you can quiet your mind and good sense long enough to give yourself over completely.

And then, to have the child in your arms, at home, that first night. His little fingers curled around yours. His warm heart beating against yours.

I know that bliss. The perfect, guarded, hopeful bliss.

I also know about you on adoption day. The nerves that morning, the judge, the formality, the relief, the joy. The letting out of a breath maybe you didn’t even know you were holding for months. Months.

I’ve seen you meet your child’s birthparents and grandparents weeks or years down the road. I’ve seen you share your child with strangers who have his nose, his smile ... people who love him because he’s one of them. I’ve seen you hold him in the evenings after those visits, when he’s shaken and confused and really just wants a stuffed animal and to rest his head on your shoulder.

I’ve seen you worry when your child brings home a family tree project from school. Or a request to bring in photos of him and his dad, so that the class can compare traits that are passed down, like blue eyes or square chins. I know you worry, because you can protect your child from a lot of things — but you can’t protect him from being different in a world so intent on celebrating sameness.

I’ve seen you at the doctor’s office, filling out medical histories, leaving blanks, question marks, hoping the little spaces don’t turn into big problems later on.

I’ve seen you answer all of the tough questions, the questions that have to do with why, and love, and how much, and where, and who, and how come, mama? How come?

I’ve seen you wonder how you’ll react the first time you hear the dreaded, “You’re not my real mom.” And I’ve seen you smile softly in the face of that question, remaining calm and loving, until you lock yourself in the bathroom and muffle your soft cries with the sound of the shower.

I’ve seen you cringe just a little when someone says your child is lucky to have you. Because you know with all your being that it is the other way around.

But most of all, I want you to know that I’ve seen you look into your child’s eyes. And while you will never see a reflection of your own eyes there, you see something that’s just as powerful: A reflection of your complete and unstoppable love for this person who grew in the midst of your tears and laughter — and whose loss would be like the loss of yourself.

What a whirlwind the last week has been!  Last Monday, I got THE call that we had "matched" with a birth mom named Grace in Jacksonville Florida.  I spoke to the adoption attorney and she asked if we could come down there to meet Grace and her boyfriend James, the baby's biological father. We scheduled the meeting for Monday January 15.  Thankfully, I have family that lives in the area so they lovingly took us in and helped us relax the night before and morning of. 
The day of, we met at the attorney's office.  She had ordered us a nice lunch and we all ate together and talked a little bit about ourselves....our dogs, our families, our history of IVF's and loss.  But we mostly listened as Grace spoke about her life and what brought her to choosing adoption for her baby.  As you can imagine, this is harder for her.  Being in this position is so difficult and heartbreaking.  But for someone to decide to carry out a pregnancy, with the intention to place the baby for adoption is the most loving, selfless act a person can make.  Despite the daily heartache and stress Grace experiences, she is thinking of her baby first and what is best for him.  She knows she can't care for him the way she wants to right now.  She knows she can have a family someday, just not right now. 
And by the way, it is a HIM.  After lunch, we went to an ultrasound place with her and got to see the precious angel on the screen.  He was stretched out and waving and we saw ten fingers and toes.  We saw his spine and cute little belly.  All his measurements are normal and he's due to arrive around June 17. 

Nothing in the process is a sure thing.  We are indeed matched, but things can still change.  I'm terrified and will probably stay terrified until I hold the baby 48 hours after he is born and the consent is signed.  Right now Grace and James are safe, looking for a place to live and eating healthy and taking care of each other.  That's all I can ask for.  I have no control over this, just as I had no control over any of the IVF outcomes.  I hate that but that's how it is.  All I can ask is that you all continue to send us your support, love and strength.  I've seen the most amazing generosity  from you all and I'm telling you THAT is what keeps us going.  We love you all so much.  Love and more love.

Happy New Year

I'm sorry I've haven't posted any updates.  A few of you have been asking what's up lately so I'll fill you in here.  The holidays are always hard so I sorta go silent and curl up with my dogs and binge on Netflix because my job gives me so much time off.  I highly recommend Ozark....if Dan and I don't work out, and Jason Bateman's marriage crumbles, we are going to marry.  But I digress....after much relaxation, I'm back at the grind and facing reality once again.

Right now, we have our profile book out to one expectant mom and her boyfriend (the baby's father) and they are considering us and a few others.  We should know more soon.  We have steadily received expectant mom profiles since September.  We get a brief description of the baby's mom and father (if they have it) as well as a little bit about their background, (family, medical stuff, current living situation).  As hard as you think is to decide to move forward or not with sharing your profile book or not, IT IS.  We have turned down a few and have been turned down by a few.  It's hard.  But you keep going.  You keep telling yourself that those aren't your babies.  You tell yourself that your baby is waiting for you somewhere....and your time is coming.  I really do believe that.  The love and support and guidance I've received all this time has made me believe this. 

I'll sign off with this incredible act of love I received over my Christmas break.  I hope she doesn't mind me sharing :)  Liz, a girl I went to high school with reached out to me and asked if I could meet with her one day for a quick coffee.  I told her of course.  After a crazy snow storm and flu bugs, we met on a Tuesday afternoon.  Liz adopted her beautiful little girl a few years ago and has been a source of strength and love for me throughout the last couple years.  I haven't spoken to her in a while, mostly because I've been a "shut-in" or babysitting and haven't returned calls or texts :)  But she knew about my heart dropbox project.  So on this day I met her, her daughter hands me a bag full of miniature decorated hearts and Liz explains that as a Preschool Art Teacher, she's had her entire school design their own hearts for us and sign their names to them.  There were even some pictures drawn (my facebook profile pic is one of them) and donated cash.  Liz is crying as she's explaining this to me and I'm really just trying to stay upright in my seat because I feel like I'm going to pass out or curl up in a fetal position and cry like a baby myself.  I won't go into much more, but the love I felt at that moment, and the moments after felt like I was floating on air.  I will never forget it Liz.  You are amazing. 

I say this all the time and I'll say it again....this  journey has changed me forever.  Yes, it has been exhausting, sad, made me ugly and broken me at times.  But the lessons are so much greater.  I've learned that your darkest moments don't have to be dark, you have people that want to be there for you. You HAVE to let them in.  You cannot be alone in this world. Feeling alone makes you do things you shouldn't do.  I have such a perspective now that I would never have had if my life had gone the way I thought it would have gone. And it's not just the "don't sweat the small stuff" philosophy, it's about knowing that no matter how sad things can get, there's a way to pull yourself back and to ask others for help.  You'll never lose your way because you'll have your people there cheering you on. And you love and appreciate those people so much more than you thought you could.  You don't have time for the bullshit.  You will do anything for them in return.   That's all for now.  Love and more love to all.