This is the third in my short series of posts about my road to motherhood. The first two entries, The Chosen Ones and I’ve Got a Secret, should provide a nice lead in to what was happening around the time this was written. This entry was done at the suggestion of someone in my online adoption support group as a way to pass the time and find a light at the end of what was a very long tunnel. Through tears, I drafted this letter to my unborn child.
May 7, 2014
You don’t know me yet. You’ve not heard my voice, or felt my heart beating, or sensed the gentle caress of my hands around you as you move inside me. The truth is, there is a possibility that you may never know me at all because this is a very delicate situation, and for now, we are strangers; we are not related. I can hardly imagine what, or who, you might look like, which is odd because I dream about you almost every night. What will be the color of your eyes, or the texture of your hair, or the shape of your face? I haven’t had nine months to prepare for your arrival–to anticipate the day you will finally be here. I haven’t been able to watch and experience the physical transformation of a belly growing larger as the months pass. But none of that matters. Those are trivial concerns. Those are my fears, worries, and regrets that hover just beneath the surface of reality.
The reality… a wonderful and brave young woman, your birthmother, has picked us just for you. She loves you so much that she wants you to have the best life she can imagine for you–a life that, given her current circumstances, she is unable to give you herself. She loves you so much that she is giving me the gift of motherhood, so that I may call you mine. She says that having lots of family and friends around to share in your world is important to her. She says that knowing our struggles to build our family has led her to want to be the one to help make our dreams come true. She says that after talking with us she feels like she’s known us much longer than our short phone conversations would suggest, and it reassures her that she has made the right decision in picking us. She trusts. She believes. She hopes. For that we are forever grateful, and promise to honor her and her selfless present by giving you a wonderful home, a happy family, and love to last your whole life through.
There is a line from an old movie, Mommie Dearest (an ironic title that, when you’re older, you’ll see, understand for yourself, and be grateful that Joan Crawford is NOT your mother), that says, “adopted children are luckiest because they were chosen.” I used to love that line. I thought it was a lovely sentiment to make an adopted child feel less stigmatized. But that is not the world we live in today. Turns out, adoptive parents do very little of the choosing. And because of that, I have waited so, so long for a day like this to arrive. Now that you are just three weeks from your big reveal, I am trying to believe that it was because of YOU. This is my destiny, and yours. I was just waiting all along for you to find me.
I cannot wait to meet you– to see the color of your eyes, to stroke your hair (if you have any), and gently trace the shape of your face with my fingertips. I cannot wait to hold you against my chest so you can feel how happily my heart beats because you are finally with me. I long for the moment when you can hear my voice and I can quietly whisper to you how much I already love you. And then when all is done, and regrets and sorrows are washed away by joy, I will fully realize my great fortune– that you have made me the luckiest lady for choosing me to be your mama.