Blank Pages

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Every morning I wake up and think: Today might be the day.

Today marks one week. One week since we signed the papers, one week since I told the world, one week since I started watching my phone like a love stricken teenager.

We've met so many parents on this journey and they tell you their story.
"They called while we were in CPR."
"They called thirty minutes after we signed."
And others who said no to five or so calls before they said yes, waiting for what felt right.

I have every one of their stories in my head and my heart. Every single one I’ve been lucky enough to receive, to hear.  

We received a text from J, the head of adoptions yesterday. 
"You're next," said said. "Top of the list."

I wonder what our story will be. Together, on our own, with the birth parent. In so many endless ways I wonder what our story will be. I'm cultivating curiosity over fear, that little girl in me that always wanted to adopt now growing her family in ways she never would've imagined. 

Volumes and volumes of blank pages lie before us.

I know better than to think I have any control over what's happening. As though my clenched fists and jaws could hurry "fate." And though the moment this baby enters our home will be a beautiful moment for us it's a moment steeped in loss. There will be losses that have already occurred for birth mom and babe. There will be losses for us. We will do our best. 

Like that book my mom read to me as a child:
Are you my mother?

I don't know about forever but today or tomorrow or the next day I will wrap you up and keep you safe and wish all the blessings on you in the world.
A new chapter.
A part of one another's story.
A new story together.

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