We're in what I hope is the last month of our adoption process. We're still waiting, wondering, hoping and praying but there might be an end in sight.
Even more than the previous months, I am a wreck.
The last month of each pregnancy was kind of like this. The second one, especially, I lay in bed most of the day, immobile, feeling like a beached whale, getting up only to eat the prescribed tasteless food off the gestational diabetes list, fighting to keep it down, praying that my baby would be born healthy. Each day went by with the speed of crystallized honey flowing down the side of the bottle, each day a step closer.
I tick off the silent days now, pretending to keep my mind on my preschoolers, halfheartedly doing my chores while there is an entirely separate part of my mind that pictures a tiny baby. When? As I hold the soft form in my arms for the first time, will my heart rush with love? Will I cry? Will I be thinking about another mother crying without a tiny form to hold? Yes, undoubtedly I will.
It's possible that this could happen soon. It's also possible that it won't. It might be months more. So I wait, eager, hoping, yet guarding my heart like a fragile bird, trapped fluttering in my chest. It's very like that last month.