I wrote a piece before of the agony of waiting to adopt, not just for the adopting parents, but for all the extended family. As a family unit we dreamed, yearned, and grieved.
That is over. And she is here.
In June that beautiful, perfect, tiny little girl that we had dreamed of and prayed for and agonized over arrived. No special fan fare. No trumpets. No parting of the clouds with a choir of angels. She arrived in the usual fashion, and it was perfect.
Now, our family is whole.
The birth parents elected not to meet my relatives. They had their own personal reasons as they coped with a decision that I have no doubt was bitter sweet for them. They were in self preservation mode, but they were first and foremost focused on what was best for a child they knew they could not give the world to at that time. I cannot imagine what that sacrifice cost them. I wish I could meet them, hug them, and assure them that she is cherished and wanted. We found out after the fact that birth dad saw them with her at one point, and saw pure, raw emotion on their faces. It reassured him and gave him a feeling of peace about it. I'm glad he got that. I hope they still have that peace in the knowledge they did what was best for her, even at great personal cost. What strength must that have taken? We know from the hospital staff and social worker that they were a great couple, and really good people. They are forever in our hearts.
From mere seconds after birth our little angel has been with her adoptive parents. She's been fed by them, changed by them, bathed by them, and most importantly rocked and kissed by them. She did not have to know a time where she was alone, she knows only love. She's never cried out in the night and not been immediately tended to.
She is now a month old. The extended family all came together to welcome her. We got to have a couple of big parties and a shower. She dutifully snuggled into the breast of every family member longing to hold her, to tangibly feel her and show her she belongs. There is a village of people around her to protect her and cherish her, standing in line behind her parents.
Her cheeks and legs are filling out now. Her eyes open a little more each day. Her dark hair has already lightened a bit from black to a chocolate brown that stands straight up on her perfect little head. She keeps her parents up at night and does the usual newborn things. My little boys, at first so crushed to learn their new cousin was not a boy, now dote on her and are always setting aside cherished toys and books from their earlier years to share with her. With her parents taking turns with work leaves, they are getting to see her more than I do while they are themselves on summer break. She loves to lay on my oldest son's chest and hold onto his thumb, and he's content to sit there with her for long periods of time watching his cartoons.
Our circle is now complete. Our wait is over. All that pain, all that agony, all the grief we worked through now has a purpose. Her. She wasn't here yet so we had to wait, and I cannot imagine our family without her.
Now, we are whole.
More from parenting