From the moment I found out I was pregnant, I wondered what his birth mother felt. Was she excited, scared, numb?
As P grew in my belly I wondered what the kicks and hiccups and heartburn was like for her. How it was the same or how it was different.
Sitting in the hospital bed holding my sweet newborn baby, I also envisioned what he might have looked like. What his temperament would have been. If he would have been a good sleeper.
As the months have gone on, all nine of them now, each new development milestone that passes, I wonder what it was like for him. I envision him rolling over for the first time - was it on the beautiful red dirt of Uganda? His first smile and laugh I know were just as beautiful as they are now.
I am in love with this age, 9ish months that is. It is so fun and sometimes I wish I could freeze time. I know I would feel the same way about him at this age. I envision a snuggly baby - one that was a bit shy but full of smiles and coos and love.
It is hard. I hate it. I wish I could have had those two years with him. That I would not have missed a breath he has ever taken. And more than anything I wish he did not have to endure the pain and loss of what all of this means, of what adoption stems from at its inception.
But as I mourn over the loss of those years as I live them out with P, God reminds me of the sweet times we have had TOGETHER these last two years. Of the moments that have brought so much joy and healing and love.
He reminds me that He is the redeemer of time. Reminds me of all the times in scripture where He promised to restore everything people had lost. And I choose to trust Him.
It is hard to have missed those days, but I know His plan for my boy, is a sweet, sweet plan. I am honored to be the one that gets a front row seat to watch it unfold each day.
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