There are stages of shock, stages of grief, stages of hope, stages of despair, stages of defeat, stages of acceptance, and in the end, there is a stage of joy and moving on.
We all live for that last stage in one way or another. I live for that last stage.
Over the last three years I have sat captive on this roller coaster ride. I have experienced the ups and the downs and held close a flickering flame waiting to ignite a future where someone calls me “mama.”
And over the last six months I have had my life dissected, my privacy invaded, and every major decision I ever made questioned, during the process of being approved for adoption. For those who believe that physical labor is the most excruciating experience a woman can go through, give this experience a shot.
So here I am, in 2013, maybe just maybe the year my child is born.
Am I excited? Yes. Am I terrified? Yes. Am I scared to believe that it’s even possible. Oh yes. Yet am I ready for all of these years of labor pains to end. YES!
When I am at work I am there, but I am not. When I am with friends, I am there, but I am not. When I am enjoying date night with my husband, I am there but I am not.
Where I am is with my child. I suppose where a part of every woman who desires to mother always resides is with her child, it’s just that for those of us who labor for years and years to bring our child into our world, as the years move on the contractions of the heart get stronger and stronger, and closer and closer, drowning out the rest of the world.
I am not sure if I was ready before. I mean I thought I was ready, I could have convinced any single person, close friend or stranger, that I was ready, yet I’m not sure that I really was strong enough to push through these contractions. But now, I am ready.
The unfortunate part for women who labor in this way, in my way, is that there is no epidural to numb the pain, there is no room full of supportive professionals coaching us through the pain, telling us what to expect at every turn, and holding our hand. And there is no definitive marker of just when the contractions will usher forth our child.
And so, for me, these days feel the most difficult.
In a week or two we will be “fully approved” and then the waiting does not begin, it continues: the waiting for the call, the waiting for the meeting, the waiting for the words “she picked you,” and the waiting to hear our child’s first self righteous cry.
And so until that moment, I am here, but really I am not.