So you’ve probably already read/heard the story about the woman who decided to terminate her son’s adoption after 18 months. There were bonding issues, marriage issues, etc. The woman did all the right things: counseling, attachment exercises, more counseling. And yet.
I remember our first 5 months with Zoey. Huge chunks of it were hell for me. It’s a special kind of soul breaking pain to love someone so very much and yet feel no connection. You feel thin, transparent. There’s nothing you can hold onto or ground yourself in. Any minute, you will blow away. Any minute, you will be gone, a missing person forever. You try and look the part. You smile for pictures. You hold the baby. You are gentle. Careful. But inside you are ashes.
You don’t give up.
You. Keep. Going.
And then: Sunlight. You begin to feel. The baby holds your finger. Tight. She cups your chin in in her oh so tiny palm. You notice the sweet smell of her neck, the softness of her hair. Late at night when you hold her and rock her and whisper to her, your bodies are one. You cry from the relief, amazed that one moment can undo so much darkness. Amazed that one tiny moment can be so sacred.
You wait as long as it takes for these moments to pile up. You catalog them, glossy prints sliding over and under one another. Pictures from your life. Pictures from your loving. You wait. And wait. You get better. More practiced. For the rest of your life, and hers, you wait. You let the moments unfold. Because they will. Oh, they most certainly will.
* Thanks to Amy for letting me steal her delicate use of the phrase ‘and yet’. Without even asking. You know I love you. And worship you. And think you look very buff.
ALSO, check out a slightly happier post over at Cool Moms Care
. It’s about soccer. And other stuff . . .