You turned three weeks old, today.
And you’re still far from us.
I spoke to your court-appointed social worker today.
It’s going to take at least another three weeks, or a month, or even two months. Although I’m hopeful that it won’t take two whole months.
There are several hearings that have to take place concerning your birth mother . . . we know in the end that you’ll be with us. This is our hope, and dream, and prayer, each and every day.
Your mommy’s friends gave her a baby shower today . . . a big party where they all brought you a lot of books and toys and clothes and diapers! and all the things you need . . . things you’ll need in the future, but things you need right now, we feel very sad that we can’t share all things with you, now.
many gifts for you from mommy’s co-workers.
When you were just a few days old, while we were still in your home state, my Uncle Howard (who’s married to aunt Nancy, Dad’s sister) asked what was my number one dream for you. (Uncle Howard is 80, I’ve always liked him very much, but didn’t see him a lot growing up because he lived in Connecticut.)
What’s my number one dream for you? What’s my hope and dream for you? I didn’t have a very good answer for Uncle Howard. In fact, I didn’t sleep much that night, because I kept thinking about it. I laid awake two nights in a row, thinking about it . . . what’s my dream for you?
Good health, of course. Success. Happiness. Joy. A better life because you’re with us, than you might have had otherwise. I hope to help you be the best you can be . . . the best person, the best soul. I hope to expose you to the best of the world, to help you see the wonder and the beauty of God’s creation.
To enjoy life.
The news from the government concerning your custody isn’t good . . . it looks like it could be as much as a month before we see you again.
(Your birth family is so supportive of us, that they send us pictures of you. They let us see you, but they remind us that you’re hundreds of miles away – and we want you here with us, now.)
Your birth family sent us this, today.
We’re moving to a new house in a month . . . a house we bought with you in mind. Perhaps it’s the Lord’s will that we be in the new house before you’re able to join us.
We waited our whole lives to meet you . . . and now that we have met you, we just can’t wait to see you again. We can’t wait to have your pretty face with us, everyday.
We loved you before you were born.
Could you feel that?
Your mom and I started unpacking your clothes and setting up your crib. We can’t wait for you to arrive.
We’ve been slowly, slowing buying clothes, because we didn’t know what size you’d be.
Now we have the crib set up (you’ll get changed on top of the crib, and sleep on the little bed, and eventually you’ll sleep and stay in the pen.) And we have clothes hanging all around the room . . . little tiny, baby clothes.
We got home last night from our trip to see you, and your mommy and I just stare at your photos over and over.
We went out to dinner tonight, and set your picture on the table between us.
It’s heart-breaking to have to wait, to have to leave you behind. We so look forward to seeing you. It’s impossible to explain to other people how much we want you, but we can’t have you with us. We just have to wait for the state to work everything out.
We are so looking forward to seeing you again. You’re our little Valentine’s present. A Cherub from heaven.
We got to see you again, today.
You’re a week old.
Your mommy and I each took turns holding you and talking to you, and looking at you for more than an hour each. Your mommy fed you for the first time, and changed your diaper.
We just sat and looked at you. Listened to you sleeping. Watched every expression that passed across your face.
a little smile, or a little gas
I held you close, and kissed you goodbye and then I had to lay you down in your little bed. We’re looking forward to seeing you again, when we’re able to bring you home.
Just the thought of you brings tears to our eyes, because we love you so much, and look forward to being with you all the time.
We got to see you and hold you today. We met with lawyers and your birth family . . . but we still couldn’t take you home with us.
You remain under the care of the state, until your birth family gets all the legal details taken care of. We held you and told you that you are deeply loved. We love you so much we want to take care of you forever.
You really are a perfect baby. Some babies are born looking like old men. Some babies go through rough deliveries, but yours was perfect.
It’s a lot of weight to put on a little girl, but you really do look like a perfect baby.
Your mom held you first, and then, because we were standing outside, on a city street, or because she knows I haven’t held a baby very often in the past 15 years, she was really careful handing you to me.
I held you, until it was time to go, and then I put you in the car carrier.
I held you, and then put you into your car seat for the first time.
Everyone gathered around and watched as I carefully put you in your seat, and strapped you in. And then I took this photo of you.
We were told the state has taken control of your little body. Your mom can’t take care of you, and that’s why we’re here to get you.
We got off the plane and were told that there’s nothing we can do . . . we’re as helpless as you are.
Unfortunately, other people didn’t make the plans they needed to for us to take you . . . so we’re waiting to see you. We saw a picture of you, today, and we’re so grateful that you are healthy and safe and a perfect baby.
We got the call, and got on the plane! You are born today.