Written on May 20, 2014
It’s her little squeals and three consecutive coughs before a full-on cry. It’s how she purses her lips when she’s just waking up or refusing more of her bottle.
It’s her tiny little head and tiny little hands and tiny little toes. It’s when she looks into my eyes and I see deeper than the deepest ocean. I see this little being and she will grow and flourish and we will spend our lives together, and I still can’t believe she’s my daughter. We’ll learn and we’ll grow and we’ll experience. She’ll learn as I learn. We’ll learn together.
And it’s crazy. The cycle is crazy. I am happy and sleep-deprived. Exhausted. Happy but exhausted. Like any new mother. And I get sad seeing pictures of my friends’ newborns on Facebook or email, because I know we can’t do that yet. I know our journey is different.
We can’t send out the birth announcement whenever we want. We can’t email photos. Our journey, our story is different. Adoption is different.
And here I am, a mom. And I love my precious time with her. It’s all so delicate. She’s so delicate.
It was always Adele.
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