I feel like I'm perpetually stuck in the waiting room.
After some surprisingly quick work on the county's end, hubby will not be able to leave work early any this week. So, next week? Maybe.
And I'm paralyzed again. So much I needed to do yesterday, but I spent the day on the couch, reading, eating (because that really helps my expanding body), and mentally blocked from cleaning out my room to get rid of all those clothes I haven't been able to put on in years.
It hit me again - this realization that my baby(ies?) is (are?) out there somewhere. It was Saturday - if not in care yet, were they being hit, burned, abused, ignored, fending for themselves because nobody else was around? If in care, were they being loved, held, played with, maybe even spoiled? Hurt there too? Instead of moments of rubbing my belly, knowing my baby is safe and cared for, and being able to control exposure to tobacco, alcohol, and drugs, I am left to hope and pray, and possibly find out years down the road!
I had a dream last night that I was called and given a time and place to be, where I would have the opportunity to "hand-pick" my child. I got there, and there were 8-9 children crammed into a small Sunday School-type room. They were all over the age we have requested (3 and under), the youngest was 6, and I wondered why we were even called... But at the same time, I sat down to play with them, and tried to imagine myself with any or all of them. Then they brought in one baby, probably around 9 months old, only to tell me he had already been adopted.
I'm ready to meet my baby, already! I woke up yesterday slowly, to a quiet house. Immediately I thought it was too quiet! I'm ready to wake up to giggles and squeals and even cries. Soiled sheets and morning pukefests and gallons of milk on the floor and sharpie toddler art on the wall? Bring it. Just don't let my house be too quiet for much longer, please!