It’s been five months since we didn’t bring home Ava’s birth sibling. And it still hurts. Even though I am a firm believer in that you and the baby meant to be yours will find each other, it still sucks waiting. Especially when everything indicated that we would be bringing home a son last August.
Now we wait, and debate whether or not to look at different agencies since the one we are working with doesn’t place many children of color. As much as we want a boy, more importantly, we don’t want Ava to be the only family member of a different color. Maybe she couldn’t care less when she gets older, (she’s too young to understand now), but I feel very strongly about adopting another child of color. Not just black (although that is probably my preferred choice), Hispanic, mixed race, or the like is okay by us.
This is not meant to offend anyone or make anyone feel sorry for us, but people who have not adopted, have no idea what it’s like to not know when you might have a child. To not know whether or not you can name that child (think about it—naming is hugely important and when you adopt, you don’t always get to name your child). To have little or no control over most aspects of starting or growing your family. There is so much more, so much, that people adopting have to go through just to get on a waiting list, but it's too exhuasting to list it all out.
I’m not feeling sorry for myself—I wouldn’t change my experience for anything in the world; I have the most wonderful, beautiful, and amazing child there is (of course I’m bias!). And some might try to argue that couples going through infertility treatments are in the same boat. (I will have to respectfully disagree, and perhaps touch on that at a later date). But the waiting, the not knowing, the uncertainty, it hurts.
Adopting is tough; you have to be a strong person. But it is worth it. An interesting, heart-breaking, up-lifting, unique journey that is making me a better person. Or so I tell myself.