Today we found out we were number 11 on the waitlist for our adoption. When the woman from my agency told me, I kind of gulped for air as I hyperventilated, let out a squeak of joy, texted Andy and then posted the good news on Facebook. I was then greeted by tons of good wishes from my friends and family. I LOVE the attention. I LOVE LOVE support. I LOVE LOVE LOVE that so many people have been able to join us on this wonderful journey.

But then I got a little blue… why? Because I started thinking about what our kid’s birth family might be going through. Our kid is either born, or about to be born and somewhere he/she has a family that is making the agonizing decision to trust us to care for and raise their child. There is a quote from the New York Times about adoption that I keep with me.

“The miracle of adoption isn’t just the creation of a family from disparate, distant people. Adoption is a phoenix; a miracle that arises from the ashes of despair. A baby is abandoned, a family lost and a whole new world gained. Like nearly everything else, an adoptive family is born of both joy and pain.”

So while we are celebrating our waitlist numbers and all the milestones this process has to offer—I know that simultaneously their is a family in Ethiopia that isn’t celebrating all these milestones and might be mourning or grieving the loss of their child. It’s a basic fact about adoption.

My most favorite kids on the planet are kids that I have known that have grown up with some heartache. I have seen them grow up into pretty amazing teenagers and they will be spectacular adults.  I know that our kid will probably also suffer some heartache as well. There is no denying that in adoption there is sadness and happiness. Friends who have brought home babies say that their children mourned the sudden loss of everything that is familiar to them. As parents- hopefully we can guide them into spectacular adults (that’s the best we can hope for right?) I also know we need to honor that birth family for giving our kid life and for enabling us to become parents.

Sorry to be a Debbie Downer. I think the magnitude of this is really coming to me in waves. I promise by number 8 I won’t be feeling so blue about this (eight is great). I am so freaking excited about bringing our little one home. I can’t stand it. I just want to know who they are. I want that photo so I can smooch all over it. Thanks for the good wishes—they really keep us going!