Missing the Milestones, But...

It's Christmas Day. We woke up here, read the Christmas story, put our final ornament on the Jesse Tree. We went downstairs and exclaimed over presents and tried things on and and played and laughed. We ate our traditional monkey bread and put together legos and spent an hour sledding in the snow. It was a good Christmas.

But.

You weren't here yet. You are at your foster parents home. You were a part of their traditions. You won't remember today, of course. It won't matter in the long run to you that your big brother dressed up like Darth Vader and stomped around the house while Dad played his theme song on the piano. Or the fact that the guinea girls got a new fun cage to play in with all sorts of toys and have been hopping around happily for hours. You probably couldn't have smiled about it yet.

The thing is, though, it's your first Christmas and you aren't home. You learned to smile this week and we haven't seen it yet. You are in someone else's arms on this most important of days.

But you know what? It's ok.

Yes, I am missing some milestones. I am. But, I can be thankful that your foster mom sends me updates and is good at keeping a camera on hand. I can take comfort in the fact that she loves Jesus, too, and that your Christmas felt like the right kind of Christmas. I can keep counting down the days (15!) until this uncertainty is over and you will be home with us and I won't miss the big moments like rolling over and sitting up and first steps and teeth. (Actually, I wouldn't mind missing the whole teething thing, to be honest. If you want to go ahead and get that over with now, feel free.)

The grand scheme of it is this. The wait is really almost over. These final weeks are nothing compared to the long road we've already traveled. If I miss a smile or two, I know there are thousands in my future. If I miss a feeding or a pediatrician's appointment, I can rest assured that this side of home you will experience so many more than you have up until now. If I am not the one to comfort you now or the one with whom you've bonded, some day I will be that person to you. I WILL be mama. And so, I can do this. I can wait two more weeks. I can look at your pictures as often as I like. I can pray for you and for your birth parents and for me and Dad and Josh as we ready ourselves for this new stage of family.

And next year, on this day, I can celebrate your second Christmas with you, my son. What a good and beautiful day that will be.