Where do babies come from?

Since Trenton and I have agreed that we are open to adopting a child age four or under, and the wait list for Ethiopia is currently 6-9 months for an infant, we are hopeful that we will have a child before the end of the year. But we understand and accept that it may not be until next year and that is fine.

Since January or February, I have been thinking about the fact that my child is out there, he or she may be conceived or may be playing, or sleeping, or laughing or crying... well or throwing a tantrum somewhere out there. It is very likely someone out there is watching over my future child at this very moment.

If I close my eyes I can hear a child laughing or crying and it makes my heart heavy knowing that I don't get to know yet. I don't know what he looks like, I don't know her smile, I don't know his cry, I don't know her smell... but I want to. I desperately want to. And the more I think about it the more I want it.

Somewhere there is a birth family who knows this child and who loves this child. Someone loves this child enough to want the very best future for her. Someone who loves her is saying good-bye or is going to have to say good-bye soon. I wonder if they know. In Ethiopia there are several health and economic issues that make it impossible for a child to stay with their birth family. It doesn't mean that someone didn't want them or didn't love them. The situation is that someone loved them enough, and they were selfless enough, to make sure this child had their basic needs met. A situation many of us cannot even fathom, nor would we want to.

I want to say how much I love these people who are caring for my child, how grateful I am. A birth mother who carried the baby those long hard months, maybe knowing she would not have the means to care for this child, but hoping she would. She may be ill, or hungry, or poor, but she loves her child. How devastating to know that you cannot provide the basic needs, sometimes love just isn't enough... but you have to wish it was. Somewhere there is an aunt, cousin, brother, father, grandmother, and they are holding the child and playing and laughing and sometimes crying because they are a family and that's what families do. The child loves them and they love the child.

Trenton and I may have the honor and privilege of meeting the birth family of our child. Apparently that happens often with Ethiopian adoptions. I hope, for my child's story and future, that I do get to meet some of his family. Then I can tell him how much they said they loved him.