Yesterday my baby got its first present. Not a hand-me-down, not a purchase I made to keep busy during the wait, but a gift, hand stitched with this child, my child, in mind. It hit me like a ton of bricks, a wave of emotions that at first I couldn’t put my finger on. It was an overwhelming feeling of love. Somehow a few yards of carefully laid out fabric made my child real.
When you’re adopting you dream about your child just like a pregnant woman does. You feel them in your soul. You know they’re out there. You’ve begun to pick out a name, planning a home. It already has a place in your life and in your heart. But you don’t know where, and you don’t know when you’ll meet. And you feel like all these emotions are irrational. How can you love someone who you know nothing about? How can you love someone who doesn’t exist yet? How can you feel so strongly for someone who isn’t real?
And then suddenly, in one small gesture, your emotions are validated. You may not know him or her yet, but your baby is real. With its initials hand stitched on the fabric, this item was created specifically for my child. My child. Because that exists. My baby is real.