A letter to Rose- October 11

Dear Rose,

It was a rough morning around here. Isaac was sick in the night, which means I got to spend part of the night on my hands and knees cleaning up vomit, which you will soon learn is my least favorite part of being a parent. Your big sister Annie is not a morning person, so she spent the morning stomping her feet and rolling her eyes, and Bryce was teasing Maren and making her squeal and scream. At one point I went out the back door to "let the chickens out" (didn't I tell you we have chickens?) and I stood in the frosty, dewy morning and just took a deep breath.

I came back and told the kids that on mornings like this, I really question bringing another child into the house. But the truth is, I want you, even if it means more shrieking, more vomiting, more teasing, more noise. Even if it means my morning runs have to come to an end, and I never finish my novel, I want you. I'm telling you that now. Even though you're concentrating now on survival and you might feel alone, we want you, desperately. We need you to come to our family.

What have we been doing to get ready this week? I'm still deep in shopping mode. I think that if I'd had a week or two to get ready after the referral, it would have been better for everyone concerned. Now I feel like I need to pace myself, picking up a few things here and there. I found an awesome jogging stroller for $35 this weekend, and with all the money I saved by not buying a new one, I decided to get your crib and the baby carrier. Annie and I went out last night and got a crib, and she's determined to set it up with me this afternoon, so today I'm taking care of Isaac, doing homework, and ironing the crib skirt. I'm excited to be able to carry you around in the carrier-- I want to keep you right next to me, so we can make up for lost time and I can snuggle you close.

I've also been reading about working on making a connection with you. I thought that since you would be a baby when you came to us, you'd grow up blissfully unaware of what it feels like to be cold, lonely, or abandoned, but I've learned that those things will likely stay with you, and it will be my job in those early months to help you make up the gaps between your actual age and your "family age."

Whatever it takes, my little Rosie, traveling around the world, not running as much, spending my waking hours helping you along, it will be worth it. You will be worth it.

Love,

Mommy