Another year is drawing to a close, and we still haven't met. When this year started, I was sure that this year would be the year that you'd be growing inside me, and I was really looking forward to getting to know you. I guess it's not meant to be. We tried really hard, traveling and working and doing more than I ever thought possible. So believe me, it's not for a lack of trying. I'd give anything to have you here.
But, I still have faith that you're out there. I don't know how you'll come. If the doctors will help us, or if we'll have some sort of amazing luck and create you all on our own. Or maybe you're here already. Maybe you've been born somewhere else, maybe even somewhere far away from where we live. And maybe, if we work hard enough, we'll find you. Or you might have already been created, and you're just waiting to be planted, put down roots, and grow. At this point, I don't think I care. Because however you come, I know that you will be the child that is meant for me.
So, we'll keep at it. Your dad and I will keep talking, and sometimes we'll argue. But that's OK, even people who love each other sometimes disagree. And we'll keep working hard to get you home where you belong. A very wise person once told me that I was really already a mother, because moms fight very hard for their children, and that's what I'm doing now. I like that idea. I hope that someday, I get to mother in ways that everyone will recognize; cuddling, feeding, soothing fears and sharing love. In the meantime, I'll hold on tight to what I've got.
I'm going to stop assuming that next year will be the year that you come home. Who knows when that time will arrive. But I'm going to be waiting, telling my heart to be patient, hoping that it can hold out for just a little bit longer. And when you're ready to come, we'll be here.
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