Premature grieving

There is a chore around here (and probably at your house too) that I postpone and dread, but then kind of enjoy a little bit when I finally get into it. It’s cleaning out my kids’ closets. About twice a year, I have to drag out a new rubbermaid container, label it, and start putting away the clothes C & S have grown out of. This is the first time I’ve come around to this task and had any inkling of what the future holds for us in the offspring department. I’ve been clinging tightly to ALL my kids clothes, knowing that Trent and I both were pretty sure we wanted a 3rd kiddo, and a onesie saved is a onesie earned, knowwhatimean? And kiddo #3 could be a boy or girl, so I needed to guard each tub (both blue and pink) with equal protection from the husband who sees the garage being taken over by rubbermaid tubs. I was going to send them all to Hand-me-down Lane.

And it’s so bittersweet! As I put away Sydney’s little skirts or Carson’s button-up plaid shirts like his dad wears, I marvel at how quickly they grow and shed a tear for the teensy-ness that is gone.

Well, this time as I entered the organizing task, I have an idea of what the future holds for us, kid-wise. We ARE having a third child, and it will probably be a boy! So, I’m trying to take extra good care of Carson’s clothes, which is not an easy thing to with an insanely active boy. (PS: Osh-Kosh so far has the sturdiest jeans.) But…BUT! There’s a small chance it could be a girl, so I’m not ready to get rid of girl clothes either. Sorry, garage. You will be overflowing with rubbermaids indefinitely.

And yesterday as I was toting totes to and fro, I saw on the shelf: “Baby Boy clothes: 0-9 months” And it hit me: I don’t need those. Our “baby” will not be an infant at our home. He (or she) will be between the ages of 13-18 months when he comes home with us. And I don’t know why this was a sucker punch to me. I’ve had this info all along! There was one other country we could have chosen that placed children under 12 months, but we felt so strongly led to Thailand. I don’t regret that decision one bit. But my heart sunk with grief when I saw those clothes that Carson’s little brother will not wear. I’m grieving those months that my baby will be a baby and he will not yet be mine. It’s hard for me to know that someone else will be caring for my child for so many days and weeks and months, that somone else will see his first smile, first pass of a toy from one hand to the other. I pray that someone is there to cheer for him when he first triumphs at rolling over or pulls himself up to a stand, that a loving foster parent cuddles and kisses him at night as I long to do. This is so difficult for me now, months and months from even having a name and a face matched to mine. I can’t imagine the torture it will be when we finally know the person God has ordained to be ours, and we still have to wait for the red tape to clear before we bring him home.

So, I’m choosing to focus on the positive, on my excitement for our kiddo. To be perfectly honest, I’m not that sad to sell my breast-pump. (Sorry for using the word “breast” everyone.) There are some aspects of the newborn stage that I will not miss. This is all part of the loss-gain that is adoption, and right now I’m indulging for a moment in my loss, all the while fully realizing that it is small compared to the losses of my child and his first mother. But I rest confidently in the belief that being together as a forever family will work towards healing those losses, and that God’s timing is perfect. Not just in my life, but in the life of my child, my baby. Who he is and when he arrives in my arms is out of my control, and I’m OK with that. Because of who HE is.