by his other mother,
his first mother,
his birth mother.
Just last year.
It feels so close, so near,
those feelings of hoping, unending waiting, unknowing, uncertain.
Last year this time we were waiting on a baby we didn't know anything about. Last year he was being fearfully and wonderfully made. While we worked, took classes, read books, and prepared a nursery, he was being created and being lovingly carried. While we prayed fervently, God was already at work, setting things in motion, preparing hearts, growing life, guarding choices. We had no clue what God was weaving together.
And this year, this winter, we hold the answer to those prayers.
Somedays as the light dims outside our window, a little cabin fever sets in on our little bear. The only thing that settles his squirmy body is to be in my arms, on my hip. Not always, but some days he just wants to be carried.
And no matter what else I had planned for my hands to do. No matter how my back aches. No matter how messy that means my house will stay.
I will carry him. For this season in his little life, my arms are his.
I'm not the one who got to carry him for his first 9 months....but I have been given the awesome privilege of carrying him for the past 9 months.
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