12:05 a.m.
Random thoughts are passing through my brain.
How come those sleep chemicals haven't kicked in?
Staring at the ceiling.
Worrying that I won't get up on time for work.
Praying and sending positive thoughts that Matthew's paperwork will come soon.
Jeff is snoring. The dog is passed out in his basket.
And I am lying on my back, contemplating lighthearted things like
what kind of mother will I make and how will I navigate the sleep issues
and when is his damn travel approval paperwork going to come already and whose arms is he in and who is he being comforted by and will he ever learn to find comfort in mine.
Tonight, I sat in the new rocker my mom got us (complete with ottoman)
and reached into the basket of books--some adoption storybooks, others the classics (Good Night Moon, Guess How Much I Love You).
All of them are crackling with newness, still molded into the perfect-square-or-rectangle-book-shape from the manufacturer, aching to be bent this way and that and made more shopworn by a curious little hand and exploring fingers.
(My inner nonconformist winces at what I am about to say, but here goes...)
I can't wait till our books look like those of every other kid I know...dog-eared, torn, bent, creased, stained.
LOVED
despite all their imperfections.
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