Dear Reese,
A year ago was a very important day for us on the journey to finalizing your adoption. I wrote a letter to you then that I haven’t shared here. You were one day shy of one month old when I wrote it. Today, you are pushing chairs around and cruising along walls, and your teacher agrees with me that you have the ability to walk, but you’re just building the confidence to try on your own.
This morning, you pull your shoe out of the closet and put it against your foot, asking me to put it on for you. I do, and when I ask if you can find your other shoe from the closet, you go and find it. We don’t even need to put on shoes, but you want to. What a year.
Here is the letter I wrote to you on July 16, 2024 at 7:32pm:
“Congratulations,” Tiana tells me at 2:20 pm. “You can go celebrate, you can go tell her you're her mama.”
There is nearly an hour and a half of waiting from when I know the court date started until I get the call. And for that time it’s like being dragged back into the years of waiting for you again. But it’s okay. Your Mama A did the most selfless, the bravest, the most incredible thing I’ve ever known someone to do. She terminated her parental rights today so that you and I could belong to each other.
It’s a miracle. You are a miracle.
I started crying over the phone. When the call was done MorMor, who had picked you up when I took the call, brought you back into the room. Then she was crying too.
Your Mama A texted me after, too, said that all went well and that she might have cried, just a little. She texts me: “I can tell Reese truly means a lot to you just like she does to me 💘 I just want her to have the best and I feel confident in you as a person and as a mom ❤️”
I will never receive a greater gift. You are the greatest gift of my life.
You were also crying too, baby girl. But you were hungry or tired and we hadn’t quite figured out whether to keep offering you a bottle or soothe you into a nap. It ended up being the latter – you’d already had nearly 5 ounces.
We went for an afternoon walk together and I fielded texts as I told the most important people in my life about this milestone. I haven’t had space to worry much in the last thirty days, adjusting to life together has taken up most of my capacity. Or maybe it was one step too terrible to even imagine – that now that we are together, you could be taken away.
As of today, you are not going to be taken away.
We’re still months away from finalization, but until then it’s monthly case-worker visits. Rainbows and butterflies. As far as the adoption process goes, we’re onto the easy stretch.
I tell my mom, next time I want to do something incredibly hard, remind me not to.
I’m half joking of course. Not about this being incredibly difficult – the emotional weight of waiting for you – or not even knowing there was a you that I was waiting for at points – was crippling at times. But if all of that – if all those years of anxiety and grief – were for you, then they were worth it. You, sleeping beside me in your Dock-A-Tot on the couch. I’m waiting for you to wake up so we can have an evening bottle and put you down for bed for the night. Last night you didn’t want to sleep much, I’m hoping tonight will be different. But you can be awake and wild all night if you want because you are mine and I am yours and I am still terrified but we are family, Reese.
I love you, baby girl. Forever and always.
Love,
Mama