Eleven years.  Eleven years.  Gone in the blink of an eye.

It’s hard to reconcile the two people sitting anxiously on that couch at the adoption agency with the (ahem) extraordinarily cool and collected parents we are today.

Well, okay, so maybe it’s not that hard.  Perhaps that bundle of nerves hovers just beneath the surface, firing off frantically every once in a while when the occasion warrants.  (Hello, car conversation about the fact that a girl’s period is more than that time of the month when she gets a little touchy.)

It’s still hard finding the words to paint a full picture of that morning just over a decade ago.

Fighting nausea the whole way to the agency, wondering if we would really truly become parents that day.

Sitting on the couch, making small talk with a counselor while butterflies knocked madly around my stomach.  Thinking with every fiber of my being, my son is in this building.  Longing to meet him.  Wondering when I’d finally hold him in my arms.

The moment Miss C carried T-man into the room, time stopped.  He was just…breathtaking.  My heart may have actually skipped a beat.


Here we are eleven years later, still standing, still smiling.  I do occasionally wonder how this chubby little guy grew into such a handsome young man, and I’m forever grateful for the chance to be his mom.