by Caitlin Frost
Newly married with no job, no kids, and nothing to do all day, I obsessed over birth stories. It was 2010 and pretty much every person on the planet was blogging about the minute details of their lives and I relished in reading them--all the blood and guts included.
I couldn’t wait to write my own.
Fast forward four years and I was ready to write that story. I was ready to spill my own blood and guts--literally--and blog about it for other bored new housewives to read about. But there was no baby. Instead, there were two littles waiting for me somewhere in the state of Massachusetts and I could not wait to finally meet them.
And I met them. I learned their names and their faces and heard their voices for the first time. I got to run my hands through their hair and look into their beautiful eyes. I was lucky enough to hear a laugh and to learn about who these people were.
I finally had a birth story to write. It wouldn’t really be like those stories I stayed up until midnight reading, but it would be just as special. I was going to write all about the day I first met my kids and how amazing it was.
But for two and a half years, every time I try to write about that first day, there are no words. I can’t do it. It was just as amazing as I had anticipated, but there’s nothing I can really put into words, no matter how hard I try.
So I can’t tell you what that day was like and what we did and how I felt, although I certainly remember every single detail. But I can tell you this.
When we first met, my breath was taken away. I stopped breathing when I saw their faces for the first time.
When we first met, I couldn’t speak. What do you say to a little person when you meet them the first time? Everything felt so unimportant and cliche.
When we first met, I changed. Looking back that was the moment I became a mother, though it wouldn’t be until months later that I broke down crying in my car in a parking lot at the therapist’s office because the idea of motherhood and the weight of what that meant had finally set in.
When we first met, I had no idea two little strangers could look and act and talk just like me. It was if God had created a mini-me and destined us to find each other.
When we first met, I had no idea how I was going to mother another woman’s child. I was so excited that my dream was coming true at the expense of my own daughters’ life. That was when I first felt the tragedy enveloped in the beauty of adoption.
When we first met, I couldn’t leave. I overstayed my welcome at the foster parents’ house (much to our social worker’s chagrin) and my husband had to drag me out to the car. I met my kids and the idea of leaving them with someone else was so upsetting to me I cried the whole way home.
The days are long and the years are short but the memory of meeting my two forever daughters is as vivid today as it was when we first met, and I don’t think it will ever fade away. I don’t need to write the details because we all feel them. Every time I rock one of them to sleep or bandaged a hurt knee memories of that day surface and I feel so grateful that I get to mother these daughters of mine. I’m so grateful for this birth story, even if I can’t write about it.