Due date.

I can’t help but think about this week.  A year ago on August 29th we made the decision to adopt.  Then on September 3 we mailed our papers.  And today, on September 4th, 204, we should have been welcoming Baby Frost.  (Well, give or take a few days.  But I’m pretty sure that my baby would come right on time, since he/she knows I have no patience.)

There’s about fifteen women (no joke) that I either personally know or follow online with due dates around my own.  And while I can’t help but be so happy for them, there was a very long period where I was nothing but envious.

Don’t get me wrong.  I so enjoy being a mother to these two little girls.  They are funny, and smart, and beautiful.  Little is the most perceptive four year old I’ve ever met, a trait that stems from her need for survival, sure, but perceptive none the less.  Littlest learns about four new words everyday, and came to us only bottle fed and slept in a crib and hardly ever walked, and now she’s got this little independent streak that I can’t help but admire and want to squash all at the same time.

But man, do I miss that baby of mine who I never got to meet.

Although I hate that I feel the need to add this disclaimer, but I know if I don’t I’m sure to get about 50 texts or calls wondering about my mental state or asking me to go to coffee, I am not nor have I ever wallowed in self-pity about this baby.  I grieved.  I read an amazing book that helped.  I talked through it.  I prayed through it.  I feel very much whole and complete even with no baby.  And should I never be pregnant again I am amazingly content with that.

But I just can’t help but think what the last nine months could have been.  I can’t help but think about the experience I didn’t get to have.  I can’t help but wonder about if Baby was a he or she, and what it would have looked like, what it would have become.

But then I think, Baby has become something.  Baby Frost has become one of the biggest blessings I’ve ever had in life.  Baby Frost taught me there are better things to cry about than losing a job or not finding the right shade of foundation.  Baby Frost taught me that there are real struggles in the world that people go through on a daily basis.  Struggles my own children have endured.  Baby Frost gave me a profound sense of loss that only better helps me to understand the loss my children have gone through.  And though this baby will never have a face or a name or a gender, this baby has transformed my life body, mind, and soul.

So here’s to you, Baby Frost.  You’ll never be a could’ve-been, a should’ve-been, a would’ve-been.  In my heart, you’ll always be a highly valued and amazingly cherished piece of my heart that I will never, ever forget.

Here’s my letter to the baby I’ll never meet.



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