Under a lamppost. | Reece's Rainbow

One of my favorite things in life is cuddling my babies. There's nothing like chubby arms wrapped around your neck and getting a kiss from the tiniest little lips. It's heaven on earth for this momma; but babies grow so fast. Too fast. I would give anything to see Claire at a year old again. I'd kiss her chubby cheeks and brush that long hair out of her eyes. Please tell me you remember the "hair in the eyes stage". It provided hours of entertainment for Derek and I. Those are absolutely priceless memories I don't want to ever forget. Thanks to modern technology, we don't have to.

I think I got a six pack just from laughing at this photo (the six pack has since packed up and moved on to someone's fridge). 

Tonight I lay in bed cuddling my newest baby, Nora; the one who wrote the book on cuddling. At a year and a half old, she is a tiny firecracker that explodes with love onto everyone around her. Suddenly my eyes are full of tears as I imagine my son at one year old. It is dark outside except for the light above him, as he sits shivering under a lamppost. He waits for someone to find him; to feed him; to cuddle him. For someone to care that he was all alone in this world. 

Nothing will ever make that an easy pill to swallow. I would give anything to go back to that day in time so I could be waiting at that lamppost. I'd tell his birth mom it's okay that she made this choice. I know it was the hardest choice, and one that will forever change her. I'd tell her that I will always be grateful that she gave our son the opportunity to live. I'd tell her that I will never let him forget who she was, and what she did for him. I'd tell her I would go to the ends of the earth for him, that he is the son I have been dreaming of. That I prayed for him, and God helped me find my way to him. That this is all part of God's plan. That He is in control. 

Six years have passed since that day, and a tiny piece of me has died every single day since then. I just never knew that it was only God preparing my heart for what was to come. We are incredibly fortunate that our son lives in a country that really cares about orphans. He has been well fed, his medical needs met, he's been given the opportunity to learn, and he has caregivers who make sure he knows he is loved. But who is there to cuddle my sweet, tiny baby? To hold on to his tiny hands and smell his sweet skin? To tell him, "I love you. GOD loves you. YOU are worth it". To care about the challenges he will face because of that magical extra chromosome? My heart is breaking into a million little pieces as I think of all the days my son went without knowing what it's like to have his momma cuddle him, to watch him sleep, to be made whole just by his presence. It breaks for the memories we will never get to make together because it's too late. Those years are gone. He will never be any younger than he is RIGHT NOW. These feelings are great for encouraging us to fundraise like maniacs so we can bring him home, but in reality they just make me want to hold my babies a little tighter until their brother comes home.