Each month, Steve and I try to make it to the adoption support group our agency runs for adoptive parents, children, birth moms, and people like us, people who are waiting.
We took the long drive down to Orange County last night to connect with those I am beginning to consider “our people.” It was an unusually joyous time, so many stories about successful matches. A newborn boy had found a home. Or friends Uma and James introduced us to their exquisite Kailash, 3 months old. One family was matched even before they were done with their homestudy — a fortunate match perhaps aided by the fact that the couple was from the same country as the birthparents.
As the director reported all the successes, a tiny part of me (ok, bigger than tiny) wondered when it will be our turn. And what else can we be doing. Is the font OK on our profile that goes to birthmoms? Do we need better pictures? What subtle differences keep us in, or out, of the running? Think about watching other people get picked for the kickball team, but thousands of times more important.
But before I wallow in a crisis of confidence, before I go into the mindspin of “it will never happen,” I remind myself of something I just know: when it is right, our child will come. As it had for so many before us.