In the last ten miles before arriving at the mountain house, my stomach began to turn. Flipping and flopping, I tried to figure out what I was feeling. Obviously, some of my anxiety was rearing its head but I couldn’t pin-point the general feeling of unrest. It wasn’t dread but there was some fear involved. Obviously excitement played into it as well. Soon we arrived. After the car was unpacked, the boys were put in jammies and put down in bed for the night, D informed me that the Munchkin wanted me to go in and kiss her head when we got there.

I opened her door, tip-toed to the bed and felt a year and a half of worry lift from my shoulders.

There she was, before my very own eyes. Sleeping and peaceful, her hair spread all over her pillow. I sat next to her, quietly, as mothers do, and just stared… as mothers do. In those few quiet moments, I knew what I had been feeling. I had feared that she wouldn’t remember me. That she wouldn’t want to spend time with me. But, even more so, I had feared that in the past year and a half I had somehow lost the ability to be her birth mother. That the feeling and knowledge had left, that I wouldn’t feel the same when I saw her.

If you’re not a birth mother, those last few sentences might not make sense. What do I mean when I say “how to be a birth mother” exactly? There is no exactly as I’m 100% sure it varies from birth mother to birth mother. For me, it involves a feeling of all-encompassing love mixed with pride. It is a feeling of awe that something/someone I have missed for however long we have been apart, someone I have grieved the lack of presence is suddenly right back in front of me. It’s also a feeling of pride within myself. Not for relinquishing or “doing the right thing” or any of that. No. A feeling of pride that I have continued to put in the leg work that allows me to sit on the side of her bed and listen to her steady, sleepy breathing. It’s not easy, that leg work. But the reward? Nothing can replace it.

I sat there, watching her sleep, just for a few minutes. I didn’t want to wake her brother (JD) sleeping just feet from her. As I watched, a feeling of peace came over my soul. No, it didn’t remove the grief that I have that she isn’t in our daily life. That peace doesn’t remove the fact that, sitting here today hundreds of miles apart, yes, I still miss her. But a peace with what “is.”

That peace was further confirmed by ineractions over the weekend. Not just with her but with D, her Mom. Conversations between the lot of us. Laughter by all of us. Time spent watching, time spent playing. When it comes down to it, I have peace with the relationship, the existence of adoption in our lives. Do I still wish she was here right now, asking me questions? Well, sure. What person who is missing someone doesn’t wish for such a thing? But do I know that she is okay? Do I know that she is thriving? Do I know that she is loved by all in her life? Do I know that she will be okay and, as such, in the end, I will be okay? Yes. Yes I do.

I’ll be writing some more about some of my issues, sharing some little stories and some pictures over the next week (or two)… or three. But for now, I leave you with this. It is my new favorite picture of the two of us together. This was taken after a “face off” in which we made funny faces together for the camera and before she told me, “I was born from your belly.”

I? AM the luckiest.