Groveling Fool

If I could meet you, I might grovel.

I would stutter and sound like a fool, desperately trying to hide that I have no idea how to be a parent. I would look for similarities in our lives and try to form a quick bond. I would try to be a good listener, but in excitement would probably interrupt and try to finish your sentences.

I would promise to love unconditionally, forever. To protect, provide, and guide to the very best of my ability, every day for the rest of my life.

I would tell you what an amazing man my husband is. He never raises his voice in anger. He knows how to relax and make people comfortable. He is my home, and would be a safe haven for a child too. He is wise beyond his years and talented beyond his awareness. He will provide and play. He will be the rock. He is a rock.

I would tell you about my family. How my sister faithfully believes a baby will be in my arms before too much longer, how my mom has been picking up baby clothes and bragging about adoption, and how my sister-in-law already has a baby shower planned in her mind. I would tell you about all the excellent mothers (yes, plural) in my family. I would tell you again that I have no idea how to be a mother, but those around me do, and I will learn from them as I go.

I would tell you that you are prayed for. I have been praying for you before I knew your name or situation. This decision is yours to make, and if it's not us, I will delight in knowing that someone in our shoes is feeling the extreme joy that I am longing for.

And if I could meet you, I'm pretty sure it would take every bone in my body to resist the urge to beg, "Please, please, please...pick us."


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