When I was about four years old, I had a book I loved called, The Waiting House. At that time I was the youngest in my family. The Waiting House seemed so mysterious. It was about a little kid, his/her parents and grandparents waiting for the arrival of a new baby. The mom was pregnant, but I didn't get that part. In fact I really didn't get any of it. I didn't know any pregnant people at that time. I also didn't know any babies. We lived in a two kid per family area and the families I knew were "complete" by the time I came around. The only baby I knew was some distantcousin who happened to have dimples just like me. It was all very egocentric on my part. Still that book held this special mystery and somehow made me feel sorry for this family because they had waited so long. My mom always seemed so sad when she read it. Now I understand why that I was four and she was sad because we hadn't been a waiting house for a long time. It wasn' t until I was in the 4th grade that my precious, adorable baby brother was born. I don't think a baby or young child has escaped my glance since that cold winter day. I have been blessed to have my own waiting house six glorious times. Adoption has been the hardest type of waiting house. But we are seasoned. THIS time we will continue to LIVE and not obsess. NOT!
When you live in a waiting house you always feel it. It's probably kind of like living in the line at the post office or the doctors office. You can be you, but somehow it's n t your regular you. From the moment you both know it is time to begin again, there is a brief knowing glance that says this is us now, our new theme until they are home...no matter how long that is.
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