My husband and I spent eight years trying to have a child.
Eight years of tests, appointments, hormones, hope, and disappointment. By the end of it, I was tired in a way that had settled into my bones. I stopped buying baby clothes I used to hide in the back of drawers. I stopped letting myself picture a little face at our table. It hurt less when I stopped imagining.
That was how we started the foster-to-adopt process.
Then one night, after another failed round and another dinner eaten in near silence, my husband Ben looked at me and said, "What if our child is already out there waiting for us?"
That was how we started the foster-to-adopt process.
By the time we visited the children's home, we had already done the classes, the home study, the interviews, the background checks. The visit was supposed to be one step in a long process.
Instead, it changed my life.
Then I saw one girl sitting by the window.
Ben and I brought toys and treats for all the kids. The younger ones rushed us right away. They wanted the stuffed animals, the candy, the attention. Ben was laughing. I was trying not to cry.
Then I saw one girl sitting by the window.
