I'm sitting in my bed after a morning spent hugging the porcelain bowl. Thinking about how even though I feel miserable, absolutely miserable, I am counting it all joy knowing that I have the privilege of carrying life inside of me. I would do anything for this baby I have yet to meet.
Being pregnant just six short months after adopting has brought up a lot of new thoughts about Eli's first mom. What was her pregnancy like? Was she sick a lot? Did her heart smile the first time she felt him move? Or was she sad? Overwhelmed?
And of course, that leads to questions about Eli as a baby...questions I'll never have answered.
I am forever and inexplicably linked to this woman. This first mother of my son. The one who carried him and birthed him and nursed him. And loved him. I have no doubt of the motivating factor behind her decisions.
I traced the outline of her hand in my journal when we met in Ethiopia.
I wanted a physical and tangible reminder of my responsibility to her.
To take care of our son.
To protect him.
And, mostly, to love him.