Butterflies set in

I have major butterflies in my belly this morning! Finally drugged myself to sleep last night with some Tylenol PM at about 1 a.m. so I am a bit groggy. Fell asleep to the (imagined) sound of the baby crying. It's like I was hearing it from within. And she has a deep, lusty cry~ which she reserves exclusively for diaper changes~ that I heard twice last night so it is burned into my memory. Was she crying that very moment during a diaper change at the hospital? I am known to be psychic with people with whom I share a strong attachment. I missed her last night. Even little Moose said, on the way home, 'I miss that baby. I wish we could bring it home tonight.' We are so fortunate to be about a ten minute drive from the new, state of the art hospital. But I am eager to have her home. I woke this morning at 7:15 to the aroma of my coffee brewing and shot out of bed, thinking Where is______? What is her name again? Why isn't she crying?

Mike just took Hammy to kindergarten and Moose is sleeping soundly. I'm going to let him sleep in so he will be well-rested for my sister, who will have her own toddler (and who *must* nap) to take care of as well. moose is at that age when he can go without a nap if needed as long as he goes to bed early.

My concerns are jumbled up with a deep, settling sadness and what feels like rising anger that someone injured this child so severely. yesterday I was going through the motions but today it feels like reality is setting in. I kept thinking last night: This baby would be so perfect without this body cast. NO!! She *is* perfect. What was done to her is imperfect. Who could harm a hair on her head? And today the reality is that we will have to take her to (court-ordered and supervised) visits with the very family that allowed her to be so horribly hurt. I refuse to believe that no one but the abuser knew about the abuse. The bruises are apparent. A child with that many extensive injuries could not have appeared normal- especially if it was the sixth child. And yet my heart goes out to the mother somehow, wondering if she really did know, if she felt powerless to stop it, and if she was herself abused and trapped in what felt like an inescapable cycle of violence. It is my nature to think both the best and the worst. So when I think the best of the mother, I want her to know that I will take the very best care of her precious little girl.

My mom sent me an email last night, asking what it feels like to be an answered prayer. It feels good. It feels right. It feels like everything we have done up to this point has prepared us for this and that we were called to it. And it also feels like the School of Hard Knocks is in session and that we are in for some serious life lessons. A lot of people have told us/wrote to us that we are so generous, so great, so kind, so special...but we are just a bunch of regular, flawed folks. We aren't saints or devout Buddhists or die-hard Christians or anything unusual. I simply replied to a "Help Wanted" ad in the newspaper for Therapeutic Foster Parents (in the classifieds under Social Services) and we've been in training for a year.

If not us, then who? As the ads say, "It doesn't take a lifetime, but it can change a life."

I'm so excited, nervous, sad and scared as we set out on this voyage. I know it will change us completely, no matter what the outcome. It has already changed us. In a way, our world just got darker. But we are lighting a candle in that darkness, and that candle burns brightly in hope and in love. Feel free to use our candle to light your own, and to pass it on to others in the dark.