Zaza could look like this lil’ darlin’.
Tomorrow is officially the start of our sixth month of being waiting parents for our little Colombian daughter. Adoption is a weird deal. It messes with your emotions. You get hooked on the idea and you cannot stop the daydreaming about your child that you haven’t met.
There were several little girls Zaza’s age around the house this week. They are busy little bees. It makes me question our advanced ages for adopting a 3-5 year old. I just keep quoting my mantra, “I was in my thirties when she was born. I was in my thirties when she was born.” It makes me feel like I’m youngish and ready for a pre-school age child. DRE-E-E-E-EAM, DREAM DREAM DRE-EAM.
On nights like tonight when I’m dead-dog tired, I wonder if I will hold up like the days of old when I had my first go-around with young children. Looking back I seemed invincible. I handled it all so effortlessly. I’m not feeling invincible these days. And nothing is effortless anymore. Is it my age? Or is it just the pre-camp counselor blues? Did I mention DEAD-dog tired?
On a cherrier note, I cannot wait to hold Zaza in my arms and kiss her and wet her black hair with my happy tears. I’m sure that’ll be a new deal for her… someone that is so happy to see her… overcome with joy… and crying crocodile tears. I’m not the poker face type. I’m more the wear-my-heart-on-my-sleeve type. I think Zaza will appreciate it… on maybe the eighth day, or ninth.
Mama’s coming, Zaza. Hold on, girl!