An Open Door

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"Come on. I'll show you the baby's room," I say to my parents during their visit this past weekend.

So, I take them into the baby's room with it's newly painted lavender walls, the gifted crib, new super comfy glider with matching ottoman, new changing table, new stroller/car seat combo, and all of the other assorted and sundry baby things that we've either purchased or received as gifts.

"You've done a really nice job in here," says my mom.

"Do you like the color?" I ask.

"It's really pretty," she replies and then after a pause adds, "I guess I just thought you'd have this room closed up."


I relate this story to Chris after my folks have gone back to their hotel. He says, "What? Like if we have the room all closed up it'll be like none of this ever happened? Like we'll forget?"

PaintIn a way, I can kind of understand what my mom means. When the adoption first falls apart back in March, every time I walk by the baby's room it's painful to see all of that stuff in there. But somehow I can't bear to close the door. I can't make myself do that.

And I still can't just close the door. Doing that....shutting away all of the baby things...somehow that would be like I've given up hope.

So, the door stays open. I look at all of the baby stuff in there everyday. Every single day.

And I know that someday soon there will actually be a baby in that beautiful baby's room. I have to keep hoping that.

I have to keep hoping.

Photo Credit: inottawa.

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