Going in to foster care, my brain was trying desperately to align with my heart and my reality. My heart said, “mother.” My reality said, “not now.” And my brain stood in the gap, grasping at puzzle pieces, trying to fit it together.
If you had asked me at the beginning of that foster care journey what I imagined it looking like, I would have told you I imagined a newborn baby girl. It’s what my dreams held, what my home felt most prepared for, what I longed for the most. As my plans often do, that idea got pushed away and reformatted and became something new and wonderful.
Today I got a call for a 4-day-old, drug-exposed baby girl. I don’t know her name or her history. I know I would have loved her fast and deep. I believe my heart would have realized a dream it’s been dreaming since I was a little girl. But I know it wasn’t what’s best for us.
What’s best for the sweet boy asleep down the hall is that he is my priority. I am fighting a hard battle for him and with him. It is us against history, against genetic wiring, against statistics and generalizations. He deserves every bit of the fight I’ve got in me.
So, sweet baby girl, I’m praying you are safe and sleeping tonight in a room down the hall from a mama who is ready to fight for you.