I think today was one of the most "normal" days I've had in a while. It always helps when Trever is home. I think it helped also that I had an agenda for my day. I set out to make some Chicken Pot Pies for our family and another family we know. They adopted a darling boy recently (they actual brought him home about 3 1/2 weeks ago). I've been wanting to take a meal over, but timing hadn't worked out.
Spending the morning taking care of someone else, as well as my own family was so nice. I love to cook, so spending the morning focused in the kitchen was great. Saying I was focused is probably not accurate! I forgot to put the timer on twice, leading to over baking the pie crusts and then the brownies. Whoops. I gave in and bought new pie crusts (I'm a from-scratch baker but haven't even gone as far as to make my own pie crust), but Trever convinced me that the brownies were okay.
I figure it was a bit of calorie control since the middle of the pan was the best part, why bother with the rest? And oh was the middle good! It was rich, dark chocolate brownie covered in sea salt caramel and then a layer of chocolate ganache. Oh so yummy!
As I dropped the food off with our friends I tried so hard not to apologize, but wasn't able to bite my tongue. But she is a mom of 3 so I figure she doesn't expect perfection. When I ate the food tonight I did restrain myself from calling to tell her to season it up a bit... it was perfect for the kids but definitely not the flavor that I usually create.
I remember going to a bible study a few years back (with this same friend). We talked about how apologizing for our imperfections promotes the idea that others should be perfect. Ie. when someone comes to your house and you apologize that it isn't clean, or you make food and you apologize that it isn't perfect. Instead as mothers, as women we should just be true to where we are. Our homes aren't always clean (much to my husbands dismay, but he is a great cleaner so he can put out as much effort as he likes!... and he never gives me trouble about our house, which by the way is fairly clean he, just doesn't realize it.), we don't always have salad with our dinners, sometimes our kids are overdue for a bath. Whatever, the list goes on.
So I'm working hard to shout from the roof tops that our life is not perfect. That our life is real. I don't think that means I can't work towards the ideals I'd like, but I can accept where I am on any given day.
And I feel the same way about Abby. She is not "perfect" by our cultures standards. But she is perfect, she is a miracle. Every life is a miracle. And she takes the idea of loving something that is different than me to a very high level. I know I've said it before but I don't need her to be "fixed". I don't need a baby who comes out as healthy as my other 3. I adore her, I can't wait to touch her and tell her how imperfectly perfect she is. And I want to give her so many kisses before she leaves us. Suddenly I'm less afraid of the work it will take to have her with us (the care will most likely be much more involved that our other children), and more excited to prove to myself that I can do it. That I can embrace the challenge and exhaust myself by loving Abby and my other children for the time that she is here.
We hope she is able to come home with us, and we hope our friends and family are able to meet her. I think she's going to be a beautiful, special little girl.