I love my girls' birth mom, but sometimes I can't stand her. While I will always speak respectfully of her towards others and, especially, with Lulu and Flavia, I admit there are certain realities that are hard to swallow. But I love her all the time and would never tolerate anyone else putting my occasional negative feelings about her into words. That's family, right?
I fully, completely love our daughters, while remaining cloaked in fear of losing them. They're grafted into our hearts, but we have no rights, no legal foothold to differentiate us from any other state-sanctioned babysitter. Fear lurks in the margins of every conversation and decision we make, yet it does not tamper our undeniable love for our girls.
I want to fast forward to when the TPR ends, but also slow down time to savor every ounce of our girls' childhoods that we're now privileged to witness.
I'm fine. But I'm also not fine. I will not be fine until this is all said and done, but in the meantime, life is still happening, memories are still being made and good times are occurring. We're making it through, and even having fun in the process. But even when I'm fine, I'm also not fine at the same time.
I'm infuriated about the realities of the foster system in NYC, but I'm also thankful beyond words that it united Alex and me with the most remarkable little humans... and I get to call them daughters.
This is fostering-to-adopt. I'm living in the tension. It's not comfortable and I want out of this season, but my heart is expanding to hold all these emotions and realities.