Surreality

Is that a word? "Surreal" seems to be the common thread running through various blogs this week as families are finally headed to Kaz to meet their children. I'm not on the plane yet, don't even know when that plane is leaving, but I will admit to the "surrealness" of this entire process. Yes, we fret and we stew, and we stress and we harrumph, and we rush and we wait, and we holler and we cry through all the documents and the notarizations and the apostilles and the doubts and the delays and the redtape and the frustrations and the changes, but through it all, it is just that: still a process. The end result -- that child -- still doesn't seem real. It's a vivid dream, an illusion, a fantasy, but not tangible. Unlike a baby in the womb, you can't touch it or feel it, except in your heart and in your mind. And there it is very real.

We surround ourselves with the trappings of "baby" -- the crib, the cute nursery, the little bitty clothes that fill the closet, the toys that spill out of the toy boxes, the baby blankets that friends have made that warm our hearts, that very distinct and wonderful smell of baby powder -- but yet, it isn't real. The scene isn't complete. It will be complete, the perfect fantasy and imperfect reality (thank you for that very perfect sentiment, Regina), once the flesh and blood, the wonderfully beating little heart, the sweaty, squalling, poopy diapered baby is home.

I can't wait to find you, my little Kaz Boy. My heart is overflowing with love for you even now. I don't know anything about you, except that you want and need to be loved, even if you don't know it yet, and I am here, more than ready, and oh so willing, to give you more love than you will ever know what to do with. You are already in my heart and in my soul and it is only a matter of time before you are also in my life, and me yours, and we are this little thing they call "family."

Very soon my little KB, Mommy will be there to scoop you up and love you forever. Hugs and kisses and the sweetest of dreams.