Bruised

Failed adoption.

That's the term for it. Cleara has decided she wants her mom to raise her baby, not us. Ouch. It hurts. What it means is no baby to hold, no baby to lie in that crib, no baby to cuddle and sing to and rock.

So strange--this is the first time we've had two months of notice and waiting. This is the first time we've decorated a room in preparation to adopt a baby; the first time we've had packed suitcases sitting by the door; the first time we've had twelve meals frozen in the freezer for my mom and the kids while we are gone.

Ironic this would be the first failed adoption, hmmmm?

I'm sure we'll see God's perfect plan at some point, but at the moment it is beyond me.