On the night we got our last document, I walked up our snowy driveway thinking about it, and how it would maybe come in two weeks. I stumbled into the house with my hands too full, and my hands shook as I opened the envelope. And there it was, our very last piece of paper. We made arrangements to get it notarized immediately.
On the morning after we got our last document, I took it downtown to be state certified, and it was, even though I worried it wouldn’t be, thanks to your dad and me both thinking it is still 2009. I called our adoption consultant, and she said that if we got everything to her by tomorrow morning, the whole thing could be sent to DC with the usual weekly shipment tomorrow afternoon. I set my bargain-hunting tendencies aside and paid triple the usual amount to get it there as soon as possible. It’s worth it. You are worth it. I handed the FedEx envelope to the employee at Kinko’s, and she asked if the contents were valued at over $100. I said, “Oh, yes, but you can put down $100 just the same.” What are the past six months of my life worth? What is hoping and dreaming and longing worth? There is no way to insure pricelessness, so I didn’t.
When it was all done, I did what I often do, what we will often do together, you and me, which is to go to Starbucks. I wanted to celebrate, so I got a cupcake. Someday, I thought, I will get a cupcake with you, and maybe you will get the frosting all over your hands and your face and your clothes, and I will smile at you and know that you are mine.
Even if you don’t get the frosting everywhere it could possibly end up, I will know you are mine.
I can’t wait to know you.