A letter to my baby who isn’t here.

If you’ve read our bios or if you know us at all, you know that the Wheeler fam is currently going through an adoption of a little guy from Korea. God laid it on my heart even as a young teenager that I would adopt one day so I have always known that was “part of the plan”, but to actually walk out the process is something much different.

We’re into our second year of this adoption process. We know who our baby is. His name will be Maverick James Ha-yul Wheeler. He is a teeny little thing with legs like Karsen’s (we fondly call them little chicken legs) and a head full of beautiful black hair. I sit and just stare at his photos. We don’t have many, but the ones we do have I look at daily. I read over his doctors visit notes, I go back and look at his biography we were sent when we very first were matched with our boy. I feel like a pregnant woman, ripe with the expectation of her baby coming soon. But then I realize, in a lot of ways I’m not either.

Pregnant women have at least some idea of their due date, I do not. Pregnant women know that they will be the first to hold, care for, love their baby, and I will never have that. God put this little guy in my heart long, long ago, and I know without a shadow of a doubt that this is what we are called to do, but I will be very honest here, this HURTS.

I got a doctors visit update today that shook me in a way no other one has: he’s walking. MY baby is walking. And I wasn’t there to see. There may not even be video or photos of the moment for me to relive later. It’s a moment in time that has now come and gone and I wasn’t there for it. This breaks me in a way I didn’t know I could be broken, y’all. To know that his first birthday is coming up next month and I won’t be there to watch him blow out his candle or open his little gifts. I am crying just thinking about those moments.

We went on a family trip to Orlando recently and on one of the nights we decided to have dinner and walk around Downtown Disney (yeah I know it’s Disney Springs now, but I am OG, so it’s Downtown Disney. Lol) and I wanted to get Maverick a gift while we were there. As I was walking around the Disney store, trying to figure out what the perfect present would be, I found myself feeling so sad. So burdened. In the midst of pure joy in “the happiest place on earth” I felt overwhelmed by a feeling of emptiness. Yes, this was a great vacation. Yes, we were having an amazing time. But no, the whole family was not there. I have 3 babies and only 2 were with me. When I look back on the photos of our family from this trip, Maverick won’t be in them. He won’t have the memories that we do. He won’t have been a part of it all.

People often ask me “is it hard to wait?”. No, it’s not. It’s excruciating to wait. It’s overwhelming and too much to handle many times. It’s so difficult to balance being mommy to 2 other littles and trying not to burden them with these feelings. To constantly pretend like this is easy. To constantly pretend like I don’t want to just break down. But, I do know, there is a light at the end of this tunnel. Maverick is my light. That little face, those little toes, those precious eyes, those perfect fingers, make this all worth it. And so, I will keep pressing, I will keep plugging along through a process that feels never ending at times, because I know that there’s a little fella depending on us on the other side.

Maverick James, My Mavvy, Mommy loves you SO MUCH! I am on the edge of my seat, waiting for the day I can finally bring you home. Even not being in our home yet, you still bring us all such joy. Your brother and sister cannot wait to meet you in person. Your daddy and I talk about you constantly. You cannot begin to imagine the love that you will be walking into, not just from us, but from hundreds of people who also eagerly await your arrival. You have been prayed for, hoped for, and loved already more than you could ever know. Your life is so precious to us. We thank God all the time for the gift of being your parents. Keep waiting for us, baby. We are trying so hard to get to the point of bringing you home. Every shed tear, every paper signed, every mile driven, every penny spent, will be so worth the moment you come home to us. We love you, Mavvy.

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