I am very bad at documenting our journey in a timely way, it is usually based on reflections over a period of months; ruminated, computed and digested. Well, here it is, hot from the press:
Tomorrow We Will Meet Two Small People For Whom We Will Potentially Become Responsible For The Remainder Of Our Natural Lives
yes, capitalised AND bolded. (I drew the line at underlining)
On Tuesday 14th January we will take the train to London (because the bastard alternator has gone, and we can’t drive for more than 30 minutes without breaking down) and go to a generic soft play centre. There we will find two little boys. Two little boys who have experienced more in their short lives than is surely fair. Two little boys who have been told they can’t live with Mummy because she can’t keep them safe, but they will find their forever family one day. Two little boys who have no clue who we are, or what forever means.
What if we don’t feel a connection with them. What if they hate us. What will I wear. What if I cry?
All of these What’s have driven me to the pub. Cara is helping at Youth Club and I am supposed to be be at home being a domestic goddess. But I’m sitting in front of a fire, sipping a glass of red wine and contemplating life. In a month from now this might not be possible. My/our life/lives is/are no longer a priority, two miniature strangers who have overtaken our every waking thought are going to take over our every waking breath. I can’t wait and I’m fucking terrified.