**Jumbled ramblings ahead:**
I don't know how to mourn this. I never held him. He's not even born yet. He wasn't in my womb. It's not a lost life. Yet there's a nursery full of clean, folded and organized clothes. There's a major shift in how the future looks. This baby, this adoption has consumed my every thought for the last 3 months. The closer it got, the more I trusted it.
I'm sad. Which is a hard place for me. I blame my Dad. He doesn't do sad either. It's his fault I get funnier as life gets harder.
Mornings are hardest. That split second where you have to remind yourself why you don't feel right when you come to consciousness.
I'm thankful I never held him. I'm thankful we only were offered this 3 months ago and not longer. I'm thankful for Eliot. I'm thankful for open communication between the birth mom and us.
Unlike many birth parents in the fostering world, I truly believe this birth mom will be a good mom.
I don't even know what to call this. Failed adoption? Disrupted adoption? I've heard the term "adoption miscarriage" and it makes me want to punch someone for adding drama to a situation that already has it's share.
There are moments where I am fully decided that we'll quit doing this. We're going to quit taking risks, opening ourselves up to "come what may." But I know I don't mean it. We are the Mohrs. This is what we do. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't but it's always a blessing.
Surprisingly (I still don't understand it) I'm not mad at God. I don't think I've even asked him why He did this/allowed this. I'm not angry, I'm not confused, I'm just sad.
The good news? I have a husband who says things in the middle of the downward spiral like, "You, me and Eliot? We're all okay." and then once it's ended? "We have money raised, a completed home study and a nursery full of awesome stuff, we can't let that go to waste..."