I'm stealing my title from one of Cherub Mamma's comments.
Being "foster care pregnant" is wierd. I think it's striking me especially this time; we've known for months this might happen, known for weeks now that she was here, but are still waiting for "delivery day."
It's also extra poignant right now because I have two ladies of my close acquaintance who have been pregnant all summer as well. One of them delivered about a week after C was born; the other still has a month to go until her due date. I've been to baby showers for both of them. I've prepared meals for the family whose baby is already here. And I've stayed silent about my own "pregnancy" because of the chance it could all fall apart and the confidentiality issues involved.
It's kind of like being in those first few months of pregnancy (the ones where you don't show yet and you aren't telling because you don't want to have to tell everybody if you miscarry). But we've stayed there for months, and will probably be giving birth suddenly.
Part of me is mourning the fact that this baby -- like M and like so many other babies in the foster care system -- doesn't get to have the big celebrations of her birth. There's no crowd of church ladies eagerly awaiting her arrival so they can fight over who gets to hold her in the nursery; there's no band of friends plotting to shower her with adorable, useless (or useful) baby items; there was no adoring squad waiting at the hospital while her mother labored. It makes me sad that her birth story doesn't get to include all that tangible evidence that she is loved and wanted and precious.
And yet...the rational side of me realizes that none of that matters. When she does arrive, she will be showered with attention and love from her "family" for as long as we are blessed to keep her. (It's looking like that's forever, but I'm trying to guard my heart a little bit until I know for sure.) She is blessed in that she is too young to know the deprivation she suffers.