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Foster Care, Life

October 6, 2018

A Place In My Photostream

There’s a place in my photo stream on my phone where he suddenly doesn’t appear any more. A photo of his little hand in mine, wearing his tiger romper from old navy, sitting in his car seat from the day we made the painful 20 minute drive to his new foster family’s home.

As the days pass (and I continue working) that spot gets pushed further and further up. It takes longer and longer for me to scroll up to find the photos I’ve looked at every night since he’s left.

I’ve gotten 3 photos and a video of him so far since we dropped him off. They do his hair differently. He’s full on crawling now. He already looks different. But his scrunchy nose smile is the same.

Every part of my being aches to hold him. To sniff his head. To hear his sweet little voice. To bounce him to sleep.

I thought each day that passed would get easier, but it’s the opposite. Every day that passes feels harder and harder. Every day pushes us further and further from him and I know that eventually the new “normal” will be for him not to be here.

I’m already starting to wear my hair down almost every day because he’s not here to pull it.

I stay up late and sleep in late instead of going to bed early and waking up early. (The later I sleep in, the short amount of time I have to spend alone in the quiet house.)

We will eventually put his stuff away. We will eventually pick up the supplement bottles he dropped in the sink on his last day here. It was his favorite game. Pick a bottle from the shelf, drop it in the sink, pick another bottle from the shelf.

Eventually, my photo stream won’t include photos of him unless you scroll way way up.

I think that’s all what makes every day harder. I hate the new normal. There is nothing I want more than for this to not be the new normal.

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