Being a waiting adoptive mama is like being a preteen.

(that's 1:56 am, for the record)

I am waiting. 

It's not fun.

And I'm not very good at it. 

It's awkward, all the waiting. 

It makes me feel like I don't fit in-- I can't relate to the mamas who have their biological babies safely under the same roof, and I feel distanced from the adoptive mamas whose babies have already come home. 

Even among other waiting mamas, everyone's story is so different, and everyone is in such a different place in terms of when her baby will be the one to come home, that it leaves me feeling very alone a good bit of the time.

I eat more than I should, stay up way too late, and spend way more time than I should feeling sorry for myself. 

In other words, being an adoptive mama is a lot like being a preteen. 

I'm self conscious-- are people judging my words, actions, or how we spend our money while we wait?

What if I'm not good enough to be Emily's mother? 

What if she doesn't like me? 

And what will I do when I keep shoveling M&M's in my mouth like it's my job and then wake up one morning to find that my jeans don't fit? 

I know something better is coming, but for now I wait. 

And waiting isn't fun. 

I know that when this phase of life is over, I'll be different. 

There is no turning back. 

I'm changed forever by this process and by loving my daughter so very fiercely. 

Change is scary. 

Will I change for the better or the worse? 

Will I even make it through this?
Some days I'm just not sure. 

And some people-- well, they simply don't understand. 

They don't understand why I'd want to adopt or what about it makes it hard. 

Seriously?

Seriously. 

I don't understand these people.

Someone the other day asked me if it was hard to wait for my daughter to come home. 

It was all I could do to bite my tongue and not tell her what I was really thinking. 

While I try hard to be honest, sometimes biting my tongue is just the easier, better option. 

This was one of those times. 

I feel so awkward, so out of place, and so alone in this journey. 

I don't know what to say or do or feel. 

My emotions are all over the map-- literally. 

I cry a lot, way more than I did before.

The good news? 

I survived puberty, and I'd like to think I'm a better person than I was before that process. 

A girl can learn a lot from having bad skin and even worse hair. 

I'm pretty sure I'll survive this too-- I just don't know that my skinny jeans will make it through to the end.