My brain knows that the court has until late September to fire off the yea or nay (unlike Mrs. H., we didn’t get a draft or final of the SW’s report to the court – SW just said everything’s fine, nothing to worry about. Fat lot of help), and I know it. I know it!
So why, upon my return from Ireland, did I maniacally rip through the mail pile looking for the envelope from the agency with the good news?
My brain knows that an adoption, after certification, may take months or (God forbid) a year or two.
So why, when I passed by the baby department at Macy’s on the way to another department, smile to myself in anticipation as I saw all the little tiny clothes?
My brain still knows that a baby won’t be dropped in our laps in the next month.
So why do I pore over nursery ideas and color schemes, and am finding myself wanting to push DH out of that little room sooner rather than later? It's silly because it's still so early.
...and so on. I know what it is, intellectually: it’s FINALLY that silver lining that my poor battered heart has been looking for all these years, with all that heartache. It's the long-buried optimism daring to peek through my habitual cynicism.