Their sadness permeates our home, and we do our best to balance the tension of sitting in the sad and engaging in fun activities to create a variation of childhood memories.

We hear a lot that they are lucky to be with us. It's one of those well-intended statements that makes me sick and sad and all the things in between.

When you slow down to think about it, they are living some of the hardest stories known. 

They aren't lucky, you know.

Lucky is winning the lottery.

Lucky isn't being ripped from your family and all you know, being forced into a system that doesn't have its stuff together, and into a family of strangers. 

Never did I imagine that by the time I was 25 years old, I would have experienced miscarriage and a full term pregnancy, adopted our first son, and began the foster care journey.

When I envisioned myself as a twenty-five year old, I surely didn't think I'd be in the broken trenches with little humans, so worthy to be safely and securely loved but so deprived of it too. It's much more "attractive" and "Instagram worthy" to live that cute life of procreating biologically, and in order, making little mini-me's, perfectly spread out. You know? We all know typical families aren't perfect, but it's often easy for me to look at them and think, "Dang, they are sure cute and sweet. I wonder what that's like." I’m sure people have looked into my tiny frames in the past and had similar thoughts...that’s just the thing with social media...right?