As I sat down to post tonight, I found myself confronted with a severe case of writer's block. I've not been sleeping well lately, so that could be a significant contributing factor, but I suspect it's more that I have finally arrived at a day that I have waited on for so many years...and I just feel overwhelmed with what all I want to say and don't have the words to write. I always thought that I would write about my plight to become a mother and all of the joys of motherhood...which I could very well do.

But instead, my thoughts drift thousands of miles across the ocean to a small town in far east Russia.

In that small town lives a woman who - almost 3 years ago - gave birth to a 6 pound baby boy. We don't know much about that woman, but with a very important decision, she changed our lives. She had issues and made certain choices, as many people do, that prevented her from taking that baby boy home with her; instead, she signed away her parental rights within hours of his birth. So much could be speculated about this woman - was she strong? was she weak? were her intentions selfish - or selfless - when she signed her name to the dotted line and left the maternity hospital? I don't think we will ever know.

But I know this.

She carried my son in her body for 9 months. She didn't have to do that, you know. She could have just as easily found out that she was pregnant and then done what many other women in her predicament choose to do. For some reason, she decided not to do that, and for that decision I will be ever grateful. I don't know what she did during those 9 months, but I catch myself wondering if she had been a victim of morning sickness, or if she had any specific cravings. I wonder about her reaction when she felt him kick for the first time. I wonder if he turned as many somersaults in her belly as he did just this evening. I wonder if her labor was painful or if it was fairly easy.

I wonder. And sometimes wondering makes me sad, and perhaps a touch envious, since her pregnancy experience was not mine. I will never be able to tell my child about cravings and morning sickness and labor pains. Or even about the amazing joy I had when I felt his first kick. But then I think, if I had had the experience of pregnancy, then my life would be totally different today. I cannot fathom life without my precious child...not just any child, not even a biological child. But the one child that is, at this very moment, in his crib, sleeping off a very busy day. The one that spins in circles and laughs so hard and gallops down the hallway. The very one that falls out of a canoe and finds his own way to tell a story about it. The one that counts to 13 and loves to eat raw tomatoes.

The very child who wakes up in the morning and calls my name, "Mama."

The child who makes Mother's Day a wonderful reality for me.

Another woman carried him for the duration of a pregnancy, and for whatever reason, allowed him to leave her care. I wonder if that baby boy ever crosses her mind, and if he does, I want her to know that from her body, he went to an exceptional baby home. And from there, to his forever home. In that home, he is warm in the winter and cool in the summer. His belly is always full and he has plenty of clothing to wear. He is growing so fast...his laughter fills the air and his smile lights up a room. And most of all, he has parents that love him more than they ever knew was humanly possible.

Although I will never know the woman who did experience the pregnancy with my son...I will remain thankful to her for allowing him to live. Because of her decision, I am able to celebrate this, my very first Mother's Day with the most special little boy who grew - not in my body - but in my heart.