It is finished

I saw his face for the first time on November 10, 2013. I remember the date because it was my 31st birthday. I saw his face and instantly I knew he was going to be my son. 

Seven months later, I held him in my arms for the first time, choking back the tears so as to not scare him. 

Three weeks apart as our agency required us to return home while we waited for our ruling. Every day I sat in the tub, gripping my knees and sobbing uncontrollably, aching for him to be in my arms again. 

Five weeks in Uganda. Five weeks of him visibly sick and crying every night, soothing him as I sang Roger Miller's greatest hits from beginning to end to him countless times. Five weeks together, dozens of blown out diapers, vomit cleaned from the floor, impromptu baths. Dozens of nights snuggled up watching Gilmore Girls together and feeling like I should pinch myself and wake up. So exhausted, but so overjoyed to have this beautiful boy in my arms. 

Ten and a half months home growing to know each other, learning to make him laugh, learning what makes him cry. Countless appointments, but the change is extraordinary. This little one has gone from a happy, but frail, tiny baby to a healthy, ornery and joy-filled preschooler. 

606 days from the first time I saw this tiny little one and read those first few short sentences about him -- "Mason is a happy boy who thrives on attention from adults. He carries the diagnosis of cerebral palsy." 

606 days from the day I thought "he's going to be my son" the judge said to me "your son, Michael Isaiah Okiror Golden." 

An orphan no more. Loved, treasured, cherished. My son.