I bought mattresses tonight. Lovely plush twin mattresses for the bedroom where my foster child(ren) will sleep. I went in today because of the Labor Day mattress sales, and strode in businesslike and efficient. But then, as I stepped out of the store, I literally clapped my hands in glee. I am so excited!
The room in my house that is currently my guest room but will soon be my child(ren)’s room is already finished. It is a lovely, welcoming room with two twin beds, pictures on the walls, a comfortable reading chair, books on the shelves, and even whimsical fairies hanging in the window. It was, in fact, the first room I “finished” when I moved into the house five years ago. But the mattresses are thin and hard, and the bed frames are cheap and low to the ground. When I say I brought the two frames and two mattresses home from the store in the trunk of my tiny VW Jetta, you’ll have an idea where they came from. They worked fine in a pinch or for a short overnight, but they’re not very comfortable, and they’re not very welcoming.
This process of praying through and preparing to become a foster parent has been fraught with so much seriousness, so much anxiety, so many checklists and forms and administrative details. I have some idea of how vast and difficult an undertaking it is going to be, and I feel blessed to be going in without rose-tinted glasses. But tonight was the first time I got an inkling of the joy it is going to be. The mountain of potential mistakes a parent can make is high. The mountain of potential mistakes the parent of a hurt kid can make looms even higher. Tonight I took a small step up that mountain. Whatever difficulties lie ahead, at least I know this kid is going to have a comfortable bed. Somehow, that feels huge.
And also, whether spurred by a nesting instinct or just common compassion, buying these mattresses has made the process more real to me. There will be actual children in these beds, in this room, in this house. And I am so excited to meet them!
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