My dad told me a story about a couple who cared for about 50 foster kids in the span of about 20 years.
The family got a call one day, asking if they could take in 2 more kids- both three and a half years old. The couple was already at emotional capacity, but the kids just needed a place to stay for 6 weeks and were all set after that. They ended up saying yes.
That first night, the 3-year-olds were in their rooms for about a half an hour. Not a sound came from that room, so either the husband or the wife when to check on them (I'm not sure; maybe it was both); their pillows were soaked. They'd learned to cry silently, because crying meant beatings in their last five "homes."
The kids were tested, and that couple was given the list of things those kids would never be able to do because of the life they'd lived so far.
Those kids stayed about 3 1/2 years. They were disciplined, but that discipline was coupled with love. And guess what? Both of them ended meeting and passing every single milestone they were never expected to meet and went on to thrive.
Because they were loved.
I am angry that any child has to learn to cry without making noise. I want to grieve what they should have had. It's been a process, but I know I am a mother to a child I will not birth.
I want to wrap him (or her) up in my arms and rock him and hold him and sing to him until he can breathe a sigh of relief, until he can feel safe. I know it won't be easy and it won't be lovely and wonderful and fun all the time, but real love never is. I just want somebody to bring me my baby.