I keep finding myself checking the clock. Ugh. Seven hours left on this flight. Seven hours of breathing in the recycled air of hundreds of other people. Seven hours of fighting my urge to sleep.
Seven hours until I see my birthmother again.
I’m hoping that my built-up feelings of anxiety, nerves, fear, and whatever, will dissipate once I see her at the airport. Once I’m able to wrap my arms around the woman who gave me life.
It’s weird knowing that I’m going to spend the next undetermined amount of time with a woman, who for all intents and purposes, is a stranger to me. I feel pressure to bond with her and start some amazing relationship with her. It’s hard not to put that pressure on myself, but alas, that’s what I’m best at.
I have to keep telling myself… no expectations. Just focus on this amazing opportunity and cherish every moment.
Only 6.5 more hours.