Somehow destiny comes into play. These children end up with you and you end up with them. It's something quite magical.-Nicole Kidman, adoptive parent

Yesterday was magical.

We've had J for five months. We went through '100 Nights of No Sleep'. We've watched his reflux ravage him, from once an hour to once or twice a day. We've changed over 1,000 diapers. We've fed him over 3,000 ounces of preemie formula. We've kissed him at least 10,000 times.

The adoption is still stalled. We have court later this week, but since nothing else has been done, nothing else will be done.

But yesterday, in my heart, he became my son. Not my foster son. Not my adoptive son. But my son.

We were sitting in the den, he on my lap. As I ate a nectarine, I slowly scraped tiny tastes for him to savor. He'd look up at me intermittantly, content, serene, sweet.

Nothing special. No fireworks, no parades, no trumpets. But everything changed, deepened, intensified.

I could adopt a dozen children, love them, fight for them, spend my life being their mother. All with the hopes that this feeling would bloom.

Isn't it sweet that it did?