[redhedded]

Each night that I fall into bed, I am exhausted and grateful. I lie awake looking at the ceiling, if only briefly, thinking of the laughs, the hugs, the moments, the sheer joy of being a mom. I could have never imagined how my loving these two small people would change me, how I would, in my mid thirties be the person that I was destined to be, funny, ridiculously silly, unconditionally loving and giving, strong and protective and so entirely satisfied and secure.

It was the spring of 2001, and my dear husband and I had been married for five years. We had been given the good fortune to be employed in jobs that we enjoyed, to spend time with family and friends and to travel the globe. Like most couples, we decided that this was as good a time as any to start a family. Due to a non-life altering chronic illness, I had decided long ago that giving birth was not a part of my plans. I had informed my husband of my choice long before our decision to marry; his response was "great." In retrospect, he seemed to anticipate this from me. It seemed that we were as ready as we were going to get and began voracious research on our options, which included agencies; even armed with some basic knowledge, we quickly discovered as anyone who has investigated adoption knows, this is an arduous and sometimes overwhelming journey. There are many decisions to be made before you even begin. Brief discussions enabled us to conclude that we each had a priority to adopt here at home and that we wanted to parent a newborn.

After much investigation, we selected an agency and received a package of material that more closely resembled a phone book than an application. We were highly motivated to quickly complete what was required of us, including lengthy application, narrative on “Why Adoption?” another on “Transracial Adoption” and of course, our autobiographies. Within a few days, we had completed our fingerprint "test," which involved a thirty minute interaction with an unpleasant county worker who we fondly referred to as "fingerprint fascist," as she allowed for no individuality in the process; one had to press just so, stand just so and relax the arm just so. If you did not, with ease, and without words, follow her body language of fingerprinting protocol, you were roughly guided, with a huff, into correction. It did not have to be this way; we still find humor in her "eccentric" approach.

Next came the homestudy. For all of my worry, it was quite simple and pleasurable. We had a lovely and experienced social worker who liked me and sang my husband's praises from here to another planet. We had several visits together, long individual visits and a home visit where I insisted on providing a tour of our completed nursery. She was so kind and gracious; she must have wondered why I was in such a hurry, why I did not save some "project" for the wait. We were finally on our way. Little did I know that I should not have rushed so much; I should have taken my time, because now I was waiting. Luckily our agency required that all prospective adoptive parents take two parenting classes of their choice and Infant CPR and First Aid. Well, we also finished those in two weekends. Good thing we had each other, our jobs and social obligations to keep us occupied. We also took a lengthy trip, which I highly recommend for the distraction. The waiting is just hard. Hard. Hard. Hard.

Then it happened; we received, “the call.” The mother-to-be wanted to meet us. We spoke on the telephone and within days hopped on a plane. We were nervous but filled with anticipation. She was wonderful, and we continued correspondence; while it was not until later that I expressed my doubt, I knew that this would never be. Sure enough several weeks passed; she gave birth and decided to parent. I was disappointed but knew that my brief sadness could never compare to a lifetime of regret had she made a choice that was not right for her. Even in my moment of greatest sadness I felt such relief, relief that she knew what was right for her and that I was strong enough to continue on my journey, knowing that I would be a mother.

There were many months that this path to adoption was almost unbearable for me. I often laid awake late at night, long after dear husband had fallen soundly to sleep, and cried about life and its inequities. I was often immobilized by the constant awareness that I longed to be a mother, would be a mother, but would do so while another mother experienced the greatest pain that she could ever experience. I was constantly trying to process why I had experienced such good fortune in my life, why I had a consistently loving and supportive family, who gave me strength and self esteem, who had been blessed themselves and who were able to give me access when so many women struggled, struggled everyday, struggled to find support, who worked hard and struggled to make it, physically and sometimes emotionally. I had a tremendous amount of guilt that dissipated only after I became a mother and had the responsiblity to another mother of being the very best that I could be.

After our first failed match, I quickly began to become impatient. It is in my nature to want to "make things happen." I, once again, began investigating other routes, other agencies and briefly contemplated purusing an international adoption. However, I quickly found another agency that seemed more suited to our path. I contacted them, forwarded all of our paperwork, application, autobiographies, homestudy, profile and we were quickly chosen again. We were thrilled. Once again, we traveled a long distance to meet a lovely woman; we spent time getting to know one another, in person and corresponding via the telephone. She opted to leave the agency and asked that we follow her; we were very uncomfortable with her reasons and though it was so hard, we felt forced to decline. It was late. Work responsibility would be calling early the next morning; we were a bit numb again, but there was no time or energy for self pity.

Just hours after falling asleep - that night - we received a call from our agency. A baby girl was born and we were being given the huge honor and responsiblity of loving, guiding and raising her. We were told her birth time and weight and asked if we could travel - NOW. We hung up the phone under the pretense of discussing it. Seconds later I called back to assure them we would fly out in the early morning. We began making flight arrangements, pet arrangements and packing.

We arrived that morning in our daughter's birthstate and made our way to the hospital armed with an installed carseat and a map. We parked and seemed to walk in slow motion; it all felt so surreal. My knees were weak; as the elevator began climbing, I felt weightless then thought I might faint. My teeth chattered loudly from nerves. We held hands and made our way down the cold corridor. As we approached the nursery, I caught a glimpse of a perfect sleeping baby swaddled in purple. We rounded the corner and were met by enthusiastic nurses who quickly placed her in my arms. My entire heart opened and enveloped this child; I held back nothing and knew that no matter what happened in the coming days, I would always cherish every moment with her. She lay there sleeping as I looked at her. She awakened and slightly opened her eyes. I knew that I would never be the same.

We awaited a 10 day revocation period, which was to be followed by a court date. Due to a court scheduling snafu, our 10 days turned into 40. We were thousands of miles from home, in a corporate apartment, with a brand new baby and no experience. It was fabulous. She ate when she wanted, slept when she wanted and we held her close around the clock. When she slept, we held her and stared, studied her face, examined her hands, watched her breathe, worried if she was comfortable, hot/getting a draft, etc. This was an incredibly special time together, just the three of us, with nothing more important than to begin our new life as a family. Finally, we were able to return home.

[redhedded]

Last fall husband, daughter and I played at the park then sat and ate lunch. As we were leaving, I checked my phone messages. When I began listening, I was quite surprised to hear our attorneys voice on the other end. I returned her call. She was calling to ask if we were considering adopting again. I said that we were not at the moment. She said that she believed that we might be the perfect family for a baby that would be born in a few months. We were thrilled and quickly began "the process" again. There were, once again, papers to complete, application and narrative about ourselves, fingerprinting to be done and homestudy to complete. Again we waited.

Our son's birthmother experienced premature labor at 29 weeks. She was hospitalized for a lengthy period; it was a frightening time for her. She was determined to carry him as long as she could to ensure the best health outcome possible. She took good care of herself and followed all doctor's order. Five weeks passed. At 34 weeks, our precious B was born via emergency c section. We received the call and prepared to travel. We arrived hours after his birth, which had been extremely traumatic. Just post birth he was unresponsive; he required resuscitation. It was discovered that his heartrate was out of control and increased to 280. He was given Adenosine, a drug that stops and restarts the heart. The first two times administered were unsuccessful. A third attempt restored normal rhythm. When we arrived, he was struggling. His prognosis was grim. The next day his ventilator was removed but little improvement was seen. He was unresponsive, had no suck response and was diagnosed with hypotonia, meaning he had no muscle tone. He was transferred to the local Children's Hospital for further evaluation where he underwent a brain scan, MRI, several electrocardiology consults and was scheduled for an EEG for suspected seizure activity. We were with him and made all care decisions. The doctors wanted some answers; we wanted to take him home with knowledge of what we would need to do for him. Suddenly it was as if he "awakened;" he became alert, began eating orally, and began presenting with some muscle tone. I had asked repeatedly if his lack of response could be due to birth trauma, if he was trying to rest and heal his body. They felt certain that was not the case and kept testing, but each test was fairly conclusive; he had no brain bleed, no swelling, no Lactate Peak which indicated lengthy oxygen deprivation. Upon his rapid improvement, they began to feel certain that he was indeed just resting and recovering. This was the first day that they permitted me to hold him.

After a NICU stay and a diagnosis of Wolfe Parkinson White syndrome, we were able to take our precious babe to the corporate apartment. My daughter had visited her brother several times after his move inside the NICU to a less isolated area. She was thrilled and talked incessantly about how pretty he was, how sweet he was and how ready she was for him to leave with us.

I often wondered if I could love another babe as much as I loved her; was there room in my heart. Was I more equipped to be a mom to one rather than to two? I did not give myself enough credit. He, like she, invaded my heart. I love him with all of my being, just as I do her. He has an incredibly warm, happy and special spirit. He is now 10 months old, and she is three. He watches her every move and laughs loudly at her every attempt to entertain him. She strokes his head, calls him "sweet baby B" and tells him that she loves him so much. She sits and tells him stories, reads to him and sings him songs; his eyes dance with excitement. She smothers him with kisses and cheers his every move and new discovery. He is strong and busy and crawls with great intent straight to her room the minute he gets the chance. I await, with enthusiasm, the quickly approaching day that she, my wonderfully particular daughter, tells him, in a stern voice, "please do not mishandle my books; I do not like that."

[bellazmama]

Truly marvelous! I, too, have a chronic non-life-threatening illness (Type I Diabetes) and our choices toward parenthood mirror your own. Thanks for sharing!

Sarah

[ladybird1980]

They are so beautiful. Thank-you for sharing your story. I wish your family all the best.

[gela]

Thanks for sharing.

[redhedded]

Gela, It is awesome to "see" you here. How is your little man?

[Poolside]

You should write a book ! What a wonderful way you have of painting the picture. Thank you for sharing.