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The Perfect Book

4 Apr

For the past little while, I’ve been thinking about a book. I couldn’t for the life of me remember what it was called, but I remembered that it was very short – a children’s book, I think – and it was about a mother and her son. Something about how she loved him a lot and held him all the time, and then when she got older, he held her instead. The illustrations have been popping into my head every now and then, but since I couldn’t remember the book, I gave them little thought. I would just smile when the images came to mind, and that would be that.

Until today.

Sitting in my school library just now, I found the main part of the book inscribed in tiny print on a wall. They weren’t finished, but after I read the first line, it all came back to me. I remembered the book, what it was called and what it said. I’m still a little stunned that it happened – that the main part of a book about a mother and son that I’ve been thinking about recently just pops up on the wall next to the chair I decided to sit in today. It’s cosmic almost, don’t you think? Just perfect.

The main part goes like this: “I’ll love you forever, I’ll like you for always, as long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be.”

The words on the wall only go as far as, “…as long as I’m living…” but I knew the rest. Of course I did.

And now I’m about to cry in the library. Because it’s too perfect, so perfect for you and I. This book, Love You Forever, is perfect for any mother with a son. It’s about a mother loving her son through all of the years, through his many phases in life, through thick and thin. Just loving him forever, no matter what, exactly the way I plan to love you.

This little inscription on the wall is yet another way I think a certain Big Guy Upstairs makes sure you’re with me everywhere I go. I just don’t have any other explanation for things like this, or for people like The B’s, or for luck like I had in finding them and having you. It has to be God who makes things like that happen.

I’m glad I finally remembered the name of the book. I read it for years as a kid, and it’s so interesting to look back and realize that I had no idea how much it would come to mean to me. And now I have my own little boy. And I’ve snuck up on you and held you in the night when you were sleeping, just like the mother in the story did. I know J has too. We can’t help ourselves…we’ll love you forever, we’ll like you for always, as long as we’re living, our baby you’ll be.

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Little Man Takes a Sick Day

2 Apr

You were so sick this day. I got a text from J on my way down to visit you that weekend – April 2, 2011 actually – that you were not feeling well. When we got there you had a fever, a runny nose and every time you coughed, it sounded like your lungs were going to come up. Anywhere you went that day, the humidifier followed (as you can see). Both J and E alternated being on the phone with the doctor’s office and the pharmacy until they finally got something called in for you and E went to pick it up. This picture is one of the many times you passed out that day.

What I remember most from this particular sick day was that I got to rock you to sleep. You would get fussy and we’d know it was a sign you were tired – thanks to being really sick, you hadn’t slept much through the night. So a couple of times when that happened, I took you into your room, wrapped you in a blanket and sat in the rocking chair in the corner of the room and just rocked you until you zonked out. You didn’t stay asleep too long – maybe 30 minutes each time. You’d get really hot and start sweating your fever out and wake yourself up. And even though I hated that you were sick, I was glad I got to be of some comfort to you.

I never got the “rocking you to sleep in the middle of the night” experience. Of course, that particular experience is accompanied by being woken up in the middle of the night in the first place which I’m sure isn’t so pleasant, but I still wanted to do it. Pop-pop 3 always told me that he loved getting up with me in the middle of the night when I was a baby. Alone time, just the two of us. Making me feel comfortable and safe and loved enough that I would be lulled back into sleep. It always seemed like such a beautiful bonding time and I’d always wanted to have it with you. Any time I stayed the weekend, The B’s would always let me put you to bed or do your late night feeding, and I loved it. I never got to use the rocking chair until this day though. The sickness was no fun, but I’ll take any opportunity I can to hold you while you’re still small enough. That certainly hasn’t changed.

Actually, you were quite the trouper that day. A couple of naps, a dose of medicine and you were ready to play! This was right after you’d gotten the hang of crawling, so you were all over the place. You did what I like to call “the army crawl” – you used your elbows and your feet to push yourself forward, no knee action whatsoever. Though I found out later that the “army crawl” is actually rather popular amongst babies learning to crawl, it was the first time I’d ever seen any baby do that. I thought it was hilarious. I got on the floor and army crawled with you. We played your toys. Aside from the bright red nose and the horrible coughs, you couldn’t even tell you were sick.

Of course, you’ve gotten sick since then. I’ve seen you on occasion with a cold or a runny nose, and when you’re sick and I’m not there, J will text me with updates on how you’re doing. I always tell her to give you kisses from me and I have no doubt that she does it. But that day was my first Little Man Sick Day experience. I can’t say I’m a huge fan. Well, aside from getting to take care of you, of course. But I know you’d rather get better, and I want what you want. Because I love you, in sickness and in health.

But for future reference, I’ll rock you to sleep any day you want me to, no matter how big you get.

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When Life Gives Liam Lemons…

1 Apr

Yes, that is a lemon that you’re eating.

The B’s said that the first time you ate a lemon, you didn’t even blink. They were ready and waiting with cameras, picture phones, video cameras, the whole shebang to get that first, adorable “sour baby face.” And then you aren’t even phased. They thought it was hilarious. The sour face kicked in later. I got a video of it, about a month or so after this picture was taken.

Reason I Love You #723: The quirky way you never do what anybody expects you to.

Why 723? Because there’s at least a million, probably more, and I wanted to start out small.

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Daddy Dearest

28 Mar

On your first birthday, I got you a present, but I actually wrote cards to J and E. Well…they weren’t so much cards as they were letters. And maybe they weren’t so much letters as they were small novels. But either way, your first birthday was kind of like our first birthday as a family. I had chosen them and met them months before you showed up, but our families didn’t truly become one until that beautiful summer day.

Of course, J and I like to write each other all the time, and the birthday letter I wrote her was no small feat. She even wrote me one back that birthday weekend. But today, I kept thinking about the letter I wrote E.

The letter I wrote E was actually partially about my own father, Pop-pop 3. I’ll tell you all about growing up with Pop-Pop 3 one day – there’s just too much love and too much fun to fit it all in a couple of letters. He was, and continues to be, an amazing father to me. He was “the best-of-the-best” when it came to dads, as I told E. And though a lot of that is due to his constant support and constant pride and constant reminders that I am loved by him, that “best-of-the-best” title is also due to the little things.

Pop-pop 3 and I played ball all the time. Before we had a basketball goal in the driveway, he would empty out the garage and use our giant trash can as the “goal.” He would throw me pop-flies in the yard when we played baseball. He taught me how to throw a spiral football. He would play with me until it got too dark to see outside, and only then would we go back inside. He would take me out for ice cream every Wednesday in middle school, and then he’d hang out with me in the local library until I had dance class. He did a million little things for me, but they meant the most. They still do. Only now instead of ice cream, we go out for coffee. Instead of playing ball with me, he’ll change my oil or quietly help me do laundry when I’m deeply absorbed in my homework and not paying attention. Like I said…little things.

I’ve always known that he loves me to the ends of the earth. “To infinity and beyond” as we always say (thank you, Buzz Lightyear). And my dad actually had a big influence on your adoption. I wanted you to have a dad like mine. I wanted your childhood to be everything mine was – filled with love and little things. And though I would have absolutely given those things to you – pop-flies, football until dark, ice cream Wednesdays – I wanted you to do those things with a dad, too. I wanted you to have a dad who does the small things, who never lets you forget that he loves you, whose love is obvious, even when he’s not saying it out loud.

E is that dad. Just like Pop-pop 3, he loves doing those little things. I saw that even before you were born, in the way he was with Sports Man. I saw in the pictures of him goofing around with Sports Man. I saw it in the way he showed off videos of how Sports Man could read and play basketball. It is no different with you. He loves playing the same games with you over and over, no matter silly they are. He loves playing ball outside. When you were just a month old, he already had the tradition of getting up with you, feeding you and then holding you while he drank coffee on the porch.

No one has ever reminded me of my own father as much as E does, and it’s beyond heartwarming. As my letter said, every time I see the two of you together, my hearts swells so much, I swear it could burst. He doesn’t even need to tell me how much he loves you. I can see it in the small things, sometimes just in the way he looks at you. Just like Pop-pop 3. And just like me, I’m pretty sure your first word was “da-da.”

As I’m sure you already know, your laugh is famous, and it’s also one of my favorite sounds in the whole wide world. As a matter of fact, quite a few of my favorite videos of you have you laughing in them. This one is of you and E, and it’s the first time I ever heard you laugh, which is why I treasure it so much. And of course, who was the first person I ever saw with ability to make you laugh? E.

You and I are quite the pair of lucky ones to have the dads that we do. When you’re finally old enough to read this, give E a hug when you’re done. Until then, I’ll give him twice as many hugs for the both of us :)

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The NCAA Tournament and a Happy Realization

26 Mar

Last night, I went to one of the local sports bars in my college town, and I watched UNC lose to Kansas in the 2012 NCAA tournament, 80 – 67. Your Aunt S and I got to the bar just after the second half had started and we watched anxiously until the end of the game.

I went to UNC for a little while when I first started college. I worked my entire high school career to get into it and when I got there, I just wasn’t b big fan of the place ironically enough. I still think that it is a great school and I think that anyone who makes it in deserves a round of applause (it’s competitive as I’m sure many people will tell you). I was just in the market for a smaller school which is how I ended up at the wonderful college I’m at now. But even though I switched schools, I’m still a Carolina fan at heart.

However, I realized that last night, as I watched the game that would make the Final Four, I wasn’t cheering for UNC because I was really concerned for my first alma mater. I was concerned for Sports Man.

Sports Man is a huge for of UNC. He loves them. Carolina has been his favorite college team since I’ve known him; it was actually one of the first things I realized I had in common with him. I have no doubt you’ll grow up to be a Carolina fan too – not just because it’s in the family, but because Sports Man won’t have it any other way.

Personally, I love sports. I used to play them a lot when I was younger, but I gave them up when I got braces (I got hit in the mouth one too many times and Pop-Pop 3 requested that I find a different hobby). After that, I took up ballet, and by the time the braces came off, my talent for sports had waned and I was really into dance, so I never picked them back up. I still love to watch though – NFL football is my favorite, followed by college basketball. I have no doubt that whatever sport you end up liking or playing will become my new favorite.

But I’ve also come to realize that whatever sport Sports Man likes or plays will be a favorite of mine too. Of course, his liking of sports is kind of all-encompassing so I should probably narrow that down. But the point is that I have truly come to care for him as I do for you. I love him. I actually see him as a little brother, which was not a connection I expected to make when I joined The B’s family.

I didn’t know how to see him at first – I knew he wouldn’t be like a second son or anything (although when I tell people you have an older brother who is eight, they tend to look at me like, “How young were you when you started having kids?!”) But the more I got to know Sports Man, the more I realized I cared about him as if he were my brother as well as yours. Of course, I absolutely love him for loving you, but I love him for being him, too. I find myself rather protective over him actually. Like when my heart skips a beat if I see him pegged in the head with a football. Or like when I’m desperately cheering for a basketball team only because I know he would be devastated if they lost.

I keep getting more and more out of my relationship with The B’s – more that I ever could have possibly imagined. I couldn’t be happier that open adoption was an option for me because I couldn’t have had it any other way. I need you in my life too much. But I’m even happier that it’s turned out so positively – just when I think I’ve gotten more out of our situation than I’d ever dreamed, another wonderful thing pops up. Like a little brother. And maybe instead of just gaining a little brother, Sports Man also gained an older sister.

Thank you again for bringing us together. We all love you more than words can say for that, and many other things. And don’t worry – when UNC lost last night, Sports Man wasn’t even watching the game. Apparently he was so worked up and upset mid-game about the bad calls and the bad playing that they turned the TV off before it was even over. I’m pulling for Ohio State to win this year anyways.

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Music for the Little Man Soul

24 Mar

I knew before I even got pregnant that there was one thing I wanted to do when I did get pregnant one day. I saw a television commercial – I have no idea what it was actually advertising – but it showed a pregnant woman sitting on the floor with her back against the wall, listening to a CD player. Then she took the headphones off of her ears and put the earpieces on either side of her very pregnant stomach.

I fell in love with the image. I knew that when I was pregnant, I was going to do the same thing. Maybe if I serenaded my baby with my favorite music, they would grow up with the same taste in music as me. Grandma M says it’s not true. She says she listened to smooth jazz the whole time she was pregnant with me, and I can’t stand the stuff.

So when I did get pregnant, albeit a little earlier than expected, I knew what I was going to do when my stomach got big enough. I didn’t really start showing until I was about halfway through my pregnancy and I didn’t truly get my stomach until about seven months, but when I finally got it, I broke out the headphones.

My headphones are hilarious, just so you know. I bought them at Target in high school, thinking I was “trendy” for not having the ever-popular ear buds. When I brought my Target headphones home and opened them, I realized that the cord on them was about 10 feet long, no joke. I could plug them into my iPod at the bottom of the stairs, put them on my head, walk to the top of the stairs and still have plenty of leeway to move around without moving the iPod at all. Needless to say, I stuck with my ear buds after that.

But for you, I pulled the headphones out of storage and prepared to introduce you to my favorites of the musical world. Now, I don’t really have favorite bands or artists. I will have multiple songs by the same group so I guess I technically do have favorites, but I have a lot of them, and they change regularly. I get my music from everywhere – tv shows, commercials, movie trailers, my friend’s iPods, songs I hear over the intercom in a store or a coffee shop…they say variety is the spice of life, and my iPod can prove it.

But I made what I called my Baby Playlist – my favorites, a little of everything. I made sure none of them had swear words, just in case (the mom gene was bound to kick in sometime). I even put some classical music on there since I’d heard a lot about psychological studies between classical music, kids and intelligence or attention span or something. Who knows?  Claire de Lune by Debussy is an all time favorite of mine so it was inescapable anyways.

So one lazy day, I laid down on the futon which had become my bed (I was too big to be comfortable in my tiny twin bed), plugged in my headphones, placed them around my stomach, and started the playlist. I thought about the woman in the commercial and smiled. I can’t quite find the words to describe why I think it is beautiful, but I felt so happy and calm with my growing pregnant belly, thinking about the little boy inside it. The recognition that I was pregnant washed over me again, as it often did. I loved you. Amidst all of the decisions I knew I would have to make soon, I was happy in that moment with you.

And then you started kicking the headphones. You always rolled around when I laid down – I think it disoriented you, so you would always have to readjust. But then you kept moving. You kept kicking. It never hurt when you did – occasionally you’d kick my bladder or you’d lean a little too far to the left or right and my stomach would feel uncomfortably tight, but no more discomfort than that. I loved it when you kicked.

But just in case, I changed the song. You kept kicking or readjusting or whatever it was that you were doing. I started laughing. I changed the song again, to see if maybe you were just moving to the beat. I couldn’t tell – you were just a little kicking machine. You had good aim too, right for the earpieces. I took the headphones off. After you realized the noise was gone, you calmed down again. A few minutes later I put them on and the kicking started right back up.

You hated those headphones. I suppose it could have been an aversion to my taste in music, but personally, I think I have excellent taste so that couldn’t possibly be it. Actually, the more I think about it, the more I like to think that you were just dancing.

Your musical education has been taken over by E (he has great taste, don’t worry), and I’m sure C will do what he can to influence it too. I don’t mind. I figure musical education is something that should be taken on by the musicians of the family anyways. You can be sure they’ll do a good job :)

But just so you know, here is another one of my favorites. I never really understood the lyrics until I had you – I thought it was a love song. After you were born, I realized it was…just not in the way I had originally thought. No song has ever really described how I feel about you the way this one does. It is a perfect description of my feelings for you. So despite the fact you are apparently not a fan of my musical taste, give this one a listen whenever you have time: Lullaby by the Dixie Chicks. I love you, baby boy :)

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Lucky Number Twenty

22 Mar

Happy 20 month birthday Little Man! Twenty months ago today you were only about seven hours away from making your debut into the world.  It doesn’t even sound that far away when I say it – only 20 months ago. Crazy, right?

However, I only have for months before I officially have to start calling you a “two-year-old” – I’ve been putting it off for a while. I keep calling you “one-and-a-half” or “20 months,” avoiding the age of two for as long as I possibly can. Sadly, it’s becoming unavoidable. Also, sometimes it’s just easier to say, “My son is almost two” rather than any month-type calculation.

I have celebrated every “month birthday” you’ve had since you were born. Through your entire first year especially – three months, six months, eleven months and all the months in between and after. I marked all of them in my calendar and when they came around, I would call my parents, post it on Facebook and tell all my friends. I was always super proud when you hit a month milestone – partially because it was mind-blowing that you were that big already and partially because I love bringing you up in conversation for any reason I can.

However, I sense that I am coming to the end of that era. Once your kid hits two-years-old, it becomes a little awkward to say, “Oh, my child is 30 months old today!” So I guess I’ll have to get over my aversion to the fact that you’re growing up and start officially calling you my two-year-old. It has a nice ring to it, so I’m sure it won’t be that tough. I still think of you on the 22nd of every month, and I’m sure I always will. That number will always be inextricably linked with you for the rest of my forever.

But I hope you have a wonderful 20 month birthday doing fun 20 month old things. Maybe E can take you for a ride on the “at-too” or something :) I love you!

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The Sports Man Cure

16 Mar

Everybody loves kids. They’re cute and (mostly) sweet and they’re curious about everything. They open our eyes to a world that has just become the norm to us – they help us to see the colors and wonders of it all over again. They have an aura of innocence, they love to play and their miniature size just adds to the whole cuteness package.

I never thought I was good with kids. Your Aunt S is a natural. Every kid she comes into contact with loves her, and I’ve always been jealous of her for it. She says the right things, she tells the right jokes, she knows what games to play, she can make them up on the spot…I truly think it’s a gift. Being good with kids is something I feel like must come naturally. I was not naturally endowed with that particular gene. Me around kids is a mildly awkward experience to witness. I’m the baby of my family. I never had any kids to practice on.

You are miraculously a different story. Of course, you are also as much of a “go-getter” as an almost-twenty-month-old can be, so I never have to come up with games because you always know what you want to do. I love playing with you. It can be exhausting because unlike me, you never seem to get tired. But I love, love, love it. Even doing the smallest things, even doing them over and over again, so many times that you’d figure I would get bored. I don’t – you’re so happy when you play and anything that makes you happy makes me happy. When I’m around you, I don’t even think about whether or not it seems “natural.” Being comfortable around you just…happens. That makes sense to me, though. I figure sharing 50% of my DNA with you helps.

It’s kind of embarrassing to admit, but I was sonervous to meet Sports Man. Before I met him, before you were born, The B’s were over at my parent’s house for a day visit with me and they brought some videos of him (see? Videos just run in the family). There was one of him reading, one of him playing basketball, one of him getting an award for basketball, and a couple of others. He seemed like a really cool kid. He seemed like a really smart kid. Smart enough to see right through someone who had no idea how to deal with kids. I was afraid he would think I wasn’t fun.

As per usual, when we finally met, he took right to Aunt S. He still loves her to this day and the whole family has a joke about Aunt S and her crazy hugs, because Sports Man always tries to resist them which only makes her try to give them more. Her instant awesomeness with Sports Man only made me more nervous. Writing this now I realize how funny it must seem that I was so nervous about the impression I was going to make on a 6-year-old.

However, when I got to know Sports Man I remember thinking, “He’s like a miniature adult.” This could be true of all kids I suppose, but I meant it in a different way. He talked about statistics. He talked about sports. He knew how to work an iPod. He knew how to navigate the internet. He knew how to operate a Wii and a DVD player. He knew how to read and he loved school. Of course, he was still a kid – he still loved to play and he still acted like a 6-year-old, but he was the most adult 6-year-old I’d ever met.

So I just talked to him. Actually, I asked him questions. Lots of questions.  Mainly because he actually seemed to know a lot more than I did about quite a lot of things. I remember coming to The B’s house for a weekend and I spent at least 20 to 30 minutes in Sports Man’s room with him, talking about college basketball teams and looking at his books. When he comes over, I look at the new games he has on his iPod because chances are, I’ve never heard of them. We like to FaceTime each other while we’re in the same room. We show each other YouTube videos. He’s almost like the friends I see on a daily basis, only smaller and way more knowledgable about the NFL.

I haven’t been nervous around Sports Man in a long time, since the first time I met him. I don’t worry about whether or not I’m “fun” enough around him. I don’t worry about whether or not he thinks I’m cool. For lack of a better term, Sports Man and I just…hang out whenever we’re together. We chat, we goof around, we talk sports, we swap info on games or movies or books. You definitely have the coolest brother ever, cooler than anyone else’s brother. Possibly cooler than me, but I won’t make that statement definitively for the sake of my own pride. But he’s taught me quite a bit, about a lot of stuff, but mostly about myself. You cured me of my fear of babies. He cured me of my fear of kids. He’s going to teach you a lot, I know it.

If anything, you should heed his warnings about Aunt S’s hugs. They really can be mildly terrifying.

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The Proof of the Goof

13 Mar

You have had your own personality since you were old enough to hold your head up on your own. I  know that everyone says their babies have little personalities, and I don’t doubt it.

 You’re a goofball.

 I don’t think there’s another word for it. You’re just goofy. You think it’s hilarious when people smell your feet. You pushed chairs around the house when you were learning how to walk. You like to climb on the counters when J isn’t looking. You make silly faces and thoroughly enjoy doing anything that makes other people laugh.

 That’s one of the countless things that I love about you – even at your very young age, you already enjoy making people happy. Actually, you love it when other people are happy. Other people smiling makes you smile. Laughing people make you laugh. And of course, you smiling, laughing or being happy makes everyone around you light up. You’re contagious.

 When you were about six months old you started one of your many goofy habits that you still do occasionally today. We adults like to call it, “blowing raspberries.” At least, that’s as close as I can get to describing it. You loved doing it. Maybe it was just fascinating to figure out you had a tongue, but for whatever reason, you did all the time for quite a while. Every now and then you’ll throw one out there and we’ll all get a good laugh out of it, and you’ll smile a mischievous smile knowing that you’re entertaining. And then you’ll do it again.

 But until those times, I have this video. Stay goofy :)

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Thank You Uncle Kevin

12 Mar

Yesterday, I started to tell you about meeting The B’s for the first time (June 1st, 2010 as I was informed by J). Lots of crying, one good hug and a box of Atlanta Bread Company cookies later, I was sitting at a conference room table, seated directly across from the man and woman who were to become your mom and dad.

It’s weird to look back and realize how little I knew about them then. I didn’t even know their last name at the time we met. I didn’t know where they lived. I don’t actually remember what started off the conversation that day. I know my counselor facilitated the introductions. I also know that once we started talking, we didn’t stop.

J and E asked how C and I ended up together. They asked about our story and our history, and in return we asked them about theirs. I remember learning that E sent J a 20 page love letter at one point. I learned that for a while, they had all of their dates in the middle of the night because of the hours that they worked when they first started dating. I learned that they were married in November, the same month as my parents. J and E had been married for eight and a half years when I met them. Their tenth anniversary was last year.

We talked about what led me to adoption – how I had found Bethany, why I thought adoption was the right choice, etc. We talked about my past – what I did in high school, how I was enjoying college, what I was talented at, what I loved. I remember telling them that I loved writing, that I was good at it. J and I revealed how we had each always wanted a sister. They asked C the same questions – he and E instantly bonded over music. We could have been there the whole rest of the day if we had let them continue to talk about it.

I remember a couple of things very vividly, though. One of them was when we talked about The B’s failed adoptions. They had been through three, and though I’m sure each one hit just as hard as all the others, the first one was the one I remember. They had grown very close to the birth mother. The B’s family had met her family. They had invited her up to E’s hometown for Thanksgiving. She had gotten to meet Sports Man. They had painted their nursery pink in anticipation of the arrival of a baby girl. They got the phone call that she had decided to keep her baby on the day they had planned to go pick the baby up.

J teared up telling me the story. My heart broke for them. I can only imagine that kind of pain and disappointment – like the world fell out from beneath you and you couldn’t get your footing back. Or maybe it just stopped turning because it couldn’t possibly go on after it had dealt a blow like that, but you were the only one to realize it. I tried to empathize with that kind of devastation, but I don’t think I got anywhere close to how it must have felt. But what I did realize was just how much love this family had for a child they had never met, and how much acceptance they had for a girl who wasn’t technically family.

Which brings me to the second thing I remember very well: a story about one of E’s uncles, Kevin. E’s mom had a sister. This sister met and fell in love with a man named Kevin, and one day, he proposed. Sadly, during their engagement, the sister died suddenly in a tragic accident. The family, Kevin, everyone was devastated. But his family kept in touch with Kevin and he stayed in touch with them. Eventually, he met someone else and married her. They had kids together. But to E, he is still Uncle Kevin. He still comes to The B’s family gatherings. They still consider him family. I’ve actually met him – he came to Sports Man’s 7th birthday party.

They told me this story to try to tell me something else – that I didn’t have to be related to them to be a member of their family. That I didn’t have to be related to them through blood or marriage to be an integral part of their life. That their hearts and arms were open to anyone, and that they didn’t just want me to be “the birth mom” – they wanted me to be Renee, a member of The B’s. They wanted my family to be part of The B’s. Because you would link us all. You would forever be part of my family because you are part of me. You would be part of their family because you would belong to them and their hearts would belong to you. You would take two families and make them one. One month and twenty-two days later, you did.

The day I met The B’s was the first day I felt as though adoption could really work. Until then it had been this intangible thing, this unknown entity that could go up or downhill. I came into that meeting with a list of questions that I had spent days putting together, ready to make sure that “these people” were good enough to be your parents, and I didn’t use it once. They were better than I could have hoped for. Just by getting to know them, my mind and heart were put at ease. My fears were soothed.

My prayers were answered.

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