After the birth of our first two children, I loved writing out their birth stories. When I was doing the birthing, I cherished hearing the memories of all the other strong women in the room. I loved knowing what all was happening while I was focused inward. I chronicled those experiences, for myself and for Mom and for E and C to read for themselves one day. This one is for you, my youngest son.
Your story began on an unusually cool day in August of 2019.
It only reached 99 degrees Fahrenheit, in a month where every day easily
surpasses triple digits. It’s not surprising to me that, as a lovely little
morning creature, you were already hard at the work of being born as the day
dawned bright. In my imagination, I can see your mother breathing deeply and
concentrating as she pushed you out to greet the day. You were born in a little
bathroom only two miles northwest of our home, and I didn’t even know that
someone momentous was breathing his first breath of the sweet, humid air that’s
found in every place life blooms.
If I close my eyes, I can hear the cicadas sing and smell
the creosote hanging in the summer breeze. Zinnias grew in our garden that
August, and we had a yellow-bellied Siskin finch visit often who loved to eat
the aphids that gathered under the leaves. Maybe we’ll grow zinnias again this
summer, so you can see what the garden looked like during your birth.
I regret that I cannot account for every moment of those
early days and weeks for you. I do know that you were loved. You had people who
couldn’t wait to meet you, to hold you and look upon your small crinkled face.
I’ve seen pictures of you as a little babe – even then, you were a skeptic of
this bright new world. Your first mother and father loved you. They loved you
as best they could. But you also were loved by your grandmother, your
grandfather and step-grandmother. Your aunt, and your incredible uncles.
We are so grateful that we get to know your uncles and aunt, and that you will have them in your life forever. We are thankful for the opportunity to maintain your connections to your birth family. It is our hope that one day you can reconnect to your first mother and father, to know them and to have them know you.
Your uncle B took you home with him in September, when your
parents could no longer care for you safely. He and uncle A set aside
everything to love you and raise you. I know from their stories that it was a
year of duality. Utter joy at your small presence, while pushing the limits of
pure exhaustion. They rejoiced in your growth, in your sharp intelligence and
your easy laugh. You lived a life of love and cuddles and safety with them, but
all the while your case, your future, was in limbo. Surviving in times of unknown answers and
unending timetables is an incredibly stressful thing. Your uncles are two of
the strongest people I’ve ever known. After many tears and long nights of
discussion, they decided to see if they could find an adoptive family for you
who would let them still be your uncles.
Meanwhile, we were pursuing our foster care license. We had
one class left to complete, plus our home safety inspection before we could
submit our application to the state. I received a text message one day from the
worker doing our training classes, asking if she could call me later. I
answered that of course she could and wondered why she wanted to talk. My brain
offered up, “Maybe she’s got a baby for us…” and then instantly I laughed at
myself because that was ludicrous. We weren’t even licensed. Later that
afternoon, she called and wove a tale of two young men who were hoping to find
the perfect family for their 11 month old nephew, a family who would accept
them as a couple and also as uncles who wanted to remain in his life. It was
all I could do to clench my lips shut long enough for her to finish the story
because I wanted to shout, “YES! Yes yes yes!” to these young men and to this
little boy who I had yet to meet.
I wanted them all. Somehow, they already lived in my heart.
In the waning golden sunlight of a July evening last year,
the four of us waited with bated breath in our front yard to meet you. We had
seen pictures of you, and we had done a video call with you and your uncles.
But on this warm summer evening, I felt deep in the pit of my stomach that I
was about to meet one of my children. It was surreal to think that I didn’t
know you at all. I didn’t know what made you smile, what helped you feel safe,
how you went to sleep easiest, or what your favorite food was. I suppose none
of us know any of those things when babies are born into our families anyway.
The uncles came bearing ice cream for all of us and carrying you in your car
seat. For the first time in their lives, E and C abandoned their ice creams in
favor of sitting in front of your car seat on the ground to smile at you and
touch your wiggling toes. E brought out books and read to you, while C
carefully examined your fingers and your nose and kept kissing your head. It
wasn’t long before the kids dragged the uncles into our home to show them around.
You demanded to be put down in C’s bedroom to investigate his cars and trucks
and bookcase. I took a photo of the 3 of you for the first time, your heads
bent closely together. It was then that I noticed your hair is
nearly the exact same shade of brown as your siblings.
After that first meeting, we planned family dinner nights.
We got to celebrate your first birthday together, and Mom and Uncle A baked and
decorated your cake.
We started to have you over by yourself for a few hours at a time. Our license was approved in late August, and we started having you for overnights the very next night. We were building many relationships.
It is an experience unlike any I’ve had, to commit our lives to two adult strangers and a baby before we knew each other. We have all grown so close in such a short span of time. You were placed with us officially at the beginning of October, and that started the countdown clock to your adoption.
Now, as spring blooms and brings with it the Mexican gold poppies and orange globemallow, the last grain of sand in this hourglass has fallen into the
base. Our time as your foster family has come to a close, little one.
This is the start of our sweet little story;
the part where your page meets ours.
No matter where the tale takes us tomorrow,
the story will always be of love.
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