Trish starts:
For us it began with a 3am call
We were told
There was a terrified toddler on his first birthday
There were many police cars
There was a lot of commotion
And we heard God’s question...This boy needs some moms...what will you say?
And we said, Yes!!!!
And then he met Steph’s loving arms and he declared he never wanted to leave. He held onto her for
hours until I got home. Then we had birthday cupcakes and candles and we made wishes for him: a life
filled with self love, confidence, curiosity, and a feeling of safety.
We wished him support for his journey...wherever and with whomever he travelled.
That first day turned into our first three months...every minute falling more deeply in love as we watched
him blossom.
We openly talked about our dilemma. This is dangerous territory...should we protect ourselves from loving
too much? ...Should we find some healthy boundaries for our love?
After a lot of talk we made a pact...this was to be a no-holds-barred sort of walk.
We will not be afraid of love,
we will not shield our hearts,
and we will not deny this precious baby boy one bit of the love he needs so badly.
We agreed: No holding back!!
Then came a call: Get a suitcase and pack his things. The day after tomorrow, he will be moved to a
different foster home in another state.
The main thought? It’s over, and he won’t remember us and our memories too will fade and this was
temporary and over. We had not journaled and the days ran together and there wasn’t much...there was
no record of our beautiful family.
And then, that evening, another call, from an elated social worker: a judge had stayed that ruling and we
had more time!
Right then and there a letter to our son started that has not ended. We have been writing him a love letter
for four years. He will have a record of our love and laughs and daily joys as a family.
The letter is almost four years running and today’s testimony will be cut and pasted right into his story, his
letter, his record.
Zay likes to ask why he wasn’t a baby in our bellies and we tell him our bellies were broken and you had
to come another way and you came the perfect way!
He knows his biological mother’s name and that he was in her belly
He knows she cared for him until that night. He knows she loves him too.
We have another pact. We will always be honest and tell him everything, just keeping it in terms he can
understand.
Sometimes he tells us a bedtime story...sometimes it even includes magic snowmen.
He says: I was a baby in a egg and the egg was rolling and rolling down a great big hill and when it finally
got to the bottom it cracked open and you guys were there and you picked me up and that is how you
became my moms.
It is indeed sort of how he tells it.
Then Steph says:
This is all to answer the question, What does it feel like to be adoptive mothers? The long and the short of
our answer is: we have no idea. Although our son was brought into the world in a delivery room on
September 22, 2010, we had his home birth on September 22, 2011, and North Carolina signed the birth
certificate, naming us parents, on December 8, 2014. We can’t imagine loving this little guy any harder if
we had physically given birth to him.
Although we had social workers instead of midwives.
Although we endured overwhelming morning sickness, throughout the elongated pregnant pauses, each
time a new placement threatened.
Although we carried him for 3 years instead of 9 months. Our labor pains were simultaneous.
Although we understand biology, and that a womb is located in the abdominal cavity.The Oxford English
Dictionary says, "to womb" means to incubate. Zay was wombed in our hearts even before we prayed for
his delivery almost 6 years ago on a California beach, when we wrote "our Family / our Baby" in the sand.
Although we don’t share DNA; our genetics are encoded by love. Which simply means we cannot imagine
loving our son more, if the life we are giving him was initiated through our bodies, rather than ignited by
our love. Although being Zay’s mothers has less to do with biology than answering your phone at 3am.
It’s not where you come from. It’s where you belong.