525,600 minutes

"Five hundred twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes
Five hundred twenty-five thousand moments so dear
Five hundred twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes
How do you measure, measure a year?"
----"Seasons of Love" lyrics from the musical Rent

Today is our official Adoption Day--exactly one year ago today, Mark and I (and our family and friends!) sat nervously in the Children's Court and listened to a judge finalize our adoption.

It was the legal beginning of our lives as parent and child, and the happiest day of my life. But not for the reason it should've been...

I'd always imagined adoption day would be joyful and proud because I officially became a mother. But honestly, it felt more like...well, not the end, really, but the sense of closure was much stronger than anything else. The biggest benefit to the adoption was the state now recognized me as Mark's legal mother, instead of treating me like a glorified babysitter with no legal say in Mark's care.

The thing is, I'd already had Mark for two years. I'd struggled, learning what it really meant to be a mother, and a single one at that. It was so much more than making sure he had clean clothes, hot meals, and a band-aid when he cut himself.

I struggled with Mark's diabetes--how to manage it, how to recognize Mark's high and low blood sugars, how to feed him and when. As a single person, I slept all night long without a care in the world. As a new mom, night time became the scariest time in my life--would Mark go low while I slept obliviously? I woke often at night to test and correct him, and placed a baby monitor in his room and mine. But even that wasn't enough--I spent lots of time standing in his doorway, watching him sleep, making sure he was still breathing.

I struggled with Mark as an angry little boy. He hadn't been told anything prior to moving in with me, and what he knew made him mad. He was shuffled between families (birth, foster, and the newest family, me), ordered to visitations by a court that knew nothing about him or his best interests. He was interrogated by the many, many, many social workers, lawyers, and other child advocates required to visit him, all asking the same questions. He had no sense of control, with his old life or this crazy new one, and it drove him nuts. He was five years old, and acted out accordingly, with tantrums, and fits of rage. I can't say that I blame him.

But we got over it all. Slowly, we learned to navigate his diabetes together. He learned to communicate instead of raging, and to trust that I wasn't going anywhere. He learned to adapt to a new home, a new school, a new mom, and a big, extended family. I learned that my family and friends exceeded all of my expectations of love, that they were giving and supportive beyond belief, and without expecting anything in return. Their love and support got me through the toughest times in my life.

I learned patience, with a scared little boy and with a messed-up, red-tape bureaucratic system that functioned solely to complicate my life and drag out the whole adoption process (that's what it felt like). I learned to trust that while social workers didn't always bring good news (another birth mother appeal granted--again??), they fought for us again and again, as overworked and underpaid as they were. I learned that they didn't like filling out all the reams of paperwork any more than I did, and yet, they never complained.

I learned to function sleep-deprived, and Mark learned to ignore me when I was cranky and tired. I learned that beneath all that fear and anger was a happy, sweet, funny little boy who smiled easily, laughed loudly, and loved freely. He learned that there wasn't anything I wouldn't do for him, and I learned that I could love someone, little as he was, more than I ever imagined.

And that was where we were at a year ago today, arriving at the judge's chambers. We'd settled into our lives, and when the judge proclaimed us a forever family, it was only a formality. It was just the official stamp on the paper. Because I hugged Mark tightly, and as I watched my family and friends do the same, I knew that no matter what the date on the adoption certificate, we'd been family since that very first day.

So, happy Adoption Day, Mark. I'm proud to be your mom, and I love you.