Happy Adoption Day!

This weekend, Mark and I hit another anniversary--Adoption Day, our third year as a legal family. He moved in five years ago, and by the time the judge banged her gavel and made the declaration, it was a mere formality. We'd already been family for two years, and it seemed kind of silly to put it in writing, as though legal papers were the only proof of our bond. And yet, it moved me more than I possibly could have imagined, because it made Mark mine, and me his. It gave me rights I'd been denied for two years, which biological parents take for granted--the right to change his doctors or school, to go on vacation without notifying anyone, to raise him without social workers approving my every action.

I started my journey to parenthood a long time ago--14 years ago, to be exact. I attended an adoption information meeting with the county, learned I had to take 10 weekly classes and then I could have a kid after that. I didn't know it could happen that quickly, so I freaked out, and changed my mind. I wasn't as ready to be a parent as I thought.

I spent the next seven years traveling the world, growing up, establishing a stable career, and buying a house. I got a bunch of plants and a couple cats, and kept them all alive, which I took to be a good sign. I suffered the loss of my grandma, and decided I didn't want to wait another minute--I wanted to be a mom, and I wanted my child to know my parents. I wanted my parents to see me as a parent, to know that all the hard work they put into me had paid off. And I knew I was gonna need help from them, because I've learned that being a parent is a continual work-in-progress.

So I enrolled in another adoption program. This time I didn't run away, although I did breathe a huge sigh of relief when they said the classes were monthly, not weekly. But then I spent the next 10 months fretting I couldn't handle all the special needs my kid would inevitably have, and my mom spent those 10 months telling me to suck it up. (In the nicest, most supportive possible way, of course.)

It wasn't a quick process--I tell people my pregnancy lasted two years. I poured out everything to random county social workers--my beliefs, my finances, my morals, my heart. I was subjected to fingerprinting and background checks--and so were my friends and family! I filled out endless paperwork, detailing every last bit of my life and personal choices. (And then I learned they keep those papers on file at the county office for 99 years--yikes!)

I needed three personal references, who wrote letters vouching for me. I made emergency plans, packed earthquake kits, and baby-proofed my house to strict guidelines the county provided.

It was exhausting, all of it. And all the while, I stressed about whether I was doing the right thing. Was I going to be good enough, strong enough, tough enough? Was it right to bring a kid into a single-parent home--would I be denying them the chance at a two-parent family? Would I even like the kid? Most moms feel their kids growing inside them--they love them simply because those babies are, in the most literal sense, a part of them. They love them the minute they are born, because those babies grew from them. I worried how long it would take me to love a child I'd never met.

And then finally, finally! After two long years, I finished. Finished the paperwork, finished the classes, got my stamp of approval. And learned about a five-year-old kid who needed a home. He was in kindergarten, liked video games, and was afraid of spiders.

I don't know why that endeared him to me, but it did. It made me cry, with all the relief and joy I could muster. This...this was why I had worked so hard. Because there was a little kindergartner out there who needed a mom to protect him from spiders...and I'd been selected for the job. I immediately stopped worrying about whether I could love a kid I didn't know. I loved him from that moment.

It wasn't easy, God knows. It still isn't. And though technically I am a single parent, I'm not raising Mark alone. My village has always been there, encouraging and supporting me, gently prodding me along. All my family and friends who held me up during my two-year-pregnancy and told me--endlessly, patiently--I could do this; they are there still, and now they're holding Mark up, too. Mark thought he was getting a new mom--instead, he got a whole new universe, a huge tribe to love him and show him the way. I am grateful to them all every day.

And so, when I awoke on Sunday morning, I smiled. I rejoiced with my cousin and aunt, who presented us with a gift card to buy our annual Adoption Day ice cream sundaes. I hugged my son, who growled and rolled over, because he wasn't ready to get up yet. And I thought of that day, three years ago, that I spent surrounded by family and friends, laughing, smiling, crying. I think of the boisterous cheer they let out when the judge proclaimed us adopted, and how they startled everyone in the courtroom with their loud, happy voices.

I think of how lucky I was that day, and how lucky I continue to be. I remind myself to be grateful, not only for my son, but for the opportunity I got, to see how much my friends and family really love and support me, and how they've passed that love and support on to my son as well.

And I know that although, on the surface, Adoption Day is about Mark and I, it's also so much more. It's a celebration for us all.