We had been trying to adopt for about four years and had seen ten adoptions fail. In the last attempt we had gone through the entire pregnancy with the mother. My ex-mother-in-law (who lives in Central America) and my ex-husband were helping us with the adoption. The President and First Lady of her country were also helping (they are best friends of my ex-Mother-in-law and Godparents to her youngest son) and were going to stand as Godparents to our baby. (I tell you this only so you will see how "carved in stone" this should have been.) Five days had gone by past the birth-giver’s due date and I had begun to feel nervous, so I called our attorney in Central America. The baby, a little girl, and mother, had disappeared. Two days later I got a call from an attorney in another Central American country who just happened to have a 7 day old infant girl and he just happened to know that we were all set to leave for Central America, had all the paper work, and for only $25,000.00 this baby could be ours.
To make this part of the story short I'll just say that the attorney was disbarred and parts of Central America shut down their adoptions for one year until they cleared this all up.
So, I was grieving - MY baby - MY Gabriell had been taken from me. My husband and I were devastated..
I was getting ready to leave for China to find a baby and wasn't really looking forward to it. Oh, I was excited about seeing China but couldn’t speak the language, didn’t know its customs, and didn't know anyone there, so I was a somewhat frightened. Little did I know that my baby was going to be born about a mile and a half down the road.
Before I left for China, my husband and I decided to go to Disney World for a little vacation. I think he was worried and wanted a change of scene for me. We were supposed to be in Disney World the week that our miracle happened, but at the last minute (when ordering the tickets that is) decided to go the week before. The day Chris was born we were at the Epcot center. We were home three days when "The Call" came.
It was Wednesday - 10:00 a.m. when the phone rang. I was working in a real estate office, helping my friend Gayle out because the receptionist quit without notice (I used to manage a real estate office). It was my husband: "Honey, Dale just called (we had not used Dale as our adoption attorney for 3 years and had switched to an attorney with more contacts). He says that he has a little boy - 6 days old, but he has a bi-lateral (both sides of the mouth) cleft lip and palate. We are the seventh couple he’s called. Everyone else turned him down. The social worker is there and is going to take him away unless we adopt him..." By now I'm excited. I'm motioning to Gayle; I'm dancing around my work area....
To make this part of the story shorter, my husband was concerned about it because he wanted to make sure we could give our baby what he needed. I told him that in the world of anomalies, Cleft Lip and Palate was a pimple - that we could easily get the little guy the care he needed and any thing else that came up. Relieved, he agreed and called Dale back. My husband then called me again and said that I had to talk to this Plastic Surgeon first - that Dale wanted to make sure we knew what we were getting into. I knew - I grew up very poor where people didn't hide their babies just because they were "different." I knew a kid with this anomaly personally, as well as a lot of other anomalies that were much worse (one of my playmates was a "Cyclops." She had one, big eye.) But, I was willing to jump through any hoops they wanted and so called the plastic surgeon.
The doctor kept saying, "This is a twenty year commitment, I hope you understand this." over and over again. Finally I said "Good! My aunt’s kids are in their 40s and they're still coming back home. I'll be done in 20 years!" He agreed with my slant on it and wished me luck.
So, one hour had passed. I called Dale personally and told him to bring my baby home! He was thrilled. It killed him to think of this little boy - so beautiful in every way - winding up in Children's Services and foster care. Sure, he might have gotten a good placement, but he most probably would have been bounced from home to home - well, we all know about those possibilities. We named him Christopher.
I often say to Christopher "Do you know how I know God loves me? He gave me you!" And He did! And His love is so complete that He gave me my baby in just a little over 24 hours! No more agonizing waits. No more foreshadowing of doom. No more "She’s changed her mind!" This baby was mine and I could feel safe in enjoying every minute of awaiting his arrival.
I had an arrangement with my friend that if this very thing happened I could leave. She had just hired a new receptionist whom I was training, so I could take off and not feel like I was leaving her in the lurch. So, with her blessing, I raced out the door and headed home. Out came dust mops, pails and buckets as I proceeded to clean an already immaculate house from attic to basement! I was ecstatic! After a whirlwind of cleaning I began to write down all the things I needed for a baby whom I had not known existed only a few hours before. My son! It soon became apparent that I would not be able to accomplish this Herculean task all by myself, so I called my neighbor and told her the amazing news.
To say she ran to my house would be an understatement. She flew! Bursting through the door, she grabbed me and began to dance me around the living room. We wept and laughed and jumped up and down in joy because THE day had finally come!
A fantastic organizer, she was soon on the phone and before I knew it Kelly was bringing a crib, Joan was bringing an infant car seat and everyone else was scheduled to show up at my house that night.
My friend then decided that champagne was in order. She had some in the fridge and would be right back. When she got to my front door I heard a yell! Running to see what was the matter, I found myself again embraced and danced around my living room-foyer area. A large, blue stork holding a diaper inscribed with "It’s a Boy" was planted on my front lawn. Gayle - my sweet friend - had ordered it.
My husband managed to get home early. He picked up dinner for us, which we hurriedly ate, finishing just before our friends arrived. I remember so clearly standing at my front door passing out our credit cards and handing out lists. "You, sleepers, sheets and blankets." "You, diapers, Similac, baby powder, baby shampoo..." and on and on. The last person - I remember so clearly because she laughed - "You - get wine!"
The rest of that evening is a blur. We speculated on our son. What would he look like? We had changed our image of our baby so often from the blonde, blue-eyed Mid-West native son, the dark-haired, dark-eyed Central American beauty, and the dainty, exquisite Buddha-like baby from China, that now we were faced with a new image - a cleft affected baby. Bilaterally clefted. What would our son look like?
I recalled when I was 15, visiting my friend at Children’s Hospital, walking down the hall and watching a nurse feeding an infant sitting upright. That’s what first caught my eye. The baby was not cradled in her arms but was sitting completely upright. Then I noticed that he had no mouth that I could see, only a hole in the middle of his face. Would my baby look like that? Would he be that severe? All I could do was wait and see. The hours seem to drag and fly at the same time.
To fill our time and to ensure that our son had all he needed, we emptied out the guest bedroom of anything that was not appropriate. I remember my husband standing in the doorway when we were through. All that was left was a chest of drawers, a dresser and a corner desk. "This was my boyhood furniture, Honey. Christopher will grow up with my furniture!" We were beyond happiness at this point and, exhausted as well from the frenzied activity and the emotion-filled day, we went to bed.
Thursday dawned achingly beautiful with a Dresden- like blue sky. It was a pink day with blossoms and sweet smelling air. Perfect for the arrival of a young Prince! Our son was due to arrive at 2:00 p.m. and as the hour grew nearer I suddenly became very nervous. I knew what was happening as we waited and dread began to creep into my heart.
I knew that the birth giver was in court. There she would stand before a judge who would inform her that she was forever relinquishing her rights to the baby, that this relinquishment was final and that, should she discover who we were and decide we were unfit parents, would not get the baby back, but that the baby would go into foster care and would be put up for re-adoption. This was a forever decision. She would then be asked to go into the hall and sit for one hour thinking over what she was told.
After that hour she would return to the judge and the stipulations of her relinquishment would be repeated. Did she understand? Was she still determined to go ahead? Then, and only then, would Christopher become our son. Would she, at the last minute change her mind? Would we again realize the pain of a failed adoption? We were both 39 ½! In our state the cut-off age for adoption was 40! I prayed to God that our baby would come home to us!
2:00 p.m. came. We heard a car pull up in front of the house and ran to the door, cam-cord in tow and rolling! It was FedEx delivering a package from WordPerfect. We laughed nervously, accepted the package and I managed to get the FedEx guy to say "We deliver!" for us as a recorded memento of the day.
By now we were frazzled. Where was he? Another car! We rush to the door and it’s ... Kelly! She has shown up with the crib. Right behind her was, literally our entire neighborhood. We decide to go outside to wait. Our nerves are now strained to the enth degree. Maybe being with our friends would help to calm us down.
We step out of our front door and a miracle happens. It’s him! He’s here! Our son is home! We literally run to the driveway where Dale and his wife are getting out of the car. Dale’s wife opens the passenger rear door, bends in and rises, holding a sweet bundle in her arms. I could see a tiny head with a knit cap, little hands waving in the sweet summer air, fingers curled - angry at being aroused from a soothing car-induced sleep.
Dale takes our child into his arms, turns to me beaming and hands me my son. I take him, hold him to me and breathe him in. He smells so sweet. I learn later that this is a natural instinct of a mother. She imprints her baby’s own special smell into the core of her very being, making it possible to identify her child by his scent alone. To this day I breathe him in - reveling in his unique perfume.
I remove the blanket from his face. On some level I note that he has a unilateral (one side) clefting - easier to repair and better results with less surgeries - but for some reason the first thing I respond to is something else. I remove his cap and the first words I utter are "He does have hair!"
Turning, I walked slowly up my sidewalk, my sweet baby in my arms. The sidewalk was literally lined with friends and neighbors smiling, laughing, clapping. We all entered the house where I promptly undressed my little one, counted his toes, his fingers and kissed all those parts a mama kisses: his knees, his hands, his little nose, his elbows and feet. It was the most wonderful day of my life and I was in Nursery Nirvana. I was a mother. Finally, I was a mother!
Dale had brought some things from the hospital. The nurses, happy to see Christopher adopted and ecstatic to send the social worker "empty away," had thoughtfully, in their joy, put together a "New Mother" package for me. They had also included the special bottles needed to feed my baby. Because of the clefting, he could not create a vacuum and so could not suck. Standard bottles were useless. Instead I used a Mead Johnson Nurser, which was oblong, flattened and made of soft, squeezable plastic. The crosscut nipple allowed me to gently squeeze the formula into my son’s mouth at a rate that would allow him to swallow without choking. This was especially important as his Uvula (that little "thingy" in the back of your throat) was also clefted. Its main purpose was to prevent a baby, lying supine while nursing, from choking and since it was split in two, it was unable to perform this function. Because of this, Dale was concerned that I may not be able to learn how to feed Christopher successfully. Dale's concerns were unfounded. Remembering the child from my visits to Children’s and finally understanding what I had seen, I held Christopher upright, inserted the bottle into his little mouth and began to feed my son, shooing Dale away and admonishing him to "Let me feed my baby, please!" Grinning from ear-to-ear, he acquiesced.
Eventually everyone went home and we settled down to call our families. We didn’t want to announce Christopher’s arrival until he was safely home and now we could revel in the joy of our now expanded family and the newest addition to our clans.
The first call was to my cousin, who promptly packed her car, drove the 30 miles to our home and brought to us an exquisite basinet, dripping with eyelet lace, a diaper pail, a play pen, a bath ring and other sundry items including toys. After admiring our boy, she left, saying she didn’t want to intrude; we continued our calls.
Everyone was thrilled! They were aware that we had given up the privilege of giving birth, although capable, because of various concerns. Among which my chances of giving birth to a child with spina bifoda was too great and we wanted to parent a child who was already here. They knew that we had suffered many disappointments. But now, it was worth it. Our son was home.
We talked to relatives for hours! Laughing, rejoicing and recounting the already apparent, numerous, glorious qualities of our son! However, even the most eventful of days must end - we were again exhausted and Father, Son and Mother went to bed.
It was 2:00 a.m. Exactly 12 hours since our child had come home. I was awakened by the hungry cry of a newborn baby - music to my ears! I scrambled from my bed and lifted my tiny son from his lace-bedecked basinet. As I straightened, Chris arched his back, as if straining to move closer to me, and I was lost. That was when I truly fell in love. I felt an electric thrill run through my body and love so profound, so complete, that I was immobile for those few seconds of utter and complete bonding. This was my son, my child, and no matter who provided the "clay" in which his sweet soul was housed, he was the same person, the same entity that I would have mothered had I provided the flesh which was the temple of that soul. This was my son, whether I had birthed him or no. I had simply given him the chance at a healthier life by removing the possibilities of the crippling spina bifoda, which may have been his fate. Those two o’clock feedings became very special to me as each morning I silently, reverently, celebrated the thrill of love that had surged through my heart at that fateful time - the time of our bonding and the beginning of our journey as Mother and Son.
Since then, the adoration I feel for my son has continued to grow as has the devotion his father feels for him, and as has Christopher’s for us. He is the joy of our lives and fills our days with laughter, wonder and love.
We have seen our baby go into surgery 4 times for a total of 8 procedures. It has been difficult, but we tell ourselves that it is necessary for his continued good health, emotional as well as physical. Through each ordeal, he has shown a courage that can only be inspiring. We have learned many lessons from our son.
He has learning differences but tutoring and private schooling has helped this wondrous child rise to the occasion and thrive. He works hard, he plays hard, he loves his life, is happy and is flourishing.
He is our son. He is our joy. He is our life.
The Perfect Child is the One in Your Arms
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