Gotcha!

Adopting a child is infinitely more complicated than giving birth to one. Our story is no less heart-felt, grief-filled and miraculous than most adoption stories.
I HATE it when people say about adopting a child, "oh you decided to do it the easy way!" I look them straight in the eyes and say there is no road more heartbreaking or difficult you will ever set your feet on than a journey to adoption. And I mean it.
When we started, we thought it was going to be easy. It wasn't. The loss of our beloved children, the ones we hoped to keep and couldn't is a story for another day. A little girl, two newborn boys, a slew of foster children and five years of tears, led my husband to request we remove our names from any adoption list we were on. He said he couldn't bear the heartbreak anymore, couldn't stand to see me suffer. Angry and desolate, I did as he requested, what else could I do? He laughed bitterly and said, "if God wants us to have another baby, He can jolly well knock on the door and give us one!"
And yet the heartbreak was still there. The dreams of the lost children. I had one recurring dream, where I could hear a baby crying, my baby, and I was looking in a huge house with hundreds of doors for my baby. Desperate, I would open one door after another, to nothing, as I heard their cries, needing me. I would dream of my little boys, the ones we didn't get to keep and I would pray to never wake up, because in my dreams, they were still mine.
So even with the withdrawal of our names, I could not withdraw my dreams, my heart's longing for another child. It seems so selfish and it is. I had five, who did I think I was? Daring to ask God for another. But yet, even with those thoughts in my mind, I could not find a way to have my heart stop the yearning.
One day, nine years and three days ago, I poured out my heart to the Lord. Please, God, please, don't make me do this anymore. I ask just one of two things. Either send me my child, or if it is not to be, allow me to shut the door on this longing. I can't bear to hurt like this anymore. Just please, stop the pain.
The next day, the phone rang. A baby boy needed a forever home. Did we think we could take him? He was a drug baby, but there was little risk in a placement. Shaking, I called Bald Man and waited with my breath held for his answer. The yes was all I needed to call the social worker back and say YES!
Less than 24 hours later, Little Man arrived. We had no information, no weight, no clothing size, diaper size or anything. 24 hours of frantic preparation. He came, with almost nothing. A snowsuit, a pair of socks that were too big, a short's outfit in Nov! In Utah! The diaper on his butt. Nothing else. No car seat, no letter, no wipes, no bottles, nothing at all. He was 3 months and 3 weeks old.
9 years ago. Gotcha darling boy. Nothing has been the same.

The social worker didn't look like God at all, yet there he was knocking on the door, handing us our baby. Watch out what you tell God Bald Man!