Adoption was never something I dreamed about as a child. I didn’t know anyone who had been adopted or adopted children, my only “experience” was the certificates that came with my Cabbage Patch dolls. I wanted marriage and a house full of kids, but life didn’t go that way.
In my late 20s, I began meeting single women who had adopted and were raising children alone. Slowly, the idea started to feel possible. I’m a cautious person who had lived my whole life within a few miles of where I was born, so thinking about a nontraditional family took time.
At 30, I attended my first international adoption meeting. The thought of raising a child alone was scary. Wouldn’t a two-parent home be better? But I couldn’t ignore the fact that there were over 150 million orphans in the world. Maybe one would thrive with me as their mom.
I chose China, it had a strong adoption record, a clear process, and welcomed single women. The paperwork, costs, and 18-month wait were daunting, but I started my “paper pregnancy.” Initially, I requested a “non-special needs” child, but over time, wait times grew and I felt nudged toward the special needs program.
It scared me. In China, “special needs” can describe many different conditions, ranging from a cleft palate to missing limbs.
I prayed, researched, and realized I kept meeting people with hand or foot differences. It felt like God was preparing me.
In 2009, five years into waiting, I joined the special needs program. After turning down one referral, I received an email with photos, the first showed only a pair of small hands with fused fingers. I knew instantly. These were my daughter’s hands. Her name would be Molly. She had Amniotic Band Syndrome, which caused her hand and foot differences.
About three months later, my brother and I traveled to China to see her.
“Gotcha Day” brought a swirl of feelings, I was filled with happiness, while she was gripped by fear.
She clung to me like a koala, refusing to let go for the rest of our trip. Carrying her everywhere, sleeping with her in my arms, and being her entire source of comfort bonded us instantly.
Once we returned home, Molly underwent surgery to have her fingers and toes separated.
Today, at 13, she runs, plays sports, creates art, plays piano, and is a typical teenager.
Adoption changed me. It opened my eyes to loss, resilience, and love deeper than I imagined. Molly completed a part of me I hadn’t realized was missing, I needed her just as deeply as she needed me. And every step even the hard ones, was worth it.
