I will always recall the looks I got when I was nine months pregnant, wearing a huge belly, and loud a baby. I was going to give birth to two babies three months separately, which was not the life I had intended.
My spouse and I started the foster and, preferably, adoption process a few years ago. We were nervous about having a fourth child, but we continued despite having three already—two biological and one adopted. We found out I was pregnant right after we finished the foster supplies. We celebrated when the plans altered.
I conventional a call at six months expectant asking if we could take in a newborn girl. We said no because it is typically against the rules to place a baby with an expectant mother. No one else could take her, so the call came again a few weeks later. We said “yes” after requesting and crying.
Her smile at seven weeks old, her large brown eyes, and her tiny dimples made her instantly lovable. I was requesting that we could work it out. With two babies, life was hectic but joyful, first snickers, naps together, and memories I will always treasure
Then the heartbreaking newscast arrived: she was going to be taken by an aloof relative. They were legally precise, but the caseworker concurred that she would prefer to work with us. I lived in fear for months.
The comparative withdrew a week previous to the court date. She was officially ours at ten months of age.
After two years, she is brainy, gregarious, and vibrant. Watching her and her brother laugh in their coded linguitic while holding hands is one of my favorite things.
Collapses at the grocery store, sleepless nights, and irritabilities have all occurred. But never a second of remorse. I will always be grateful that we said yes. I will strive to be deserving of her mothership for the rest of my life.
