I am a sucker for a good story. Especially one with a happy ending.
I click the links and look at the pictures and watch the videos of adoptive parents meeting their babies for the first time. And I cry.
These are good stories, important stories.
I want to share my adoption story too. The story of my journey to motherhood, the story of how God knew what he was doing all along and I only figured it out bit by tiny bit.
I think it is a great story.
But I’ve hesitated to write it for a while now.
And this is why.
Before I share, before I tell my story, I need you to know that the stories of adoptive parents are not the only adoption stories. Our voices are not the only ones that you need to hear.
Our children (who grow up to be teenagers and then adults) have stories.
Our children’s first parents, the parents who gave them life, have stories.
Stories that belong to them. Stories that are theirs alone to share.
These are also adoption stories.
At least in my little corner of the world, we adoptive parents shout the loudest. We yell our stories from the rooftops, embellishing them with flourishes of love at first sight and happily ever after. We do this, I think, both to validate ourselves as “real” parents and to spread a little hope and encouragement to folks who are considering adoption and to those mired in the interminable waiting of the process.
And so, I too will step into this space.
I will tell my story because I think it is fabulous. And because I know without a doubt that I am a real mom (and I want you to know this too). And because a little more hope and encouragement in the world can’t hurt.
But please know, friends, that this is a story told in one voice. And though it is a true story, an adoption story, it is not the whole story. Because, in the end, adoption (like life) really isn’t all about me.
(Stay tuned for the rest of the story…)