When I first met my son he was already 17 days young. I received a call from the adoption agency just the night before 12/20 saying I should pick him up the following day in time for Christmas. His first 7 days of life were spent in the hospital. He spent the following days with a Caucasian foster family who delivered him to us with a Christmas blanket and letter addressed to me. My first recollection of my son was the navel chord knot, still intact with no hint of falling off. I felt like if I take this child home it won't be real. He belongs to someone else. I called the doctor and was told to put alcohol on the navel chord and soon it would dry up and fall off. Until it did, I waited for someone to knock on the door saying "He is mine. Thank you so much for caring for him but I will take it from here." I was terrified.
My son is eleven years old now. I have one birth daughter, but nothing compares to the bond I share with this young man who thanks me every chance he gets for being his mom. I cry alone. I cry with him. How do I explain to this perfect human being that he brought more to me than I could ever bring to him?
I want to tell him that God paired us. He knew what I needed when I needed it and vice versa. He is too young to know that we saved one another.
My son is eleven years old now. I have one birth daughter, but nothing compares to the bond I share with this young man who thanks me every chance he gets for being his mom. I cry alone. I cry with him. How do I explain to this perfect human being that he brought more to me than I could ever bring to him?
I want to tell him that God paired us. He knew what I needed when I needed it and vice versa. He is too young to know that we saved one another.
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