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A young mother who knows the joy of having an adorable little girl thinks about what she owes to an unknown lady by Dorothy Shea Yazurlo as written in The Sign, September, 1971 AS MOST ADOPTIVE parents do, I am reading The Family That Grew to my two-year-old daughter. She has just devoured "Sesame Street" and is pretending she is Big Bird. My husband is working, and it is a beautiful, winter morning. After nap time, my daughter and I will go walking in the snow, and I am happy. Thank you, dear lady. "And a man and a lady start every little baby. And that's how you started, too." Thank you, dear lady, for my baby girl. For my "sweetest, dearest, nicest" baby girl. You might often think of her and wonder if you made the right choice - not to have an abortion - not to raise her alone - let me tell you about it. "So the lady kept you warm and protected you inside of her body until you were big enough to be born." My husband and I met and were married after we had both established successful careers. Even before marriage, we had agreed that I would temporarily change careers to raise a family. We both came from large families and were of one mind that a complete home included a child. I envisioned a child within a year, and we planned our home and expenses accordingly. After two years of waiting (I had morning sickness almost every day!), we completed the usual routine examinations, which are summarily exhausting both mentally and physically. For my husband's cooperation in these areas, I was grateful. But still, nothing. "Sometimes . . .people cannot take care of the babies they start. They went to a special person who found your mommy and daddy." After much serious discussion, we decided to try to adopt a child. There are many couples like us and very few babies, so we were apprehensive. I refer to the next months as my prenatal period and feel that it held the same trepidation. We had interviews, together and alone, home visits, and reference checks and "felt life" when we were finally approved. Another month followed, and, at last, we learned the date. Our baby had been premature, hospitalized at five weeks with bronchial problems, and we were prepared for possible health problems. We first met her on a spring afternoon in a tiny waiting room of a public agency. We were not prepared for her beautiful, big eyes - her quizzical expression. Daddy rushed out and bought his "best girl" a bunny, which she still cuddles. "She wanted you to grow up in a family." Her first weeks home were chaotic. While I did very well as a career woman, as a mother I was an unsatisfactory nervous wreck! When she cried, I cried. When she slept, I hung around in the hall listening to her breathing. When she was sick, I was palsied! And my beloved husband spent half his day calling home to be sure his daughter was okay. And the company! No one could picture me at home with a child, so they came to see for themselves. When, without warning, at ten months old, she spent ten days in the hospital, it was with never a minute without mommy, daddy, or gammy. Again, when she was eighteen months old, another few days. This time mommy stayed straight through, praying, crying, singing (mommy loves baby - baby loves daddy - daddy loves mommy) over and over. In the night when she slept, I would lean over her crib saying, "Mommy loves you." One of my friends chided me one day saying, "Don't you get tired of all that mush?" But I felt it was important, terribly important, that my littlest angel be secure. And always I would think of you - and hope that you were happy, that you were contented. You who were able to do what I could not: "No baby grew inside your mommy." The caseworker had told us that the only thing you asked was that your baby be placed in a strongly religious home. She and I pray every morning, and when friends or family have problems, I think hers are always answered. One funny incident happened when we were shopping and she shouted, "Let's pray, mom." I tried to dissuade her but ended up joining her! I think many of the blase shoppers thought I was loony!" "Some days weren't exactly fun, either. Mommy was angry." Don't misunderstand, dear lady; she is not always a joy. Her favorite word is "no," she is a champion screamer, and she has her father so entranced that he claims every time she is miserable she is teething! (Still?) She makes wall-to-wall junk every fifteen minutes and insists on doing everything herself except picking up toys. But what a challenge just to keep pace with her marvelous mind! And when she says, "Thanks, mom" - The child you gave us came into a large, loving family. She is my Irish mom's twentieth grandchild and unbelievably loved by her. Mom is convinced she is a County Mayo import! She has twenty-six adoring first cousins, ranging in age from eight months to twenty-two years, each caring for her. She has nine uncles and aunts and "pop," who is teaching her Italian. One of the heartaches of an adopting mother is the many well-meaning people who marvel that you "love her like your own." Who owns a child? We have them with us to raise and enjoy for only a little while and, we hope, to direct them to a satisfying life. She is my own! Or the many who "wonder what she will think when she finds out." Finds out what? That we loved her so much that we devoted all our time to making ours a healthy, happy home? Or the many who imply that she gets second-hand love from adopted parents. My reply is that she was dearly loved in the womb by a "lady" and dearly loved since by her parents. And then there are the many comments about you, the kind of person you might be, and the past you may have had. Well, I know the kind of person you are from my wonderful, happy child. She is very special; she is rarely beautiful-as you must be; she is very intelligent-as you must be; she is going to be a thoughtful, unselfish woman-as you must be. Thank you, dear lady. |