Thirty years ago today my parents anxiously sat in my Grandfathers dental office awaiting the delivery of their first born.  

It had been a long, arduous, hard, challenging journey for my parents to get to that point. My beautiful mother wasn't able to conceive children of her own, and after many months of frustration and heartache my parents were finally presented with an incredible gift and opportunity. Adoption. 

At first my mother was hesitant, scared, unable to imagine what it would be like to essentially love someone else's child. But through prayer, my fathers strength, the Lord and the power of love and healing she quickly realized that that baby (little old me) was 100% meant to be HER child. And so, the process began.

Since I was a private adoption the rigamarol wasn't quite as intense as it was with my three brothers - home visits, agency requirements, the waiting game. I was however, the most expensive, which is a joke in our family, as I apparently never stopped costing them money (whatever!)  

And so, there they sat. Waiting. Anxious. Nervous. Excited. Unable to fathom all of their emotions and what to expect; drumming up imaginings and images of what I would look like, what I would be like, and how their lives were about to change. All they knew about me was that my birth mother was Scandinavian and that my birth father was Italian.

I was two days old when I was delivered by a lawyer in a dentists office (another family joke). Surrounded by my parents and grandparents, when they pulled that blanket back and got their first look at me, I wasn't quite what they had imagined... Nope, I was BETTER! (Ha ha ha... Actually two of my brothers should thank me profusely because if it wasn't for me it would have been a lot more difficult for my two white parents to adopt my two black brothers. So, you're welcome, and also I'm the best sister ever. :) 

Clearly their quiet two person life changed dramatically. According to my mother I was fat, fat, fat. With a head of curly black hair and rolls for days. The moment she saw me, she knew without a doubt that I was hers, and meant to come to her and my father. I was their baby, and they have and always will be my parents.

I am extremely thankful for the woman who had enough strength and courage to give me a better situation than she could provide. I will love her forever for that, but to answer the age old question that everyone asks, I do not currently have a desire to meet my birth mother. Maybe someday, but the truth is, my mama is the woman who fed me, clothed me, sang me to sleep, kissed my owies, and is the grandmother to my babies. 

Through the years people around our family have struggled to understand, or have questioned the power of adoption. Yes, an adoptive mother and her adopted baby can indeed have a bond as strong as genetic child and mother. I don't need the same blood as my mother to know that she will always be there. Or to know that she is one of my bestest friends. I don't need the same blood as my father to know that I am his little girl, and that he will protect me. I don't need my parents genes to know how much they love me, or to know that they would do anything for me and my brothers. It's beautiful and marvelous to see how love really has no bounds. 

People have also questioned and had doubts about an adopted child's behavior, genetics and background. Of course with adoption you can't know 100% how much genetics will play a part in their development. My parents have had their fair share of challenges with each of us kids. Some challenges have been easier than others, but honestly, you never know what you're going to get when you have a child either. (Which is why I always joked about D and I never procreating due to our adorable personalities.) You accept all the things you cannot control when you become a parent of any kind - foster, birth, or adoptive - and you commit to loving them, raising them, standing by them, and teaching them to become the best versions of themselves. 

With two African American brothers, Caucasian parents, one Caucasian brother and myself we really are a sight to see. We grew up as a family never seeing color, or how different or we were. Being the oldest and only girl over my three younger brothers I'm not sad about not having a sister. I'm not sad that we aren't closer in age. (There are 15 years between my younger brother and myself - part of the process and the waiting.) I  love my diverse family and that I can show my children how strong and beautiful love is on so many different levels. 

I am truly blessed every day by the family that surrounds me, loves me, and claims me as their own regardless of where I came from. I am truly blessed by the love, dedication, and gift that is my parents. They are two of the most amazing people I have ever met. Selflessly loving us kids - we are theirs, and they are our parents. 

I am celebrating today, and the power and gift of adoption; that I have the family, life, and parents I have. When Daniel and I got married, I knew that adoption was in our future - I know without a doubt that there is (or will be) a little baby meant to come and bless our family. I am excited to see what the future holds for us, and what our family will look like. 

CHEERS! To love. To my parents. And to adoption!