Red Threads

I spent a lot of years certain I never wanted kids. I was a lousy babysitter -- the one kids begged their parents not to have back (something about me actually MAKING them go to bed at their designated time, I think). I spent two summers as a camp counselor for underprivileged children. Came home every day, vowing I was going to have a dog, not a baby. (For the record, I still have the dog, and at 12 she's more work than a baby ever could be!) I watched my friends have their babies in their 20s and marveled at how they did it. Me, I was too busy making man mistakes to even think about babies.

Then I met a guy who wasn't Mr. Right, but who had three kids including a little pixie I'll call Curls. She was 3 when I met her, and for three years she was the light of my life. I'll never forget the first time she threw her arms around me and said, "I love you." I wanted to be a mom from that moment on.

It took almost 10 years to make it happen, then one day in 2004 I suddenly found myself staring at a picture of the daughter I'd felt in my arms, in my heart, long before I ever saw her face. At last, I was a mother. And it is hands-down the toughest, most incredible job I will ever have.

The road to Who I was filled with magic. We mailed the application to our adoption agency on my mother's birthday. We traveled with a high school friend (who'd actually dated the same boy at one point, and whose mom had been a college suitemate of my mom) and her husband and their daughter. One of our other travelmates was the niece of my high school journalism adviser. And most magical of all: We met our daughter on my mother's birthday, giving her the gift of her first grandchild. And The Who became a U.S. citizen on my brother's birthday. It doesn't get much cooler than that.

Fast forward two years. It's May of 2006 and we're finally starting to see the end of our ever-lengthening adoption journey when life throws us a curveball. One of our travelmates from that first adoption, who had become a dear friend, had been fighting cancer since shortly after we returned home in '04. She was losing her fight, and her guardianship plan had fallen through. As a single mother with aging parents, she needed a family for her daughter -- who was just 3 days older than our daughter and who had spent her first nine months of life with The Who. Our friend reached out to our travel group, asking if any of us had an interest in her situation. She never came out and asked, "Will any of you become L's family?" But we all knew that's what she was asking.

And DH and I knew that's what we wanted to do. So I called our friend, starting a series of phone conversations and e-mails.

On June 6, 2006, just one day shy of the two-year anniversary of our referral calls, our friend called me at work. "I want you to be L's parents," she said. I had to leave my desk so I could sob, the joy and the sorrow simply too much to process.

We visited our friend on Father's Day weekend, so the girls could become reacquainted and we could all make sure this was the right move. Our friend was obviously in terrible pain, yet she showed a courage that amazes me to this day. She gutted out that visit, including a 40-minute drive to meet with the social worker to get the ball rolling. As we drove away for the airport, I told DH, "I don't think we'll see her again," and again started to cry.

Two weeks later, I was back in New England -- this time, an instant mother to a little girl not yet 3 who had lost the second mother of her young life and just couldn't understand what had happened. On the second day I was with her, her friends at daycare pointed to me and asked who I was. She'd only been told the night before that her mother had died; no one had told her what my role would be. Yet this wise little girl said, "That's my new mommy." And she bawled the rest of the day.

It's been nearly a year since L & G, who I always believed were sisters of the heart, became true sisters. I wouldn't wish the circumstances on anyone. We've dealt with rages, grief, jealousy. I've locked myself in the bathroom to sob as though my heart is breaking, for my girls and for myself, wondering if I have the strength to help this little one. And I've picked myself up, wiped my eyes and gone back at it.

Someone who heard our story called me a WarriorMama, saying I dove into the battle and just did what had to be done. I think it fits. And a year after starting this journey, I can proudly say I am the mama to TWO beautiful girls. They are mine, heart and soul. They delight me, exasperate me and melt my heart on a daily basis. I have more gray hair and more pounds now than I did before I embarked on this journey. And I wouldn't change a thing.

We've been waiting on our referral for Baby Sister, aka Who III, for what seems an eternity. She's had to wait, as did we, because L needed us first. I will never regret putting this paperwork on hold to bring L into our lives. I believe with all my heart that she and G were meant to be sisters.

Before we left from visiting our friend that last time, I told her I didn't know why any of this -- her illness, her guardianship plan -- had happened, but that I knew one thing: She was meant to bring L home. "I believe that too," she said.

But I was meant to be her forever mama.

Somewhere in China, another little girl needs her mama tonight. Maybe it's me.

Sleep tight, my little ones. Soon there will be three.