Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we were just pregnant for 3 months, had no morning sickness and absolute no pain during labour? That is how my birth story unfolded when we adopted a beautiful baby boy last October.

After 2 years of struggling to fall pregnant (and all the infertility testing required) and an early miscarriage, my husband and I decided to start the adoption process. It was something we had always planned on doing so it wasn’t too big a thing to get our head around; we just imagined we would be able to have biological children first.

We went to see a private adoption agency at the end of May last year to see what it all entailed. It was quite an emotional day as we were so excited to be on the road to growing our family. The social workers explained all that we had to do, and after lots of forms, interviews and psychological screening tests we were finally “pregnant”!  

Now the wait began. We were told to expect to wait between 9 months to a year-that was fine, it would give us plenty of time to get stuff ready. Then we had a phone call that we would possibly get a baby the beginning of December. Sooner than we had thought but still time to get everything ready.  

Then we got THE phone call-only it was much sooner than expected and a little confusing. The secretary from the adoption agency phoned to say that my maternity leave forms were being e-mailed to me. I assumed that this was a general letter to all parents planning to adopt asking for leave. When opening my inbox I discovered that our son had been born in September and that he would be placed with us the following week. Completely confused (but very excited) we tried to get hold of our social worker but could not get through to her. After what felt like the longest hour of our life she called us back to apologise that she had not phoned us first to tell us the good news before the secretary had e-mailed the forms.

We were a little dazed the week before his arrival, not only were we about to become parents, my sister was getting married on the Saturday before! After a lovely wedding and not much sleep, family came round to help us get things ready, show us how to use a bottle, put on a nappy and anything else they thought might be helpful.

On Wednesday, 8 October at about 2 o’ clock we were on our way to a pregnancy crisis home to fetch our baby boy. I’d been crying all day. We were fortunate enough to meet his birth mother and some of her family (which many people thought wouldn’t be a good idea, but I’m glad we did it as I think it gave us all closure).She had chosen us to be his parents from a portfolio we had sent in. We sat in the lounge talking to her and we both had opportunities to ask each other questions.

I could hear a baby crying in another room. That was our son’s cry and it was just too overwhelming to comprehend. She then went to fetch him, said goodbye and handed him to us. He was the most beautiful baby in the world; he had all his fingers and so much hair. Just beautiful. Only two weeks old. Our family was now three which felt much better than two. And then he hiccupped, sneezed and vomited all over me and I suddenly realised my life would never be the same again-but in a good way!

Child

By Stacie Lloyd Duce

Stacie Lloyd Duce, “Child,” Ensign, Feb. 2009, 43–44

One of my earliest memories is looking up at my mother after she had tucked me in and asking her if she would tell me a different bedtime story. After all, she had been telling me the same story every night for as long I could remember.

It always started with these words: “Once upon a time, there was a mommy and daddy who wanted very much to have a baby of their own.” It wasn’t a fable or a fairy tale but the story of our family and how I came to be a part of it. Because I had heard the story repeated so often, adoption was never a mysterious or uncomfortable topic. I learned from the beginning that I was meant to be with my family—I had just come a different way.

The bedtime story included details of my parents’ life as newlyweds. Doctors had advised them that adoption would be the only way they would have a family. The tale also included their progress through adoption paperwork and interviews and a surprise phone call that came much earlier than they expected. The woman on the line told Mom, “We have a baby girl waiting for you to take home for Christmas.”

At that point, the story always got exciting and included the pandemonium of Dad leaving work and racing to the store to buy diapers, pink clothes, and a 1970s movie camera that would blind our family with its bright light for years to come.

Mom’s story always ended—never without a few tears—with the day she and Dad arrived at the adoption office. A woman brought the “most beautiful baby” they had ever seen, and my parents knew immediately that they would love me forever. All of their once-distant dreams were coming true.

I slept soundly through that first night in my new home. Mom told me she kept checking on me and kissing me throughout the night, just as she continued to do as I grew. Because of this story, I never doubted my beauty inside or out, and I never doubted my parents’ love for me.

Our family moved from that home before my first birthday. Then, some 35 years later, I had the chance to return to that city with my parents. They drove me to the hospital where I was born, to the church on the hill where I was blessed, and to the little brick apartment building where they brought me home to be a part of their family. The details of my bedtime story swirled around me during this visit with all-new realism.

I watched my parents kiss on the sidewalk outside that apartment—just as they had done as newlyweds—with a different kind of appreciation. I imagined them bringing me home with humility and gratitude and a strengthened resolve to be an eternal family. Suddenly their emotion wasn’t something to roll my eyes at, as I had sometimes done growing up. It was something to be cherished and emulated.

My appreciation for lessons taught at bedtime increased as I realized they made the plan of salvation a part of my everyday thoughts. I knew I lived in heaven before I was born. I knew Heavenly Father gave agency to all. I knew redemption was possible for the people whose choices not only affected them but created a child as well. I knew Heavenly Father had a plan for me, and that His plan mercifully provides second chances for everyone involved in an adoption. I feel gratitude to the woman who carried me and made a decision that may have been unpopular with some. I imagine my birth mother as a pillar of strength, and I pray she has been blessed for her sacrifice and hope for the future for all of us.

The story of miracles for our family continued when Mom discovered that she was pregnant with my brother, who came to be my best friend. More siblings arrived, defying the logic of doctors and specialists.

My parents are all I—or birth parents—could have hoped for. They provided the necessities of life as well as family fun. They taught me to work, to learn, and to discover my talents. They taught through their words and example. I learned to overcome disappointments and obstacles, just as they have done. And most important, they gave me a glimpse of how Heavenly Father loves me as His daughter.

My bedtime story has a happy ending that isn’t really an ending. New chapters have given our extended family more opportunities for adoption and an appreciation of God’s guiding hand during this short tale of mortality.