Super Boy

​“Put on what you think makes you look good,” I say to the kids the day before Thanksgiving as we dress for our annual holiday photo.  Lillie shows up in striking colors, Ali in pink and Unicorns (natch) and Ty  in a super hero cape and mask.  Who doesn't look good as a superhero?
 
The end of November…meant to get the family holiday photo taken before now, but Cherry, our insanely gifted photographer who has taken our photo every year since our wedding, lives in Santa Barbara.  Like all things 2020, we are improvising.
 
Before we plunge headlong into the year-end holidays, I am reminded that November is National Adoption Month. It’s the kind of thing that would make my younger self roll her eyes (sure, let’s put that in there with “Eat Ice Cream for Breakfast Day”, which is an actually thing – the first Saturday in February to be exact).
 
When I adopted my dog Homie 14 years ago, National Adoption Month took on some panache.  Then, four years ago, we adopted our son.  
 
As the middle child of three, with a mother who is the middle child of three, I have always felt in my bones that I am meant to have three children.  After two biological girls, we decide to adopt a boy.
 
There’s lots of fear around adoption. I realize just how much fear when I tell people we want to adopt.
 
Well-meaning friends relay horror stories of families who have been all but destroyed by adopting a hellion. (“Have you seen the movie Lion??”). Others educate me on the paramount pull of “nature” over “nurture”. Two different friends ask, “Why would you want to take on someone else’s problem? You have two beautiful little girls – is that fair to them?” 
 
Actually, in fairness to our daughters (then 5 and 4), we realize that a state-sponsored adoption won’t work for us, because the goal of the state is to reunite the biological family whenever possible. We are not willing to face that scenario: “Hey girls, remember that baby brother we fostered for the past eight months? Well, his mom got sober so we’ll never see him again…. no, he did nothing wrong…no, we have no plans to give you away…” In fact, friends later confide that this scenario happened to them, and it was as devastating as it sounds.
 
When we terrify ourselves with a new challenge, the Universe surprises us with encouragement in ways we could never predict. Under the condition of anonymity and no payback, upon hearing of our financial challenges in adopting, my dear friend X shocks me by gifting us five thousand dollars to “live our noble dream”! This is probably one of the kindest and definitely most surprising things a friend has ever done. Not only does she embolden me and make me feel worthy of my dream, but she ignites in me the desire to some day pay this life-changing generosity forward.
 
Although we parent two kids already, we embark on couple’s therapy, parenting classes, finger printing, home inspections, CPR classes, and make a “look book” of our family (a fabulous keepsake). Then, we wait.
 
Turns out there is a difference between adoption in theory, and taking home a child when you get the phone call.  
 
For my husband, the financial stress of a third child becomes all too real when our call comes eight months into our waiting.
 
I recognize it as a dream come true: It is in-state (There is a window of a few weeks after birth when you cannot leave the state of birth.  Since I am the primary caretaker for our girls, our adoption has to be in Cali). The baby is already born (Often, adoptive parents pay for months of the pregnant mother’s doctor visits, maternity clothes and expenses. And then she can change her mind and keep the baby, all expenses a wash.) He is healthy. (We had ruled out obvious special needs as, living far from family, we don’t have the necessary resources).  This perfect opportunity may never come again. (We had already been passed over by birth parents who chose people with NO kids, not two already at home).

It’s fair to say, my husband and I are both in shock.  Are we REALLY doing this?
 
Depends on whom you ask.
 
My husband basically tells me NO, no we are not. Don’t come home with this child. We’re not ready. We can’t afford it. We don’t know enough about his biological father (“the boy’s inherited nature”)
 
As parents of multiples know, there’s never a “best” or most convenient time to have another baby. I feel if we wait until we have the money, our girls will be out of college.

Hours after we are chosen, I leave the girls with a friend and jump in the car to drive the three hours to take the baby home from the hospital. As I drive up to Santa Maria, I am terrified. I realize I am jeopardizing my marriage of 8 years by saying YES we are doing this (and yes, there was mention of leaving me if I did this).
 
On that long and terrifying drive up, I call my friend Leah who asks, “If you pass up this opportunity and another like it never comes again, will you resent your husband?” And I realize yes, yes I will.  
 
My husband is the only thing keeping me from doing this. My desire for a third child has never wavered. If I say no now, I realize one day, my resentment could destroy my marriage. 
 
Outside the hospital, the fear I feel is so strong, it grips my insides like a vice.  Our attorney comes down to the car (where I had taken yet another phone call from Jory directing me to just come home). She asks what the hold up is. (Most adoptive parents are over the moon). When I tell her, she says she can just move on to the next family on her list. I don’t have to do this.
 
I have been raised to do what will make someone else happy, especially my spouse.  I should be fine
 
But in my life, I most regret the opportunities I passed up. The years I played it safe. Those decisions guided by fear. 
 
In the end, it always comes down to fear or love, doesn’t it?
 
I think of my friend X, and her love and generosity empowers me. I need to love. To love myself by listening to my intuition telling me this is it; to love this baby, this baby who needs to be loved.
 
And the baby is a total love.  
 
My husband doesn’t touch him for the first two weeks.

But love has a funny way of growing. The minute she lays eyes on him, Lillie Grace is besotted with her baby brother. The next day, little Ali feels brave enough to hold him. I don’t think either girl will ever let him go.
 
Then, a community rallies: My sister and her daughter fly out to meet him.  My husband’s mother visits. Friends throw a shower. 
 
My amazing artistic friend Laurie generously gifts me with a cool natal chart reading for the baby. Tyler is six weeks when we go, and the astrologer studies his time of birth, telling me that my son has strong charisma, a zen nature and has been born to give and experience joy. Turns out, that is an eerily precise description of who Tyler becomes.  
 
But then she says that Ty has come to earth to be with my husband. (HA!!). According to her, Jory and the baby have a shared past and are closely bonded. I say nothing, thinking just how whimsical and wrong astrology can be.
 
When Ty is 11 months old, I fly to Massachusetts to clean out my parents’ home of 41 years., leaving Jory in charge of all three kids.
 
A week later, I return to find Jory changed. He and Tyler have bonded deeply. It turns out it wasn’t the finances that scared Jory as much as the scars and trauma from the way his father parented him. He decided to be the dad to Tyler that his dad never was to him.
 
Tyler’s nickname from his sisters is “Best Friend”.  Ty is the joy a son brings to a mother, somehow remembering to tell me every. single. day. that he loves me. As for Jory, the astrologer was right: their tight relationship was written in the stars.
 
So when Ty shows up for our family picture dressed as a superhero, it feels right.
While adoption is, by nature, scary because there’s so much unknown, this boy brings love and healing.
 
Thanks to Ty, we celebrate Adoption Month every month. 
 
And for the record, our ice cream-obsessed kids will be having bowls of it for breakfast the first Saturday in February too.