One day, while spending some one-on-one time together with my eldest son, Ty, he looked up at me with his big brown eyes and asked, "Momma, where'd you got me from?"  I sat silent as my brain frantically searched its database for the perfect words.  I had dreamed of this moment forever—the opportunity to tell him in no uncertain terms how we had prayed for him for years, until through the miracle of adoption he came to us.  I wanted to tell him that he was a gift from God brought to us by an earthly angel.  That no other baby could have filled his little baby boots and that every day I thank God for his presence in my life and that I can't imagine my own existence without him. Finally, after sifting through all of the options and weighing each against what he could wrap his 3-year-old mind around, I said, "Vassar Brother's Hospital."  After thinking about it for a moment, he seemed satisfied and asked if we could have popcorn for dinner. 

John and I were married in May of 1997.  We were anxious to start a family, but were honestly overwhelmed with the newness of marriage and all that came with it.  We decided to spend a few years getting to know each other better and get ourselves somewhat established in our budding careers and newly purchased home.  There was much to do and it seemed like we had all the time in the world.  That was, until we actively tried to get our family started.

Funny how when you are waiting on something (in this case a baby), time slows to a crawl.  After a year of trying the doctors identified that I had stage-4 endometriosis.  We knew it would be difficult to conceive, but for the next two years we endured surgeries, infertility treatments and too many disappointments to count.  Finally, the team of doctor's we had been working with admitted defeat. The endometriosis had reeked havoc on my body and conceiving a child through even the most advanced medical procedure wouldn’t be possible.  During that final conversation the nurse said to me, "One way or another, you will be a mother.  Have you thought about adoption?" Although adoption appealed to us, the only thing I could think about was that we'd have to wait even longer. 

As I headed into the hallway after the biggest disappointment to date, I met a kind stranger.  She could tell by the look on my face (and the door I had just exited) that I must have received bad news.  As we waited for the elevator, she said something to me that brought me great peace. She said, "Someday, when you hold your baby in your arms, you will understand all at once why you had to wait—why no other baby would do."  Whenever my faith would fade, I would reflect on her words.

On December 1st, 2003, John and I made the decision to adopt.  We have always been a very thorough, organized team, so before embarking on our journey we assembled all of the facts and figures.  We determined that we would pursue foreign adoption, specifically a little girl from China.  I spent my Christmas break writing our letter to the Chinese Consulate.  I recall sitting at my dining room table in my pajamas, fumbling with the words, when the phone rang.  It was a friend sharing the news that she was pregnant.  As I listened to her I couldn't help but feel sorry for myself.  I sat on the ottoman in the living room dumbfounded by the news, but also disappointed in myself for letting my resentment and bitterness rise to the surface.  Like me, my friend had struggled seemingly forever to conceive, so my happiness for her should have been genuine.  For so long, my faith in God's timing was my mantra.  I knew that in His time, I would be presented with a baby to love. But now, I sat questioning Him.

Just then another call came in—it was a friend of mine from church.  She wasn't someone who I regularly socialized with so I figured it had something to do with church business.  Not knowing how to start the conversation, she simply said, “I understand you and John are looking to adopt. Is that true?”  My interest was instantly peaked.  Nancy continued by saying, "Well, my sister Amy is pregnant and she is looking to place the baby with an adoption agency.  Would you and John be interested in taking the baby?"  

I fell to my knees. "Yes!" I exclaimed from my gut.  

"Do you think you should check with your husband?" Nancy asked, half laughing.

"Yes, of course,” I said. “Let me call him." I was speechless, overjoyed, humbled. Shaking, I hung up with Nancy and called John.  "You are not going to believe what just happened," I squealed!  As quickly as I could speak I breathlessly recounted my conversation with Nancy.  Equally as excited, but ever practical, John asked, "When is she due?"

"Gee, I don't know,” I said. “I don't know anything.  Do you want the baby?"

"Yes, yes, yes!” John said. “Call me back."

The next few days were filled with phone calls as Nancy, Amy, John and I began the process of figuring out how all of this would work.  We didn't have much time; turns out the baby was due in just eight weeks!

We started by arranging a visit with Amy.  It was decided that she would come to our house.  Generally proud of my home, I was excited that we'd be meeting there—until I remembered that in my depression I hadn't set out a single Christmas decoration, not a tree or a light or a stocking.  Like my heart, my house was dark.  My Christmas spirit had been dampened this season by our still-childless home.  What would she think?

You realize early on that being an adoptive parent means that you will be judged in every aspect of your life.  Your marriage, your income, your friends, your health, your lifestyle, your jobs, your home, your education, your background and your parenting style will all be placed before the state and the birth parent(s) for consideration.  It's a nerve-racking experience—not to mention invasive and time consuming—but necessary because it ensures that a child is placed in a loving, caring, healthy and safe environment.  Some of the things I hear on the morning news leave me wondering why all parents aren't put under the same scrutiny.  

With no time to spare, I finally decided that dusting and vacuuming would need to suffice for our special visitor. When Amy appeared at our door we realized that judgment takes place on the other side of adoption, too.  We couldn't help but examine every inch of this girl who stood in our entranceway.  She was, after all, the biggest part of who our child would be.  Long strawberry-blonde hair, porcelain skin, blue eyes; she looked Irish, we thought.  We were already imagining what our baby would look like—all the best parts of her, of course.

Our dogs took an immediate liking to Amy.  Anyone who has dogs knows how important this is.  Dogs have a sense about people and they are usually right.  Jake and Riley (our 150 lb bull-mastiff and 180 lb english mastiffs), laid at Amy's feet throughout our visit; they were already protecting our child.

Our conversation with Amy was easy, it felt like we were visiting with an old friend.  We asked questions of each other and, for the most part, there was comfort in the answers that were provided.   We were careful not to offend each other. But this was important: we needed to be direct.  Thus began the volley.

Do you smoke?

Is your marriage strong?

Are you healthy?

Do you plan on raising the baby as a Christian?

Do you have insurance?

Will you take the baby even if it's born with a defect?

By the end of the evening everyone seemed satisfied.  Not only with the answers received, but in our hearts. It seemed that Amy had found a home for her baby and John and I had found a baby for our home.  We slept well that night.

We awoke on Christmas Eve with tremendous gladness in our hearts.  It seemed that we would be getting our hearts’ desire this Christmas.  I dreamed of our baby every moment of every day.  When I returned to work after Christmas vacation, I was bursting at the seams with the news I had to share with my coworkers, many of whom were friends.  I recounted the story for anyone willing to listen, and I mean anyone!  I was on cloud nine until I remembered Traci.

Traci was a colleague who worked on the second floor in my office building.  She and her husband Peter had been trying to adopt for years.  They had done everything right; they had an agency, a lawyer, a profile, a website, a home study and a toll-free number, and yet they were childless.  How would she take the news that without so much as even asking, a baby had been promised to us?  Traci and I had worked together for years, but had just begun to become friends.  I was about to find out what our friendship was made of.

I practiced how I would present my news as I walked toward her office.  When I arrived in her doorway and saw her face, I felt like I was looking in a mirror.  I knew her sadness like it was my own.  (Just a few days before, it had been.)  I don't actually recall what I said, but I do remember her warm response.  She hugged me and said, "I'm happy for you.  Really!  Don't worry about us.  Our baby will come."  (... and it did, by the way ... before ours!)

As she often does today, Traci offered me words of wisdom about the journey we were about to embark upon.  She gently reminded me that the birth mother could in fact change her mind.  She spoke from experience.  And, in her own special way, helped ensure that my heart didn't get too far in front of my head.  I knew it wouldn't hurt any less if Amy changed her mind, but just acknowledging that possibility kept my daydreaming from getting the best of me.

The truth is: when you have only eight weeks to plan for the arrival of a newborn, there isn't much time to imagine how it will all turn out anyway.  We were busy!  We spent our days preparing our home for the baby.  We repainted our walls, laid new carpet, made repairs and replaced light bulbs.  We cleaned and organized and nested the days away!  My closest girlfriends, mother and mother-in-law arranged a baby shower on my behalf.  A risky proposition; the idea that the birth mother could change her mind at any moment was never far from anyone's mind.

With Amy now living in the area temporarily, she graciously invited me to accompany her to her doctor's visits.  It was awkward at times, but we both did our best to look out for each other.  When we heard the heartbeat for the first time, she squeezed my hand like an older sister (even though she was 10 years my junior) and said, "Do you hear that?  That's your baby's heartbeat!”  And, when she was growing uncomfortable in her own skin during her final days of carrying the baby, I held her hand and simply said, "Thank you."  Our bond is uncommon, but it is unbreakable.

The day Amy and I found out she was carrying a boy was especially memorable.  "A boy!" I thought. I had always imagined girls, nothing but girls, and now in an instant this boy was the answer to every prayer I had every prayed. I raced from the ultrasound appointment to John's office.  Once again, I was bursting with joy.  I came around the corner where John was treating a patient.  He looked at me and I looked at him and he knew in an instant.  My eyes filled with tears, I smiled and as I walked toward him I simply whispered, "boy."  He covered his face with hands to keep from crying in front of all of his inquisitive patients.  Finally, he shouted, "I'm gettin' my boy!"  Our little audience of five or so reveled in our happiness with smiles and hugs.

My baby shower was perfect in every way!  With a boy on the horizon, we had focus.  I requested an evening affair complete with cocktails and appetizers.  I wanted to celebrate...after all I had waited for this moment for a long, long time!  My shower committee did an amazing job of interpreting my vision and creating the perfect night!  I was overwhelmed by the turnout of friends and family (100 women!) and at the sheer number of gifts.  I felt loved and supported.

Once everything on mine and John's to-do list had been checked off time slowed to a crawl once again.  We were now playing the waiting game.  We jumped out of our skin every time the phone rang.  We had chosen the name Ty Christopher for our soon-to-be-born son.  We could not wait to meet him.  On Tuesday, February 17th we decided to take a night off from waiting and join a couple of friends for dinner.  While eating and drinking, the cell phone rang, it was Nancy!  "We’re on our way to the hospital. Do you want to meet us there"?

"This is it!"  We quickly paid the bill and ran out of the restaurant. We were fumbling for the keys and running into each other in our excitement.  We drove home to get the camera and the baby's car seat, "coming-home" outfit, bottles, etc.  We were so new to all of this that we didn't really think about the fact that, except for the camera, we wouldn't need any of these things for days.  Nonetheless, we considered ourselves armed.  Back in the car, we buckled our seatbelts and began our journey of a lifetime.

As we stepped out of the elevator onto the Maternity floor, the nurse behind the desk looked at us with a leery expression and asked if we needed help.  We awkwardly began to explain who we were.  Just then Dr. Perkes came around the corner and shouted,  "Hey there, Mom and Dad!  He's beautiful.  I mean, really beautiful.  The nurses can't get over it."  Dr. Perkes was my personal doctor and as a favor, had been seeing Amy as well.  What a blessing that he was on duty that night.  If not for him, I had the distinct feeling that we would not have been treated very well.  Vassar Brothers Hospital has a policy of not acknowledging adoptive parents.  To the nursing staff we were just visitors.  It was hurtful and unsettling, but we stayed the course.  Taking home our son was certainly worth enduring a few days of ill-mannered and ignorant hospital staff.

Despite our less-than-warm welcome, we were anxious to meet our little boy.  We learned that he had been born via emergency c-section and that Amy had to be put under.  He was perfectly healthy, but Amy was still in recovery.  We stood in the hallway waiting for someone to tell us what to do next.  Finally, Nancy emerged in scrubs.  She had been by Amy's side during the delivery.  Her cheeks were tear-stained and her eyes red.  I realized at that moment that Amy wasn't the only one placing her child for adoption; the whole family would be affected by her decision.  She fought through her tears and asked if we'd like to see the baby.  Choked up myself, I nodded.  Vassar Brother's Hospital provided nowhere for meetings like this, so we needed to improvise.  A couple of nurses cleared a space for us in a medical supply closet.

Nancy left and reappeared holding a tightly wrapped newborn.  With her eyes piercing mine, she purposefully asked, "Are you ready?"  I understood that this was not a casual question, that in that moment she—on behalf of Amy—was making a covenant with me to love and honor the child in her arms.  The moment was sacred.  I managed to whisper a weepy, "Yes."  She closed her eyes as if to accept my vow and carefully placed Ty Christopher Fulton in my arms.

I looked at the face of the angel in my arms and then at John in disbelief.  We both beamed and just stood in amazement of our son.  That supply closet was suddenly the closest thing to heaven I had ever known. The kind stranger was right.  I knew in that moment why it had to be this baby—why no other baby would do.    

Miracle TWO