Our Adoption Journey: 10 Years Later

On April 28, 2016 – seven years after we started our adoption journey – we received the call that we were matched with T.

I still remember that unexpected day: the hubby and I got an email from our social worker, who asked if we were free for a call that night.

We only heard from her sporadically by email if we had been shortlisted for a child. There were heartbreaking close calls and we eventually gave up and adopted two cats the prior summer.

My brain told me this was different but my heart told me to temper my expectations.

At around 7 pm, we were told that we were matched with not one, but two children. Not shortlisted but successfully matched.

It was a difficult choice and we didn’t have much time to decide – and our hearts led us to T.

On May 2, we met T for the first time, at the home of his foster parents, who took incredible great care of him in his first year of life.

It was love at first sight.

It was a whirlwind two weeks – of getting our home baby proofed and turning our guest room in our tiny condo into his bedroom, of notifying my work of an unexpected 30-week adoption leave, of sharing the news with loved ones.

On May 12, he moved in and we became a family.

The last 10 years are a blur.

Flashes of diaper changes, a turd in the bath, baby time and music therapy programs, walks in the park and hikes in the woods.

Adventures through building forts, camping, March Breaks in Mexico, summer roadtrips and visits to T’s grandparents’ in the East Coast.

The proud exhilaration of the many firsts: steps and dashes; words spoken, read and written; kindergarten and grade school; loss of baby teeth and the addition of braces; swim lessons.

The upcoming final days of Grade 5 and his seven-year stay at his primary school.

I’ve learned about life through the FASD caregiver journey.

When T was 3 and having a disregulated moment, and I was visibly struggling, a relative asked me if I regretted adoption.

I still quite viscerally remember how that statement made me feel.

I held back from saying what was on my mind and took the high road.

There’s no sugarcoating it: FASD is a challenging and lifelong disability.

Parenting T is not easy. We have many stressful moments. Each age and stage bring new challenges.

But I would do it all again.

Love does not cure a disability, but it gives fuel to keep going.

To try differently not harder.

To build a community of supports.

To speak up and demand better from bureaucracy when it feels uncomfortable to do so.

To focus on T’s many strengths and to believe in the emerging science around neuroplasticity.

I am thankful for our experiences and lessons.

I am a different person today – and our family has grown immeasurably.

But at the individual and collective core, it is anchored in love, laughter, adventure, and hope.

I’m grateful to God for the opportunity to be T’s Papa, to the loved ones and supports in our life, to the hubby for walking this journey together.

And to T. Out of billions of souls, he somehow found his way into our lives.