Our adoption story, Part IV

We pulled up to a small, one-story home and parked our van in the driveway. Ryan took our video camera bag from the car, gave our personal cameraman (Barbie's husband) a quick tutorial, and then took an uncomfortable amount of time white balancing (fixing the color so whites are true whites). The nanny had opened the door at this point, Wendy was walking in and I was growing fearful that our meeting was not going to go as planned. Oh this is our daughter? Sorry. My husband is the one outside adjusting our camera settings.

I begged him to stop. He passed the camera off and we entered. I immediately embraced the nanny, who had a sweet face with kind eyes, and then Ryan did the same. We made small talk for a few seconds before she asked if we wanted to meet our baby. She was smiling, but I could tell this was hard for her, that she wanted to get it over with. We followed her into her bedroom, where a bassinet was set up next to her four-poster bed.

She leaned down, picked up a teeny tiny baby, who seemed to be all pants, and handed her off to me. A stranger handed me a baby. Flashes were going off. My brain was telling me I should be overjoyed, crying even, that this was my daughter, but the entire situation seemed completely absurd. I momentarily wondered, where was I, who were these people? How had I gotten here? Not exactly the reaction I imagined having, but I quickly learned that absolutely nothing can prepare you for that experience.

We had woken her. She stretched with her fists clenched and her face turned tomato red. She had lots of relatively long hair on the sides of her head and practically none on the top. Her eyes seemed swollen shut. Someone asked if she was as small as I had expected and I answered yes, she was.

Picture taking commenced and one was texted to our family and friends within the first five minutes. We couldn't let them wait any longer.

I sat in a recliner and held Clara awkwardly. I felt awkward, embarrassed I didn't know how to hold my own baby. My own baby. Ryan squatted next to us, starring speechless at his daughter.


Wendy asked if we wanted to get going and I was thrust back into reality - we could leave with her. I followed the nanny into her kitchen and fought to pay attention as she gave me instructions on bottles, iron supplements and her stuffy nose. She then held Clara and said a tearful goodbye. She'd wake up at the same times Clara usually woke up during the night for about a week, she told us. She did after all the babies.




We thanked her profusely. She had taken loving care of our daughter and played an important role in her young life. We strapped her into her car seat and stood back and we all laughed at how it seemed to swallow up all five pounds of her.

And then we were gone. We were driving away, me in the back seat behind Ryan with a baby to my right. We had escaped with her and no one was coming for us.

As the nanny's little home faded into the distance, Ryan made a tearful call to his mother and I secretly wondered if something was wrong with me because I still hadn't cried. The tears on the way to get her had dried up. I was no longer shaky, but calm. The adrenaline had drained from my body and I felt tired. I was relieved. Content. It wasn't, surprisingly, shocking to me that we were now a family of three; it seemed right. Perfect. I was a mother, Ryan was a father and this little girl - Clara - was our daughter. I felt like we'd had her all along.

****************************************************************

It's difficult to pick an ending to this story, since it's not an end, but rather just the very beginning. There is so much more I could share - our cluelessness that first day (thank goodness for Barbie!), finding our way that first night (we couldn't believe we were this little person's primary care givers), when she really felt like ours (that first night), and the wonderfully easy ride home (we were sure we had adopted the best baby in the history of babies). Back home, we continued to receive donations, including a hefty one (a constant reminder that there really is so much goodness in this world), and we are completely paid off with the attorney. We will work to pay back our family over the next couple years.

The adoption will not be finalized until roughly a year from now. I struggle with that from time to time, but, in the end, there is nothing I can do. We trust that everything will go smoothly and, in the meantime, we know we are Clara's parents.

I thank God every day for this miracle - that her birthmother carried her, that she was born healthy despite being only 30 weeks, that word got to us that she needed parents, that no one else took her home before we did, that we got the money together, that I started this blog, that I have joy in my life once again. God is so good, even to those who spent years doubting Him. I can now say, with complete sincerity, that my infertility turned out to be a blessing because it brought me Clara. Every second of heartache was worth being able to look at this face...


He really does make all things new.

Our adoption story, Part III

I talked with the nanny - the woman who was caring for the baby ever since she was released from the hospital - on Sunday. She was the best baby she ever had, she told me, and she'd had more than fifty. The love sounded in her voice and put me at ease. It couldn't possibly be a scam with such a sweet lady involved. As I hung up I realized this woman was watching my baby. I had a daughter, we just happened to be miles apart.

We started painting the nursery after settling on a shade of light green and there was no looking back. Our friend Matthew was invaluable; Ryan had to work that afternoon, and Matthew and I painted all day. At around 8:30 we headed to Target to buy a crib, despite the fact that even I knew it would be a few months before a crib was actually needed. Matthew was doing the buying. In yet another act of reckless generosity, our dear friend temporarily fronted the money we did not have at that moment and didn't even bat an eye.

We looked like a couple of crazy people running around the store before closing, green paint on our faces, hands and clothes, not to mention I hadn't really slept since Wednesday night and it was showing. We found the crib my mother-in-law had told me should be there on sale and asked an employee to check if it was available in the back.

We were buying a crib together yet Matthew and I didn't look like your average husband and wife, who would probably take their time on a Saturday afternoon, painstakingly looking over the crib and changing table selection, registry gun in hand. Instead it was late on a Sunday night, we were nervous and in a hurry, and I had taken my wedding ring off to paint if anyone even bothered to look. Not to mention I was missing a baby bump. We joked someone might mistake us for child abductors who were frantically getting some necessary items for a baby we had just stolen.

The crib was in stock and soon being carted out to Matthew's car and it was just as quickly being taken back inside where we were forced to return it and place it on hold, so Ryan could get it on Monday with his truck.

We headed to Walmart - since it wasn't closing - and bought some diapers and preemie sleepers. We laughed hysterically at the silly sayings on every article of clothing - Cutie Pie, Pretty Girl, Future Dancer; something I would soon barely notice was so comical that night. I was exhausted but having the time of my life. It was - to use a word that came out of my mouth nearly a thousand times that week - surreal.

Back home, our marathon painting session continued late into the night, well past the end of Ryan's shift. As the paint dried we made lists in an attempt to organize the chaos in our brains.



Matthew left around 2 a.m., not to sleep, but to write a recommendation letter we would be sending to the attorney's office later that day. Two other friends, Grace In My Heart and Lifehopes, were also kind enough to write us glowing recommendations at a moment's notice.

During a break I excitedly pulled out the tiny doll-like clothes I had purchased for the trip back home (because, surely, we would be in need of clothes) and, to my surprise, Ryan didn't share my enthusiasm. Do we really need all of those, he asked. Yes, I laughed, taken aback at his apparent frugality in the midst of our surprise adoption. We only have four and this is a baby, after all, I told him. They pee on their clothes and we're going to be in a car for a long time. I sensed he wasn't yet thinking that an actual baby most likely named Clara would be wearing the outfits because I couldn't imagine him not wanting to give his daughter the world, let alone $20 worth of sleepers.

Our roles had shifted from him being the one confident in the process and me, nervous, to Ryan wondering if it was really going to happen, clearly in an effort to protect me and, possibly, himself. I just can't rest until we call our agency and have our home study faxed, he told me. I understood, but I had now decided to be excited and wanted him on board. We were overtired, though, and so we tried to get a few hours of sleep before calling our social worker at 9 a.m.

She was off for the day. When we heard her voicemail message that morning we joked that it was just our luck, and Ryan instead left a message with the head of the department, Debra, and proceeded to write an email to both her and our social worker, explaining our urgent situation. Debra soon returned his call and, to our surprise, immediately sprang into action, calling the attorney's office and faxing our home study. We had imagined not only that Debra might already have a full plate that morning, being a Monday and all, but that if we were even able to get ahold of her, she might tell us we were crazy. We had built up in our minds that our agency would be the voice of reason - if they told us it was a scam and we were just a gullible infertile couple, then that would be that. But they didn't. I could see Ryan immediately relax and begin to let himself believe this was really happening.

With that hurdle cleared, we planned our trip. We'd leave the next morning and, in yet another small miracle, Ryan already had the remainder of the week off from work, since we had originally planned to head up north. I packed and prepared for our 20-hour trip, cleaned, picked up our crib and bought a changing table, and made arrangements for my mother to overnight a check for an exorbitant amount of money to my blogger friend, Barbie, who I had never met but who so graciously offered to meet us at the attorney's office, an hour from her home, check in hand. We didn't want to risk sending the money directly to the attorney. We were hopeful yet cautious.

I spoke several times with my sister-in-law who was spear-heading a family-wide effort of collecting and cleaning every last baby item we could possibly ever want and had no idea we needed. Exersaucer, boppy, bumbo. I trusted her that these were real things and typed the words, phonetically, as she said them in this strange, foreign language. I figured one day, like her, I'd be fluent.

I was high on adrenalin. This is what I had dreamed of for so many years, becoming a mother, laying eyes on my baby for the very first time. To be honest, I didn't exactly dream of this very thing until about two years earlier, after hopes for a pregnancy began to fade. Now, I was sure that nothing could be more exciting than this, not even seeing those two lines.

What we did get to see that day was a new picture of the little girl - a picture of a picture - and we were forever in love.


We left early Tuesday morning, destined for Ryan's parents' home in Raleigh. We would stop there, load up with the items necessary to our immediate trip, and change cars. We'd be taking his parents' van. Once there, we took our time, ate lunch, and packed for our next leg. To my surprise, his mother had purchased and packed a diaper bag with everything we would need for the ride home, which was great because not only had I not prepared a diaper bag, I had left home the one item, other than clothing, I had bought for the baby - diapers. Motherhood was off to a great start.

By this time the name Clara was being used freely. Our nephew, Jonathan, had taken to calling her 'Cousin Claaara'. If it hadn't seemed real yet, it did now. Our confidence was shaken every so slightly, though, when I called Wendy at the attorney's office to check in. Over the last few days we had, naturally, questioned the legitimacy of the lawyer. He was a stranger to us; we were going on blind faith, after all, and once we confirmed that he was actually a practicing attorney, we joked about what we might find when we arrived. What if we pulled up and his office was in his living room? That's why my stomach dropped when Wendy warned me that their office was located in the clubhouse of an apartment complex. Of course.

With that thought set aside, and car seat securely in the back seat of the van, we hit the road.





The ride was a lot of fun. I probably talked on the phone 90 percent of the time; I told the story of the last five days over and over and never grew tired of reliving it. I sensed that this trip was bigger than us. God's hand was evident and I felt tangibly lifted up by the prayers of so many.

I talked more with Wendy and had her email all documents to my father, an attorney. He was cautious and wanted wording changed and added. Eventually he relaxed; what more could he do? This was how these things went. Adoption was a risk.

That night we stayed three hours away from our destination in a dingy motel that was fine for us, but the new mother in me immediately pointed out that it wouldn't have been good enough for Clara. Wendy had suggested we arrive around ten the next day and, while anxious to get there, I was realistic. I knew we needed our sleep.

I had never known exhaustion like this. I was in a daze, a zombie. I focused all my thoughts on the prize - driving away from the nanny's home with Clara in her car seat. I imagined a hundred times the breath of relief I would have. I clung to that image - not meeting her, not holding her, but driving away - every time I worried that something might go wrong.

We slept six hours, soundly, and hurried to leave by seven. I realized that in the rush to leave, I packed only my new jeans which I had hemmed to wear with heels, and was therefore unable to wear sensible shoes to pick up my tiny baby. I usually wore flats, and here I was, wearing heels to take home a preemie? Hopefully my mothering instincts would improve dramatically over the next few hours.

The mood on the ride there was a mixture of excitement, anxiety, and fear. Excitement that we were about to meet our daughter; anxiety about whether the attorney would seem trustworthy; fear that he might be a murderer. Ryan very calmly explained to me that he was, in fact, a real attorney and, since we had his real name, he would be crazy to kill us just to steal our money because everyone would know who did it. That actually did make sense to me, until I pointed out that it might be someone posing as him. And, after all, people kill for far less than $25,000.

I was clearly delirious. Finally, we crossed into our destination state.



As we drove up to the apartment complex the attorney owned, the feeling of butterflies had taken over my entire body. It was difficult to talk without crying. We pulled in - it wasn't what we expected, but what does one expect when an attorney's office is at an apartment complex? - and were put at ease by the sign with his name on it. For some reason, that confirmed for us that he was real. If we had any more hesitation it was wiped away when we entered and met Wendy and Fred. They looked nothing like I had pictured. They seemed down to earth and kind and I knew Ryan was already working on an impression of Fred as we sat around the conference table. We quickly forgot about our pact to not let the money change hands until the baby was in our arms. Barbie and her husband met us there with my mother's money, which we turned over, along with another check from Ryan's parents, without a second thought.

The paperwork was quick. Quicker than buying a car, Fred joked. It was true.


Before we knew it we were making the 30-minute drive to the nanny's house; we followed Wendy while Barbie and her husband followed us. I was on the edge of my seat but in control. I joked as we turned into the nanny's neighborhood that this drive, these last moments, were like my labor and boy was this easier than pushing a baby out. Ryan responded with a fist bump.

The culmination of five-and-a-half years was right around the corner, literally, and I was surprisingly calm; all I imagined was little Clara in her car seat, and us driving away.

Our adoption story, Part II

I awoke on my birthday in tears.

What if this isn't God's will? It's all happening so fast. I only want the children God intends for me. How am I supposed to be sure we're doing the right thing?

My poor, poor husband. Ryan consoled me and calmed me down, probably wondering why this woman next to him, who prayed for a baby for so long, was now crying about getting a baby. I'm sure the emotions I felt were all completely normal. I was strapped into a seat on a huge, life-changing roller coaster ride. And I tend to cry a little every birthday, anyways.

I pulled myself together and got ready for the day. We were going to a downtown sports bar to watch the Syracuse basketball game against Pitt. I picked the place because it had tater tots on the menu. I wanted tater tots on my birthday.

Another blogger, and friend in real life, Amber, and her husband, also a huge Syracuse fan, met us there, along with another friend of ours, Matthew.


The only people in the place, we watched the game and talked adoption. The plan was to call the attorney's assistant, Wendy, while we were there. The night before I got Ryan to agree that we would be finalizing this thing on my birthday. It would be my present. The best present in the history of presents.

As we watched the game we talked about the plan for the week ahead, when we might head to the city where the attorney and baby were located, many hours away. A two-day drive. We weren't sure exactly when we'd go, but Wendy wanted the baby in a home as soon as possible.

Ryan handed me a birthday card and inside I found tickets for the Syracuse game, in New York, the following Wednesday. We had a trip planned to my parents' house in Upstate New York that week since we weren't able to go for Christmas. Ryan had secured the days off and we were leaving on Tuesday. Now it looked like we would be heading to a completely different part of the country. No basketball game would be in our future, but it was just about the only reason I wouldn't mind missing it.

Amber and I began talking baby names - a long-held dream of mine, I read baby name books as a child - and I scribbled possibilities on the back of the birthday card envelope.

*Someone, who shall remain nameless, added a name to the list - their name - when I was in the bathroom. It took me a while to even notice!

Gianna, for a first name, and Therese, for a middle name, were high on my list. Therese seemed to fit since not only did I share a birthday with the saint, but I was making this decision on our birthday. Surely she had to be involved.

Ryan liked the name Clare ever since reading about St. Clare in Raymond Arroyo's book about Mother Angelica during one of our weekly adoration hours last summer. He had turned to me that day, out of the clear blue, and asked, what about Clare? What about Clare, I asked back. Well, she was the patron saint of television, his current and my former profession, and what did I think about it for a girl's name? I'd go for Clara, I told him, and that's how we left it. Until now.

So Clara was on our list. Possibly Clara Marie, for our mothers' middle names. Clara Gianna didn't work so well, since both ended in 'a'. Clara Therese. Esther Therese. Esther was my grandmother's name and I had, for years, planned to name a baby girl after her (we'd call her Essie), yet suddenly I found myself hesitant to tell people I was considering it, afraid they'd say it sounded too old-ladyish. I soon realized I shouldn't feel hesitant about a name I was about to give my daughter. It pained me to give up on something I'd planned for so long, but it just didn't feel right.

We decided I would call Wendy at the attorney's office at half time. I only had the number to her cell phone, since it was a holiday, then the weekend. It was a crisis situation and so Wendy, at home, took my call at any time of the day. Butterflies filled my stomach as I waited for the right moment. Was I ready for this? It's funny how you question something you spent years hoping and praying for when the moment finally arrives.

Half time came and I excused myself from the table and headed to the restroom where I hoped to find a quiet spot to make the call. A speaker was broacasting the game throughout the bar and, to my surprise, it was loud and clear even in the ladies' room. I pulled out my phone to make the call regardless, dialed the number, and instead of it ringing, I noticed I had instead picked up an incoming call from a fellow infertility blogger, This Cross I Embrace. You're not going to believe this, I told her, but I'm trying to call the attorney's office to officially say we're taking the baby.

We hung up and I called again. Voice mail. I left a message, said we had the money and if no other couples had come forward yet, we wanted to adopt the baby girl. I had done it. I walked back to the table to share the development.

Moments later Wendy returned my call and this time I stepped outside to take it. So you're saying you definitely want to adopt this baby? I paused. Life changing moment here, I thought. Woah. Ye-es, I answered her, surprisingly hesitant. Yes.

We talked details, which my mind floated through for obvious reasons. Talking details about a baby we would be adopting, and raising, seemed like an out-of-body experience and nothing could really be done until Monday. We would call our agency first thing and have our home study faxed to the attorney's office. Wendy would then send our home study to ICPC, four letters that sounded like jibberish at the time but would soon ring in our ears for days.

This time I returned to the table and told everyone it was official. She was ours. I called my parents to tell them the news and my mother excitedly told me she was cleaning out a closet when a novena to St. Therese floated down from above. She had no idea how it got there and, unlike the rest of the folded and torn old papers she had come across, the paper appeared pristine. She was sure the prayer was intended for me and the beginning lines said it all:

May today there be peace within
May you trust your highest power that you are
exactly where you are meant to be.....

I knew Therese would be the middle name.

Syracuse lost the game without me watching a split second and I didn't even care. I finished my cold tater tots and started to think about what was next. We would head straight to Home Depot to pick a paint color for the nursery.

Letting an infertile woman free in a home improvement store to pick out nursery colors for her baby is dangerous. I ran from paint swatches to the magazine rack, back to the paint colors, flipping through books, all the while asking Ryan for his opinion. Blue walls are okay for a girl's room because they're actually turquoise, with pink accents will be girly enough, but the pictures with green walls make me happy too, I don't want to regret this, blue, green, is blue bad, what do you think? Bless his heart, he even attempted to give feeback.

We left with a kids' room decorating book and primer, since we knew we needed it to cover the red walls in what was formerly an office, currently a prayer room and soon to be a nursery. I would make a decision on the walls after buying an inspiration piece, which Ryan had agreed we would look for that evening at Pottery Barn Kids.

Walking into Pottery Barn Kids was surreal. It was a store I longed for years to have a reason to enter and buy its beautiful, delicate products full of fairies and polka dots. I stopped at the entrance and stood before a display of princess bedding and teared up. An infertile girl shopping for nursery colors at Home Depot and bedding at Pottery Barn Kids, all in one day, and on her birthday. I was surprised my head didn't explode.

I settled on a pink and green quilt as my inspiration piece, which meant the walls would be green, and called my mother from the store to make sure my purchases were even necessary. I hadn't before realized just how clueless I was about a baby's needs and found myself suddenly embarrassed to even be in this store. I was sure the quilt wouldn't be used any time soon, but was it still okay to buy? She assured me it was.

I also ran the name Clara by her. It had suddenly all come flooding back to me that it was a family name, a name I had even used to name dolls as a child. She told me it was, in fact, a family name - my father's grandmother, Esther's mother.

It hit me like a ton of bricks. Clara it would be.

Our adoption story, Part I

It all began, from our perspective, on the last day of December, 2009. It started out as a tearful day. My doctor's office called late that morning as I was pulling into my driveway, on my way home from getting blood drawn, letting me know my progesterone results for my luteal phase that cycle were exceptionally low. I sat in my car and cried, wondering what else could go wrong.

I got out of my car and picked up a package - an early birthday present from my mom - from outside my front door. One day earlier she had told me to pick something out for myself at an online store where she had some store credit. I'd chosen a rather pricey pair of jeans and, as soon as I stepped inside, I tore open the box and tried them on. They were kind of tight. Too-tight-for-how-much-they-cost tight. I had to make a decision because I needed to hem them and there'd be no going back. So I cried again. My world that afternoon was as small as a pair of jeans. But I knew, deep down, it wasn't really about the jeans.

I was spiraling downward as my hormones prepared for a new cycle. The day before I had gotten into a huge fight with my husband, Ryan. I said some pretty terrible things as we sat, parked, outside the UPS store where we had stopped to mail some Christmas presents. We resolved things a couple hours later, but I knew I wasn't out of the woods just yet. I felt sad, and mean, and unglued. So I sat, at the computer, with my tight jeans unbuttoned and cried.

I was mindlessly hopping from page to page, reading blogs, people.com, tmz, more blogs, and facebook. I posted a woe-as-me post on my blog about my exceptionally low hormones. We were going out that night for New Year's; Ryan was meeting me when he was done with work, and I was biding the time until I needed to get ready. I was still feeling sorry for myself when, at 3 p.m., I heard a ping.

Several pages were open on the desktop. I probably had, as I am known to do, multiple pages of my own blog up at the time. But I recognized the ping and began to close page after page looking for facebook. It was a miracle, looking back, that I didn't have my profile set to 'offline' at the time, as I am also known to do. And that I was actually sitting at the computer and that the volume was turned up. These were the first of many small details, I would later realize, that added up to one big miracle.

I came upon the facebook page, already opened, and saw that a fellow infertility blogger was attempting to chat with me. Barbie and I had chatted before, and this time she said there was a potential adoption situation she wanted to talk to me about, and could she have my phone number?

This might seem like something that would have excited me, but it didn't, actually, cause much emotion at all. In the previous few weeks I had been approached with several 'potential adoption situations.' Not that every single one wasn't possibly the one, but I was just getting used to them. I was still very interested every time and, even more so, grateful that my fellow bloggers were thinking of me. I had a feeling our baby might come from a blog friend simply because they were the only ones presenting us with any possibilities whatsoever. Our local agency, with whom we had conducted our homestudy and whose waiting list were on for eleven months, had seen a slow-down in adoptions as of late and I was growing frustrated by the day. I estimated, probably pessimistically, that it would be another two years before we were parents.

So I dialed the number she gave me. She said there was a situation she read about on an adoption message board and gave me the number of the woman, an adoptive mother, who posted it.

I called her.

She was a sweet woman, I could hear a baby crying in the background, and she kindly explained that an attorney, whom she had used for her own recent adoption of a baby boy, was in need of adoptive parents for a bi-racial five-week-old baby girl in good health. She gave me the cell number of the attorney's assistant and I called immediately.

Wendy answered and gave me more details. Her thick accent was hard for me to understand, and I probably only retained about half of what she was telling me. I typed frantically on a Word document that was already opened on my screen, on which that morning I had cut and pasted a chocolate peanut butter pie recipe I would be making for my birthday in two days.

3 lb 2 oz , 4 lb, 11 oz now
at nanny’s house, birthmother signed consent
eye sight great, hearing fine
all tests are okay
month tomorrow
27 or 28 weeks early

She sounded upset. She was worried about finding parents for this little girl who was currently in a crisis situation (that being that she had no adoptive parents). The first couple who had the money, assuming they were home study approved, would be first in line to take her home. The cost was $25,000.

I asked about pictures. She said she had one of the little girl with tubes in at the hospital that she would text me. I sat in a chair by a front window in our living room and opened the file as soon as it came in.

As it loaded I remember thinking that I could be looking at my daughter for the very first time. Then I quickly tried to brush away that thought since it wasn't even the first time someone had sent me a picture of a baby in need of parents. Something had always gotten in the way - usually money - and so I knew that getting a picture meant nothing. But I couldn't shake it. If it does work out, this is the first time I'll lay eyes on my future daughter. I'll always remember this moment.

Then, there she was.


A beautiful, sleeping baby, tubes and all. Tiny thumb in her tiny mouth. Fuzzy hair, and lots of it. Some part of me knew.

I sprang into action. I had called Ryan at work a couple times throughout the afternoon's events, and I called him again now. I was excited and had forwarded him the picture. We also discussed the price. We had balked outright at situations in the past that cost just a small amount more and if we waited for a placement through our local agency it would cost around a third of the price of this situation. It didn't matter. Something was driving me to look past the exorbitant price tag and trust. I don't remember praying but I am sure I did. I know I must have.

I think I was on the phone continuously from that moment on. I made calls to my mom and to friends for their input. No one talked me out of it.

We talked money. I hated doing it, but we would need financial help from my parents, and possibly others. My mom was receptive right away and, in another one of those amazing turn of events, had just received an inheritance check that very day. Instead of putting it somewhere that would make it difficult to get to, she had deposited it into her checking account that morning, unsure at the time why she had even done that. We could use it, and right away.

I asked her about my sisters. Both possibly had savings that they could loan us (savings was not something we had, unfortunately). I hated doing it even more. She was getting ready to head out herself, but she said she'd call them.

I posted the news on my blog. Shortly after, a few blogs friends had taken it upon themselves to donate by purchasing DVD's I sell on another website. They didn't necessarily want the movies, they just wanted a way to get money to me. One blogger even commented that she wanted me to post a paypal button.

Ryan came home for his dinner break and agreed a button was a good idea. I felt awkward, though, about taking money from others. Meanwhile, a dear blog friend, whose opinion I trusted, told me I needed to do it, and right away. Alright, I told Ryan. Let's do it.

He posted the button, along with an explanation from me. I thought we'd get a hundred dollars, maybe. It would be the thought that counted and the generosity of others would at least encourage me to push forward. I was already overwhelmed that anyone wanted to give at all.

At this point I realized that my mood had changed dramatically. Is this happening? I got ready to go out that night, even hemmed my new jeans I now decided to keep, as if I was floating on air. I jumped in the car and headed to the home of another blogger, and friend in real life, Grace In My Heart.

On my drive over I spoke again with my mom, who told me that during the vigil Mass that evening - for the Feast of the Solemnity of Mary, Mother of God - the word adoption was mentioned several times. She said even my father noticed. She said she'd spoken with one of my sisters and that I should call her. I did, and she expressed her concern over me not acting on this immediately. We need the money first, I told her. She and her husband would help, she said.

I arrived at my GIMH's home and told everyone the news. Her husband, an attorney, brought up some areas of concern. They were business people, after all, he said. They could be pitting us against other couples to raise the price. Be cautious. Don't wire them any money ahead of time.

It was at this point that I wondered if the whole thing wasn't a scam. What if there wasn't even a baby?

I felt dizzy, confused as the New Year rang in. For the first time I felt embarrassed at my previous excitement. Maybe I had been too caught up in the potential of finally becoming a mother. And now generous blogger friends were giving us money and I wasn't even sure there was actually a baby to adopt.

Ryan was meeting me at another friend's party and I headed there around quarter after twelve. He calmed me down when I arrived and assured me we weren't going to do anything that could get us in trouble. No money would change hands until we had a baby in our arms.

We were sitting on a couch at a party full of his coworkers when I checked my paypal account on his iPhone. It was the first of many shocking moments involving our adoption fund, which it had come to be known at this point. I lost my breath for a second and silently passed the phone to my right. At one a.m. on January 1, 2010, there was more than $500 dollars in the account.

We told a couple people at the party, who overheard us discussing the donations, what was happening. Most people knew we were waiting to adopt and we didn't hide it. One of the anchors at his t.v. station was excited for us and asked us about the decision to adopt a bi-racial child. I was filled with excitement once again.

We didn't get home until after four that morning and I could hardly sleep. I questioned whether this was what God wanted for us as I tossed and turned. The next morning as we got ready to go to Mass for the Holy Day, I checked paypal again. The account had more than doubled since earlier that morning. We were in utter shock.

We prayed our hearts out at Mass. Please, God, let this be our daughter. Let this be our miracle, if it is your will. We want only your will to be done. Protect this precious baby girl.

As we drove home I checked paypal once again, realizing I shouldn't let it become a new obsession, and was floored once again that the amount had risen to a few thousand dollars. Praise be to God. This just has to be our miracle. I scrolled through the names with tears in my eyes. Friends in real life, relatives, blogger friends, names I didn't recognize. There were notes attached. We're praying for you...I read your blog and hope this is your daughter!...Thinking of you!

Ryan went to work that afternoon. I, meanwhile, spent the entire day on the phone. I spoke several times with the woman from the attorney's office, with the adoptive mother who was the initial link, to the blogger friend who put me in touch with her. To my mother, sisters, friends. Miraculously, we realized that between my parents, two sisters (and one brother-in-law), Ryan's parents, and our adoption fund, we had the money. We had a small amount of our own as well, but part of that would take some work to get a hold of. So would some of the money from my family. That problem didn't last long though, as my youngest sister volunteered to front even more money in the meantime.

We had the money. We had the money!

Everything was falling into place. Just as every door leading to motherhood had been closed to me throughout the last five-and-a-half years, doors were swinging open left and right. It was as if the doors were those automatic handicapped doors and someone had left them open before I even got to them, and I was on one of those conveyor belts like at the airport. It was nearly effortless. God was ushering us through the process every step of the way and there was no looking back.

I called the attorney's office that afternoon and spoke, again, with Wendy.

Ryan and I had decided that I would initially offer her $5,000 less. After all, we didn't actually have the money, our family and friends did. And any lesser amount would have made paying it back just that much easier.

Something just seemed odd, though, about bargaining for a baby. I hated to do it, but in my delirium it had seemed like a good idea, at least when it came to sniffing out a possible scam (although I'm now not sure why we thought that). Plus, I knew it wasn't going to actually keep us from adopting her, it was just going to delay it by a couple hours. A couple hours, my anxious sister warned me, that could cost us the whole situation.

I told her the news and she quickly said she knew the attorney would say no to dropping the price altogether (in particular, because he normally charged $10,000 more), but that she'd ask about paying the remaining amount over several months. Alright, I said, because I had no other option, even though I wanted to scream, No! Never mind! We were just low-balling you! We want this baby!!!!

Even though it wasn't officially a done deal, GIMH and her husband came over late that night with champagne, and their little son E, to celebrate. The biggest hurdle - money - had been cleared. We ate the chocolate peanut butter pie I had made that evening for my birthday. It was delicious.

The plan was to call tomorrow to say that we'd officially take her, for the full amount. There would be no more playing games.

Our adoption story, coming this week

It's long over-due, but I will be posting the story of our adoption, starting tomorrow. It has been weighing on me over the last few months because I definitely wanted to have it archived from start to finish. You all saw it play out minute by minute, but this version will be less breaking news and more long-form story.

So, for those who are interested, Part I will post tomorrow. You'll learn exactly what went into taking home this little miracle...

Blogging on t.v.

Did anyone watch House last week? We just got around to watching it last night, and I just had to post about it.

House's patient for the week was a blogger. Her blog was about her life in general and she was part of a large blog community. The episode began with her and her husband fighting because he didn't want her writing about him. Then, once in House's care, she blogged from her hospital bed to get her readers' opinions on different treatment options, and one blogger friend even visited her in the hospital.

When one of the doctors wondered how she could share intimate details to strangers, she replied, "They're not strangers. They read my blog and I comment on theirs'."

But the best line of the episode, in my opinion, was to her husband - "I wish you had a blog so I could know what you're thinking."

So funny, so sad, and so true! I, for one, wasn't too great at conveying my emotions around the time I started this blog and quite often Ryan would read my posts just to have a clue what I was thinking. Instead of just being a testament to our poor communication skills, it actually opened the lines of communication and he was much better equipped to help me. I'm very grateful he doesn't balk at my sharing of personal information like the husband on House!

**************

I also wanted to thank a friend who so graciously offered to take pictures of Clara a few weeks ago. You may have seen on GIMH's blog that it was a dual photo shoot with both babies. Well, this friend is very talented and took beautiful pictures. And we are so grateful that we were able to benefit from her talents!

Here are some of my favorite shots (and I can't get over how much different Clara already looks since these were taken!):








Thanks again to our lovely photographer!

30 weeks

So I had a revelation today, in the shower.

I was thinking about how last year was really tough, and how, in the back of my mind, I had kind of done the math and figured out that things had started to become really difficult around the time Clara was probably first in utero.

The first few months of 2009 were fine - I was upbeat, trying to have a new perspective on things, I read Immaculee's book and was trying to implement a more positive attitude. 2009 was going to be the year I conquered infertility and no longer let it get the best of me.

In February, I got the false-positive pregnancy test and, while it may seem odd to some, it gave me a much-needed boost. Maybe it wasn't a false positive, I wondered at times. Maybe I can conceive, after all.

I was feeling good about that through March and April, and then April ended with a trip to New York City. I remember we had a great time. Great hotel, great weather, Mets game in the new stadium, and it was all capped off with St. Gianna's feast day Mass at her shrine in Pennsylvania. I venerated her gloves and prayed for God to grow our family, however He saw fit (and we met TCIE, too, who, if I remember correctly, prayed her heart out that night that the other bloggers would conceive and be blessed with their hearts' desires).

But then my outlook seemed to take a turn for the worse.

So in the shower this morning, I tried to think about just when it was that I lost my positive attitude, and it occurred to me that the last time I had really been happy last year was on our little trip to New York. If you look at my old posts, you'll see a trend - I started having a hard time as soon as we got home at the end of April. In the first post after returning home, I couldn't even bring myself to write about what was an awesome trip because I was so down. In the days that followed, I started to tumble into despair. Only this despair seemed to last until the end of the year.

There were some bright spots in the midst of the darkness. For instance, in early May, I became very peaceful about the idea of adoption, even excited. But, overall, things just got tougher and tougher.

It had occurred to me that my bad mood probably coincided with the months that Clara was in utero, but I'd never actually looked at a calendar to figure it all out. She was born on Dec. 1, at what doctors estimate to have been 30 weeks, and I had been going on the assumption that she was conceived around the time I visited Bl. Kateri's shrine near my home town. In fact, I just told a friend that very thing at my shower. But that was late May.

I did the math while washing my hair, and I realized late May wasn't 30 weeks before her birthday. Instead, 30 weeks ended up coinciding with the very time my despair set in - late April/early May.

My initial count, in my head while still in the shower, had it falling on St. Gianna's actual feast day. But, once I looked at an actual calendar, I discovered that Mass was exactly 31 weeks before Clara's birth. But still! I couldn't believe it. (Actually, my first thought was that I was, again, disappointed that I didn't push harder for Gianna to be part of Clara's name!)

We don't even know if Clara was definitely 30 weeks, or 31, but the fact is this: she was conceived in the days around that Mass, around the time I held St. Gianna's gloves and begged for her intercession. And as I sank into despair in the days that followed, little did I know that our baby, a baby I believe God always intended for us, was growing and developing the entire time.

Please know I am not saying I think my more than five years of infertility came down to a decision to attend a certain Mass. The Lord knows I used to hate to hear others say that very thing. There is no magical way out of infertility and I have to believe God doesn't have a specific set of hoops He's like us to jump through before we're delivered from our suffering.

But, on the same token, I don't claim to understand God's ways. If we believe in the power of prayer and the intercession of the saints, who are we to assume to know how it happened?

All I know is that around the time that I, with full faith in my heart, asked a beloved saint for her help, God was knitting a sweet little baby in a womb, many miles away. A baby who would live for nearly seven months in that womb, while her birthmother considered adoption for the little life she carried. A baby who would defy the odds to be born completely healthy. A baby who would become our daughter and change our lives forever.

We can't deny that our Clara became a life around the time of St. Gianna's feast day. I believe she had a hand in Clara's safety those seven months, and her miraculous path to us, and for that I am forever grateful.

So we will never know what prayers, or pilgrimages, lead to our answered prayers, if any did at all. And that's the way it should be because it's not about what we did. We could never do enough to deserve God's love.

I'm still pondering the seven very dark and difficult months I experienced leading up to her birth. Was it God's way of allowing me to hit rock bottom so that I could start anew with Clara? Was it the devil making yet another try for me? Was it a spiritual pregnancy? I'm not even sure what that last one really means.

What I do know is it's truly amazing what can happen in 30 weeks.

Spiritual spring cleaning

I'm trying to get better about posting. I have a free minute, and I'm already sitting at the computer, so I might as well use it.

So it's Lent. I have been wanting to write about this for a while, because it's been an interesting one so far. Well, 'interesting' might make it sound eventful. Actually, it's been uneventful, as in I haven't really observed it. I'm not sure why, but I have a few ideas.

First, I was just coming off of Clara-shock when Lent began. I was/am the happiest I've ever been, and then was supposed to just shift gears and be somber? I know, that's not probably the best explanation of what we're called to do for Lent, but it sure feels like it sometimes. Maybe that's my problem. I view Lent as a time of no-fun, of giving up, of not celebrating, instead of how I should view - a time to draw nearer to God.

That leads me to my second problem - I am definitely going through a dry spell when it comes to my spiritual life.

While I try to thank God every day for giving us Clara, my prayer life has otherwise lagged. I've been trying to say a Rosary every day for Lent, but I usually put it off until I'm laying in bed and then I get through one, maybe two, decades. This morning, I remembered during Clara's 5 a.m. feeding that I hadn't said it yesterday, so I got through a few prayers before choosing instead to watch t.v.

As for what I've given up, well, I haven't really given up anything. Actually, let me rephrase that - I haven't given up anything at all. I know, that's terrible. And fasting on Fridays is an embarrassment. I have abstained from meat, but that's where it ends. I have had seconds a couple times and my 'two small meals/snacks' during the day haven't been too small.

Mass is hard for me too. My mind wanders and I have a hard time connecting with anything. I am way overdue for going to confession and find reasons not to go each week.

So why is this happening? You'd think I'd be completely dedicated this year, after receiving the biggest blessing of my life, what I prayed for without ceasing for so, so long.

Here's what I think it is - after working non-stop on my faith for more than five years (due to sheer necessity, thanks to infertility), I got Clara and took a big, deep sigh of relief. I relaxed. Took some time off. I got lazy.

It's like working really hard towards a goal and when the goal is reached, you take a little break because you deserve it, and then it's hard to get back into the swing of things. On one hand, can I blame myself? It was hard work the past several years. Every single day was a struggle with my faith - questioning things, wrestling with theology, understanding suffering and the greater meaning, coming to terms with it, trying to come to terms with it again and again. We should get a graduate degree in suffering for going through this!

Not to mention, I've been busy. And sleep-deprived.

And how about the fact that my faith life has always thrived during the hard times and dried up when things are good? I am all about God when I need Him, but when things are comfortable, I'm more apt to go it alone.

Those all may be reasons for this current state I find myself in, but they're not reasons for it to continue. I need to dedicate time to prayer, even telling God that I need help. Maybe I should start with praising Him whenever I get a free second for the miracle He has brought into my life. Oh, and I really should pick something to give up for Lent. Better late than never.

This might be on my mind today because it's a beautiful day and maybe, subconsciously, I'm in the mood to do some spiritual spring cleaning. With the weather so nice today, the whole family took a walk, and Clara's been asleep ever since. I'm going to check on her now, but first I'll leave you with a shot of her first walk that went further than just our block. I'm going to try to make it a daily routine:

Clara's shower

At many points throughout the last five-and-a-half years, I truly thought I'd never be attending my own baby shower. But I did on Saturday.

It was surreal, and kind of funny when, as I was getting ready minutes before it began, I thought to myself, "Probably not too many women can say they were on cycle day three at their own baby shower!" I'm eternally thankful that I can now joke about that sort of thing!

The shower was amazing. Clara was the guest of honor, for sure. She wore a cute party dress, and I don't think I saw her again after guests started arriving!

My mom threw the party at her house and somehow forty people fit comfortably. The food was awesome. It was a brunch and we had tons of good stuff, including baked french toast, my mom's potato salad (my favorite!) and delicious cupcakes.

I used to think about how it wouldn't work out to have a shower if we adopted, and that it'd be just another thing I'd be missing out on, so I think it was really important for me to have one. I can understand holding off if you're worried about the adoption being finalized, but in our case we have been completely open with the world from the very start, so having a shower didn't change anything (plus, ours won't be finalized until this time next year, God willing). It was just a really great way for everyone to meet little Clara, and after hearing our story, so many people couldn't wait to see her. And how much more fun is a shower when the baby is in attendance?

I don't have many pictures of the actual shower just yet (I didn't really have a chance to use my camera in between eating and opening presents), but I do have some shots from the weekend:

My mom, me and Clara at the shower

Clara LOVES her grandfather. She smiles every time he talks to her!

She got to meet her great-grandpa

Her smile just makes me melt! It really wipes away all the pain of the last five-and-a-half years, in a split second. Not that the heartache hadn't already been erased, but the beauty of this is that the suffering is continually wiped away, day after day. God's redeeming power is mind blowing.

Not that it's a choice we'd ever get to make, but I'd suffer every second again just to get Clara. While in the throes of infertility, I used to think about that at times, that the pain was necessary because I would, eventually, be given a child that I wouldn't have met if not for infertility. It was so abstract back then, but I did try to cling to it, and it's even more real now than I ever could have imagined at the time. Clara was always meant to be ours, and the last five years was our unique journey, designed by our Lord, to bring us together with her. We wouldn't have it any other way.