In circumstances that are unknown to me, I was conceived. My birth mother was 17 and had already given birth to another baby, a son. He was given up for adoption. She decided to carry me to full term as well in the hope that I too would be accepted into a loving, caring family.
She never got to hold me, kiss me or marvel at how tiny my fingers and toes were or smell the newness that comes with a new born. But she had created a very special gift that had been excitedly anticipated for a number of years.
My (adopted) parents took me home a month later to hold and kiss me and marvel at my tiny features. They were there to see my first steps, hear my first words and celebrate my birthdays. They loved me.
As I grew up I enjoyed hearing my adoption story (just before falling asleep). I believe I was perfectly matched as I grew because I look like my dad. I am so grateful that I was given up for adoption. It has blessed a loving couple, enabled me to live my life and experience the excitement and awe of having my own children.
Adoption: it’s a gift.