Ian, 3 1/2 months old
The call came, asking if we would be willing to pick you up from your shelter home and bring you to ours. We were told you were a 3 1/2 month old boy, who was sweet-natured and slept well. Some background information was given about your parents and the situation they were in that resulted in you being placed into foster care.
I knew in an instant that I wanted you, not knowing or caring about how long we would get to have you. I wanted to give you all the love and comfort I could provide.
The first time I saw you, you were sitting in your car seat, with a bottle propped up to your mouth. With wide, blue eyes, and wavy red hair, you stared at me. Your shelter mom picked you up, telling me what a good baby you were, that you "never fussed" and loved to sit in your bouncy chair all day and how "nice" it was for her. I thought to myself, "This baby needs to be held. He is content to sit all day in his chair because he has never been held and loved." The back of your head was completely flat.
During the drive home, you cried. When I picked you up, you cried. You cried when anyone tried to hold you. You became constipated. You didn't want to eat. I worried. But I wouldn't put you down. I held you close even when you pushed away and became stiff. I wanted you to be ok with being touched.
You cried every day for a solid week. After countless doctor visits, telling me you were physically ok, I realized that you were upset because your life had been completely changed from what you were used to. You were not used to being touched. You had our undivided attention. You were smiled at and played with. You had new faces to look at and an unfamiliar home with new sounds and smells to get used to. You were in shock.
The first time I took you to visit your parents, you cried the whole hour. Your young mother cried too. She said to the caseworker, "He wants his foster mom." And you did. As soon as I picked you up, all sweaty and red-faced, you stopped crying and curled your body into mine.
Your birth mother soon realized that she couldn't care for you and that you were happy. She asked us to adopt you. I cried. But you didn't. You were content in my arms, happy and cooing.
Five years later, I look into your brown eyes, and touch your dark brown hair and cannot believe that you are the same child. You not only look different, but it seems as if you have always been mine. I have forgotten how quickly I fell in love with you and how worried I was that when the time came to send you home to your parents that my heart would break. I have forgotten how hard that first week was. It is all a distant memory, hidden somewhere in the back of my mind. When I see this picture, I cannot believe how far we have come.
You are my son. You are part of a family who loves and adores you. You will have everything you need in life to be successful. And you have all of this because you were loved by two mothers- each in the best way they knew how.