Legally loved

After years of meetings, calls, paperwork, home studies, filings, and court appearances, Strawbaby is officially, legally, and ceremoniously a part of our family in every way that she has been since the day we met. Because our court date had been postponed numerous times for a variety of reasons, it wasn’t until a couple of days before our ultimate date that the magnitude of what was about to happen fully hit me.

Strawbaby is now ours, forever and ever. No more legal actions, no more lawyers, no more worrying that someone could try and take her from us (which was never a real threat but until the adoption was finalized it was a very real concern in the back of my mind). There are also practical everyday effects that I’ve been anxiously awaiting as well. Like when I speak of my family, I no longer feel the need to explain the mental asterisk that the pending adoption placed there. She is now simply our daughter.

“Hey Adelaidey baby, I love you. I need you to know that you’re not being replaced, we’re just growing as a family. I’d love a sign if you can send one, just so I know you’re here with us.”

I’ve been asking for signs from Adelaide more recently, which tends to happen the closer we get to her big days in October. I never know how to expect them and often forget that I’ve asked for one until it’s staring me in the face. Usually in the form of ladybugs or money of some sort – a sand dollar on the beach, a toy cash register beeping when it’s turned off.

I wish I could remember exactly what the judge said at the end of our hearing. With adoption, there is nothing as iconic as “I now pronounce you husband and wife” to finalize the ceremony of it. The judge, in some way or another, declared that we were now Strawbaby’s legal parents.

Anessa’s legal parents.

It’s been a 22-month journey to get here with about every emotion possible experienced along the way. I’ve purposefully avoided writing about our adoption process over these last few months. The anti-adoption folks came after me hard after my last couple of adoption-related posts and I had to take a step back to evaluate my thoughts on the topic as well as what I was willing to share and be criticized for. The experience has been a poignant reminder of how complicated and traumatizing adoption can be. Should adoption be celebrated? I’m not sure how to answer that. What I do know is that love should always be celebrated, every day that we get to feel it and give it. So that afternoon we went out for ice cream.

I acknowledge and hold space for the family that had to fall apart so that ours could grow. That pain is not lost on me. But neither is the hope at the prospect of breaking decades of generational trauma. Or the joy that Anessa brought flooding into our home, dispersing the grief fog that had settled over us since Adelaide’s passing two years prior. Or the incredible social, emotional, and developmental progress Anessa has made since coming to live with us.

There will be many difficult conversations to come as Anessa’s understanding grows about her beginnings and how she came to us. We will navigate them as they come with compassion and empathy. Will I make mistakes along the way? Sure will. Just as I do parenting Jackson. What I can guarantee her though is that she will never know a day when she doesn’t feel wanted, loved, and protected.

This is far from a selfless act though, because whatever we are providing for Anessa we are receiving back ten-fold. I have envisioned my family’s life without Anessa – what it would be like if we had remained a physical family of three - and it is painful. Anessa did not replace Adelaide, nor did she fill the hole her loss left in my heart. She did, however, give me an additional person to love, focus on, raise, and care for. She gave me another reason to feel joy… and sadness, frustration, and guilt, all the typical parent feelings. She gave me another reason to live and live well.

I love this funny, imaginative, energetic, little girl with every fiber of my being and feel so unbelievably fortunate to be able to raise her and love her. Truthfully, not much has changed in our day-to-day life since her adoption day. Though, hearing her call for Mommy does hit a bit differently.

“Mommy, Mommy, Mommy! Can you put me on lipstip?”

“Sure thing, baby girl. What color lipstick would you like?”

“Don’t call me baby girl, Mommy. My name is Anessa.”

“Ok, Anessa. And what is your full name? Your whole name?”

“Anessa Vivantes!”

“Cervantes”

“Anessa SUH-Bantes”

Close enough.

P.S. “Uh, babe? You know that gig I did on Wednesday?” Miguel had just gotten off a phone call. The adoption hearing had only ended twenty or thirty minutes earlier, so I had assumed he was on the phone with his family. “That call was from the woman that asked me to perform. She told me that some of the attendees are going to make donations to CURE Epilepsy. One person has said they are going to give $25,000!”

I see you, Adelaide. Thank you for the sign.

P.P.S. While I am now sharing Anessa’s name, I am not yet comfortable sharing her face. I’m not sure when that will change, but for the time being, I’m listening to my gut and keeping the Strawberry sticker in place. Thank you for understanding.