The Child You're Supposed to Have: An Adoption Story

"People end up with the child they're supposed to have." Almost as if they'd coordinated responses, we heard this from both our attorney and our social worker after our second failed adoption attempt.

I knew it was meant to be comforting, but it was too formulaic, too easy a sentiment at a time when I wanted nothing more than to hold a baby, any baby. I didn't want to wait for "the one I was supposed to have." I just wanted a baby - now!

Of course, there was nothing to do but wait. I reminded myself that we had chosen adoption over infertility treatments because we knew that we'd end up with a baby if we just hung in long enough - much better odds than the 20 percent success rate promised by the infertility specialist. I comforted myself with the knowledge that we were in the minority, that most adoption plans do come to fruition. I repeatedly said to myself, "The third time's a charm." Still formulaic, but it seemed to offer more assurance than waiting for the baby that was meant for us.

When we were matched with our third birth mother, I walked that delicate tight rope of believing that this was the one that was meant to be and reminding myself that nothing is certain until the birth mom signs the paperwork.

We knew the baby was a girl. We chose a name. But I couldn't bring myself to use the name we'd picked. And I seldom referred to the baby as "she." It was almost always "the baby," as if that objective reference would prevent me from becoming attached.

And then we got "the call." The baby was born. She was healthy. The attorney emailed us a photo. And it was at that moment that I thought, "They were right. This is the child I'm supposed to have."

But of course, we had to wait 72 hours so the birth mom could sign the papers. And then there was a long plane trip to traverse the half a country that separated us from our daughter. Those three days were a whirlwind of final preparations for the plane trip and the new baby, and they crept by.

But suddenly it was Monday, and we were holding our four-day-old baby. I marveled at what a perfect fit she was as she snuggled against me and at how easily she and I fell into a rhythm together. Yes, I told myself, this is the child I was meant to have.

We thought our adoption journey was finished. But then two years later, just a few days before Christmas, we got a call. Our daughter's birth mother was pregnant. She still didn't feel able to parent and wondered if we would be willing to adopt this new baby.

We had talked a few times about a second child, usually in that wistful way that you talk about things that might have been. I doubt we would have adopted a second time had we not gotten that phone call. But now, we scrambled to figure out finances and logistics, and happily said yes to this second child. We began preparing our daughter for a sibling. And we waited.

Months later, holding my son for the first time, I remembered those words that had once seemed so trite: "People end up with the child they're supposed to have." Yes, I thought, they do. Sometimes, it even happens twice.