I was working in a real estate office, helping our friend and neighbor, Gayle.  I used to manage a real estate office, so when the receptionist quit on short notice Gayle asked if I could pitch in temporarily.  It was Wednesday – 10:00 a.m. – when the phone rang.  It was your father:  "Deb, Gary just called.  He says that he has a little boy – six days old, but he has a bi-lateral (both sides of the mouth) cleft lip and palate.  We are the seventh couple he has called.  The first couple said no, and some of the others didn’t have the money, or couldn’t be reached.  The social worker is there and is going to take him away unless we adopt him..."  Gary had been looking at you through the observation glass, he explained, worried, desperate to find you a home.  He sent a prayer up to God, and in that instant, our names popped into his head, and he called your father.

                By now, I am excited.  I am motioning to Gayle…dancing around my work area.

                Your father started looking into our insurance plan to make sure we could give you what you needed.  He and I agreed, that in the world of anomalies, Cleft Lip and Palate was a “pimple” – that we could easily provide you with the care you would need, and any thing else that came up.  Your father hurriedly called Gary back, then called me again, and said that I had to talk to a certain plastic surgeon first – that Gary wanted to make sure we understood what we were getting in to.  I did.  I grew up very poor, where people didn't hide their babies just because they were "different."  I knew a child with cleft lip and palate personally, as well as many other anomalies that were much worse.  But, I was willing to jump through any hoops they wanted, and called the plastic surgeon.

                The doctor kept saying, "This is a twenty year commitment.  I hope you understand this," over and over again.  Finally, I said "Good! My aunt’s kids are in their 40s, and they're still coming back home. I'll be done in 20 years!"  He agreed with my slant on it and wished me luck.

                One hour had passed.  I called Gary back, and told him to bring my baby home!  Gary was thrilled.  It killed him to think of you…so beautiful in every way…only to wind up in Children's Services and foster care.  Sure, they may have found a good placement for you, but most likely, you would have bounced from one foster home to another.

                We decided to name you Christopher Shiveley Welch, using my maiden name for your middle name, and we learned that you were coming home the next day!

                I often say to you, “Do you know how I know God loves me?  He gave me you!” And He did!  Moreover, His love was so complete, that He gave me you in just a little over 24 hours!  There would be no more agonizing waiting, no more foreshadowing of doom, no more “She’s changed her mind!”  You would be mine, and I could feel safe in enjoying every minute awaiting your arrival.

                I hung up the phone after finishing with Gary, and jumped out of my seat.  I held my arms up in the air, and with tears streaming down my face cried, “I’m a mother!  I’m a mother!  I have a son!”  People ran out of their offices, surrounding me and cheering.  They knew how I longed for a child, and that your father and I had waited for so long.  We had tried locally and internationally.  We had experienced disappointment after disappointment.  Now was a time of rejoicing and the entire office shared in my joy.

                I had an arrangement with my employer, that if this very thing happened, I could leave.  She had just hired a new receptionist whom I was training, so I could take off and not feel as if I were leaving her in the lurch.  Thus, with her blessing I raced out of the door and headed home.  Out came dust mops, pails and buckets, as I proceeded to clean an already immaculate house from attic to basement!  I was ecstatic!  After a whirlwind of cleaning, I began to write down all the things I needed for a baby, whom I had not known existed only a few hours before.  My son!  It soon became apparent that I would not be able to accomplish this Herculean task all by myself.  I called our friend and neighbor, Linda, and told her the amazing news. 

                To say she ran to my house would be an understatement –    she flew!  Bursting through the door, she grabbed me and began to dance me around the living room.  We wept, and laughed, and jumped up and down in joy because the day had finally come!

                A fantastic organizer, Linda was soon on the phone and before I knew it, Mary was bringing a crib, Harriet was providing an infant car seat, and other friends were showing up that night to help your father and me assemble all of the things you would need right away.

                Linda then decided that champagne was in order.  She ran to get some from her fridge.  When she got to my front door I heard a yell!  Running to see what caused her to scream, I found myself again embraced and danced around my living room-foyer area.  A large, blue stork, holding a diaper inscribed, “It’s a Boy,” stood proudly on the front lawn.  Gayle – my sweet friend, your honorary aunt – had ordered this beautiful declaration of the day.

                Your father managed to get home early.  He picked up dinner for us, which we barely managed to finish before our friends arrived.  I remember so clearly standing at our front door, passing out credit cards, with accompanying lists:  “You…sleepers, sheets, and blankets.”  “You… diapers, Similac, baby powder, baby shampoo...” and on and on.  The last person, Linda, I remember so clearly because she let out a whoop.  “You,” I laughed, “get that champagne!”

                The rest of that evening is a blur.  Your father and I speculated on our son.   What would he look like?  We had changed our image of our baby so often: the blonde, blue-eyed central Ohio native son, the dark-haired, dark-eyed Honduran beauty, and the dainty, exquisite Buddha-like baby from China, and now we faced a new image – a cleft affected baby – bilaterally clefted.  What would our son look like?

                I recalled the evening I last saw Patsy at Children’s Hospital, walking down the hall and watching a nurse feed an infant sitting upright.  What first caught my eye, was that the baby was not cradled in her arms, but sitting upright.  Then I noticed that he had no mouth that I could see, only a hole in the middle of his face.  Would my baby look like that?  Would he be that severe?  All I could do was wait and see.  The hours seem to drag and fly at the same time.

                To fill our time, and to ensure that you had all you needed, we emptied out the guest bedroom of anything that was not appropriate.  I remember your father standing in the doorway when we were through.  All that remained was a chest of drawers, a dresser, a bed and a corner desk.  We would remove the bed as soon as the crib came.   “This was my boyhood furniture, Honey.  Christopher will grow up with my furniture!”  We were beyond happiness at this point, and exhausted from the frenzied activity and the emotion-filled day we went to bed.

                Thursday dawned achingly beautiful, with a Dresden-like blue sky.  It was a pink day, with blossoms and sweet smelling air…perfect for the arrival of a young Prince!  You were due to arrive at 2:00 p.m., and as the hour grew nearer, I suddenly became very nervous.  I knew what was happening as we waited, and dread began to creep into my heart.

                I knew that the birth giver was in court.  There she would stand before a judge, who would inform her that she was forever relinquishing her rights to you, and that this relinquishment was final.  In addition, should she discover who we were and decide we were unfit parents; she would not get you back.  Instead, you would go into foster care and be put up for re-adoption.  This was a forever decision.  She would then be asked to go into the hallway for one hour to consider the ramifications of what she had been told.

                Upon her return, the judge would repeat the stipulations.  Did she understand?  Was she still determined to go ahead?  Then, and only then, would you become our son.  Would she change her mind at the last minute?  Would we again realize the pain of a failed adoption? We were both 39 ½.  In the State of Ohio, the cut-off age for adoption was 40.  I prayed to God that you would come home to us!

                Two o’clock p.m. arrived.  We heard a car pull up in front of the house, and ran to the door, cam-cord in tow and rolling!  It was FedEx delivering a package from WordPerfect.  We laughed nervously, accepted the package, and I managed to get the FedEx guy to say, “We deliver!” as a recorded memento of the day. 

                By now, we were frazzled.  Where was he?  Another car!  We rushed to the door and it was...Mary!  She had shown up with the crib.  Right behind her, literally, was our entire neighborhood.  We decided to go outside to wait.  Nerves strained to the limit, we were in need of distraction.  Maybe being with our friends would help to calm us down.

                We stepped out of our front door and a miracle happened.  It was you!  You were here!  You were home!  We literally ran to the driveway where Gary and his wife were getting out of the car.  Gary’s wife opened the passenger rear door, bent in, and gathered a small bundle in her arms.  I could see a little head with a knit cap, tiny hands waving in the fragrant, May air, fingers curled, angry to be aroused from a soothing car-induced sleep.

                Gary took you from his wife, turned to me beaming, and placed you in my arms.  I took you, held you to my breast, and breathed you in.  You smelled so sweet.  I learned later that this is a natural instinct of a mother.  She imprints her baby’s own special scent into the core of her very being, making it possible to identify her child by smell alone.  To this day, I breathe you in reveling in your unique perfume.

                Removing the blanket from your face, on some level, I noted that you had a unilateral (one-side) clefting – easier to repair and better results with fewer surgeries – but the first thing I responded to had nothing to do with your anomaly.  Removing your cap, the first words I uttered were “He does have hair!”  I noted its silkiness, its soft curl, and the color…the same as my own!

                Turning, I walked slowly toward our house, my sweet baby in my arms.  The sidewalk was literally lined with friends and neighbors, smiling, laughing, clapping.  We all entered the house, where I promptly undressed you, counted your toes, your fingers, and kissed all those parts a mama kisses: your knees, your hands, your little nose, your elbows, and feet.  It was the most wonderful day of my life and I was in Nursery Nirvana.  I was a mother.  Finally, I was a mother!

                Gary had brought some things from the hospital.  The nurses, happy to see you adopted and ecstatic to send the social worker “empty away,” had thoughtfully, in their joy,  put together a “New Mother” package for me.  They had also included the special bottles needed to feed you.  Because of the clefting, you could not create a vacuum and so could not suck.  Standard bottles were useless.  Instead, I used a Mead Johnson Nurser, which was oblong, flattened and made of soft, squeezable plastic.  The crosscut nipple, allowed me to gently squeeze the formula into your mouth, at a rate that would allow you to swallow without choking.  This was especially important, as your uvula (that little thingy in the back of your throat) was also clefted.  Its main purpose was to prevent a baby, lying supine while nursing, from choking, and since it was split in two, it was unable to perform this function.  Because of this, Gary was concerned that I may not be able to learn how to feed you successfully.  His concerns were unfounded.  Remembering the child from my last visit to Children’s, and finally understanding what I had seen, I held you upright, inserted the bottle into your little mouth and began to feed you, shooing Gary away and admonishing him to “Let me feed my baby, please!”  Gary, beaming, acquiesced.

                Eventually, everyone went home, and we settled down to call our families.  We didn’t want to announce your arrival until you were safely home, and now we could revel in the joy of our now expanded family, and the newest addition to our clans.

                The first call was to my cousin, Sherry, who promptly packed her car, drove the 30 miles to our home, and brought to us an exquisite basinet, dripping with eyelet lace, a diaper pail, a playpen, a bath ring, and other sundry items, including toys.  After admiring you, she left saying she didn’t want to intrude.  We continued our calls.

                Everyone was thrilled!  They were aware that your father and I had given up the privilege of giving birth, although capable, because of various concerns.  Among them, were my chances of giving birth to a child with spina bifida, and we wanted to parent a child who was already here.  They knew that we had suffered many disappointments.  That was all in the past now.  You were home.

                We talked to relatives for hours, laughing, rejoicing and recounting the already apparent, numerous, glorious qualities of our son!  However, even the most eventful of days must end.  We were exhausted, and Father, Son, and Mother went to bed.

                It was 2:00 a.m., exactly 12 hours since you had come home.  Awakened by the hungry cry of a newborn baby – music to my ears ­– I scrambled from my bed, and lifted you from your lace-bedecked basinet.  As I straightened, you arched your back, as if straining to move closer to me, and I was lost.  That was when I truly fell in love.  I felt an electric thrill pierce my heart and love so profound, so complete, that I was immobile for those few seconds of utter and complete bonding.  This was my son, my child, and no matter who provided the “clay” in which your sweet soul was housed, you were the same person, the same entity that I would have mothered had I provided the flesh, which was the temple of your soul.  You were my son, whether I had birthed you or no.  I had simply given you the chance at a healthier life by removing the possibilities of the crippling spina bifida, which may have been your fate.  Those two o’clock feedings became very special to me, as each morning I silently, reverently, celebrated the thrill of love that had surged through my heart at that fateful time – the time of our bonding, and the beginning of our journey as Mother and Son.