Meeting Ribbers: A Chapter of Our Adoption Story

Habibi and I were recently (read: some time in the past six months) approached by our adoption agency about speaking at their annual fundraising banquet.  They asked us to write a portion of our story to share with an audience of potential donors, staff, birth and adoptive families, volunteers, and anyone involved with the organization.  We eagerly agreed.

The next couple of months were full of activities and commitments, so writing a chapter of our personal journey wasn't exactly at the top of my priority list, especially without a deadline looming.  Then, one morning when the kids were at their GramB's, I sat down in front of the computer and wrote.  I didn't know exactly what I was going to say, but I didn't need to.  The story wrote itself.

A week or so later, I had a phone chat with "my editor" in Philadelphia.  ("My editor"...doesn't that make me sound so important?  I am not, I can assure you.)  She had very few changes to make, and loved my story.  She said it made her cry every time.  Yessssss...success!!! I thought selfishly.

Earlier this month, we -along with two other families- presented our story to a room full of people.  Instead of telling you about the event, or about the story itself, I'll just share it with you here.  By the way, I did use my family's real names for the actual event, but I prefer to keep things consistent here with nicknames.  Also, I hate mushy emotional stuff, so I'm inserting inappropriate adoption humor memes and anecdotes throughout the narrative.

Here is just a small part of our sweet Ribberdee's story...

The day we met Ribbers was a day full of details.  Some of these details burn bright in our memories, while others fade into the distance, almost forgotten.  Nevertheless, the most precious of these remain on our list of unforgotten moments.

It was in the middle of the night, dead in the middle of October, when we got a phone call from Ribbers's birth parents, informing us that labor had begun.  Having been through labor and delivery ourselves with our daughter Jammy, we were not quite prepared for him to come exactly on his predicted due date…and had foolishly left packing to the last minute.  Punctuality isn’t our strongest asset as a family.  We scrambled to throw things in duffles without waking our two-year-old. Growing frantic, we hurled our belongings into the car, gave our daughter a wholesome breakfast of whatever we could find, and rushed out the door for the long three-hour trip to the hospital.

 

Ribbers's birth father continued to send us text updates of the progress of the delivery as we made our way to the hospital. We prayed that Jammy would fall back asleep but, in true two-year-old fashion, she did not.  The excitement of a new baby brother and pretzels for breakfast was too much for her.

We finally arrived at the hospital after driving through the thickest fog that I can remember ever seeing.  After having dressed in the dark, our little motley crew rolled in about five hours after Ribbers was born.  It wasn’t exactly the way we had hoped it would go, but it didn’t matter.  Babies never stick to the plan. 

(Except that we didn't adopt a friggin' Frost Giant...)

We had no idea what to expect, other than hearing that he was “perfect” and “beautiful,” the same adjectives used to describe most all babies.  But when we saw him, having a bottle with a nurse in the nursery, we knew he was just those things: perfect and beautiful.  He had glowing walnut skin, soft dark curls, and looked so strong he was already trying to jump.  With his eyes still closed, he involuntarily flailed his arms a bit, as newborns often do.  Reaching toward the glass and bonking her little head as she did, Jammy cooed, “Ohhh.  He wants me.”  I believe she was right, as they are now the best of friends.

Over the next few days, we got to know Ribbers more and more.  Emotions ran high all during that time in the hospital, but perhaps the climax of this roller coaster was the day that his birth mother was discharged from the hospital.  Before she left, the staff from both [the adoption agency] and the pregnancy center held a small, informal ceremony in one of the hospital rooms.  During this ceremony, prayers were said, tears were shed, and –as Ribbers's adoptive mother– I was even asked to read a poem about mothers to his birth mom.  While I don’t remember a word that was said during this entire ceremony, I do remember everything I felt:

Joy.  We were finally adding our second child after months of uncertainty.

Relief.  The fact that we had made it this far gave me more confidence in Ribbers's birth parents’ decision.

Grief.  As his birth mother passed him into my arms, I held onto her, not wanting to let go.  Even though it was all about Ribbers, and not about us, she was giving us the thing she treasured most on this earth and beyond.

Awe.  These two young people were showing how selfless a person can be by deliberately allowing their own hearts to be broken in order to give their son –our son– the family that they wanted him to have.  I remain amazed and honored by this act of altruism, the ultimate sacrifice that a parent can make for a child.

Real questions I have gotten from total strangers...
So you adopted because you couldn't have kids? (Not true.)

Is he adopted? (Um, duh.)

So you adopted because you couldn't have any more kids? (Again, nope.)

Are those both yours? (Yeeesss...)

Infertility issues? (Nope.)

Do you use oil on his hair? Skin? (Yes and yes.)

What kind of oil do you use on him? (I reply, she gives me a dirty look.  Is there something inherently bad about coconut oil?  What am I missing?)

My next reply...

We are an imperfect family.  We fight, we get irritated with each other, and we make mistakes.  Our children are as different on the inside as they look on the outside.  But we love each other fiercely.  We are reminded of this every time Jammy scolds me if I raise my voice at her brother, or when Ribbers bites me for wrestling with his sister.  When we witness the bond that they have already formed, we have no fear of the future, because each one already has the other one’s proverbial six.

We are convinced that Jammy was right that day in the hospital, that Ribbers really was reaching for her.  Although they both came to our little family in different ways, they were destined to be siblings.

And we are honored to be their parents.