Mary G Bruno

Our house is looking quite different these days. The sight of baby toys and thing-a-majigs use to make me sad, but now they are pleasantly scattered around the floor or wherever our long-awaited daughter decides they belong. I draped a towel across the base of the fireplace so she doesn’t pick at the white plaster covering the bricks. I have a special drawer at the bottom of our kitchen cabinets that is just for her. She thinks she has found hidden kitchen treasures and is unaware that they were carefully selected just for her to find…again and again. My quirky, yet new favorite finding are pieces of her short black hair lying around. My long brown hair is usually the only shedding I find in abundance. But there is a new chick in the house. And she just turned one.

For years we pined, waited, and complained, thinking we knew what was best for us. Half of the time we imagined our perfectly planned family, including a child displaying the best combination of Chris and myself, and the other half I struggled with pain and donned the latest trends in hospital gowns, trying to get the right kind of “fixed.” Yet today, four words sum it all up perfectly: This. Is. So. Cool!

We do not have a fairytale story to tell…with the exception of Bella being pretty much, well, perfect. It is more like a “lairytale:” a lopsided fairytale- one with some bumps and bruises, yet still a very happy “ending,” although one we did not expect. Although Chris was always on board, I did not always know I could or wanted to adopt. I couldn’t even utter the word for years. I was glued to my childhood belief that “I will get pregnant” because that is just what happens, even if you have to force a fairy godmother to bippity boppity boo it. That didn’t happen. The way I finally warmed up to the idea and took the leap of faith onto the adoption pirate ship is a story for another day. But thankfully, that did happen. And the glorious news that her birthmother chose us was then delivered in the mouth of a white bird who landed on Chris’s shoulder while we glided across a bridge at Disney’s Animal Kingdom. Just kidding. We were walking across a bridge in Animal Kingdom, but we got a text message from our agency. Yes, a text message.

The day of her birth was the best, though. I was truly grateful that Bella’s birthmother said I could be present in the room during her birth. What an honor! I was able to cut the cord and hold my precious baby girl right before I carefully walked her to meet her daddy for the first time. As our new little family embraced each other, Chris and I gazed into her perfect eyes, only open for long enough to capture our faces for a second before peacefully falling asleep. Not really. Her birthmother labored all day at home and didn’t tell anyone or go into the hospital until she was 10 cm dilated. Since we live three hours away, we didn’t come close to making it there on time. When we finally arrived, her birthmother was holding her tightly. For those of you who don’t understand what this means, it is pretty scary. In Louisiana, a birthmother can’t sign over her parental rights until three days after the baby is born and prior to this day, she hadn’t decided if she was going to hold her or not. As much as we wanted our birthmother to be as comfortable as possible, there was palpable fear of that immediate bonding which might cloud her judgement and influence her to change her mind. We had just rushed from hours away to get to the hospital and meet our baby girl. We walked in, saw this happening, didn’t know what to do, and sat down and waited, gazing from across the room at our bundled up Isabella, in the arms of another mother. 

After what felt like a lifetime later but was probably more like 15 minutes, the nurse finally asked me if I wanted to hold her. She asked the birthmother’s permission right before I graciously accepted her into my arms and finally became a mother. And then the most amazing year began. Just because it’s not a fairytale doesn’t mean it isn’t just right. We don’t look alike, with the exception of our long eyelashes, but it is the combination of Chris and I that brought us to this decision, with this agency, at this time, and with this child. She has a killer tan, a contagious laugh, and a smile that doesn’t quit. Ask anyone! And she has made me truly grateful to be infertile. Because otherwise we would not have her or many other really good things in our lives. God did not forget about me and is not punishing me. He values me. And it would be easier to see that He has a pretty awesome plan for my life if I would stop trying to get in the way by avoiding acceptance of my crosses. Infertility is still a cross, but one carried with increasing joy as we learn to trust in God. He has the power to make anything happen, so it actually gives me comfort to know that my infertility might be on purpose, or better yet, allowed for at least one specific reason. Isn’t that cool!? God has not made just one, but multiple beautiful things happen through my infertility! What other treasures in waiting and disguised as suffering will I experience?  

My uterus may still be broken and my house may be a little messy, but it is these exact things that have indirectly brought such joy into our lives. Thank God for “Lairytales.”