After finding out I was going to be a Mother, I did the first thing mothers do. I shopped. I stepped out of the car, dried my tears, and walked happily into Old Navy. I had never looked at the children's section, since it had never been an option. I felt like a giddy school girl as I thumbed through the faded jeans and tank tops that looked more like clothes for a twelve year old Brittany Spears wanna-be than a beautiful newborn baby. I bought a green onesie and a pair of jean overalls. I smiled the whole way home.

When I got home, I waited for Scott to walk in the door. I didn't know who to call, since I was still scared the whole deal would fall through. I called my Mom and Dad, who were thrilled. They were very excited about adding a new grandchild to their brood. I called my sister, who is also my best friend. She was excited and wanted to come right over and celebrate. I asked her to wait, we could celebrate when the baby came home. I was still nervous.

When Scott got home, we cried and laughed. We couldn't believe it had finally happened. We were going to have a baby! We were going to be parents and God had given us a perfect, healthy baby boy. We made calls, wrote out lists and went shopping.

It was decided we would meet Danielle at the agency the following night. The baby, named Angel, was currently in a loving home waiting for his forever family. The agency has wonderful volunteer families that take in children and love them as their own until their placement is complete. Danielle hadn't seen Angel since she had placed him in their care 2 weeks prior. The agency brings all the parties together, birthmother, foster parents and adoptive parents. Danielle got their early to spend time with Angel and sign over her parental rights. We arrived, were lead to an office and went through tons of paperwork. We had spent all day trying to come up with a name. We were finally able to write it down. Joel Thomas. "God is Willing"

After filling out the paperwork, we walked down the hallway ready to meet our son. We had never seen him and we had no idea what to expect. We hadn't even seen a picture. We also knew Danielle wanted to be there when we saw him, so we were both nervous. As our caseworker opened the door, we saw him for the first time. Cradled in Danielle's arms was this small and absolutely perfect little boy. He was dressed in a little blue and white sleeper and he had a mop of black hair. He was sleeping peacefully, oblivious of the emotions running wild in the room.

I sat down next to Danielle, giving her the time she needed. We had an open adoption agreement, so she knew she would see him again soon. Yet she was in pain. Though she didn't shed a tear, I could see her loss in her eyes. She knew she would never be Joel's Mom. She was going to miss his first smile, step, jump. She wouldn't be there when he took his first ride on his bike. She wouldn't hold his hand as he walked into Kindergarten for first time. She was giving us these gifts. She was giving part of herself to us. She loved Joel more than anything in the world, and she wanted what was best for him. She was giving him to us. There is nothing more humbling in the world.

When she was ready, she held him out to me. "Here is your baby." She said. Tears welled up in my eyes. "He is beautiful." As I held him in my arms I knew right away that he was born to be my son. My love for him was instantaneous. I handed him over to Scott, who couldn't believe he had a son. He held him gingerly, cradling his head and kissing him on the nose.

After exchanging hugs, gifts and taking countless pictures, it was time to go. Danielle and her mom left with their caseworker, who was then going to spend some time with them at home counseling them and their family. We stood in the middle of the room with our caseworker, wondering what was going to happen next. She looked at us and said, "Is your car parked out front or in the back?" "What? It's time to go?" I asked. That was it. We were done. We had our son. It was time to head home. We were a family. Life was about to get a crazier, busier, and full of life.

We entered the room wondering how it was all going to pan out. This was the first time we had met a birthmother and we were nervous. We knew that she had given birth to a baby boy 4 weeks prior, and had made the heart-wrenching decision to place him for adoption. She was sixteen years old and was not ready to be a mother. We also knew her family was not supporting her decision, but she had made up her mind.

We sat down on an old brown sofa with our case worker. She had given us fair warning about some of the questions Danielle might have for us. I was so nervous, I thought I was going to throw up. I had no idea what to expect.

Danielle walked in with her mother. I realized then exactly how young she really was. She looked down at the ground and seemed very nervous to be in the same room with us. Her long brown hair was highlighted with tints of red. She was beautiful. Her baggy blue jeans trailed along the floor and her white t-shirt was a bit too tight for her frame. As she turned I noticed she sported a Winnie the Pooh backpack. She looked exactly like the many middle school students that crossed paths with me everyday. I counseled girls like her as they sat by my desk and cried desperate tears, their hearts breaking from a recent break-up. Danielle was no different.

We smiled at each other, said hello and then looked to our caseworkers. Danielle's mother looked uncomfortable, and I realized then that at the age of thirty-six, she was not much older than me. We weren't quite sure where to start, so I just smiled and thanked her for meeting with us. She smiled also and told us how much we looked like our pictures. She liked the profile we had put together.

After about an hour and a half of questions we were done. She asked us about our faith, our parenting, our work, whether we were going to change the baby's name, and our desire for a family. We asked her why she wanted to place her son and what kind of open relationship she was expecting from the adoptive family. We spoke in almost hushed tones, hoping against all odds she would choose us. I have never wanted to be chosen for anything more in my life. I was always the last one picked for dodgeball, I was really praying my luck had finally changed.

When Danielle left the room our caseworker told us that we had to go home and pray about the meeting. We had to decide if we were willing to work with Danielle. Though in our hearts we both knew this was going to be the mother of our son, we were not allowed to call the agency with our decision for twenty-four hours. The agency wanted us to be sure. We already were.

The drive home was exhausting. Scott and I talked and talked about our future. I don't think we ever asked each other if we wanted to work with Danielle, we already knew the answer. We stayed up all night worried that she would not want us. We prayed, pleaded, and begged God to give us this son. I read the story of Hannah in the book of Samuel until I couldn't cry anymore.

The next morning we called our caseworker. I couldn't wait twenty four hours. I told her that if Danielle wanted to place the baby with us, we would be willing to go through with the adoption plan. She said that as soon as she heard, she would call me.

I decided to go shopping, since I knew I had to relieve some stress. What better way to do that than by spending money you don't have on things you don't need. As I was driving down the road my cell phone rang. Thinking it was Scott, I answered quickly. Suddenly, I heard my case worker on the line. "Cristina, what are you doing?" "I'm driving, why?" "I need you to pull over and call me back." In a panic, I pulled into the parking lot of Old Navy and quickly dialed the phone. She answered right away. "Cristina, congratulations. You have a beautiful baby boy." Suddenly, my heart was so filled with emotion I could not speak. The case worker knew. She had done this before. She had been on the other end of silence many times. "Call Scott, " she said, "and call me back when you are ready." I hung up. The flood of feelings that consumed me took over and tears began to stream down my face. I was a mother. I had a son. In my wildest dreams I never expected to hear such news sitting in front of an Old Navy store. From that moment on, nothing in my life has ever been quite the same.

Scott and I returned from Mexico feeling great. For two very white thirty-somethings we looked pretty good sporting our new tans. We felt refreshed. We felt like a new couple. Boarding the little island hopper plane back to the mainland, we both knew we were heading back to the land of uncertainty and questions. We were not looking forward to what lay ahead.

A new school year began and I was busy setting up my new classroom. Scott got back into the swing of things at work. We ignored the elephant that sat in the middle of our living room floor every night we returned home from work. We figured if we didn't talk about it, it would just go away. That didn't last long.

We knew we had to make some decisions regarding our future. We knew if we wanted to have a family, adoption was the path destined for us. We were nervous we would be rejected again. The door had been slammed in our face once, we were not ready to hear it slam again.

We prayed, talked to other adoptive parents, and of course, surfed the web. We knew we wanted a domestic adoption, since we were not prepared for the paperwork, the travel, and the expense of an international adoption. After a lot of consideration, we decided to we wanted to work with an agency that shared our faith. We knew it was a gamble, working with a small agency. The pool of birthmothers is much smaller, and the wait can be long. Yet we felt that was the way to go.

The first day we stepped foot into the waiting room of our new agency, we knew. Gone were the marble floors, fresh cut flowers and antique furniture. Martha Stewart wouldn't be caught dead in this place. The paneled walls and brown tweed furniture gave the place the aura of a Salvation Army store. The building smelled old. We knew we were home.

We met with the Director of Domestic Adoptions. A tall, white haired man who spent his younger days as a pastor of a church. He was humble, kind, soft-spoken and listened to us as we spoke. We hit it off right away. He told us all about the agency and their policies. We knew we were in the right place. We knew that this was the place where our family would grow.

Our lovely case worker led us through countless hours of counseling. We attended every meeting the agency recommended. We read books, wrote our autobiographies, were fingerprinted and even had to draw out an emergency evacuation plan for our home. The case worker believed Scott's adoption was an asset, not a hinderance. We spent time in prayer with the staff and we knew our child was out there, somewhere, waiting to be born.

We just had to be patient. We were told it could take up to eighteen months. We were prepared to wait as long as God had planned. Everything felt right.Nine months after our initial visit with the Director, we got the call. We made arrangements and hopped in the car to go and visit our new angel, Danielle. She wanted to meet with us and discuss the possibility of becoming parents to her newborn son. This was it. We were ready.

Scott and I licked our wounds after the infertility fiasco and decided to plunge right into adoption. We knew Scott and his siblings were adopted, so how difficult could it be? I knew someone who worked in a very well-known adoption agency in Chicago and decided to meet with her. After a lengthy conversation, we set up an appointment.

We entered the agency and looked around. It smelled like money. We felt we were in the middle of a spread for Better Homes and Garden. I was expecting Martha Stewart to turn the corner to place a new vase of fresh cut flowers on the antique pedestal table, which sat upon gleaming marble floors. We were definitely out of our element. We are simple people.

We were escorted to an office which once must have been the maids quarters, since it was about the size of my closet. We sat down with a well meaning case worker who asked us some questions. She then proceeded to give us a tour of the agency, including the fully staffed nursery and medical wing. We made a follow-up appointment to see her again in a week.

We met with this case worker over five times. We spent three months working with this agency. We tried to do everything they asked, including classes and book work. However, when we met with our case worker for the sixth time she hit us with a bomb. According to her we were not ready to adopt. Her reason? Scott had never grieved for the loss of his biological parents. He had decided not to search for them, and she felt that was proof that he had never come to terms with his adoption. As an adoptee himself, if would be too difficult to face the reality of having an adopted child.

This was the most ridiculous comment I had ever heard. Scott is one of the most well adjusted men I have ever met. He loves his mother, brother and sister. Sure, he has always been curious about his biological family, but he has never felt the need to grieve for something he never knew. An adoption agency, an organization that should be promoting and encouraging adoption, is denying someone the gift of adoption because they are adopted themselves. So much for encouragement.

We were stunned, hurt, angry, and sad. We could not believe they had denied our application. We were decent, loving, faithful and kind. We had a relationship with God, we were involved in our church, owned our own home, and had pretty decent jobs. (Scott was no longer weather-stripping.) We knew other couples had adopted that were struggling in their marriages, jobs, or parenting. We were denied because Scott was adopted. It was ludicrous.

We decided to take a break from this adoption nightmare and relax in the sun. We took the hard earned money we had ear marked for an adoption and took a trip to paradise. We spent one week in Cozumel, soaking in the sun and drowning our troubles in fruit smoothies. We jumped the waves, took in day trips to ancient ruins, and decided it was time to be romantic again.

Scott and I decided to follow the doctor's advice and try to have a baby. Everyone else was doing it, how hard could it be? We were surrounded by couples who seemed to be able to breathe on one another and conceive a child. We jumped into the ring thinking it would only take a few months, at most. I happily threw away my birth control, positive it was the reason we had been child-free for over two years.

One year later we were sitting in the infertility waiting room. It was a room that seemed to try to cheer up a whole bunch of miserable women. There were beautiful fresh flowers on the table, oriental rugs on the floor, and damask upholstered furniture. It didn't look like a doctor's office, but rather a day spa for the rich and famous, of which we were neither.

We sat down with our Cuban doctor, and discussed our situation. I kept glancing at Scott who almost had a pained look on his face, one of such profound concentration I was actually impressed. The more I looked at him the more I realized he was desperately trying to understand the doctor who had a heavy Latin accent. Since I worked with the poor uneducated Mexican population, such speech was normal. I hadn't noticed at all. I just kept hearing Scott say, "Can you repeat that?"

The doctor kept asking us how often we were romantic. It was embarrassing. Looking back I realize that in all the time we spent with that office, I never once heard the doctor use the word sex. Obviously, he never struggled with infertility, since romance is certainly not part of the equation. It is sex, that is all it is.

We left the office with scheduled appointments and lab orders. I knew none of them would be fun. Especially for Scott, since most men are squeamish about such things. However, if we wanted kids, this was the way to go. In my heart, I knew this wasn't for us. I did not want to waste my time trying to conceive with a bulb syringe. Scott, however, really wanted a child. A biological child. Though he loves his adoptive family, he has never seen one person who resembles him. He needed that. Since I am a carbon copy of my father, seeing a mini-me was not high on my priority list.

We spent one year with our wonderful Desi Arnez doctor. He was patient and kind. We had a timeline and a line in the sand. We made the decision before we began the infertility rollercoaster that we would only go through it for one year and we would not subject ourselves to invitro-fertilization. We sat in the floral colored waiting room for the first time in January 1998. We were told we needed to try invitro in January 1999. We were done

Scott and I married in 1994. We were young, too young to be honest. We had our lives all planned out. We had this grand idea that we were going to spend the first four or five years enjoying each other. We were going to backpack around Europe, spend every summer white water rafting, take exotic trips and spend lots of money. Of course, we were going to do this on a teacher's salary and a weather-strippers salary. As I said, we were young.

We also decided we were going to hold off having children for at least four years. We needed to get settled and established. We honestly had so little money, that having children would have been irresponsible, however we just told people we had bigger plans at the moment.

After we married we moved to the great expanse of the west coast, also known as Oregon. We resided in the thriving neighborhood of Salem, with it's five correctional facilities all within the city limits. It was a lovely city. It was there that we grew as a couple; we survived a flood, five moves and one eviction. We stayed two years.

On a whim we decided to move to the Chicago area. I had family here and we knew we were not going to become Oregonians. It wasn't in our blood. A New Yorker and an Argentine didn't stand a chance making it in pot happy Portland, Hippie-land Eugene, or rough and tough Salem. We needed a change. The windy city was calling us and we heeded the call.

After a year in Chicagoland I became ill. I was suffering from a lot of pain in my side and I went to see the doctor. Thinking I had pulled a muscle exercising, I was surprised when he referred me to an ObGyn. I made the appointment the next day with my Dr. Huxtable incarnate, Dr. William Woods.

Four days later I was in the operating room having an ovarian cyst removed. Dr. Huxtable looked at me and smiled. He patted me on the head and with his Southern drawl assured me everything was going to be fine. Ten days later, sitting in his office, he tells me I have stage III endometriosis. If Scott and I were planning on having any children, we needed to start right away.

"You want us to what?" I exclaimed! This was not part of the plan. I was not ready to be a mother. What about the trips to Europe? My wild white water rafting expeditions? I went home to tell Scott the news. It was time for him to be a Dad.

My journey toward motherhood began at a Hardees. My parents made the decision to move to a one stop light town in the middle of nowhere. The town consisted of a handful of eating establishments, some schools, two gas stations, and a farm equipment rental store. I was quite the oddball, since I was not a native to this bustling metropolis. Not only had I recently lived in New York, but I originally hailed from an unknown land south of the equator.

I decided the best way to fit into this town was to get a job at the local fast food joint. I donned my brown polyester pants and matching beret with pride as I walked down the hill toward my new job. I was free to make some money and make some great friends.

Though I actually enjoyed the job, I realized after the first home football game that it was not the place to work. The cool kids hung out there after games and the nerds provided the greasy fries and watered down soda pop. I did not want to be a nerd. I quit.

I denied ever having worked there and decided to find some cool friends. It was the only way to make it as the strange South American girl with a New York accent. I was lucky enough to catch the eye of one of the best looking boys in my class, co-captain of the football team and all around nice guy. We dated for two years and I never went back to Hardees.

My experience at Hardees made me realize I needed a cool job, with good hours, and decent pay. I found it working at the local daycare center. I always liked kids, and I knew I would never have to work on a Saturday or Friday night. It was a perfect job, and like my relationship with Jason, it lasted two years.

I enjoyed working in the infant room. I liked to cuddle the little ones and feed them bottles. I would rock, burp and soothe their cries. I also witnessed their first smiles, steps, and claps. I realized early on that their parents were missing the best days of their infant’s life. These small children were six weeks old, and were left in the care of strangers for twelve hours a day. I vowed I would never chose my career over my children.

I am now a stay at home Mom. I left my not so lucrative job as a middle school teacher to feed, burp, soothe and smile at my own children. I have four of them. Is every day full of laughter, joy and kisses? No. It is hard. There are days of belching, screaming, spanking and tears. Would I trade it for anything else in the world? Not on your life.