Dear Z ,

You don’t remember, of course. You were just a tiny thing with big feet, in a whole new world. You didn’t know us. You had just moved from a temporary home into our home. I wonder what you felt as Daddy took you from your caretaker, placed you in a car seat, and drove you to our house.

You were asleep when daddy brought you in. He placed you in our bedroom as I finished cleaning for tomorrow’s baby shower.

Not your shower, of course. We had just heard about you two days ago. That didn’t give us much time to plan for anything, let alone a celebration. We only had 12 hours to decide if we would take you in. We even squeezed a visit in 30 minutes away in your temporary home. I couldn’t wait to meet you.

That left us one day to prepare. It was a full weekend of Arbonne events and hosting a friend’s baby shower. We had just enough time to buy a few clothes, formula, diapers, and a big Tupperware storage unit to keep your things in.

(Don’t worry though, buddy. While there was no shower, I assure you our hearts have celebrated your arrival in our family every day since.)

I was eager to start our life together once you woke up from your nap. We all were.


You were so tiny. Tinier than you should have been. We worked really hard with a lot of professionals to fix that.

The afternoon you came home, I had an Arbonne coffee date with a client. I strapped you back in your seat, and toted you along to your first of many business events. You were so cute and good. (Minus that one blowout. But mommy won’t bring that up.)

As I strapped you back into your seat to go home … Your home now … I’ll never forget what happened next.

You had these big brown eyes, looking up at me with what I can only describe as expectation. “What’s next?” You seemed to be saying.


And I looked right back at you with my own chocolate brown eyes, and promised you that you had me now. That for however long you needed one, I would be your mommy.

I meant it with the same commitment in which I said my vows to your dad. It was the same commitment I gave your older sister when we finalized her adoption

You smiled. You were always so sweet. The world threw its worst at you, and while your body bore the brunt, your sweet spirit never did. Your resilience amazes me.



When I pledged my love and devotion to you that hot summer’s day in the Starbucks parking it, I thought I would only be your mommy for as long as you needed me. Maybe 6 months. Maybe a year. Certainly no more than a year, right?

But the truth is my heart was given away to a little boy that day. And no matter when time (and the court) take us our seperate ways, you will always have a mommy in me.

Whether you are 3 or 15 or 35 … We are here. We will be here. You are welcome home anytime.
I love you sweet Z.

Your mommy … Forever.

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