It is 5:45 am - way too early to be awake, yet my little one is beginning to stir. The warmth of his little body gives me pause as I immediately utter a quick prayer of thanks for this moment. You see, I know he is a gift and I am so grateful for his little arms wrapped tightly around me in the wee hours of the morning.

When we picked him up at five weeks old, our son was scrawny. He had none of the normal baby rolls. He was born with methamphetamine in his body and contracted a dangerous illness at two weeks old, resulting in a two week stay at the hospital. With tiny hands clinched and a scowl on his face, we fell in love.

At 58 and 61, my husband and I were discussing retirement. With grown children and grandchildren, it was almost that time. We had just downsized to a 2-bedroom condo. But God had other plans.

Those first few months are a blur for me especially. Baby boy didn’t sleep well, and my sleep app showed me with only 15 minutes of sleep here and there. I began sleeping in the bed in his room, because I was up with him so much. Rocking and singing became our regular routine to calm his mind.

Although those days were hard, the bond that happened with him and us was vital to his future. Waking up with uncontrollable screams, we would lean close and whisper in his ear, “I am here, it’s okay,” and his fears would be soothed.

I watched my husband become a father again. His gentle touch showed our son the way a man’s love should feel. Working full-time, he took on the role of giving our boy his bath at night. As he grew, baby become stronger and fought hard when it was time to put clothes on after his bath. Diaper changes become like wrestling an alligator.

That first year was hard physically, but mentally and emotionally, it was draining.  A family member came forward and wanted to adopt him. By this time, we were thoroughly invested and felt that if he couldn’t go back to his biological parents, his place was with us. His first word was Mama directed at me and he reached for us whenever he was upset.

My prayers became hourly as many times I sat and held him and cried. Since we weren’t connected biologically, I feared the other party would end up with him. Although I knew she would love him and keep him safe, I feared for him mentally and emotionally. From the violence in the womb, lack of medical care and nutrition, drugs in his system and then losing his biological parents at two days old, he was already traumatized, but to lose the only Mami and Papi he had ever known was frightening.

God did so much work in that year. I can look back and see His hand in all of it. My faith wasn’t strong as I could see this all going wrong. We visited with his family members and formed a relationship that none of us imagined.

The day I got the call, we weren’t prepared. My husband was at a doctor’s appointment. I had a conversation that I will never forget. With tears, our little one’s aunt said she felt he belonged with us and that she was withdrawing her adoption application. I never dreamed this was how God would do it. To be honest, I already felt he would be leaving us.

My husband later told me that my phone call to him caused him to sit in the doctor’s office’s lounge and cry in front of everyone. Our joy was uncontrollable as we knew that this child we had prayed for would become ours.

These past years have been challenging. From tantrums to messes, the floor littered with tiny pieces of paper and sand tracked inside, I can’t keep up. He has lots of aggression and I travel two hours round trip once a week for play therapy. Learning new parenting techniques and how to better handle our own anger when faced with his means we're working on our ourselves too. 

Yet, every night we both pray over our son and thank God for all that comes with this unbelievable journey, begging for His help for each day. And every day, He shows up.