In honor of November being National Adoption Month, I have decided to do a mini-series on our family's story, and of how we came to be.
IN THE BEGINNING
When I was a young woman, I had a feeling--a very quiet, primal instinct that I had probably never put into words--that I would not bear children. I dreamed of having a beautiful family with my husband, of course. I assumed I would have children that looked like me, who inherited my good qualities (and none of the bad). I hoped to have 6 kids--4 girls and 2 boys. In daydreaming I was no different from other girls my age. But if I really thought about it--and sometimes I did--I felt that children would not come to me in that way.
When I received my patriarchial blessing at age 16, there was a promise that one day my home would be a place for the rearing and educating of my children. After the blessing, my mom clapped her hands and said, "Hooray, that means you're going to have babies!" I think that was the first time I really knew that I wouldn't.
But I knew I would be a mother.
I knew it deep down: I felt peace, not sadness. I knew I would get married to a wonderful person, and I knew we would be parents--somehow.