Here’s my eight minute attempt today:
I remember when my husband and I met my two sons, Seth and Noah, in July of 2005. Seth was an adorable four-year-old with a huge smile, and Noah was twenty two-months yet he looked like he a one-year-old.
They were living in the Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania area with foster parents. I remember the day my case worker called me and informed Jim and I that we were chosen by the county case worker to raise these boys after they viewed our home study (think lots of paperwork and interviews with case workers about your life history).
We met them on a Saturday morning at their foster family’s home along with their caseworker, Sarah. Jim and I instantly fell in love with them and felt an instant bond, like they were our boys and they had always lived with us. I felt a maternal love where I wanted to protect them and even apologized for some of their bad, bad behavior, as if this couple were watching our children. Actually, in essence they were watching them for us since we took them in and eventually adopted them.
My heart was filled with love and hope of finally starting our family with the love of my life.