Seventeen years ago, I embarked on a journey to Moscow to adopt a 2-year-old girl named Mia. My coworkers praised my decision, calling it a noble act of altruism. “You’re changing a life,” they said. My neighbors echoed sentiments of admiration for my selflessness, commenting on how I could have splurged on a luxurious vacation instead. In my mind, I wanted to scream, “No, this is for me!” My focus was never on the orphanage child who might face a bleak future after turning 16. After a divorce and several failed relationships, I was at a point where I longed to take charge of my life. I simply wanted to be a mother.
I considered various options. Pregnancy posed risks due to my age and medical history, while the domestic adoption process seemed lengthy. Since my grandmother had emigrated from Russia, I felt a deep connection to the country. So, I made my decision.
Confession No. 1
At the last moment, I almost reconsidered my choice. In my Moscow hotel room, surrounded by the unsettling sight of cockroaches scuttling along the cracked walls, I felt a wave of panic. The adoption hearing was set for the next day, and my interpreter was ready to guide me. The head of the agency had warned me, “If you have doubts, voice them before the hearing.” My stomach churned.
Visiting Mia at the orphanage earlier that day left me devoid of emotion. I even questioned if she was the right child. “That’s not the adorable toddler from the video,” I insisted to my interpreter. But it was her—my girl ran from me, tossing the beanie baby I had brought onto the floor.
Confession No. 2
The adoption hearing felt like a surreal experience, as if I were watching from outside my own body. When I finally retrieved Mia from the orphanage, she cried as the caregiver handed her to me. In a moment of panic, I handed her back, thinking it was best for her to be comforted by the kind woman. Truthfully, I was terrified and questioned my decision.
Confession No. 3
The initial years were tumultuous, filled with intense tantrums—especially during car rides. I was fortunate to find daycare conveniently located near my office, but after three months of bonding, I had to return to work. The car rides were characterized by her screams, yet amidst the chaos, there were fleeting moments of joy. “Look at the birds, Mama!” she would exclaim, marveling at the world around us.
As she entered adolescence, attachment issues surfaced, leading to risky behaviors and a barrage of swearing that necessitated therapy. Friends often asked me, “You wouldn’t change your decision, would you?” I’d ponder silently, sometimes grappling with thoughts of, “What have I done?”
Despite the darker moments, which I believe all parents—adoptive or biological—experience, one undeniable truth remains: Mia has expanded my heart in ways that no partner or friend ever could.
Now that she’s 19, life feels more settled, though she remains quite different from me. I’m an avid reader, while she avoids books like the plague. Exercise is a part of my daily routine; she complains about walking her dog. All parents naturally have expectations and dreams for their children, and I was no different. We feel pride when we see ourselves reflected in them.
Yet, when our children diverge from our hopes, what choices do we have? At this point, we cannot return them. So, we embrace them for who they are. Perhaps that is the essence of unconditional love.
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Summary
In this candid reflection, an adoptive mother shares her emotional journey from the initial decision to adopt her daughter in Moscow to the challenges and joys of parenting a child with a different background. Through confessions of fear, confusion, and eventual acceptance, she highlights the transformative nature of unconditional love in parenthood.