He is 15 months old.
As you might imagine, there is a story.
In the beginning of January 2008, I received a phone call--a friend wanted to know if we would be interested in adopting a baby boy.
When we first tried adoption, years ago, the results were difficult.
First we tried being foster parents, leading up to adoption. It turned out that the grandfather decided he wanted to take in his grandson--which of course was his right. However the agency we were working with never gave us any indication that the grandfather had shown any interest. When they called to tell us the grandfather had taken the first steps towards adoption and would not see the boy again, it was a very sudden. The next day, while driving to work, my wife broke into tears and got into a car accident--nothing serious, Baruch HaShem.
The second time, we worked with a birth mother, she suddenly disappeared without a trace, along with money we had given her for expenses.
The third time, things went much better with the birth mother. She was pregnant, and as the due date arrived, someone suggested to my wife to write letters to the baby in a notebook, to help her bond with the baby--one day my wife received a phone call from the birth mother that she had had a miscarriage. It was very difficult on the mother, and a very difficult time for us as well.
But when I received that phone call in January 2008, we made a quick decision--we were very interested.
As it turns out:
As it turns out:
- The birth mother had turned to her uncle.
- Her uncle spoke to his attorney.
- His attorney spoke to a family lawyer.
- The family lawyer spoke to our friends.
- Our friends first had to call someone to get our number.
- (We had lost track of our friends, and the only reason they knew where we were is because they had once been in town for Shabbos visiting someone who went to our shul)
- It also turned out that we were not the first people called.
There were no problems with the birth mother.
The court procedure went without a hitch.
But there were questions regarding the circumcision done in the hospital.
We were told we still could not use his Hebrew name until the actual bris--so he was referred to as "Little Man," which of course became Manny. This of course thrilled the women at Day Care who are Hispanic (and fantastic with the baby). Personally, with Pesach on the way, I was thinking of telling people that Manny was just short for Manischewitz. I'm pretty it would have been a pretty unique first name.
So today was the day--his day, Yonaton's day, as he has entered briso shel Avraham Avinu.
We know we will have much nachas from him.
May you all have nachas from your children as well.