My daughter craved my attention daily, as soon as she started school. She’d jump in my lap at every opportunity.

My children are still struggling to get to know a stranger they now call Mom.

I was only eligible for 35 weeks of parental leave, even though we adopted three children from foster care over a two-year period.

When my son says “cuddle,” everything else stops, so he knows that love, security and family come before everything.

We use our time as currency, our hugs and kisses as money in the bank.

Our daughter tantrumed non-stop for the first six months of the school year. Just thinking about all the screaming and crying at that time still rocks me to my core.

I spoke up about my adoption experience. I no longer felt alone, because I had all of these wonderful women by my side working to make changes too.

I had never heard of post-adoption depression and would think to myself: How can I feel sad when my dreams of being a mom have finally come true?

“I am sad for what my daughter is missing today, for how much richer her outdoor play could be; for all the worms and frogs she doesn’t find.”

The journey I’m experiencing is a roller coaster of emotions. There are so many ups and downs and unexpected turns. I’m excited and laughing one moment, then scared or crying the next.

By belonging to this community and helping out with events, I have formed solid and irreplaceable friendships with women and men who truly understand our unique parenthood journey.

Nous avions une apparence et une odeur différentes, et parlions très peu mandarin. Nous l’avons sortie de l’orphelinat peu après avoir fait sa connaissance pour l’emmener à un hôtel où rien n’était pareil.

They had been neglected, witnessed domestic violence and possibly been abused. They showed many signs of being traumatized.

Our doctor likened our experience to PTSD, after we adopted our twins internationally.

We hurt from knowing the trauma our children have experienced and not being able to just kiss it better.

We did everything we could to prepare him for being a big brother. Yet one day, on a car ride to the grocery store, he asked, “When we get a new baby, who will I go to live with?

As I moved towards the bags to pick them up and bring them to the car, I saw it—the flash of terror in his eyes will be etched in my memory forever.

Nous avons testé nos nouveaux parents pour voir s’ils nous aimaient vraiment, pour voir qu’est-ce qu’il faudrait faire pour qu’ils nous renvoient comme les autres l’avaient fait.

We boarded a shuttle to the airport in Seoul, and it was as if our son understood what was happening: He was leaving his homeland with two strangers and would likely not return for a very long time. He became inconsolable.

My daughter was five and a half years old when she was placed with me. This was her fifth home. Her entire life had been marked by loss and instability.