Dear [insert baby here],
By the time you read this, we might all be in very different places in our life. I might be chubbier, your Dad might have more gray hair than he had when I wrote this. It might be 2024, it might be 2034, or later. Cars might fly, sidewalks might move, and the iPhone might be "that thing my dads used to have when CD's were around". And even then, we will love you. Because you will be ours, and we'll be yours.
But right now, here in the increasingly chillier days and nights of a 2014 September, when there are two pairs of hands here and not three, we are nervous. You see, we've just started to try to find you, and gosh, are we scared. We worry that we'll do the wrong things, or make the wrong moves, and we won't be able to find you as soon as we'd like. Because we know that you are somewhere right now, just waiting for us. But if you're reading this, then that means that we finally found the "you" we were supposed to have in our lives. You're ours, and we are yours.
Now, I want to be clear here. It's a lot easier to look backwards than forwards. In 2014, the road ahead looks really, really hard. In 2014, we worry about things like "home studies", and "attorney fees", and silly things like "identified placements" and "case workers". These are terms we are learning about every day, and they all paint a picture that feels a lot darker than the one you'll be seeing as you read this. Because if you're reading this, it all worked. And the only picture you should see is a picture of two dads, one cat, and one amazing child. And in that picture, not only are you ours, but we are yours.
In 2014, as I write this letter to you, people tell us to have faith that we will find you. Faith is the act of believing in things you can't see, and so I've got to tell you, [insert baby here], I do have faith. In 2014, I still haven't seen your eyes, but I already know they're the most beautiful color I've ever seen. I've never heard your laugh or your cry, but I already can feel in my heart the happiness and the sadness they both fill me with. I just know, believe, even, that there's not a softer set of cheeks in the world than the ones on either side of your smile. Because you, my baby, are ours. And that makes us yours.
I do want to apologize. When I played the full series of "Saved By The Bell" and told you it was on live television, it was only because I wanted you to have strong female role models in your life like Kelly Kapowski (because jean jackets and pep never go out of style), Lisa Turtle (snark for days), and Jessie Spano (unless caffeine pills are no longer a "thing", in which case there's really no lesson here). But I only did that because you're important. You've got to turn out well. You're ours. And...you know.
I hope we still do mildly embarrassing things. If I still sing in the shower, I'm sorry. Okay, okay...I will still sing a lot in the shower, and I'm not really that sorry. But I appreciate that you always tell me how wonderful it is. (Hint hint) And I respect that you always humor Dad, even though he might not understand that reading every book in The Lord of the Rings series, word for word, is inappropriate for a child your age. Unless you love it, in which case, um... go dragons? You know we'll support the things you like, and the things you don't. That's what you do when you have someone who's yours, you let them do silly things and laugh together. That makes us, for better or worse, even through my 11-song shower setlist, yours.
[insert baby here], do you think it's possible to remember something you haven't yet heard? We think so, because here in 2014, your Dad and I keep reminding ourselves of the thing we think you'll say to him, when we all watch scary movies together on the couch at Halloween-time. "Don't be scared, Dad. I'm here. You're mine. And I'm yours."
So yes, [insert baby here], we are very excited to finally be on our way to you. In 2014, we just want you to wait for us, okay? Because the world is a crazy place, and there are crazy people in that crazy place, and you might be tempted to head off into the sunset with one of them, or two of them. Don't do that, okay? It's like we always tell you, we have to work hard, be polite, be kind, and be patient. When someone is yours, and you're theirs, you wait for each other. And that's what we are. So that's what we'll do.
And to answer the question you haven't yet asked us, yes, we will take you to Disney World. And 20% of that will be because you want to go, the other 80% of it will be because your Dad and I want to make this world as magical for you as we possibly can.
I can tell you're getting antsy reading this crummy old letter, printed in a time when your old man just plucked away at a keyboard to talk to you, when he didn't have the chance to just walk into your room and sit down on your bed. It's hard not being able to look you in those gorgeous eyes, [insert baby here], really hard. And to be honest, I should step away from the computer as well. I've got some work to do.
Your Dad and I have to start looking for you. And don't worry, we'll know you when we see you. You'd be impossible to miss. Because you're ours. And we, my darling, we are yours.
I love you,
This piece originally appeared on Gays With Kids and marks the beginning of the adoption process for Anthony and his husband, covered step by step in real time.
Follow the adoption process as it unfolds by "liking" Gays With Kids on Facebook and following Gays With Kids on Twitter. You can also read Anthony's posts as they're released here, and by following him on Twitter.