How I Met My Son – A Love Story

Remember when you started high school?  All of a sudden you were expected to think about what you wanted to be and what you wanted to do with your life.  Back then I had it down.  I was going to go to college until I had a doctorate degree, probably in psychology.  I would marry and live in a house with a white picket fence.  I would spend my days at work and my nights cheering on my children at whatever sport they excelled in and going to PTA meetings.  And I was going to be a really cute pregnant mom – not one that always looked tired or gained too much weight or was sick the entire pregnancy.  It would be exhausting, but it would be perfect.  I had everything planned down to the color of the house and the names of my future children. 

My son just turned 14 years old.  He will start high school next year.  They are already asking him what he wants to be and what he wants to do with his life.  He tells me that this is overwhelming and with each passing year the pressure seems to increase. He is autistic so he is not a big fan of change and pressure.  But really, who is?  I know this about him, so each year on his birthday I tell him the story of how we met.  Here is the cliff note version:

I was graciously invited to go to doctor appointments with his birth mother.  I had not met her before the adoption process, but she was young and beautiful and kind and amazing.  Every six weeks we went to her medical check-ups and then I shared a meal with her and her equally fantastic mother.  After one check-up over dinner, the birth mother informed me that while she can put any name she wants on the birth certificate, she wanted to put the name I selected for her son. I had always planned on having a son named Alexander. But when I opened my mouth to answer her, I said Andrew. Why did I say Andrew?  That wasn’t the plan.  That wasn’t the name I wanted.  Where did that come from?  What was I doing?  Will I sound crazy if I take it back now or tell her I changed my mind?

She politely told me what a nice name that was and then asked me what made me chose that name. Of course I had no idea! Not wanting her to question her decision to entrust me with her child, I didn’t want to say “I don’t know” so I just said the first thing I could think of that I thought would make me sound good…I told her that Andrew was the first disciple and this would be my first child. She then asked me who Andrew was the patron saint of.  Ahhh!  I don’t know!  Probably fishermen, but I simply don’t know!  I laughed and I told her I wasn’t that good a Catholic but I would look it up for her and tell her at our next meeting.

Six weeks later I left work to drive to meet the birth mother for her next doctor appointment. As I was getting in my car I remembered my promise – that I would look up Andrew and find out what he was the patron of.  I hadn’t done it. I had to walk back into my office and turn my computer back on…no smart phones then. The computer needed to warm back up and then connect to the internet.  It required patience, which I was desperately lacking. I was worried I would be late to the appointment and still terrified every day that she would change her mind about the adoption. I didn’t want to do anything wrong. I was a mess. When I saw what the computer said however, I was not only smiling but washed with peace.

Andrew is the patron of women who wish to be mothers! (He is also the patron of old maids – so I joke that I was covered either way).

I hated the very first psychology class I took in college.  Never took another one. I still don’t have that doctorate.  I’m not married.  For medical reasons I can’t get pregnant.  Andrew doesn’t like to play sports, and when he does he isn’t very good – put a bat in his hands and he will swing at anything. I can’t seem to find time for the PTA and my neighborhood association doesn’t even allow fences!  My life clearly did not turn out as I planned – not even close.  It turned out better. 

So, my dear Andrew, try to relax and not worry so much about the future. Make your plans and think about what you want to be and what you want to do with your life, but be prepared that it may not turn out that way.  It certainly won’t if you keep swinging at all of the curve balls that get thrown at you.  So keep swinging.  You won’t hit them all, but occasionally you will make contact.  Don’t be afraid when you do.  Instead just enjoy it, smile, and run.  You probably won’t have the perfect life you planned.  But you will have the life that is perfect for you.