Finding Fulton: 4 Years

My baby is 4 years old. It's hard to believe 4 years have gone by.

4 years since I got a phone call at work, telling us we were matched. A baby due next week, a boy. He's Nigerian.

4 years since I went back to my office and Google image searched Nigerians. Oh, the marathon runners. That sounds good. We can do that.

4 years since Jason and I worried about so many things. Was this our son? Could we afford it? Could we be gone for the at least 2 weeks to go get him?

4 years since the answer was of course, yes.

4 years since the agency says come now, he will be born tomorrow. Our friends and families came together, cleaning our house, folding clothes, helping us pack, and taking care of Gabe and Dexter.

4 years since we were off. We drove all night with no clue where we were going, following the GPS to Maryland, to the suburbs of our nation's capitol.

4 years since we held hands walking quietly into the hospital to meet the brave, brave girl who had carried this baby for 9 months and would soon make the decision to let him go.

4 years since Jason and I sat nervously in the waiting room. I was not the nurse. I was not the girl in labor. The role reversal was really, really tough.

4 years since we saw him for the first time. Screaming at the nurse giving him his bath. Head full of black curls. It was love at first sight, but in a guard your heart sort of way. Hoping for the best, trying to prepare yourself for the possibility of the worst.

But to hold back isn't really possible. Because look at this face. He may not look like what a Fulton had ever looked like before, but we couldn't imagine anyone ever having looked more like our son.

4 years since we got to call Mam & Bamp, Nanny & PaPa, YaYa, Bubba, Jon & Meredith, and Todd. Telling them we have a son.
Quincy Todd Oluwatise Fulton.

4 years since Nanny bravely flew with Gabe and Dexter to meet her newest grandson and to let Gabe and Dex meet their baby brother.

4 years since Jason and I had lots of time on our hands, so we took Quincy to The Smithsonian.

4 years since we could breathe easy, the courts had approved what our hearts already knew. Quincy was our son.

4 years since Mam flew across the county to meet him. She stayed with me the rest of the time.

4 years since we hung out at our hotel, shopped, toured botanical gardens, and waited for Maryland to say we could legally leave and Illinois to say we could legally enter. Those were the longest 19 days of my life.