It’s a snark-free post this time. I promise it won’t happen too often. I don’t want to ruin my reputation.
But Friday, 11/11/11 is a big day in my family. It’s Adoption Day. Our 20th.
You see, on November 11, 1991, my husband John and I adopted our son, Jacob. He was 3-1/2 months old at the time. Jacob was born in Chile, and John and I literally traveled to the end of the earth to turn a happy couple into a happier three-some. It was on 11/11 when the Chilean court approved us and said, yes, Elyse and John, “You’re Parents!”
For years, I’ve told Jacob that I knew something was up with that number. As a teenager, I was fixated on 11:11. I got a clock radio for my 16th birthday – it was an old-fashioned “digital” clock, with numbers that literally flipped on a carousel. Every night I waited until 11:11 before I could go to sleep, no matter how tired I was. I’ve always told Jacob that, even though I didn’t know what it meant then, well, my heart obviously knew that 11:11 meant something. Something big.
But I didn’t know just how big or just how wonderful.
Because 11/11 = Jacob. Our son, my baby, our boy, our young man. Our hilariously funny, nutty, astute guy. Our pride and joy. Jacob, you continue to delight, amuse and inspire us. We love you, Peanut.
And don’t worry, Kiddo. Nobody you know reads this blog!