For the first time in my life, I was sitting inside a courtroom at thirty-three years old. I wasn’t there to defend myself from a traffic ticket or other driving infraction. I was in Family Court, the court where family addition dreams are made official. 

I had been orphaned since my early teens, leaving me without family or anyone legally in charge or otherwise responsible for my whereabouts or well-being. But today, that would change. If all went smoothly, in a few hours, I would officially have a legal mother, one of my own choosing. We had planned a “baby shower” party with just a few close friends later in the day. I was looking forward to leaving the courtroom and starting the celebration.

Most adoptions are between strangers, excited parents willing to love a child regardless of their birth circumstances, but I had known my mother-to-be for many years. It had been a lucky meeting for both of us. We had grown very close. Often, we stumbled at awkward introductions, using first names instead. She wasn’t my mother, and I wasn’t her daughter, even though it appeared otherwise. Today, that awkwardness would end.

We shared lots of interests. We loved the same books and TV shows. We liked shopping at the same stores. Simple things. We laughed a lot together and cried too. At Christmas, when opening presents, we weren’t surprised to discover we had each bought the other the same gift. We both knew this was a connection meant to be.

When I gave birth to my son, she officially became his “Grandy.” A name she picked for the occasion. They became very close as well. Talking into the wee hours one night, we realized that she would have no legal rights or input regarding my son if anything happened to me. She called a girlfriend lawyer who gave her the easy solution. “Adopt her,” she said. “Legally become her mother.” We started the process. Lots of paperwork and document filing were required. But the hours of preparation brought us to this day and this courtroom. 

The surroundings were not like a TV courtroom, a windowless room with guards by the door. This courtroom was designed with large windows on three sides. And the morning sun was streaming in. Instead of a guard by the door, a table with an assortment of children’s books, plus crayons and paper, was set out for all to enjoy. The courtroom was filled with couples of all types and ages, entertaining and coddling infants and toddlers. It was more like a crowded daycare center than a courtroom.

There was a measurable level of joy felt in the room. It put a smile on my face, helping to calm the nervous butterflies in my stomach. We looked around and took the only empty seats available, second row from the back. I could see on the information screen that our scheduled appearance time was in 75 minutes. I wondered if the court and the powers would approve our adoption papers or find something that still needed further investigation.

The nameplate on the judge's desk read: Daphne Danelle, Judge of the District Family Court. It wasn’t a bench raised high up like we see on TV, simply a long rectangular desk that would put people sitting across the judge at the same eye level. My nervous energy kept me keenly aware of the time and wondering what would happen next.

At precisely 9 AM, Judge Danelle walked in, took her place behind her desk, and started reviewing the stacked papers before her. She was maybe forty, with shoulder-length blonde hair, and just the right amount of makeup applied to look pretty and approachable. I don’t think anyone else noticed her arrival in the room. There were at least two dozen adults busy with their new family members, and keeping them happy and entertained was a full-time endeavor.
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My eyes were now glued to the judge. Even though I was excited about today’s outcome, being stuck in an unfamiliar process was unnerving. But I was an eager learner. It took only minutes before Judge Danelle called the first case. I couldn’t hear exactly what the Judge was saying to the couple, but what I noticed was that the judge never cracked a smile. It wasn't that she had a scowl on her face or a negative attitude; rather, directly in front of her was a cute little toddler working hard to grab something off her desk, and the judge did not react.

The adult in charge of the toddler produced a small squeak toy to draw attention away from the judge’s desk and the papers at hand. It was not the best toy choice since the squeaking sound was loud and got the attention of many little ones in the room, who all responded with gleeful babble and excited screams. Judge Danelle didn’t blink or miss a beat, never wavering in her approach to the business at hand. She was not getting sidetracked by cuteness.

It was just a few minutes of verbal exchange while documents were reviewed, and then Judge Danelle formalized everything with her signature. And that was it. The adoption process was completed with paperwork signed and sealed. There were no personal questions about the how or why of the adoption. No need to reveal the emotional journey the parents had been on to this point. It was becoming clear that this was the last checkpoint for paperwork and nothing else. I was relieved. I was ready. The next appointment was called.

I distracted my nerves by watching the interaction of adults trying to get babies and toddlers to behave a certain way that would suit a courthouse environment. The sounds of rattles and squeaky toys were this courtroom's soundtrack, with giggles and laughter mixed into it all. But Judge Danelle never smiled or wavered from her professional persona, no matter how cute, loud, or out of control the child before her became. Impressive.

Our case number was called. It was finally our turn. My turn to officially be a daughter, to be able to call someone Mom. I wondered whether my legs would move and if I could walk the few yards to the desk where the judge was waiting. But my mom-to-be was there to pull me along like a small child, and I quickly found myself at the desk looking right at Judge Danelle. Two adults in front of Judge Danelle, me, and my mom-to-be. The judge proceeded as normal. Nothing different to see here. Just an adult getting adopted. My mom-to-be and I found each other’s hands. We held them out of sight while the judge started to read what she had already spoken at least half a dozen times that morning.

“We are here today to formalize the process of the listed party written within, to proceed with being adopted….”

My brain took a bullet ride to the past after hearing her say the word “adopted.” It went back to the first time I heard the word, like a movie of my life being rewound. I was eight years old and playing outside on a newly mowed hill with my friend Lynn. Lynn was one of those kids who stood out and shined no matter what she did. She was good at everything in school. She was the first to raise her hand in class, eager to answer a question and give her opinion. She was always picked first for any team sport. You were sure to win with her on your side. I was fascinated by her confidence and abilities.

During one playdate, she randomly yelled out to me from the top of the hill, “I’m adopted. Do you know what adopted means?”

I answered, “No.”

She proceeded to tell me what it meant.

She said, “My mom went to the hospital and got to pick out the best baby there to take home, and it was me.”

Lynn ran happily off to another place in the field. I took in this new information. I was physically abused at home. My mother beat me regularly. It was never for any wrongdoing on my part. It was always unexpected and confusing as to why I received this treatment. Now, Lynn had given me some understanding. My mother had not been allowed to pick out the best baby in the hospital. She had to take me home. That explanation served me well for many of my young years, as pathetic as that sounds. I was clear I just needed to get “better.” To shine like Lynn.

A toddler’s shriek jolted me back to the present moment. My new mother and the judge finished signing papers, exchanging copies back and forth across the desk. A short stack of papers and a new birth certificate were passed across to me. I read only the important part. My mother’s name. It was officially stamped and signed with Judge Danelle’s signature. My eyes were still glued straight ahead on Judge Danelle, providing a focal point that kept me from getting dizzy as my brain spun from the morning's experience. She wished us the best of luck with the adoption.

And then it happened. She smiled. The judge, who never once that morning broke her professional demeanor, smiled. Not a big, proud “bright white teeth showing” smile. Just a quick little sweet smile. It went straight to my heart. Like she knew. Today I got to shine.