If you asked most women to recall the day they became a mother, their story would probably begin in a hospital room. They might describe the moment their water broke unexpectedly, or the anxious anticipation of a scheduled induction or c-section. Perhaps they stayed awake the night before, nerves keeping them from sleep, imagining what the day would bring.
I often wondered—would I need a c-section, or could I deliver naturally with my first child? Would my water break spontaneously, or would I be induced? I pictured myself in a hospital room, my husband by my side, holding my hand tightly with every contraction. I imagined our family and friends waiting in the lobby, eyes bright with excitement, ready to meet the newest member of our family.
This was the vision I carried for years—the day I would become a mom. But my day of becoming a mother didn’t happen in a hospital. It happened in a courtroom.
Much like my childhood dreams, my husband was right there with me, steadfast and supportive. Friends and family surrounded us, their love and excitement wrapping around me like a warm embrace. What I hadn’t imagined was waiting in anxious anticipation for a judge to sign an order declaring me the official mom of my son—a boy I had already loved and known for thirteen months. I hadn’t imagined holding him on my hip at the very moment he became mine, choosing “adoption day outfits” instead of “newborn coming home outfits.”
The morning of our big day, our family woke buzzing with excitement. We dressed in our Sunday best and headed to the courthouse. True to form, we were running late—because we wouldn’t be us if we weren’t running late. I carried my baby in heels, rushing across the parking lot, only to realize the “P” from our letterboard announcing his name had gone missing somewhere between the car and the security line. Small, silly mishaps in the grand scheme of things—but, of course, I let it stress me. After all, forgetting a pair of matching pajamas for a newborn might feel monumental, even if it truly isn’t. So “P” or no “P,” we moved forward.
Walking into the courthouse, the atmosphere was electric. We had been there before for hearings about our son’s case, but this time felt entirely different. This time, we were there to close a chapter we had prayed over for a year. As we walked down the hall on the second floor, I was greeted by decorations from floor to ceiling. Our family and friends were waiting beneath a large sign that read, “Our Next Story,” perfectly matching the Toy Story theme. My heart swelled with joy as I thought, Our next story—The Plunketts, party of four.
Wouldn’t you know it, my dad had gone back to the car just to find the missing “P.” Life rarely goes perfectly, but I’ve learned that even the little mishaps—like losing a single letter—are part of the story.
Inside the courtroom, twelve other families waited, each celebrating in their own way. Matching shirts, letterboards, and signs marked their joy. The judge, dressed as Woody, entered to officially begin the proceedings.
When our case was called, I stood before the judge as the attorney asked questions: “Do you understand this is a permanent proceeding and that he will be yours and Jonathan’s as if he were born to you?” At that moment, the tears I had held back for so long came freely. I rarely think about Ian not being born to me—not that I don’t think of his birth mother, because I do. But the bond we share feels timeless, as though I’ve known him from the very beginning.
I had loved Ian before meeting him. I had prayed for a child, and God answered my prayer in the most beautiful way. His birth mother entrusted me with some of the most intimate moments of his earliest days—the video of his first cry, his birth photos, ultrasound pictures—and I am forever grateful for her generosity and trust.
My day as a mom may not have matched the childhood vision I once held, but it captured everything I had ever imagined motherhood would feel like: stress, nervousness, joy, excitement—all wrapped together in one perfect, overwhelming moment.
Ian may not have heard my heartbeat in the womb for nine months, but he has heard it on my chest every day since he was three days old. Some might say I became a mom the moment he entered my life, but legally, I was only his foster mom until that day. His birth mother is still his first mom, and always will be. But something shifted during our adoption journey when she said to me, “No, Jessica, YOU are his mom. God had different plans for him, and I only carried him.” Her recognition of me as his mother changed my world in an instant. To be acknowledged and embraced by the person who first held him was the greatest gift.
Finally, the judge spoke words that will forever echo in my heart: “It is my honor and privilege to introduce, Ian Lane Plunkett.” The courtroom erupted in applause and cheers.
That day—National Adoption Day—will always be etched in my heart as one of the most incredible days of my life. I became a mom. In a courtroom. In front of a judge. And surrounded by love that carried me through every single step.
