If you asked most women to recall the day they became a mother, their stories would probably begin in a hospital room. Maybe it would start with the sudden shock of their water breaking, or with the anxious night before a scheduled induction or c-section, tossing and turning, unable to sleep. Many imagine a room full of family and friends, the husband by their side, hand tightly held through every contraction, waiting to meet their newest family member.
I often wondered how it would be for me. Would I need a c-section, or would I deliver naturally? Would my water break on its own, or would I be induced? I pictured that moment perfectly: a quiet hospital room, my husband’s hand in mine, our families waiting just outside, ready to welcome our baby.
But life, as it often does, had a different plan for me. I became a mom—not in a hospital room, but in a courtroom.
Much like in my vision, my husband was right there by my side. Our closest friends and family surrounded us, sharing the rush of emotions that swirled around me. What I hadn’t imagined was waiting with anxious anticipation for a judge to sign an order that would officially make me a mom—and our son a permanent member of our family. I didn’t imagine that I had already loved and known this baby for thirteen months before the world would recognize me as his mom. I didn’t envision holding him on my hip the very moment the papers were signed. And I certainly didn’t think I’d be choosing an “adoption day outfit” instead of a “coming home from the hospital outfit.”
The morning of that day was filled with excitement. Our family woke bright and early, dressed in our Sunday best, ready to celebrate. True to form, we ran late. I was carrying a baby in heels, rushing to park at the far end of the lot, while somehow losing the ‘P’ from our letterboard announcing his name along the way. Small details, insignificant in the grand scheme—but like forgetting the perfect pair of baby pajamas for a hospital birth, I let it stress me out anyway. And yet, just like those pajamas, it didn’t matter in the end.
When we entered the courthouse, it was a place we had visited many times over the past year for our son’s case. This time, however, it felt different. This time, we were here to close a chapter we had fervently prayed over, to finalize a dream we had long held in our hearts. Walking down the hall to the second floor, I was in awe of the decorations. From floor to ceiling, our friends and family had transformed the space. A large sign declared, “Our Next Story,” perfectly complementing the Toy Story theme. I couldn’t stop thinking: Our next story, “The Plunketts—party of 4.” My heart swelled with overwhelming joy.
Even the missing letterboard ‘P’ had a happy ending—my dad returned to the car to retrieve it, proving that sometimes, life doesn’t go exactly as planned, but it always works out in the end. Big moments, small moments—they all carry meaning.
Inside the courtroom, twelve other families waited, each buzzing with the same excitement, many wearing matching shirts or holding signs to celebrate their own special days. The judge entered, dressed as Woody from Toy Story, bringing smiles to everyone in the room.
As our case was called, I stood before the judge, the attorney asking a series of solemn questions. “You understand this is a permanent proceeding, and he will be yours and Jonathan’s as if he were born to you?” I could no longer hold back the tears. While Ian had not been born to me, the bond we shared already felt lifelong. I had loved him since before I met him, prayed for him, and cherished every moment, from videos of his first cry to the ultrasound photos graciously shared by his birth mother. I felt honored that she trusted me with these precious memories.
That day was nothing like the visions of motherhood I had as a young girl, yet it felt exactly like what I had imagined becoming a mom would feel like: stress, nervousness, excitement, joy—all wrapped into one perfect, overwhelming moment.
Some might say I became a mom the day Ian came into my life, and in many ways, that’s true. But until the adoption was finalized, I was only his foster mom. His birth mother, a beautiful soul, still held her place in his life and my heart. And then, in an unforgettable moment of grace, she said, “No Jessica, YOU are his mom. God had different plans for him, and I only carried him.” To hear that acknowledgment from the person who first held the title of “mom” completely shifted my world.
Finally, the judge smiled and announced, “It is my honor and privilege to introduce, Ian Lane Plunkett,” and the courtroom erupted in cheers.
That day, on National Adoption Day, I became a mom. Not in a hospital, not with a newborn outfit, but in a courthouse, surrounded by love, laughter, and tears. It will forever remain etched in my heart as one of the most joyous days of my life—the day my son became truly, officially mine.
