I just had to pause tonight to write a little about our son Wes. It’s because I’ve been following the adoption journey of a local family who is preparing to bring home a three-year-old girl with Down syndrome from Eastern Europe.

They just returned home from their first of three(?) visits that they’re required to make, visiting the girl in her orphanage, before the adoption can officially take place. They’re scheduled to bring her home in August.

Every time I read their updates online I am so touched by their experiences: what struggles they’ve had making the decision to adopt (especially since this is their SECOND time adopting like this); how they’ve been touched by the amazing love and personality of their almost-daughter that they’ve only just met; and their realization that if they didn’t provide this little girl a better home her life would be far different, spent in an institution for disabled starting the day she turns four years old (which is in September this year).

I love the organization that helps get the ball rolling on these overseas adoptions of kids with special needs, especially Down syndrome. It’s called Reece’s Rainbow. Take a look.

I just find myself really thinking about what it means to have my son Wesley.

I can’t understand why so many parents give up their kids when they discover he or she has a condition like Down syndrome. Just. Don’t. Understand. AT ALL. Whether it’s up for adoption, or abortion, it makes me a little (a lot) crazy to try to comprehend this. I know much of it is born from lack of education and understanding, and perhaps some lack of compassion.

Nonetheless, I can’t wrap my head around why these moms (and dads) do not see their child as a PERSON. A whole, unique, WONDERFUL person. They’re not looking ahead two years when their son takes his first steps. They don’t know how excited they’ll be to see that. They are not thinking about how much fun it will be to tickle their child and make him giggle uncontrollably, or how awesome it will be to hear him say his first words, or to learn a new skill. They discount all these amazing accomplishments, and their part in them, when they give their child away.

I didn’t adopt Wes. He was a gift. He only cost me 36 weeks of pregnancy, eight hours of labor, and about $20,000 in hospital bills (although not really because that was back when we actually had good insurance. Thankfully).

I didn’t know he was coming as packaged, but I’m so glad he did. He is Wes. My Wesley.

We have a daughter, Carissa, who is no less amazing and wonderful. She is so fun and makes me smile every day. She is a doll. I’m just as grateful to have her.

It’s just that when I read stories like the ones from this family adopting a girl like Wes from the other side of the world, and I hear what the living conditions are like, I can’t help but put Wes in her place and wonder what it would be like if he hadn’t come straight to us.

I think about Wes living without a mom and dad to love him, and for him to love. I think about him turning four, or five, or six (depending on the country) and being sent to live in an institution for mentally disabled people. All by himself. No family. No home. No school. No church. My heart breaks to think of all that he would miss out on and never know. It aches to think of him not having a mom and dad to love him, to tickle him, to play with him, to feed and clothe him. It hurts to think of him receiving an ounce less love and appreciation than he deserves. To think of him growing up in a place like a mental institution where people are considered less than they really are. Yet there are so many kids that live this life.

Here’s a video from ABC News with Diane Sawyer about a different local family who last year adopted a little girl with Down syndrome from Ukraine. Can you picture Wes there?

I know things happen in the world that we’re not able to understand, that God understands, and maybe someday I’ll understand too. I’m just so glad that Wes is here, home, with us. Happy, healthy, growing, learning, developing new loves and talents and skills nearly daily.

Today I was tickling him and thinking that there is nothing better than his smile. I love to make him laugh.

Lately he has been becoming the expert pray-er in our house. Here’s a sample of his praying skills. (I should have wiped his nose first; sorry.)

Rough translation:

Dear Heavenly Father,
(Thank you for the) food today.
(Please bless) Mom, and Dad, Wesley, Carissa, Mommy, Gramma, Grampa, cousins, and Mommy.

In the name of Jesus Christ,
Amen

Wes and Carissa painting.

So capable. So wonderful. So full of everything good and glorious. So glad he’s here.

We crashed around 6:30 pm the day we arrived in London, England. We were all dead tired. Our hotel room was set up for families with two bedrooms. We slept in one and the kids in the other.

Carissa woke up a few times, crying, and I went in to check on her around 9:30 and 10 pm. I last remember looking at my watch at 9:53 pm and seeing Wes asleep on the single bed when I looked in at Carissa in her crib.

At 12:30 am or so Carissa woke again, and when I checked her I thought she needed a diaper change. I pulled off her pants and turned to find a diaper. And that’s when I saw that Wesley’s bed was empty.

I didn’t have my contacts in and couldn’t see well in the dark, so I ran to the other room, got my glasses, came back and flipped on the light. I looked under the beds, everywhere, and he was nowhere. I started to panic.

I woke up John and he got dressed while I called the reception desk. I reported Wesley missing. I gave them his description and they told me they’d search the hotel. Meanwhile, John headed out to look and he asked me to do one more, thorough search of our room. I did, which included the balcony outside, but he definitely wasn’t in the room. And, thankfully, the balcony was the kind with solid cement walls that wouldn’t be easy for him to fall off of if he ended up out there (which he could have, because the balcony door DIDN’T HAVE A LOCK, and it was located in the room with two single beds–obviously meant for kids).

The London Hilton Docklands is an old, historic building with a weird layout. We were on the fourth floor near the elevator. You come up the elevator and you can choose to go straight through two heavy fire doors that lead to our room and two others, or you can turn right or left through glass doors that lead to other corridors and other rooms. All the rooms wrap around a big courtyard in the middle. It’s kind of a maze, typical of such an old building.

John went down the elevator to look for Wes. We’d only ever gone up and down the elevator, and Wes likes pushing the buttons, so it would make sense for him to try it. Although if he used the elevator, who knows which floor he’d get off on?

I wrapped Carissa in my cardigan (she still didn’t have on pants, and it was chilly outside) and I knocked on our neighbors’ doors. I’m sure they didn’t appreciate this at nearly 1 in the morning, but I did it anyway. Then I went through the glass door that leads down one corridor near the elevator, calling Wesley’s name.

I can’t even describe the fear, panic, and heartbreak I felt. I’ve never panicked like I did then. I’ve never worried like I did then. Anyone who knows Wes and our family knows that we have concerns about him wandering off and losing him. He’s just prone to it. A lot of people with Down syndrome are. I couldn’t believe my worst fear was happening.

What if he was hurt, or lost, or scared? What if someone had taken him and was hurting him? My heart broke at the thought. He is my precious, precious boy. I prayed a lot.

I started down one of the corridors leading away from the elevator, but I was doubtful he actually went that way. We had never pushed through those glass doors, and I thought he wouldn’t even notice them. I didn’t stay there long and decided to head down the elevator as well to continue looking.

The doors opened to the first floor and I instantly met the night manager, talking on his intercom. He was simultaneously speaking into the intercom while trying to tell me something, and he wasn’t doing a good job doing both. He said to me, “My colleague is–” and then he went back to the intercom: “You’re outside the room?” I just wanted him to spit it out, because obviously it was about Wes.

He finally told me that his colleague had located Wes, and that he was OK. I think I’ll leave out the part where I broke down into sobs of relief when he said this. We got into the elevator together and went back up to the room.

There was the hotel employee walking toward us, carrying Wes. He handed Wes to me and I hugged him. I think it upset Wes that I was crying, but I really could not help it. He was completely fine and safe. The employee had found him wandering around one of the corridors on our floor, so he had indeed pushed through one of the glass doors and found his way out. I don’t know how long he had been gone, but he wasn’t notably cold.

John, Carissa, Wes, and I returned to our room. We decided Wes had woken up, gotten out of bed and, not being familiar with the hotel room or where we were sleeping, headed out the door. We were so dead tired and deeply asleep that we just didn’t hear him.

How did he get out of a locked hotel door? The deadbolt on the door WAS BROKEN. We didn’t notice this when we had locked it earlier that evening.

So, how to get back to sleep at 2:30 in the morning when you don’t want to leave your kid unattended in his bed? You build barricades.

We became really adept at this at every hotel we stayed in over the course of our trip.

First thing in the morning we called maintenance and told them to come up and install a new deadbolt, which they did.

This really shook us up. We always try to keep track of our kids (what parent doesn’t?), but our anxiety and carefulness was definitely heightened.

In fact, when we returned home and walked into our own house, one of the first things Wes did was go downstairs to the basement to play with his toys that he missed. As soon as he was out of eyesight and gripping distance I felt anxious. I mentioned this to John, and he said he felt it too. We were just so used to making sure we always knew where he was and exactly what he was doing, but we had to tell ourselves it was OK for him to play in the safety of our own home again.

Never, NEVER want to go through that again.

On to day two in London.

Brother and sister…

Eating bacon together on the counter.

Eating applesauce in front of the TV.

Playing with umbrellas.

Looking out the window together.

And even wearing the same hair clips.

Wes loves to play with balls. He loves shooting baskets, playing catch, hitting the softball, etc. And he’s a really good shot.

Carissa’s favorite new toy is this play house. It comes with a mommy, daddy, and baby that she loves to play with. Someone gave it to Wes when he was about her age now (20 months) but he was never into it. Good thing we kept it! Wes will try to play with it alongside her, but she gets mad at him because he doesn’t do it right.

Carissa’s crazy hair.

Wesley.

I caved and bought the kids sunglasses for the summer. His are Thomas and I think hers are Hello Kitty.

I was trying to get Carissa to show me her tummy for the camera. Wes helped.

Carissa’s terrific artistic skills don’t just stop with paper and pen.