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For years, every time I saw a news feature on parents who had fostered or adopted a special needs child, I felt shallow. I felt like a failure as a human being that I couldn't be one of "those kind of parents." Don't get me wrong - I wanted to, truly I did. Somehow, though, I couldn't bring myself to imagine choosing to adopt a child who faced medical, physical or developmental challenges. "It would be too heartbreaking," I thought.

Adoption, for me, had always been a goal. From the time I was old enough to imagine my future wedding, I always told my friends, "I'm going to have two babies and adopt one, because so many children need good homes." In my youthful enthusiasm, I imagined picking a child up (like a homeless puppy), taking the tiny bundle home, feeding it and bathing it in all its wee baby perfection. Of course, in my childhood heart of hearts, babies never cried if they were loved enough and never got sick if they were fed the most nutritious foods - I simply had no frame of reference. I imagined my three easygoing, content, perfect children growing up effortlessly, becoming well-adjusted adults and world leaders. That fantasy lasted until the precise moment I gave birth.

My first marriage blessed me with my son. A divorce, new marriage (to a man who'd had a vasectomy) and a bout with cervical cancer later, I realized that I would never carry another child to term. Remarkably, I felt peace about that reality. We'd adopt!

Many people in my life, including friends, co-workers and relatives, chose adoption and I felt it was perhaps the noblest decision a parent could make. My husband and I looked to private adoption, only to be discouraged by the uncertainty and seemingly endless waiting associated with the process.

"There are so many special needs children who need homes," a friend advised me - and therein lay my personal struggle. Certainly, if I could conceive and carry my own child, the risk of having a baby with special needs existed, but would I choose it? Would I intentionally choose to face the challenge of raising a child who faced any number of difficulties? Could I be the type of parent who bravely faces medical issues or learning disabilities and fights to be an advocate for her child? Sadly, I couldn't answer that question definitively, and it made me feel superficial.

Lydia* was placed with us by Washington State's Department of Children and Family Services in April 2006. At seven months old, we knew that she had suffered neglect and abuse

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