By Nicole

Two years ago, Gary and I stood in a formal courtroom in front of a stern but kind Russian judge. I'll never forget the formality of the courtroom, the lighting, the faces of the facilitators and baby home employees. They've been etched into my body's RNA.

We stood shoulder to shoulder, clasping our sweaty hands together, and promised that if that judge (a mother herself?) granted us the right to adopt our two new children, we would take "good care" of them. We promised to "treat them as if they were our biological children" and professed to love them deeply. Adelina and Nicolai were, respectively, 6 and 8 months old.

We had only met them 10 weeks earlier. We had never parented before—what did we know about loving them? Of course we thought they were the sweetest and cutest kids in all of Russia, and the maternal/paternal instinct surely came into play right away, but we were all strangers. Yet when we arrived back at our hotel room later that evening with two new babies in tow, our lives changed forever—and in an instant we became a family.

Fast forward to today. It has been two years since I slept in, exercised with any regularity, completed a full sentence on a telephone call or simply lived a selfish life.

It has also been two years of learning how completely you can love. That biology has nothing to do with becoming a mommy or daddy. That people are honest when they say it just doesn't matter how you become a family.

I have learned how to be patient, how to be consistent, how to be firm but warm, and how to cook a full dinner in less than 10 minutes when hungry toddlers are demanding to be fed. I have learned to take joy in watching these tiny babies become little people, complete with huge attitudes, individual identities and personalities that seemed to just pop up when I wasn't looking (or maybe I was too busy changing diapers!).

I look at our two toddlers with an amazing sense of love—and occasional frustration (let's be realistic, they are 2½!) It actually pangs me to think of the joy and heartbreak they will experience in life as they grow up and venture out into the world. I wish I could freeze them at this age and protect them from any hurt that is coming their way.

I actually get tears in my eyes when looking at their referral photos now. It is not out of sadness, it is out of respect for the unbelievable amount of love I now bear them—as love I could not have understood two years ago. It is for the promise to that Russian judge that seemed so appropriate at the time, but had not yet developed full meaning. It is for all the joy and heartache that will inevitably come our way as a family, and for the thankfulness in my heart for being able to experience children.

By Pam Bilodeau

In 1995, after three years of fertility treatments, researching adoption and institution issues, and investigating many adoption agencies, my husband and I finally made our decision: We wanted WACAP to help us adopt a boy from the Russian Far East.

Eventually, we adopted two: one-year-old Alexander in July 1996, and eight-month-old Ethan in February 1999, both from Baby Hospital No. 3 in Vladivostok.

The first time, we endured a long wait. Just as we completed our application process in December 1995, Russia closed down international adoptions. WACAP connected us with other waiting Wisconsin families. What a joy to share the waiting with someone in the same boat! Russian adoptions soon reopened, and within two weeks, we received our referral of five-month-old Alexander. I can’t tell you how many times I watched our child’s videos and stared at his photos!

In July 1996, we traveled to Vladivostok with four other WACAP families. Holding Alexander for the first time was indescribable. I was overcome with emotion. Alexander was (and still is!) so beautiful, even though he was slightly malnourished, with pasty, almost translucent skin. He had the biggest, brightest and most beautiful blue eyes I’d ever seen. For one of the few times in my life, I was actually speechless. Alexander quickly bonded to Joe, who was thrilled to hold his first son!

Our second adoption was filled with excitement, confidence and joy. When the Baby Hospital doctor saw me, she smiled, ran into a nearby room and brought out our little Ethan. My eyes met Ethan’s and his little face lit up. As I held him, I was awed at how tiny he was, but also saw that he was much healthier than Alexander. Financial donations to WACAP’s Russia Milk Fund, providing baby cereal and formula to the orphanage, had made the difference.

Once home, both boys had attachment issues, which we expected, but after working on bonding activities for about 10 months, they became very secure and attached to us.

I can’t say enough positive things about my experience with WACAP, nor thank them enough for bringing our boys to us, and for the wonderful friendships we’ve made with other families. Some of us still get together once a year. It’s amazing to watch our children grow up.

Our journey has taken us from the uncertainty of fertility treatments to the absolute of adoption. We have survived voluminous paperwork, home studies, criminal checks, a myriad of emotions and traveling around the world to arrive at that special moment when we became a forever family. As I tuck them into bed every night, I thank God for bringing these loving, beautiful boys into our lives. Do we have any regrets about our adoptions? Absolutely not! Would we adopt again if we had the finances and more room in our home? In a heartbeat!

Thank you WACAP for bringing our sons to us!

The Dalgardno family almost doubled in size when Wayne and Karen adopted five Russian siblings to join their four birth children. From left: dad Wayne, Katya, Nicholas, Annamarie (piggyback), Stas, Sasha (Hawaiian shirt), Nicholas, mom Karen, Natasha, Amanda and Masha. Read their story in the Seattle Times.