The girl scrolled through a cache of images. She saw me dancing with a sword on my head, diving from the stage to crowd-surf in Berlin, standing outside the soaring white walls and windows of Paisley Park, and walking a gauntlet of paparazzi with Prince in happier days. There was cryptic news coverage of our lost child, blunt reports of our divorce, snarky blog posts about the reality show, and a Realtor’s desperate sales pitch for the rambling mansion in Spain.
The girl went to my website and saw my tattoos, my dogs, my dog rescue mission, and more dancing. She clicked on the Contact tab and filled out the form, typing rapidly with her thumbs:
This will touch your heart and change your life…
Mayte I had a baby that ended up with father offering to pay abortion I am Mexican he is White he said I would be on my own if I didnt get abortion I agreed to figure it on my own and would rather pray to God to let me cross roads with someone who can adopt her she is now a 9 month old girl she is mixed with ginger strawberry blond hair and i dont want to be a Mom on welfare something about you touched my heart that u would be the right person to adopt her u can see pics of her on my instagram you can email me
When I saw this message, my initial reaction was a sharp flash of skeptical irritation. This was someone pranking me in a very cruel way. The worst possible way. It couldn’t be real, I told myself. Babies don’t just drop out of Heaven into your arms. That’s not how it works—as I had recently learned, sitting through many hours of a seminar, being told how the adoption of a healthy baby could be difficult, expensive, potentially heartbreaking, and often impossible. If this was real, it would be… it would be like two souls recognizing each other from opposite sides of the universe, simply because they were meant to be together.
How could a sensible person put her faith in something as unlikely as that?
I called my friend Diane for a reality check. “I know this sounds crazy, but I’m forwarding this message to you. It can’t be real… can it?”
“Probably not,” she said, “but let me call her and see what I can find out.”
I sat there, clinging to Boogie for support, waiting for what seemed like hours. Diane finally called me back. She’d had a long conversation with the girl.
“She’s legit,” said Diane. “Her counselor has been trying to help her connect with a family. At the very least, you should think about meeting her.”
Still feeling very cautious, I messaged the girl on Twitter, and we began a long conversation. She told me how she’d been struggling to provide and care for Gia, how she’d prayed for the right family to come along—a family that spoke Spanish and English so Gia would grow up knowing both.
When I asked the baby’s age, she messaged:
Gia was born November 12, 2011
“Oh!”
Boogie looked up when she heard me cry out. I had to push my hand against my chest and breathe for a minute before I replied:
That’s my birthday!
A moment later, she sent me a picture of Gia. I clicked on the attachment and started to cry.
I was looking at the most beautiful girl in the world.
There was a process, of course, and I made sure that it was all done by the book, just as I’d learned in that adoption seminar. I didn’t want any mistakes to be made, so I was determined to stick to the protocol outlined by the caseworker, but the first time I brought Gia home for a visit, I couldn’t bear to part with her when the time came. When I called to ask her birth mother if we could extend the visit a few more days, the girl knocked the floor out from under me.
“I’ve said good-bye,” she told me. “I can’t say it again. I need you to keep her.”
“What? But that’s—Is that even—I’m not sure we can do that.”
“It’s done.”
She left me staring at the phone with baby Gia on my hip, smiling up at me with her angelic smile as if she knew already that there’s nothing more terrifying than getting the one thing you’ve always wanted. I didn’t know what I’d have to do next, but I knew I didn’t want to miss out on another minute of my daughter’s life. I knew that this and all the cascading challenges of motherhood were now mine to figure out and push through. I would figure this out and make it happen, and for the rest of my life, I would have this baby girl’s back the way Mama always had mine.
And I wouldn’t have to do it alone. Mama took on grandmotherhood with her usual energy. Aunties Jan and Myra were enthusiastically on board. My friend Dave, aka Uncle Dave, was always there for us when we needed a hand. Gia immediately had him wrapped around her little finger, and to this day, this tough-talking Jersey guy gets misty-eyed with emotion whenever he talks about her.