“Please join us for a picnic,” the e-mail said. “This will be a wonderful opportunity to connect with others who have adopted, or are in the process of adopting internationally.” I marked the date on the calendar and told my husband we were going.

We had signed on with an agency and were halfway done with our dossier, but what I needed at this point—even more than I needed help with forms and notarizations—was confirmation that we were doing the right thing. Nobody in my family had ever adopted, and I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to raise an adopted child. Part of me still worried that I would never feel like a “real” mom.

The Proof I Needed

On the day of the picnic, my husband and I climbed into our Jeep with a tray of homemade cookies and made our way to the park. When we arrived, we saw our social worker and other officials from our agency. Several cars had pulled into the lot, and a dozen excited children were climbing out of them and running toward the play yard.

Over the next half-hour, our social worker introduced us to other parents, most of whom had already adopted. They shared stories and offered advice about everything from local pediatricians to where to eat when we traveled to adopt. We gathered around a picnic table to talk while the children played nearby. I watched as the parents responded to interruptions from the kids. Skinned knees, missing toys, pleas for more cake—they handled it all. When two-year-old Rosie poured a handful of dirt down the front of her T-shirt and her daddy swooped in and cleaned her up, I knew these were pretty typical parents and children.

Later, I sat next to Gina, who had adopted her daughter, Isabel, two years earlier. Isabel sat peacefully on her mother’s lap. I watched as Gina stroked her daughter’s hair, like my mother did when I was little.

“So, where are you in the process?” Gina asked me.

“Still working on our dossier,” I answered.

“Seems like a long road, doesn’t it?”

“It does. I feel like a novice when I meet all of you pros.”

“We started out where you are now,” Gina said. “I know it seems trite, but you have to believe that everything will work out like it’s supposed to. I can tell you from experience that, no matter how difficult things get, when you bring your child home, you will feel so much love and gratitude. You’ll know it was worth it.” Touched by her honesty, I nodded. Then I looked down at Isabel, whose brown eyes fixed on me as if to say, “That’s my mom. You can believe her.”

Where We Belong

The next morning, I spoke with our social worker on the phone. After we reviewed some details of our home study, she asked if I had enjoyed the picnic.

“Absolutely,” I told her. “The children were beautiful, and so happy.”

“I thought you’d enjoy it,” she said.

“And the parents,” I went on. “It’s like a club. No matter how different they are, they share a bond.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “Adoptive parents are a special bunch.”

“I’m glad I get to be one of them. I get to be in their club.”

She laughed. We both knew that the picnic had changed things for me. The opportunity to see ordinary families in an everyday setting offered me what I needed—my first sense of belonging as a mom. Although the families I met that day may never know it, their example helped me realize that when my husband and I finally bring our child home, I won’t just feel like a mom. I’ll be one.