Becoming Laura’s Mother : A baby grows and thrives, nourished by the love of the people who chose her even beforeshe was born.

Sometime in the next few weeks, I will become, legally, Laura’s mother. A notice will arrive in the mail telling my husband Dick Rothschild and me the date of hearing on our petition for adoption. The three of us will go to children’s court in Monterey Park.

I’m told that the hearing is a formality; a friend who practices in the court says that it usually is a happy occasion, with lots of hugging and powering up of camcorders when the judge signs the adoption order. My Catholic soul delights in ritual, so I hope there is a moment when the judge says to me: I hereby declare you Laura’s mother. (A little incense and organ music wouldn’t hurt either, but I don’t think the Children’s Court provides them.)

In a non-legal sense, I have been Laura’s mother since she was born on Sept. 7, 1994. I sat in the operating room, holding her birth mother Shari’s hand. Dick stood right behind me, and we saw Laura just as the doctor lifted her. Shari told me later that at that moment she looked not at Laura, but at my face, and saw the tears in my eyes. She knew that I loved Laura and would be her mother.

I am glad that I’ll be able to tell Laura about the first time I saw her, about the day she was born. When I was a child, I used to love to hear my mother tell me about my birth, about her joy “when they told me, ‘You have a little girl.’ ” When I realized I would not have a biological child, one of the things I thought I’d miss out on was being able to tell my child that birth story. But because Shari so generously invited Dick and me to be with her at Laura’s birth, I haven’t missed out at all.

Does Laura think I am her mother? Before she was born, Dick and I took a short course in baby care. We were the only adoptive parents there, and the course instructor asked us to stay afterward to discuss adoption issues. She explained that she believed babies understand what is said to them from the very beginning, and recommended that I hold the newborn Laura and say to her every day, “I know you miss your real mother.” I told her that I found the suggestion hurtful and couldn’t see how it would help promote mother- child closeness.

The instructor said that I was in denial about the fact that I would not be Laura’s biological mother.

Out and about with Laura, shopping with her strapped into the grocery cart, buying diapers and formula in bulk, I seem to be her mother. People smile at the baby, play with her toes, ask if it’s a boy or a girl and how old she is. They praise Laura’s beauty, her big blue eyes, her alertness.

At first I felt uneasy. I would say, “Yes, aren’t we lucky? We adopted her!”--just so they wouldn’t think I was taking false credit for this glorious baby. Sometimes this was exactly the right thing to say: One friendly stranger was a woman who herself was unable to have a biological child. She left with the names and phone numbers of our adoption agency and lawyer. But sometimes my disclosure would evoke less positive responses: “Well, she looks

pretty healthy, but how much do you know about her genetic background?” “Even if you had a child of your own, you couldn’t be sure how she would turn out.”

“Aren’t you afraid her mother will come back to get her?” “Have you seen ‘Losing Isaiah’?”

I try to keep my temper and do a little educating. I explain that Shari and I lamented that we’d never be invited on “Oprah!” because we got along so well, both concerned with what was best for Laura. I repeat what Shari asked me to tell Laura when she is old enough: “Tell her that she was a wanted child. I wanted to give birth to her, and you wanted to raise her and be her mother.” I say that the reality of Laura’s life is that she has two mothers, one who gave her life and one who has the joy of raising her.

Still, maybe as the months pass I am somehow becoming more and more Laura’s mother. Last week I was at the dry cleaners, Laura in her stroller kicking and saying her latest word, “AmOOgah!” Another customer, looking from Laura’s face to mine, said, “Oh, she has her mother’s eyes!” “Yes,” I smiled. “Yes, she does.”