Superdad and Baby Number 12

13. Lucky number 13. What does that number mean to me and my family? Oh, right. That’s how many kids my parents have. Yup, that’s right a baker’s dozen.

Let’s back up a bit, shall we? Context is everything I suppose, but then again, how can 13 kids seem sane any way that you put it?

It started out when my mom met my dad. She said, hey you have a great smile and he said, I am irreversibly in love with you. They got married and had three biological kids. There’s numbers 1, 2, and 3. Then, we got older and my parents decided it was time to step into the world of foster care. It’s important to note that the goal of foster care is not immediate adoption, it’s reunification, and my parents took this very seriously. This is why we each had a conversation about the possibility that there would be kids that came into our home that were not meant to be ours permanently, they just needed us for a time. Except, that never happened. My parents have kept every single child that has stepped foot into our home, and our family has accepted and adored them from that moment forward.

I’m incredibly proud of my family and could talk about each person for hours, but in the interest of getting into the meat and potatoes of this story, a short outline in chronological order of collection, not age. Siblings 1, 2, and 3 are biologically related. Siblings 4 and 5 are biologically related. Siblings 6, 7, 8, 9, and lucky 13 are all biologically related (a story for another time). Sibling number 10 started out as a friend of mine and my parents say that she’s the daughter that they never got to adopt, and siblings 11 and 12 are biologically related. I say biologically related because we are all one family, but this helps with perspective and seeing how we got to 13 so quickly.

This is the story of baby number 12. Allow me to set the scene, it was October of 2021. My family had baby number 11, Dakota, and the state was considering the removal of her older sister Sky. There was nothing concrete on the table as the evidence needed for removal wasn’t as strong as it had been with Dakota. Long story short, after months of waiting, we thought the state’s hands were tied and let go of the idea of Sky’s removal.

Cut to October and my mom and her best friend left for a girls trip, they were going on a cruise. Which left my dad with the kids, with help from myself and my adult younger brother when possible. For the most part, things were going smoothly. The kids were fed, had time outside to play, and were in bed on time (mostly, I mean they were getting watched by dad, and everyone knows that dads have different rules).

The bumpy bit comes in with Dakota. She was sick, this wasn’t a horrible illness, but she did have a fever, stuffy nose, throwing up, all kinds of gucky-ness included. Have I mentioned that my dad is a germaphobe? Talk about heroic. I stood speechless as my father battled it out against bacteria, sword fought her fever with suppositories (while she had diarrhea nonetheless), and all but donned a cape while mopping up the most puke I have ever seen, and I am no stranger to little kid puke as the second oldest. Don’t worry, I did help as well, between tossing him about 1000 jokes about the germs that now must be having a party on his skin as they had journeyed from all of Dakota’s orifices. Yes, it was a jerk thing to do, but hey, he was in super dad mode, he could take it.

Then, it happened. Sky had been removed from the biological parent’s home and was now in need of an immediate placement. At 10:30pm on Thursday when we had absolutely no supplies for her we dropped everything to prepare for her. That’s right, the state called and asked my dad, “Can you handle it?” and he said, “bring it on.”

Cut to my dad and all of my middle school aged brothers and sisters panic cleaning the whole house because mom was out of town and the baby was sick, which left the place a bit of a wreck. The case worker had let us know that the two year old Sky did not have very many supplies coming with her. We assumed that meant a couple of grocery bags and a pack of diapers or two. You should have seen our faces when that little girl showed up with the clothes on her back, 2 extra outfits, and maybe 5 diapers.

We didn’t have a crib for her, so that night I stayed over on the pull out bed and she slept with me so that she wouldn’t wake up scared or overwhelmed. The next morning we started making arrangements for this happy little two year old girl with blue eyes, perfect ringlet hair, and the most advanced vocabulary I have ever heard from a child her age. She spoke in full sentences! We were shocked.

Thankfully, we had support. Sky had a family friend that brought oversupplies and the state was able to offer support from a few different programs. This support included diapers, clothes, and shoes of various sizes. Some that fit now, and some to grow into. This was wonderful, but we still needed a few more things including a bed, clothes that would fit her now, and maybe one or two fun things, I mean she was two after all. Which meant it was… Shopping Time!!!

So we went to the store, where my dad immediately picked out only the brightest and loudest shirts he could find. Nothing but neon pink for his newest little princess, even when I tried to convince him that some duller colors are okay too. My argument was lost when Sky picked up a pair of neon yellow and pink shorts which were met with a very overdramatic and sing song “Oh Sky, do you like the bright colors? Do you want more of them?” and an evil smirk towards me. Sky giggled and they walked around the store picking out some more hilarious neon, rainbow, and glittery articles of clothing. Poor girl was going to look like she had just finished a color run, and between their combined grins and little outbursts of joy, there was nothing I could do to stop it.

That night we returned home and got Sky set up in her new bed and a few days later my mom got home from vacation to meet her newest daughter. My mom is usually the primary contact in our cases with the state, so we always say that she is the one who collects kids, but Sky will forever go down as “the one that is not my fault! I wasn’t even in the country!” to our mom.

Nowadays, Sky can be seen playing with her many brothers and sisters, she is loud and rambunctious and bossy as are all of the girls in our family. She fits in perfectly, and when she steals the ten year old boy’s sword and chases the fourteen year old around for hours, it’s pretty clear that she was meant to make her way to us. My mom likes to say that she raises strong women, but the cost of that is spoiled little girls that always speak their minds. I wonder who spoils us *cough cough* dad.

My dad is a great father, but more than that, he is a good man. Growing up we were always told that if we weren’t sure whether something was allowed or not, imagine having to tell dad… not mom because, depending on the situation, she might high five us. My dad is a strong pillar in my family, he’s shown me a lot about good and bad, character, strength, and growth. As an adult with very young siblings, I’ve watched my dad grow as a father and a person. The fact that he is still open to learning more and changing how he does things is inspiring to me. My dad has been many things to me, a coach, an emotional support, a punching bag, a snuggle buddy, a story teller, a listener, a shoulder to cry on, and one of my biggest supports. My dad has worn many hats, but one that he’s never given up or questioned, is father.