Chapter Three

My Grand Entrance to the World

Growing up, there were never any secrets. I always knew I was adopted, I knew my parents couldn’t have children. I knew the same way I knew the sky was blue and the sun came up every morning. It just was. And I think being is the thing that makes all the difference, for when you are a child, there is beauty in simplicity. My birth story has always been something beautiful to me, because through a child’s eyes, it is all simple.

It was the morning of January 5th that my parents received the phone call informing them that my birthmother was in labor. My parents quickly boarded a plane bound for Vancouver, Washington, where I was born. They were ecstatic, to say the least. Six years of marriage had already passed by that time, and they were ready to become parents. After twenty-something hours of labor (my poor birthmother!), a beautiful baby girl emerged weighing seven pounds, six ounces. This was baby Brittney, and I became the first child of Mike and Jann Theurer.

My parents had tried for years to adopt, all without any luck. Finally, a friend of my mother’s introduced them to a young girl named Jeniece. She was nineteen with golden brown hair and a big smile. She was pregnant and searching for a family in which to place her child because she wanted me to grow up with both a mother and a father. Over the course of several months, she and my parents exchanged letters. They met on occasion, and ultimately it came down to the Theurers and one other family to adopt me. On one fateful evening, my mother sang a song she wrote for Jeniece. My birthmother was moved by the music and the spirit, discovering at last that Mike and Jann were truly meant to be my parents.

I am forever grateful to Jeniece, not only for choosing the right family to place me in, but also for being a strong woman in the gospel. After my birth, she pieced her life back together, went through the temple, and eventually served an LDS mission. I can’t express the joy that brings my soul. Instead of being a hindrance to her, I think I helped Jeniece grow.

I have a theory.

I believe Jeniece and I were good friends in heaven. I have only met her once, when I was born, but reading her letters she sent to me and my parents during the first two years of my life, I feel like she is close to my heart. I hope that after returning from a mission, she was able to find a worthy young man to marry and raise a family with. I wish the best for her, for she is one of the reasons my family is what it is, and I am who I am.

When my parents brought me back home to Utah, the whole family rejoiced. We were greeted at the airport with nearly forty smiling people—aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents—all holding balloons and giving hugs because, after all, it was quite the wait to get me! But the wait was worth it. According to my parents, I was a wonderful baby and much like I am now. Inquisitive. Imaginative. I was a “happy baby” and loved to laugh and giggle. I did have a hard time napping—with all the new sensory information I took in as a child, I guess it was just too much fun to stay awake. I was beautiful, bright, and learned quickly about the world around me. I was also an early talker, and one of my favorite stories about my infancy was that once I was sick with croup and my mom was told to take me outside in the brisk air to help me breathe. Sick with a fever of 103° and barely able to breathe, I looked up at the sky and said simply, “Hi, moon.”

Stories like these I love the stories because they are so innocent and sweet. Once when I was eighteen months old, I counted to ten for the doctor, making his jaw drop. I also made the nurses cry. When I went in for my shots, I was all smiles and giggles right up until they poked me with their needles, and then I just looked at them with the look that breaks hearts. Another time, while my mom was in the shower, I snuck out of the house and stopped by my neighbors’ house for breakfast. Their little boy fed me eggs on his doorstep until my mom came to find me. One last memory--I was in love with a certain cowboy hat when I was little, and whenever my dad or anyone else would say, “Brittney, go get your cowboy hat!” I would drop everything and run for it.

All these and more memories mark my first few years of life. From my birthmother’s arms to the arms of my parents, my entrance to this world was a special one. It is characterized by a beautiful simplicity and grace of young life. I learned many things in just a few years, like how the sky is blue, the sun comes up, and after a time, things change. After four years of being the only child, my baby sister, Brianna was born. Soon after came Bradley, then Brayden, then Brevin. My life changed purpose as my family grew and was filled. I remember the day my mom and dad drove me in the car to see my little sister for the first time. She was right up the stairs and around the corner in a beautiful bassinet. So was the rest of my childhood, I soon found. My grand entrance to world then transformed into a grand journey, and as I embark upon it I will remember those first memories and moments that make my birth story and young childhood unique, and I will smile.