In 1964, my birth mom made a very beautiful decision to give me a better life than what she could offer. She was 28 years old, living in San Francisco and unmarried. My birth father refused to have a long-term relationship with her and she felt unprepared to give me the life that she wanted me to have.

There is a photo of me, at 1 year old, smiling -- no, beaming -- at my mother. In front of me is a cupcake with a glowing candle stuck into its middle. I'm wearing a pointed party hat and there is a balloon tied to my high chair. I'm happy. I didn't realize then that I had someone to thank for that moment, but I do now.

My parents tried for years to conceive, with no success, and finally decided to adopt. Apparently, they were told that it would take a very long time, and then, within days, they were surprised to find out that I was available, and they dropped everything to adopt me.

Hi, my name is Sydney, and I'm going to tell you a little about my life. I was adopted when I was born. I've grown up knowing I was adopted and that my birth mother had to give me up when I was young.  I totally love my life with my adoptive parents. They are my mother and father, nothing less. I am their daughter, even if we don’t share the same blood. They took me in, and now I am their family and they are mine. And they always were.

The other day, I heard for the first time that in certain cases of adoption, a baby is adopted and grows up, never knowing who their birth parents are. That really surprised me. I would never be who I am if I hadn’t known who my birthmother was.