A letter to my daughter on the day of her adoption

Dearest Baby,

Last night was the eve of your adoption, and you were oblivious. You threw a tantrum because Daddy insisted you have a clean diaper and jammies before you got your bottle and snuggle time.

This morning you woke up with a bad case of bed head - you're hair looked like an Elvis impersonation gone awry. But you didn't care. You just happily presented me you're chubby little feet for a round of "This Little Piggy." In your little life you've known nothing but tender care. So this day, this adoption day means little to you. But it is so special to me. I keep thinking, "I could have missed this." If just one little detail was altered I could have missed this chance to be your mommy.

When we decided to adopt you we already had your big brothers and sister. And it was scary for us to think of loving a baby who may not be able to stay with us. But in the end we did choose to adopt - and I am so glad we did.

And it's not so impossible to think that your birth mom could have "terminated her pregnancy", and you would have gone to be with Jesus before you were even born. I'm sure she was encouraged to do just that. But she didn't, and you had a chance at life.

And I think, "What if the social workers had called another family, and not us?". But that didn't happen either. Your birth sister's parents had been praying (and we'd been praying too) that you'd find just the right family. And when we went to the hospital to get you and saw you for the first time I knew you were ours. You had these amazing dark chocolate eyes and a cute mess of dark hair. I had dreamed of you, literally dreamed of you. And when I saw you I knew you were ours.

Those first few weeks you were home were unnerving because you didn't know how to eat; we were always afraid you weren't getting enough to grow. And you were not one for sleeping in those early days, at least not at night. So when you were 5 weeks old and you had a fever that spiked I was already exhausted. But the night of your fever was the most exhausting of my life.

I watched you be poked and pricked; you had blood drawn and IV's placed. And you screamed and screamed as a the doctors tried to do a spinal tap. You were septic because your kidneys weren't working properly, and we almost lost you. About 5AM after hours of testing I was so tired I thought I'd fall asleep and drop you. So I set you down on the table, and your heart rate plummeted. The attending physician ran into your room. I picked you up and snuggled you close and your heart rate stabilized. So the attending doctor ordered a recliner chair for me so if I fell asleep I wouldn't drop you. He knew that babies need to be held. You needed to be held. What if I hadn't been able to hold you through those long days at Children's Hospital? What if I missed the chance to love you?

This year hasn't been the easiest. Frankly, at almost 14 months you are into everything; and I know the years ahead won't be a "cake walk" either. Loving you wasn't the path to a life of comfort and leisure, but you sweet Baby are a precious gift. We are so glad your are a part of our forever family, and I'm so glad I didn't miss the chance to be your mom.