A year ago today, at about 3 in the afternoon, in an orphanage in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, we sat waiting, and waiting, and waiting, until finally, two nannies walked through the door of the visiting room holding M. and G. and we saw our daughters for the very first time.
So much of their story we will never tell, both from before we met them, and after, because it’s really their story to tell, should they ever decide to tell it, and not ours. But we are so, so grateful to have a place in it, and to be able to spend an afternoon with them like today, listening to music, dancing, eating cheese, drumming, and throwing things at each other. And kissing – there is so much kissing going on over here these days. Its bliss. Exhausting, yes, but bliss.
One year later, at about 3 in the afternoon, after a long nap and a plate of cheese, we saw our daughters playing in the living room, just like they do every day, giggling and being ridiculous.
Rolling around the floor, belly-laughing so hard they cannot get up, wearing the softest sweaters you could possibly imagine, knit for them by their Really Great Aunt D.
If that isn’t the very definition of magic, I don’t know what is.