With Love to Miss Z on Her First Birthday

One year ago today we got "the call"--it was four o'clock in the morning when the phone rang. Miss Z's birth mother told us that baby Z would arrive that day and we needed to get there asap. My calm, unflabbale Mr. got me on a 6 a.m. flight while I ran around like the proverbial chicken. Hours of air and taxi time later, I arrived at the medical center. Minutes after that Miss Z entered the world. And it's been a better place ever since.

And of course, Miss Z wouldn't be here and wouldn't be our little girl without the amazing woman who gave birth to her and chose adoption for her. So take a moment right now if you're reading and send some good vibes and peaceful thoughts out to K. She has my undying gratitude and admiration for what she did for Miss Z, and for us. Bless you K.

Okay, Hallmark time.

You sit in your high chair, crowing at the top of your lungs with the pure pleasure of your sound--and this satisfies Grandma B. no end, because it's loud and crazy and exactly what I did at your age.

You make a scrunchy face at Daddy when you see him, then break into a huge smile and entone "Dada" with something like reverence.

The minute the roughing pillows come out for Daddy and Big Brother to horse around, you're right there in the mix. You throw your solid body across the pillows, try to take your brother down, and squeal with glee. And you roll with it when brother tries to squish you.

Whenever you hear music, your body starts moving in time. Especially if it's Jerry Lee Lewis.

You're a feet first kind of girl--a revelation after an insurance-actuary-risk-analysis-one-toe-in-but-only-after-a-complete-assessment-of-all-potential-outcomes kind of boy. You're like a baby mosher and roller derby queen all rolled into one. It goes a long way toward explaining why I've lost weight recently.

You look really great in pink and sport your hair bows with style.

You love dogs and make a special, extremely high-pitched squealy noise when you see one.

You also love pomegranites--something we recently discovered--and seem to have an overall penchant for tart, acidic foods.

You are extremely independent--unless I happen to make the mistake of holding another baby, in which case you turn into Miss Z McQueen intent on taking the perp out.

Your very youness, the miracle of you being here, brings tears to my eyes. You have made me a mother twice over and I can't believe my extraordinary good fortune that I have you and your sweet brother in my life. To Miss Z on her first birthday--I love you.