Eight years ago on February 6th my youngest daughter was born. I wasn't there for her birth. I didn't get to hold her when she was born. In fact, the first time I saw her was in a photo when she was 2 weeks old. But none of that makes her any less my daughter.
My daughter, whose name at birth was coincidentally was both my grandmother's and grandfather's names, was born in Guatemala in 2001. She was given up for adoption at birth by her mother, a generous and selfless woman, and chosen by us from among three babies. She became our daughter on paper in July, but in our hearts on the day we were sent her photo.
She is an adorable, bubbly little girl who has a great memory and is a natural gymnast and soccer player. She's very petite and very determined and you can't put anything past her-- she is sharp! She's a tomboy but she is very sensitive and has a keen sense of right and wrong. She knows where she was born and how she came to be our daughter-- she has known since she could talk.
Today I not only wish my daughter a happy birthday, but I pray for her birth mother and thank her silently for choosing to give her baby a life that she herself could not give to her. She gave me a daughter and her daughter, a mother. There is no greater gift than that.
Happy Birthday Fuzz!
We love you!
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