Dear LittleOne,
There's nothing more we can do but wait. First for NOC; in a couple months, guardianship.
Daddy called home from work and your sister, Miss I., asked "Hey, Dad, when is LittleOne coming home?" It used to be, "Hey, Dad, when are you coming home?"
Miss I has decided that girls are "amazin'" and that boys are "not so amazin.'" Your poor brother Littlebun -- he's pretty amazin.' You'll see. You'll have an interesting dynamic, I'm sure, you three.
We're missing your birthday next week. We missed Miss I's birthday too -- but we didn't know it when we missed it.
You probably have some teeth now -- but we can't tell from the pictures. Miss I threw her head back and laughed, in the worst of circumstances, in a hot room full of crying babies, while she was still healing from chicken pox, revealing for the first time four marvelous teeth. Who was tiny this person who, for all the tragedy, could find something so extraordinarily funny?
You're holding your tongue over your teeth(?), lips barely parted, eyebrows furrowed. I look at the same pictures over and over, looking for something I hadn't noticed before -- but I've already read each detail, and I could draw the image. I know your birthmark from four angles, but you are a mystery. I can't wait to find out who you are -- and who I will become, as I become your Momma.