Happy 2nd birthday, Marella Hope Grace Thompson!!
Last year, we celebrated your birthday even though you weren't with us. But we ate cake and prayed for you, and dreamed that by your next birthday, you would be home.
And here you are. It's the best birthday present ever, for both of us. For all of us.
A few things about you: you LOVE LOVE LOVE your big brother, Reagan. You try to do what he does, play with his toys, and follow him wherever he goes. One of my favorite things is watching you when he comes with me to get you up in the morning. You giggle and smile and say your version of his name, which comes out more like "NA-nan," and open your arms wide for a big hug, always from him first. As big brothers go, you have the best.
You are also such a girly-girl. Having only had a boy so far, this has been fun for me. You like to watch me when I get ready, and by the time I'm done, you are wearing my lotion, my perfume, and my lipstick, and have played with all of my make-up brushes. Sometimes I catch you opening my purse and reaching into my make-up bag to get out my lip gloss. And often, especially after I've done your hair, you look in the mirror and say,"Pretty!"
Yes you are, sweet girl.
You like bubbles and playing outside. You like to eat. OK, that's an understatement. You love to eat, and you'll eat just about anything, but you have a particular fondness for bananas, noodles, bread, animal crackers, yogurt, and Miss Denise's peanut butter bars.
You have the BEST giggle. I wish I could bottle it up. You love having your belly tickled, playing peek-a-boo, and being held a lot. Although, you are also a fast runner (especially when Mommy is trying to catch you), and have adapted really well to a foot that's formed slightly different than the other one.
You also really love your Daddy. I'll be honest; I was a bit worried in India when you wouldn't let him even hold you, only because you hadn't really been around men before. You still cry when I leave you, but you start laughing again soon. Just the other day, we went for a walk and ran into Daddy driving home, and the rest of the walk you kept yelling, "Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" He adores you, he always will, and he won't let you date until you're 30. Don't argue with him about it -- he won't change his mind.
You make us laugh sometimes at how quickly you can go from happy to sad. You hate the word "no," and will burst into tears if we say it, only to (usually) start laughing again a few seconds later.
I look at you often and marvel at how brave you are. You are so, so, so incredibly brave. Adults with a lifetime of living behind them could learn from you. The way you went from saying "No! No! No!" to us, this strange family to you at the time who came to take you from the only life you ever knew, to completely acclimating to us, is beyond my comprehension. You have a resilience and a tenacity that will take you far in this life.
I'll let you in on a little secret: all the books and the experts and the people who know more than us have said your adjustment is supposed to be a lot harder, on you and on us. But apparently no one told you that, because you just settled right in and became a part of our family, like you were always supposed to be here.
Because you were.
While you were halfway around the world, I like to believe -- I have to believe -- that our hearts were being knit together. My prayer, every day from the day we saw your face and knew your name, was this: "God, place a Thompson-sized hole in her, and a Marella-sized hole in us."
That prayer was answered 1000 times better than I hoped.
You are a gift to us. You have awakened in us a passion to help others in your situation find families who can save their lives, and change their destiny. Although, if I'm honest, I think you saved us as much as we saved you.
I'll tell you something I'm a bit embarrassed to admit: Reagan is at a really easy age, and I was worried that, when you came home, I would be frustrated by how much of my time you take, and work events and social events I would miss out on because of you.
I'm not proud to admit that, but it's true. But what I didn't count on, and perhaps what I couldn't know until I saw you, was how much of my heart you would completely take over. I thought perhaps it would take me a little longer to form the mother-daughter bond, and in the interim I would struggle a lot.
Princess (what we often call you), that's not how it is, at all. At least once a day (OK, usually more), I wipe away a couple tears at how fortunate I am to be able to raise you, to watch you grow. I feel like I've been given this beautiful gift, and I want to nurture it and protect it and guard it.
There are a lot of heroes in your story, too many to mention. Your daddy and I are not even on that list, and I'm being honest. The heroes are the people, some who are close to us, and some who know us from afar, who helped us bring you home. You have so, so many people who loved you before they knew you, and did everything they could to make sure we could get you as soon as possible. In many ways, your daddy and I have the easy job -- we get to watch you grow and spend our days with you. We get to live out the fruits of their labor. So many people love you, Marella. I hope you always know that, and feel that.
Being a mommy to you and to Reagan has been the best thing that has ever happened to me. I'd give up friends, I'd give up my job, I'd give up everything for both of you, and I wouldn't regret it, not even for a second.
I love you, Marella Hope Grace Thompson. I will spend every day of my life trying to show you. I will stumble. I will fall. I will make so many mistakes. But know this: I will always, always, always, always, always love you.
I'm so proud of you. You are brave and smart and mischievous and feisty and wonderful. I am learning from you. You are so deeply cherished.
Happy birthday, Princess.
Last year, we celebrated your birthday even though you weren't with us. But we ate cake and prayed for you, and dreamed that by your next birthday, you would be home.
And here you are. It's the best birthday present ever, for both of us. For all of us.
A few things about you: you LOVE LOVE LOVE your big brother, Reagan. You try to do what he does, play with his toys, and follow him wherever he goes. One of my favorite things is watching you when he comes with me to get you up in the morning. You giggle and smile and say your version of his name, which comes out more like "NA-nan," and open your arms wide for a big hug, always from him first. As big brothers go, you have the best.
You are also such a girly-girl. Having only had a boy so far, this has been fun for me. You like to watch me when I get ready, and by the time I'm done, you are wearing my lotion, my perfume, and my lipstick, and have played with all of my make-up brushes. Sometimes I catch you opening my purse and reaching into my make-up bag to get out my lip gloss. And often, especially after I've done your hair, you look in the mirror and say,"Pretty!"
Yes you are, sweet girl.
You like bubbles and playing outside. You like to eat. OK, that's an understatement. You love to eat, and you'll eat just about anything, but you have a particular fondness for bananas, noodles, bread, animal crackers, yogurt, and Miss Denise's peanut butter bars.
You have the BEST giggle. I wish I could bottle it up. You love having your belly tickled, playing peek-a-boo, and being held a lot. Although, you are also a fast runner (especially when Mommy is trying to catch you), and have adapted really well to a foot that's formed slightly different than the other one.
You also really love your Daddy. I'll be honest; I was a bit worried in India when you wouldn't let him even hold you, only because you hadn't really been around men before. You still cry when I leave you, but you start laughing again soon. Just the other day, we went for a walk and ran into Daddy driving home, and the rest of the walk you kept yelling, "Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" He adores you, he always will, and he won't let you date until you're 30. Don't argue with him about it -- he won't change his mind.
You make us laugh sometimes at how quickly you can go from happy to sad. You hate the word "no," and will burst into tears if we say it, only to (usually) start laughing again a few seconds later.
I look at you often and marvel at how brave you are. You are so, so, so incredibly brave. Adults with a lifetime of living behind them could learn from you. The way you went from saying "No! No! No!" to us, this strange family to you at the time who came to take you from the only life you ever knew, to completely acclimating to us, is beyond my comprehension. You have a resilience and a tenacity that will take you far in this life.
I'll let you in on a little secret: all the books and the experts and the people who know more than us have said your adjustment is supposed to be a lot harder, on you and on us. But apparently no one told you that, because you just settled right in and became a part of our family, like you were always supposed to be here.
Because you were.
While you were halfway around the world, I like to believe -- I have to believe -- that our hearts were being knit together. My prayer, every day from the day we saw your face and knew your name, was this: "God, place a Thompson-sized hole in her, and a Marella-sized hole in us."
That prayer was answered 1000 times better than I hoped.
You are a gift to us. You have awakened in us a passion to help others in your situation find families who can save their lives, and change their destiny. Although, if I'm honest, I think you saved us as much as we saved you.
I'll tell you something I'm a bit embarrassed to admit: Reagan is at a really easy age, and I was worried that, when you came home, I would be frustrated by how much of my time you take, and work events and social events I would miss out on because of you.
I'm not proud to admit that, but it's true. But what I didn't count on, and perhaps what I couldn't know until I saw you, was how much of my heart you would completely take over. I thought perhaps it would take me a little longer to form the mother-daughter bond, and in the interim I would struggle a lot.
Princess (what we often call you), that's not how it is, at all. At least once a day (OK, usually more), I wipe away a couple tears at how fortunate I am to be able to raise you, to watch you grow. I feel like I've been given this beautiful gift, and I want to nurture it and protect it and guard it.
There are a lot of heroes in your story, too many to mention. Your daddy and I are not even on that list, and I'm being honest. The heroes are the people, some who are close to us, and some who know us from afar, who helped us bring you home. You have so, so many people who loved you before they knew you, and did everything they could to make sure we could get you as soon as possible. In many ways, your daddy and I have the easy job -- we get to watch you grow and spend our days with you. We get to live out the fruits of their labor. So many people love you, Marella. I hope you always know that, and feel that.
Being a mommy to you and to Reagan has been the best thing that has ever happened to me. I'd give up friends, I'd give up my job, I'd give up everything for both of you, and I wouldn't regret it, not even for a second.
I love you, Marella Hope Grace Thompson. I will spend every day of my life trying to show you. I will stumble. I will fall. I will make so many mistakes. But know this: I will always, always, always, always, always love you.
I'm so proud of you. You are brave and smart and mischievous and feisty and wonderful. I am learning from you. You are so deeply cherished.
Happy birthday, Princess.
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