The other day, for the first time in months, I watched the two minute and 10 second video of the moment my husband and I met our daughter almost a year and a half ago. Every single time I watch it, I cry big, fat, alligator tears. First and foremost, because I am so darn grateful we had such a close friend there who videoed that exact moment, so I could forever remember and relive the things I felt when I finally held my adopted daughter in my arms.
We got the call that our daughter had arrived the morning that we met her, when she was 3 days old. We hadn't heard a peep from our agency in a few weeks, and they hadn't met her birth mom prior to my daughter's birth to make a plan for adoption with her. They simply got a call from the hospital, worked with her birth mom for several days, and called us when everything was finalized. However, the moment we got that call, my entire body itched with impatience. It felt like I was going to crawl out of my skin just to get to her.
After six long hours of waiting for my husband to finish work — and getting our fingerprints taken since the appointment had taken weeks to schedule and we'd need them in order to take her home — we arrived at the hospital. It took forever to find the entrance and once we got to the lobby, I made my husband stop so we could both brush our teeth before meeting our daughter. (The weird things seem very important when you're about to do something as monumental as meet your baby!) When we finally got to the NICU floor, I was shaking with anticipation. My husband and I shared one last squeeze in the elevator before our lives changed and we became parents.
Thankfully, we have a sweet little iPhone video to capture the moment when we walked in the door, with our name tags that said "Mommy" and "Daddy" and our faces chock full of disbelief that we could ever be so lucky to be chosen to be her parents. And then? Well, then the emotions started to hit: