One of my prayers, while we waited for our girl, was that we would be able to celebrate her first birthday with her. We weren’t there when she was born, so it was just one of those things we wanted.
We wanted all of her birthdays.
Lucky for us, we got home just in time to see her dig into a big ladybug cake with a tiny singular candle.
She was one.
That evening, after family left and what was left of the cake was put away, I gathered her up in my arms and began rocking her to sleep. Tears slipped down both cheeks as I thought about her story.
I cried tears of joy that she was ours, but I cried uncontrollable tears of deep sadness for her biological mother. I begged God to give her peace that Lydia was okay…loved, nurtured and protected.
It’s bizarre to feel a connection to a woman I’ve never met, but I do.
I love her. I pray for her. I feel so indepted to her. I cry on every birthday for her.
She loved her for eight weeks before she swaddled her in warm clothes and a blanket and took her to the orphanage. Lydia’s birthday meant everything to her. She wanted the world to know the exact day she was born.
She pinned a note on her that read:: This child was born on January 9, 2007.
So tonight, as we eat Chinese food at her favorite restaurant in town and we sing “happy birthday” to her and enjoy each of our favorite cupcakes from Gigi’s, I’ll be thinking about her…this woman on the other side of the world.