“Hi Ming,” he told her very softly, his voice rough with emotion.  “I’m your daddy.  You have no idea how long your mommy and I have been waiting for you.”

She was too young to understand, and even if she’d been older, she had very little exposure to English.  Still, some communication seemed to make it through to her, and she launched herself at him.  He hugged her tight, straightening.  Her little head looked so perfect, so trusting, laying on his strong shoulder.

Like they’d done it a thousand times.  Like it was fate.

His tender eyes swung to me, and they were bright with tears.  He smiled at me, biting his lip.  “Come here, Mommy.”

I moved as if in a dream, touching her little back, stroking her short black hair.

She pulled away from his chest to look at me, her little face so solemn.

“Hello Ming,” I choked out.  “I’m your mommy, and I’ve been waiting my whole life to meet you.”

She touched my face, running her tiny fingers over my brow, my nose, over my tear-streaked cheeks.

I held my arms out to her, holding my breath, and after one endless minute, she launched herself into my arms.

I held her tight and never let go.

We sat in economy class on the way home, as babies weren’t allowed in first class.  We sat side by side, and Ming was our lap child.  I couldn’t have been happier.

We took turns holding her.  I couldn’t stop staring at her, even when she slept.

“Pinch me, Tristan,” I told him quietly, as we just stared at her in wonder.  “I must be dreaming.  This little angel can’t be ours.”

He actually pinched me.

“Ow!” I said, giving him a dirty look.  I didn’t dare punch his arm with the baby.

His smiling lips moved close, kissing the corner of my mouth.  “This is real, and you aren’t dreaming.”

TWO YEARS LATER

James let us borrow his private jet and crew for our trip to Sofia, Bulgaria.  It was a Godsend, with Ming, now a precocious toddler, literally climbing the walls.  The flight time was fifteen hours and counting, and it would have been miserable, if he hadn’t done us this huge favor.

“Nikowash,” she said, for maybe the hundredth time.  She was practicing.

“That’s it.  Very good,” I told her.

“My brover.”  She jumped up and down, the yellow ruffles of her dress bouncing.  Her hair had gotten quite long, and I’d smoothed it into two pigtails that bounced as much as her dress.

Of course, I was biased, but she was the most beautiful little girl in the world.

“Yes, yes he is,” I assured her.

Tristan plucked her from the aisle, settling her in his lap.  “Your baby brother.  Trust me, you’re going to appreciate the distinction as you two get older.”

“Baby brover,” she repeated dutifully.  She was very much her daddy’s girl.

His name was Nikolaj.  He had the brightest blue eyes I’d ever seen.

He was born in Bulgaria and dropped off at an orphanage by his biological mother at two weeks old.  We were extremely lucky to take him home at just ten months old.  He wouldn’t let go of Tristan’s neck for the entire plane ride back to Vegas.  Ming kept crawling onto her daddy’s lap and giving her new brother kisses on the cheek.  She must have done it a hundred times.  We couldn’t stop her.

He was ours.

Even our little Princess Ming knew it.

I was no more controlled, stroking his back, his little hands, bending to rub my lips on his slumbering, baby soft cheek.

Tristan held him without complaint, often shutting his eyes and pressing his cheek or lips to our baby boy’s head.  It was official.  We’d been through hell, but here we were, in our own little slice of heaven.

TWO YEARS LATER

I had the kids over at Bev’s house for some girl time.  Nikolaj was climbing all over Bev, and Ming was getting her hair braided by Frankie.  It was a pretty typical Thursday afternoon for us all.

Except that it suddenly wasn’t.  Frankie had just asked me the strangest thing, and then Bev’s response had absolutely floored me.  I just sat there in stunned silence for a while, trying to figure it all out.

Frankie and Estella wanted a baby, but they were missing one of the important ingredients to make one, so they were in need of a donor.

“Estella wants to breed a linebacker, I think,” Frankie joked, but she looked ill at ease.  This couldn’t be an easy thing to ask somebody.

And…”why are you asking me?  Shouldn’t you be asking Tristan about this?”

“No, I think this is the proper course of action,” Bev butted in.  “What could he say, without your permission?”

She had a point.

“But now I just need his permission,” I said numbly.

“If you told him you were okay with it, he’d do it,” Frankie pointed out.  And she was right.

“Which one of you wants to carry the baby?” Bev asked her.

Frankie’s nose wrinkled up.  “We’re working that out.  You’re going to think we’re demented, but we both want to get pregnant.”

Bev nodded.  “Yes, you’re right.  I do think you’re both demented.  Danika, aren’t you guys trying to adopt again?”

I nodded.  “Yes.  Domestically, this time.  You know how it goes, though.  A lot of waiting.  We are very lucky we got our first two babies as fast as we did.”