It was our first weekend home with Kira. We didn’t make big plans, stuff much work into our hours, or waste any time. We followed her lead as she learned to pick up speed crawling with a big waddling bottom and scooting knees with her attention firmly focused on the elusive cat in view. We laughed when she formed new silly faces for our entertainment, and tried to hold back our laughter when she blew raspberries spewing baby food. We dressed her up in frills and sparkles, and introduced her to people in our lives who have greatly anticipated her American arrival. We perched her up in a baby bike seat and gave her a whiz tour of the neighborhood in the brisk air under an afternoon sun. We held her as she drifted off for a nap feeling the surge of love and protection course through our limbs, clot the nerves in our throat and redden the veins of our eyes. We endured her screaming tantrums while ushering her swiftly away from the ears of those who’d rather not share in our fascination for how much volume she can muster when she gets ticked. We obliged her chubby arms reaching up towards us to be lifted and cuddled near our hearts. We sat with books before us turning pages summoning the forgotten nursery rhymes that capture young minds. We compromised relief and wonder as she received her new bed as home for the long night, clutching the soft blanket with one fist while inserting a forefinger to suck away the day and slip into the night. Collapsing into our own thick blankets we sighed, slipping into sleep while our minds gave God thanks for the pleasure of her presence in our family and home.