Just found a paper on the computer desk that says, “I love you Mommy … from Catie and Daddy.” You misspelled daddy, and I think added the ‘y’ in mommy as a second thought. You’re probably embarrassed, but I love to see your handwriting. The scribbled letters always make me smile, mostly because they constantly change. Sometimes I go looking for your old drawings, cards, letters, even homework, just to look at the difference. It’s like taking a trip on a time machine.

Yesterday, we celebrated Gotcha Day – the sixth year after the judge told us we could really be your mommy and daddy. And we got you. There’s this picture of all of us at the courthouse afterward, another time machine. In it, I see your tiny two-year-old arms, fingers, clutching at mommy, trying to smile at something you didn’t really understand. This morning, when I reached for your hand while sitting on the couch, watching television, I secretly traveled back to that day, comparing their length and strength and touch. Later when we had our Gotcha Day cake, and you smashed your face into it, roaring back with laughter, I laughed, too. And took a picture. I thought, I can’t wait to see this in ten years, and remember again.

My darling daughter, always experience today, but never forget your yesterdays. Let them be your time machine.

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