Mug

Our Jada is getting so big. In a couple of weeks, she'll have been
with us as long as she wasn't with us. And what a difference seven
months make, in terms of weight and nutrition and teeth and hair and
demeanor and happiness. Sometimes, we'll just stand back and watch
her and marvel at how grown-up she looks and acts. Could it be that
this little girl is the same tiny peanut we brought home from China?

But there's one thing that takes us back to those first days and
weeks. And that's when she cries. Not a whining just to make noise,
but a full-on, "I'm not happy and I'm going to shed big tears and howl
to let you know about it" cry. And that's when we see a face that
takes us back to those first days and weeks. Amy and I call it "the
mug." And what a mug it is: big pools of tears, mouth as rectangular
as you can get, eyes blazing with anger. It is not a pleasant sight
or sound, but we still feel a glimmer of tenderness. For it takes us
back to when she was a tiny peanut. And though we love her more now
and will love her still more each day, there is something special
about those first days and weeks. And the mug brings us back there.