An adopted child is destiny’s gift, with all its joys and complications, writes this mother.
I HAVE no photos of my daughter’s first months of life, no tasteful black and white images taken by an expensive professional of tiny toes and downy head. There was no delivery room drama, capped by the triumphant delivery of a healthy, bawling baby with which to regale dinner guests with. When you adopt a child, rituals of memory are, by necessity, different.
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