That's how I felt the day I saw this:
Now, I don't think my heart was necessarily small. But it felt full enough, for sure. There was no aching lack, no longing for an indescribable something or unknown someone.
And then, there was Manolin.
I saw him, and I knew.
This boy? My son.
The next day I met him. Four days later--October 31, 2008-- he was home.
Today, he's a boisterous, spunky, passionate three year-old.
He loves his brothers and sisters. He calls me "Momma." He thinks there's nothing tastier than a bowl of black beans and rice--except for maybe a slice of homemade pizza covered in black olives. Trains are the coolest thing ever. He adores his Cubbies vest. He will happily tell you that he has "curly hair and Latino eyes."
My heart gratefully grew three sizes the day that Manolin came. It continues to expand with each flash of his dimples, every infectious giggle, every "Thank you for making my dinner, Momma!"
I love this boy. I catch my breath every time I ponder the maze of circumstances God used to get him into our arms. "Grateful" is such a small word when faced with the true depth of what I feel when I kiss this boy's forehead at night.
My heart grew three years ago this day. Our family grew by one. And Manolin, well .., he continues to grow.
Happy Gotcha' Day, little man!