Meeting Faith was a lot like meeting my son for the first time. And I guess that's fitting... like brother, like sister. I still smile at the thought.

It's a moment I'll never forget -- the moment the doors of that room opened and Naomi walked in, followed by the director, followed by a woman holding our tiny, beautiful little girl. I immediately felt my heart swell with fear and pride and joy.

But mostly with fear.

Fear exactly like the fear I'd felt when I walked into that NICU room on the day Jackson was born and saw him laying there, so tiny and frail, and amazing. I watched as the woman, a nanny in the orphanage, brought our daughter, our daughter (man that feels so strange to say), over to us. We both stood and I watched as my wife reached out and took her in her arms and suddenly it was all so very real.

She was dressed in a blue zip-up sleeper with a lion on the front that was three sizes too big, and wore a green knit hat similar to the ones newborns wear in the hospital that was way too small. If I didn't know she was a girl I could have easily mistaken her for a boy. She was much, much tinier than any 16-month-old I'd ever seen, and she was so terribly frail, but she fit absolutely perfectly in Jenna's arms. I watched Jenna as she held our daughter close and tears fell from her eyes... and they fell from mine. I knew that she was scared too.

Alexei motioned for the two of us to sit back down, and so we did. We sat down together on the couch and Jenna laid Faith down in her lap. We examed every inch of her little body that we could see - not that we could see much -- she was dressed in so many layers. She had the tiniest fingers and the sweetest little single creases on the palms of her hands. Her eyes were absolutely beautiful. The perfect shape of tiny almonds in the same shade of brilliant blue we'd fallen in love with in the first photos of her we'd seen. And her lips. She had the most perfect pouty lips of all time, even if they did definitely have the bluish tint to them that the doctor had warned us about.

Jenna removed the hat from her head after a few minutes. She had the littlest round head with the softest peach fuzz I'd ever felt. I was the first to notice the small scabbed over spot on the left side of her forehead and when I ran my fingers across it, Naomi translated for us that this was from her banging her head on her crib. One of many "institutional" behaviors the families on our adoption forums had warned us about.

As we took the time to examine our daughter, Faith seemed to be examining us in too. She stared at Jenna with a calm, serious expression for a long time. She wasn't extremely active like most 16-month-olds we'd encounterd, preferring to simply lay in Jenna's arms, but she didn't cry and she didn't seem fearful. It was clear that she was tired and clear that she was sick, especially from the blueness in her lips and from just how tiny she was.

But to us, she was perfect. Despite her place in life... despite her health condition, to us she was just right. At one point I noticed Jenna reach down and place her fingers on Faith's wrists as if checking to see that her heartbeat was strong. I caught her eyes and she smiled. "She's a fighter", she whispered. But I think I already knew that.

But the most amazing part of the day for me was when Jenna asked if I wanted to hold her. I reluctantly, nervously said yes. I reached out and pulled her close, cradling her into my arms, rocking her back and forth for a few moments. I looked down into her eyes and she looked right up into mine.

I'm not sure why, but I chose that moment to sing to her... the song Jenna and I had heard about from another adoptive family. The song we'd been listening to for months and had decided would be a good song to someday sing for our daughter. I don't know why I chose that moment, there in front of everyone, but it just felt right and so I sang;

And she smiled. Really smiled. And for the second time in my life, just like when my son had looked at me for the first time, I felt true unconditional love. And I couldn't stop singing.

Because you see, in that exact moment I felt the fear ease from my body. Not that I wasn't still afraid for my daughter, knowing in a few more minutes we would have to give her back and leave her once more, and that we would have to do that for several more weeks until we got to take her home. And not that I didn't still fear that something could go horribly wrong... I mean Jenna and I knew all too well that things could still go horrible wrong...

But I no longer had any fear about loving her.

In that moment she was my daughter... no questions asked.

Forever more.

My Faith.

After that the minutes passed by too quickly with the two of us taking turns holding our little girl. Smiling at her and trying our best to soak up and soak in every ounce of love we could before we had to say good bye. And when that time came, it was clear how in love both of us were because neither of us wanted to leave. Handing our daughter back to the nanny was the hardest thing I'd had to endure in this process yet.

Jenna and I both cried the whole way back to our apartment this afternoon, but they were a mixture of tears of sadness at having to give our girl back, and tears of joy at knowing she was really ours.

And now I need to go write home and tell everyone about our day. There's so much to tell... and so little words to say it all.