some things hit you in the stomach

Margot is the person of the week (or so). They have posted pictures of her on the bulletin board and she took her favorite book and her favorite toy. First, she picked a toy from a happy meal from some place she visited with my parents and the newest Dolly Parton book, which we have not opened much less read. Luckily I convinced her that she should take any of the the dozen or so dolls that she loves and a book that we have actually read. She took Nido and the Story of Thanksgiving.
But the hard thing was the list that requested a baby picture. I only have two real baby pictures. They were taken on the same day. I wish I knew what day the pictures were taken. But I don't. I probably won't ever know. Margot thinks that she looks like a boy and says that is what everyone in her class thought, too. I don't have one handy to post right now. I will add it later. But she thinks that she looks like a boy in the referral post. I think she is beautiful.
This Saturday, at ballet, we were talking about how far the girls have come. One of the moms mentioned that her little girl was really awkward in learning to walk and that she could still tell that she was learning her coordination. It hit me all of sudden: I didn't get to see Margot learn to walk. She has finally been with me longer than she was in the orphanage. But there is still a lot that I missed.
She has me tell her the story of our adoption a lot. We read her book, too. Last night, we were looking at it together and I mentioned that I still have the little pink dress she wore that day. I got it out for her to see and she held it up and kept saying, "It is adorable Mommy. It is so little, it is adorable." I don't think I have ever heard her say adorable before. It was really sweet.
I remember getting that dress out for the first 3 or 4 months and drinking in the smell of China, the smell that was Margot for the first six weeks or so. That smell isn't there. I only have 2 of the rubber bands from her hair but I have the dress, the bloomers, the squeaky shoes with only one squeaky and the name tag she had on. Almost everything (minus two rubber bands and a diaper) that Margot had on when I got her. I guess that we make do with what we have. I need to put it somewhere special instead of keeping it in a gallon ziplock bag in my underwear drawer.