We were just snuggling up in my favorite chair to read together. A few pages into some silly old book about the Jetsons that she dug out from the shelf, I found myself skipping words and wondering how long I’d be sitting there killing time. She joined me in corporate loss of interest and shuffled through a stack of books to find another, landing on one about adoption that I don’t even like and have kept only as an example. Great. I had this book in my own stack of books next to my desk, not with her books, but she found it and now wanted to read it. I decided reading an in-the-moment edited version was better than the message that could be sent if I said no. And so I read, moving quickly, changing words as we went, and closing the cover in record time.

She didn’t seem affected and just nestled in under my arm and chit chatted about seemingly silly things. Sandwiched between observations about the cats and requests for the iPad, she threw this one in with a big smile on her face:

Tell me the story of when I came out of someone’s belly.

You mean your China mommy’s belly?

Yeah, I want to hear the story. Start with Once upon a time…ok?

While Mark was sleeping on the other side of the world, the place where her story began, here I was facing perhaps the most challenging request she’s ever made of me. Sitting comfortably in my favorite chair on the prettiest day of spring yet and being asked to tell my daughter her own story is infinitely harder than all her midnight requests for more water waking me from a sound sleep put together.

I looked right into her eyes, brushing her hair from her forehead and I told her her story, starting with “Once upon a time” just as she had requested. She smiled the whole time as I told her things I know because I just know like how her China mommy’s belly grew and grew and how she felt her kick and twirl inside her because I bet she was a little monkey even then. I moved to what I know universally to the little we know more specifically, giving her what I felt like her little 5-year-old heart needed. She added in a few details she knew herself that she has learned along the way as I’ve looked for opportunities for openness, and I affirmed her as she did.

Oh yes, the lady with a ponytail walked into the room holding you and your eyes were so big and I thought at that moment that I was looking at the most beautiful baby in the whole world.

She told me to keep going when I thought I was finished, urging me to continue until I took that story right up to today, summing up several years in a few sentences that included things like moving from a crib to a big girl bed and then another bed as we made the playroom into her new bedroom. At a loss of something more to say when we got to present day, I paused and wondered if I should tack on a The End or something but feeling like it just wouldn’t be the right words. Instead, she nestled in closer and smiled even bigger and ended my story of her story herself

And they all lived happily ever after.

And, then we just sat for a while, the quiet interrupted occasionally by another funny observation about a stuffed turtle toy or the marble tower she was going to build until she jumped up and bounded onto the next thing.