I’ve learned that Shasta is a natural Mom –she has a great voice and heart for it and it’s easy to see why Dagim’s eyes blink with happiness when she steps into the room. His arms go up like Superman; he wants to jump up to her kisses. I always thought Shasta would be good at this, but those of you who have only read her blogs about shoe and stroller shopping would not recognize the woman who sits without make up or coffee and just hugs this baby to her chest every morning.

I’ve also learned that a fourteen month old is “kind of a baby” but that he is also a boy. He can be twenty feet away in a matter of seconds. He can still touch his chin with his heel, but he can also shut doors, throw things down staircases, stack cups, open jars, and put the end of a garden hose in his mouth. Shasta has no idea what kind of adventures he and I have in the morning when she’s asleep.

I’ve learned that my family is a very obvious kind of magic. The other day, we found a huge box on our porch and inside was a wooden rocking chair that cousin Richard had when he was little (and after he was big, it went to my cousins Kara, then Keith, and then to cousin Michael for his kids Luke and Sydney, and Michael and Vanessa had sent it to Shasta and me to give Dagim). It’s the only furniture in the house (besides his crib and high chair) that actually fits him. He climbed right up and got it going.

And the Tennessee Yiums took Labor Day weekend to drive up and cover Dagim with a mountain of toys and love. I wasn’t used to being at this end of the Yium hand-me-down line. At one point, I realized that Dagim was wearing some new clothes the Tennessee Yiums had sent him, and we had their stroller on the porch and their pack-n-play upstairs and he was playing with toys and books that Campbell and Casey had picked out for him (“for keeps” as Campbell said). I felt very lucky in my family. I only wished that we could travel through time and float back to Dallas a few years ago, when Uncle Thom assembled everyone and we were all in one room together.

I also have a second family, in a manner of speaking, which is the Groenewolds –who have been my friends since I was I was eight years old. I had the chance to drop by their ancestral home Saturday morning and Mike went on a quiet diaper run with me and I saw how my hometown had changed but then we stood around in his wet grass and handed Dag some apples from a tree and I saw that nothing really had changed and I felt like time was passing but we would all live forever.

But the greatest thing I’ve learned is that my parents are wonderful grandparents. I knew they would be, but sometimes seeing them with Dag makes me remember things, like how much they loved me as a kid and how safe and happy I was with them. I remember that a friend of Antoine de Saint Exupery –the author of The Little Prince– said, “The thing about Antoine is he had a happy childhood and never recovered from it.” When I see my parents with Dag, I feel that way.

I’m not sure how much more of this blog I’m going to write . . . I feel as if the adoption story– the wait, the journey –that’s over.

Now it’s just family, and everyone has family. Some of us are made of Africa. We’re all made of love.