Butterflies

We're boarding a plane at 3:45 this afternoon and beginning the first leg of our trip to China. We fly to Los Angeles, where we have a five hour lay-over, and then board a plane around midnight bound for Hong Kong. 

I'm almost packed.

I spent last night combing through piles of baby clothes, trying to decide exactly what size I should bring. What colors. If I needed short sleeves, long sleeves, pants or dresses. Shoes? Or just socks? This blanket or that blanket? Or maybe both?

It's not like I can't buy something there if I've left out anything important, but I don't want to leave out anything important. I want to have everything my daughter needs from the moment she's placed in our arms. I want to have prepared well for her.

There are so many unknowns.

How will my boys do when we're gone? I know my parents will take good care of them, but I already miss them and I'm not even leaving for the airport for another five hours.

What if she's inconsolable for days? We've been told to expect that, and I think I'm ready. But how can I know until I'm actually there?

What if we can't sleep well? What if the food doesn't agree with us? What if, what if, what if....

But for all the unknowns, there's one shining certainty: Our daughter was always meant for our family, and we're finally going to be united. The rest of it pales beside the joy I feel at the prospect of finally seeing her face to face.

For now, I'm focused on details. Getting my jeans dry so I can pack them. Not forgetting deodorant. Spending precious moments with my boys before I say goodbye.

Wondering why I didn't tell my doctor to give me Valium for the dreaded plane ride. Or Vicodin. Or Vodka. Something with a V. (Have I mentioned how much I hate to fly?)

I have butterflies in my stomach, but I don't mind. I don't even mind strapping myself into a tin can propelled by gallons of flammable fuel so I can be forcibly hurtled through the sky because after five years of waiting, I'm finally going to hold my daughter.

I can hardly wait.