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My brother in law and his wife adopted a ten month old baby girl this weekend!  As the youngest of all the cousins is 11, everyone is thrilled to have a baby to spoil. The new parents had little notice:  four hours from receiving the call to when they blissfully accepted this little bundle of joy into their life.  Although they have yet to name her, no drawn out royal baby naming process here just a bit overwhelming to say the least, her Mom calls her Perfect.

I couldn’t agree more.  One single strawberry blonde curl sits like a halo at the top of her tiny head; her sparkling bright blue eyes, pink pudgy cheeks and a sweet coo had us all in the palm of her hands within seconds.  Her dress shifted, exposing chubby baby legs that every parent adores, but then I noticed something that just couldn’t be on her otherwise flawless creamy white skin – cigarette burns.

She was taken from her home (although this was no home) by the state – the youngest of five children born to heroin addicted parents and hospitalized seven times in her short life.  I felt paralyzed by hatred for the cause of this suffering but as soon as this perfect baby landed in my lap everything melted away and the sole mission became how to get Perfect to smile.  We tickled her toes, played peek-a-boo, sang songs and she did what babies do – she laughed, smiled and cried.  It was tough to pass her back to her mother but I know she is in safe, loving hands.

I think they will end up settling on another name but I know she is Perfect.