I open the door and lean out into the corridor, trying to get a glimpse. Within moments I hear the elevator bell clang, and then a group of people steps off holding three babies, and my eyes lock upon the smallest little face, a baby, wrapped in a bulky padded suit. I know instantly that this is the baby, the baby from the photograph. I don’t even look at the others, though they are right behind in the arms of the two of the orphanage workers.

I can’t take my eyes off of her, there is something hauntingly familiar. I can’t tell in this first moment, if she is beautiful or ugly. She has big round eyes that hold the very serious expression of an old soul. It is just as I imagined; a complete self, not merely a “baby”. What I am feeling in this moment is akin to awe, this baby who has been rejected and abandoned being carried down the hallway, toward a fate she cannot guess.

I hurry back inside the room and tell Alex that they are here, the baby is here. “You’re kidding,” she says, as if surprised. “No, I’m not kidding,” I answer, and go back outside, the door closing behind me. Alex turns with the baby and I follow her inside the room. The baby is crying very hard now.

Alex half-heartedly bounces the baby up and down on her hip while I stare at them; the attempts to calm her are ineffective, and the baby keeps crying. Fear. I had not been expecting fear. We must look like aliens to her, with our big noses and round eyes and not-black hair. — Beliefnet.com