Luna, we adopted you. Your first dad and mom loved you, but they decided they needed help raising you. They chose us, and we believe you chose us, too.

Today we’re taking you to visit the hospital where you were born, the courthouse that ruled in our favor for custody, and the hotel where we first met.

…And JD and I are retracing the steps that led us to you.

>>Today is February 1st, and on this day last year, your papi and I spent the day talking to social workers, tracking down hospital records, and buying diapers.<<

We drove in agonized silence, not knowing who you were, yet loving you fully.

A year later, we’ll show you the hospital corridors we paced, where we stopped the car to pray for you, and the valet who helped us buckle in your car seat for the first time.

These memories are simple—ridiculous to most—but they are the crystalized moments before getting the honor of becoming your parents.

We made a promise to return every year to Las Vegas to remind you of your roots, to never forget the love your first parents had (and have) for you, and the painful decision they made to share you with us.

We also hope these trips serve as a reminder of how much you mean to us.

>>Nothing makes us happier than cuddling in bed, begging you to keep your socks on, and sharing breakfast with you.<<

On February 2, 2020, they placed you in my arms.

I didn’t know what the future had in store, but looking back, I’d tell myself: “It’s better than you think, she’s pure magic, and she’ll give you courage you couldn’t give yourself.”