When I met my daughter for the first time she was almost three months old. She was wearing a pink baby onesie with bloomers and on her tiny feet she wore socks with pink scrolling letters that said “I love my Mommy.” She had that baby fresh smell and as she was placed in my arms by our social worker I was also handed a bottle full of formula just mixed by her foster mother. This little girl, with the long fingers and big brown inquisitive eyes was my daughter at last. As we gazed at one another I wondered if she was thinking of her foster mother. I was her third ‘mother’ in three months, but I promised one thing that day – in my arms you will stay.