Open Letter to a Certain Young Serbian

Dear sweet boy B with the big brown eyes,

I call you sweet because that's how I imagine you are. I have a total of six pictures and one description of you written in stilted English. I have all of them memorized, so often have I poured over them, trying to glean just one more hint of who you are. For now, you have a personality invented totally by me that lives only in my mind.

Don't worry. I'm not too attached to it and I won't mind terribly if you choose to be someone else entirely. You don't even need to be sweet. We have the gamut of personalities here and all kinds of children are welcome in this house. (Except, could you please stick with being a good sleeper like they told me you were? I am kind of attached to that part, k?)

You have a big day coming up. It's the day some crazy Americans and their handlers are coming to invade your space and try to make you like them. 

Just a warning. The Americans will try really hard to restrain themselves, but you may catch them staring at you with huge, stupid grins or even with a few tears in their eyes. Please, don't be alarmed. They mean well.

The female talks a lot and uses a lot of words, none of which you'll recognize. She will, at times, suddenly remember that you don't understand and will then proceed to speak slowly, and probably loudly, in a language that you still will not understand.

Please bear with her. Again, she means well. 

Probably better to stick with the quieter male who can speak volumes with one look and who seems to be mastering the few words they are trying to learn in your language. He's much more nurturing of the two, anyway, even though he's bald and kind of scary big.

They'll have with them a book that has pictures of strange, and seemingly endless kids that someone will probably tell you are your new siblings. 

Hmmmm. That might be a lot to take in.

Well, keep your chin up, kid. At least they're bringing toys.