As an adult now, looking back on my years as a kid, I don't remember when I first walked, first read a book or first crossed the street by myself. But I do remember when I first asked about certain things. I remember when I first talked to my mom about sex (and I can clearly remember being disgusted by the answer). I remember when I talked to my father about aliens. I can remember talking to my grandfather about death, and I can remember him dying.

As a parent now, I somehow follow the crowd of other parents, focusing in on when my kid cuts a new tooth. I take photos of my little one taking those first few precious steps, and I know their weight and height and percentile in their age group. But I also relish those moments that I hope - if my kid grows up anything like me - they too will remember when they look back on their childhood.

Today, Anna asked for a big brother. Or a big sister. I also remember asking my mom for one of those. I explained to her how no matter how many children we have, she will always be the eldest - the same way my mother explained the situation to me long ago. Somehow, the explanation didn't sound as solid to my ears. Because we are an adoptive family. And if we chose, we really could provide Anna with an older sibling.

For a week, Anna actually had an older sibling. When we came back from our trip to Israel this past summer, you may recall that we were foster parents to a sibling group of girls - one a bit younger than Anna, and one a bit older. We agreed after that experience to stick with the toddler and infant age group, and theoretically wouldn't want to adopt out of the "birth" order, meaning we wouldn't want to adopt (or foster) a kid older than any of the children already living in our house. But does order really matter? And is different somehow in an adoptive family?