I walk into the baby and toddler house at our orphanage, its main room ringed wih metal frame bunk beds and padded with bright mats on which are sitting smiling Ethiopian ladies, each with a baby on her lap and one or two more playing around her outstretched legs, and as I sit near them, I ask the names of the babies, cooing over them and coaxing a smile out of one bright-eyed little boy, but in a little while as I talk to him I glance around the room, and spot a whole bed covered with babies, tiny babies lying crosswise in the twin bed, each bundled in a blanket on this 75 degree day and each with a bottle sitting on a little ledge above their heads, 7 babies in one bed, all different sizes from a big chubby 6 month old fast asleep down to an incredibly frail looking one month old who weighed less than 5 pounds and who had dribbles of milk trailing out his tiny lips as if he had no energy to even swallow once he'd sucked, and there are flies buzzing through ornamental metalwork of the open window, coming to land on the little sleeping faces of the babies on the bed, which makes me shiver, so for awhile I stand over the bed, shooing the flies away as I ask the name and age of each little one, most of whom already have families eagerly waiting in America, mothers longing to be right where I am at this very moment, but instead, as I wave flies off baby's faces, and kind hearted Ethiopian women spend their days feeding and washing and hugging and rocking, the children wait.

And at that moment I want nothing more than for the families to be able to have their children right.now.