Felix and I are standing at the Continental Airlines gate at SFO, anxiously peering for our girls' faces in the crowd. After two and a half weeks of freedom from our babies, who visited Grandma and Grandpa Chi in New Jersey, we eagerly awaited their return.

And then I see the stroller. My Keira! My Ellie! I knelt down, shouted their names as they rolled out of the security area, threw my arms open.

Sweet sweet Ellie gave me a slobbery wide grin, her eyes crinkled and face alight with recognition. Her hands patted my cheeks, and for a brief moment, I actually thought she was going to try to eat me, in the same cramming way she puts everything interesting in her mouth. I had really missed my cheery gal; it was wonderful to have her back.

Keira was different. When she finally saw us, I actually thought she was upset. I had imagined the moment so clearly in my head: Keira coming running towards us, Keira doing her funny little hop-jump in excitement, Keira leaping into our arms. Instead, she put her thumb in her mouth, twisting a bit in her seat as if to turn away. "Ah!" I cried. "She doesn't remember us!"

What a foolish thing to think.

My mom pushed the stroller right up to my feet, and I leaned in to my girl, offering her my arms. She looked at me, suddenly shy and quiet. Unable to control myself any longer, I scooped her up. "It's mama, Keira. Did you miss me?"

And suddenly she came to life. She wrapped her arms tightly around my neck and buried her head in my shoulder. "Mama," she whispered. "Mama. Mama."

And everything in my life was right again.