Gonna Getcha Day

In adoption circles, many families refer to the day they meet their children as "Gotcha Day." Others object, saying "Gotcha!" is something you say when you squish a particularly annoying bug. Many in that camp prefer "Family Day" or even "Metcha Day."

What it's called will be the last thing on my mind the morning of Sept. 17, when we're to meet our new Who at the Civil Affairs Bureau in Nanchang.

She will have traveled from the only home she's known, to meet a stranger who looks funny, sounds funny, smells funny. She and I, we won't know what to make of each other. I'm trying to expect the worst -- screaming, crying, withdrawal, rejection -- so I can view anything less than that as a blessing. But I know it won't be easy, for her or for me.

Our first Who was stoic and curious when we met her -- which explains why our tender moment of union as a family quickly dissolved into video of the ceiling when she grabbed the video camera. We didn't even try to recover. She rode quietly on the bus as the babies around us cried, content to look out the window at the world passing by. We marveled at her calm demeanor.

Only later, when we watched the video back home, did we notice how haunted her eyes were.

This was a child in shock.

Only later, when we thought about it, did we realize that when she did finally cry, she was crying "Ayi! Ayi!"

She was crying for the only caregiver she'd ever known.

I hope I'm more attuned to Who III's initial reaction. I hope I remember the words to the children's songs I know, instead of singing verses from the Gilligan's Island theme song, as I did for Who I. (She got a rousing rendition of the Beverly Hillbillies song, too.) I hope she lets me help her, that she quickly finds comfort in a soothing voice, a warm embrace, in knowing that if she is wet, if she is hungry, if she is crying, her mother will be there for her.

Sleep well, my sweet. May your tummy be full and your dreams be happy ones.

$$$$$$$

We have travel approval! We have plane tickets! We have no more money!

Ahhh, the joys of the final weeks to adoption, as the gentle sucking sound that has been your finances becomes a raging vortex determined to drain every last penny you have. Need to eat when you come home? Live off your fat for a while. Want to stay home with your precious bundle at least until your clock resets and the days are days and nights are nights? Forget about it. Strap that little angel on you and get back to the sweat shop.

And you know what? You don't give a damn about money. Because this journey is like one of those credit card commercials: It's priceless.

We will be one of the last groups of July referrals to travel, I think. Not sure why it all worked out that way, and it's frustrating to know some folks will be home long before we ever get on a plane in September. But I just have to keep my eye on the final result: Who III at home where she belongs.

The mouths of babes

My two girls had a rough week. Mama was out of town on a business trip, and their routine was disrupted in a big way. I wasn't there to take them to school in the morning or to sing the dreaded braindead-purple-dinosaur song at bedtime. No big-big hugs or big-big kisses to be had. Singing it over the phone just didn't cut it
-- but thankfully none of my colleagues witnessed my performances!

It sucked for me at least as much as it sucked for them. Who II told me on the phone, "I cried for you, mama." Ditto, baby. Ditto.

Coming home has been hectic but sweet. DH is grateful to have another set of hands. The Whos are putting me through my paces while being especially affectionate. Even the cat seems happy I'm back.

Last night, Who I was talking about baby sister still waiting for us in China, and about my trip, when suddenly she put her head on her daddy's shoulder and announced, "You're my FAMily." I nearly bawled.

Children bring a unique perspective to our lives. They let us peer through the looking glass with them, delighting in things we might otherwise dismiss as ordinary. They enchant us with their imagination, their laughter, their innate goodness. They hold up a mirror so we see our true selves -- a picture that might not be as flattering as we'd like. And sometimes, they bring us to our knees with the simplest of statements.

We may look different. We may have different backgrounds, different life experiences, different hopes and dreams. But we are family. It doesn't get any better than that.