So far, so good.

At 9:30 this morning we left the hotel for the adoption office in downtown Harbin.
  

It was a 20 minute ride full of nervous chatter - mostly me practicing phrases I had repeated a thousand times before, but knew I'd forget when the appropriate time came.  Important phrases like:


"Wo shi ni de ba ba" - I am your Daddy, 


"Ni shi wo de nuu er" - You are my daughter, 


"Ni shi bao bei" - You are so precious,


and "Qing bu yao la zai ku zi li" - Please don't go potty in your pants.


The time passed slowly and the traffic at rush hour crawled.  Wendy was asking questions and then quickly answering them herself - her way of maintaining order and control.  Aunt Connie and Ma occupied the back bench of the van, it was the first time of the trip they sat in silence.  We each handled the pressure in our own way.


We arrived at a cold, gray, government building.  Two fierce stone lions stood guard wearing red holiday bows.

We hurried into an elevator and pressed the button for the 21st floor.  Wendy commented that my birthday and her father's birthday are on the 21st days of their respective months - thus, a good sign.  Chinese people make superstition an art form. 


The elevator deposited us in a corridor that could only be the work of a designer in the employ of a government.  Plain and dowdy, white walls and dark wood, light spilling in through open office doors - it reminded me of the halls of my high school.


We turned down one hall and then another.  Our guide stopped at the open door to a conference room containing a large table better suited to negotiating a trade deal than introducing a child to her family.  On the far side of the table with her back to the windows sat a Chinese woman busily entertaining a small child.  The bow in her hair and the Hello Kitty attire told me the child was a girl.  Those eyes - "soulful eyes" my best friend had described them months earlier - those soulful eyes told me the girl was my child.


I froze and the rest of my party filed past me.  Wendy moved in and instinctively covered her mouth with her hand.  I wanted to remind her not to cry.  I wanted to remind myself.  I stood and stared for several moments at those dark eyes, deep pools of tears collecting at the corners and then spilling down her cheeks.  The sucker clutched in her hand grabbed her attention - I saw my opportunity.


I moved around the conference table and walked toward her.  I wanted so badly to grab her in my arms, but I knew that would only frighten her.  I approached slowly, bent over at the waist to try not appear intimidating.  With confidence I didn't quite feel I said my line.


"Ni Hao, Hua Hua".  


We had learned on the ride over that her nick name at the orphanage was Hua Hua. 


"Wo shi ni de ba ba".


Now, I don't mean to toot my own horn, but I nailed my line.  It was pitch perfect.  I really emphasized the third tone in Wǒ.  I wanted her to know how hard I had practiced.  


She stared through me for a moment and then turned her head away.  


Not a problem.  I'm not some one trick pony.  I'm a graduate of Parkersburg High School in Parkersburg, West - by God - Virginia.  I've got a college degree, too.  I've taken TV shows to air with every class of executive standing over my shoulder.  I've been cussed at in several languages.  I am not easily rattled.  


"Ni shi wo de nuu er".


The care taker was impressed with that one.  Her eyes grew wide with amazement at my mellifluous intonation and resonant voice.  She was right to be impressed.  I was in the zone.


Sophia pulled the sucker out of her mouth, briefly studied it, and then popped it back in.


Oh shit.


I only had one line left.


"Ni shi bao bei".


AH HA!  This time she noticed me!  She turned her head in my direction and studied me with a practiced skepticism that belied her 3 years.  Our eyes locked.  My heart stopped.  This was it!


Her eyes filled with tears and she buried her face in the care taker's collar.


The orphanage director took the cue to begin the interview process.  She asked questions.  I mostly relied on Wendy to answer as I pondered what went wrong and plotted my next move.  

The care taker abruptly stood and moved toward the door.  She paused to whisper into our interpreter's ear and then left the room.


Oh My God!  I've failed as a parent!  They can see I don't have the chops.  I didn't fool anyone.


The interpreter motioned for me to follow him, and walked out into the hallway.  I obeyed.  I half expected to be asked to leave the country.  At that moment I might have complied.  


Once in the quiet of the hallway I was told that Sophia is very shy.  The caretaker thought there were too many people in the conference room for any bonding to take place.  I was being given a second chance. 


This time I didn't fool around words.  I went straight to touch.

  
Sophie was sobbing and tense.  The caretaker sat her on a window ledge and motioned for me to come close.  I reached out with a nervous hand and stroked her arm.  The interpreter suggested I might want to stroke her head instead in what he called, "The Chinese Way".  Well, if it's good enough for Mao.

Gradually the tears stained cheeks dried.  Wendy and I got a demonstration of Sophia's walking.  With concentrated effort she is able to move one foot in front of the other.  Each step lifted my spirit higher.  I have never cheered with such pride.  I have never seen a step so small yet so consequential.  I have never seen a smile so bright.

It's clear now that this road will be long, but that journey started with those few steps.  We will make it.  

We eventually made it back into the conference room.  The orphanage director needed to discuss the rest of the process.  The Children's Welfare Institute wanted to give us ample time to decide if we wanted to continue pursuing the adoption now that we had seen Sophia's condition.  We would be given as much time as we needed to make our decision.  We were told we could take Sophia with us to the hotel, and asked if we had any questions.  


I was sitting beside the caretaker who was holding Sophia in her lap.  While we asked our questions and listened to the answers through our interpreter I pulled out my iPhone to look for a list of questions we had compiled a few months ago.  I had been holding Sophie's hand and let go to retrieve the phone.  She reached out to take back the fingers she had been clutching.  I showed her the iPhone and went into a photo album to show her a picture of herself.  She studied how the picture changed with each swipe of my finger, and soon wanted to give it a try.

For the next several minutes the she was utterly transfixed by technology.  The caretaker inched closer to me - eventually nearly sitting in my lap.  She slowly slid Sophie from her lap to mine.  I thought she was just trying to make it easier for Hua Hua to reach the phone, but soon my daughter was in my lap and the caretaker was gone.  That lady is smooth like pudding.  Sophia didn't even notice she had left.


The questions were all answered.  We signed the agreement for the "24 Hour Harmonious Period", but were again advised that in our case we would be granted all the time we needed.  I didn't even read what I signed.  I may have just purchased a time share in Boca.  It doesn't matter.  She's our daughter.  That's that.


Sometime during the last admonition to take our time considering our decision I felt a low rumble in my lap.  I wasn't sure at first what it was, but a strange aroma began to waft it's way around the room.  I asked if she was potty trained and was assured that she was.  


Probably just a fart.  No reason to panic.


Another few moments passed, and I returned the topic of conversation to the odor that was now threatening to choke the life out of me.  I tried to conceal the fear that was beginning to grip me.  I said that I realized she had been potty trained, but I wondered if she was wearing a diaper just in the off chance of an accident.  I was assured she was.


Phew!  Dodged one there.  That would have been awful!


Wendy looked slightly worried as we stood to leave.  She told me she hadn't brought any diapers with us.  I didn't even know why she was concerned about that.  Even if Sophie had crapped herself - we'd just change it when we got back to the hotel.  A smelly ride in the van, but no big deal.  


I stood too leave and shifted Sophia's weight in my arms.  My hand felt an odd sensation.  


No F'ing Way!  CODE BROWN!


I lifted her up to see the stain spreading across the formerly brightly colored pants.  Eyes around the table grew wide.  It was about that time that the ramifications of our lack of diaper began to take hold.  Wendy asked if anyone there might have an extra.  She also took the opportunity to break the news that we hadn't brought a change of clothes either.  What can I tell you?  We're rookies.  


We walked her down the hall to a bathroom not knowing what we would do when we got there.  Wendy was calm under fire!  She completely took charge.  I was still holding Sophie, but Wendy was doing everything else by herself.  In no time she had our baby stripped from the waist down and was cleaning up what was beginning to take the appearance and smell of a terrible industrial chemical accident.  My eyes were watering and my gag reflex was letting me know that this incident might take yet another tragic turn.  


Once she was satisfied the child was cleaned of all poop Wendy took Sophie out of my arms with the intention of putting her on the toilet to make sure the tanks were empty.  She swung open the door to the first stall, paused, and then softly whispered, "You've got to be kidding me."


I knew of only one thing that could dent the armor of my stalwart wife.  SQUATTY POTTY!  For the uninitiated - please enjoy this TUTORIAL - keeping in mind our daughter is not able to stand completely on her own, much less squat.  


Our stricken interpreter arrived to ask if there was anything he could do to help.  


"You could get me something to clean the poop off of my hands".  


I have no idea how she did it, but Wendy emerged a few minutes later to tell us that everything was fine.  No more poop.


Except for our half naked child and the sub freezing temperatures outside - we were all ready to leave.  I pulled off the red sweater Wendy had bought be for the occasion - red symbolizes good fortune in Chinese culture (I have no idea what brown symbolizes).  We wrapped her bottom half in the sweater, put on her winter coat, and then wrapped up the whole package in my winter coat.

  
We got back to the hotel and rushed into the lobby to escape the cold air.  I proudly marched up to the counter carrying a large collection of winter outdoor active wear with a small child quietly tucked inside.  I badly wanted to share my good fortune with the world and introduce my beautiful daughter to someone.  I smiled broadly at the three clerks who were now watching me with thinly veiled fear at what the crazy American was carrying.  


"Ta shi ni de nuu er!" - She is your daughter.


Wendy smacked me in the arm and called me a name in Taiwanese.  


"You just told them... Oh, nevermind.  Let's get her upstairs.  I need to give her a bath."


We got to our room on the 5th floor.  Our guide and interpreter, along with Aunt Connie and Ma gathered dirty clothes to take to the laundry along with Sophia's poop stained adoption ensemble.  I sat on the edge of the bed holding a naked child while Wendy ran the bath.  The laundry expedition soon left.


Since the tears stopped flowing in the halls of the adoption building Sophia had barely uttered a peep.  She was sitting quietly on my lap when I felt a sudden sense of warmth, and I don't mean the type of feeling you get from making a charitable contribution.  


I jumped up and ran into the bathroom my lap awash in urine.  Wendy took Sophia and I ran out of the room to try to chase down the laundry crew to add a few items to the load.  I got quite a few odd looks as I ran the corridors in khaki pants with a wet crotch.  I caught the van just as it was about to pull away from the curb.  


With the laundry all sorted I put on a pair of shorts and listened from the bedroom as Wendy bathed our daughter.  Wendy is a natural at this stuff, and sophia loves the bath!  She was cooing and laughing the whole time.  When she was done I wrapped her in a towel and waited for mama to come pick out some clothes.  I sat down on the edge of the bed, and I SWEAR I am not making this up.... 


SHE PEED ON ME AGAIN!


At that point I had known my daughter for roughly 3 hours.  I had been ignored, defeated, elated, pooped on, and peed on twice.  Really except for the elated part I might as well have been at work.  


Anyway, we finally got her cleaned and dressed.  Connie and Ma came back and brought lunch.  McDonald's!  (Don't judge - it had been a rough day).  Sophia and I continued our bonding over french fries.

We later talked hockey and took a nap.

Parenthood.  So far, so good!