The Adoption
Three lives change
We all marched off the bus at the Wuhan government building, as we crossed the parking lot the PA system in the grassy park across the street, incongruously for May, was playing the tune Holly Jolly Christmas. We tramped into the stuffy municipal building. It was dim with inadequate overhead light, the windows didn’t help. Dark ornate wood paneling seemed to soak up what little light there was.
As we entered we saw the babies had already arrived. Each child was held by a nurse. All the nurses wore identical red, government-issued uniforms. The babies all held identical rice crackers.
Seeming to sense a major change, they clutched them, half-eaten, with two hands, and stared out, bright-eyed, into the room. Quiet, like in a church, we walked past the nurses standing in a cluster, everyone craning their necks, looking into the group to try to see their baby. The agency had sent a few pictures, but it was hard to tell with the children wrapped in their blankets.
We were all seated. This appeared to be some kind of courtroom, with government plaques and flags. They started the process, it was taking time, too much time. There was some kind of official procedures, documents, and short speeches. It was taking way too long. We kept staring behind us to try to see our daughter.
Finally, they started to call out names and each couple got a baby delivered into their arms. And now, finally, she was in my wife’s arms, soft and wrapped in a cheap government-issued felt blanket, all baby-soft, and baby-smelling. Our Natalie. She was upset. My wife tried to assure her with some Mandarin baby talk. It wasn’t working.
This child was alert, very alert. She didn’t like this. She looked at us, these strange people, an unknown Asian woman, and a white man, and she cried, she howled! Soon everyone was crying.
As I would tell her later, in exaggerated bedtime stories, she set in motion all the babies crying in the room, then all the ones in Wuhan and soon all the babies across China. (And across time; As I write this, I cry.) The truth was, soon all the babies were crying from fear and all the adults for joy.
There were a few more formalities, gifts for the orphanage directors, thanks to the nurses, and we were back on the bus, now everyone holding babies. She lay in my wife’s lap and finally exhausted, stopped crying, cuddled up to her new mom, and fell asleep.
I looked around at all the happy families holding their treasures and I compared. Yes, I compared and concluded that the orphanage officials had seen my wife’s Chinese name and, playing favorites, given us the most outstanding child.
