This Is Not A Toy

Jarrah is sleeping on her floor bundle and David is in the shower. I felt bad but I actually roused him from where he was passed out next to her and hustled him into the bathroom; if she wakes up, there will be hell to pay with him out of the room. We had a pretty good night last night. When we got home from dinner, I felt a twinge of "I'm a terrible mother" because we let her snooze in her stroller for over an hour while we unpacked and got ready for bed. Then she screamed like she was dying as we wrestled her into pajamas and bed, but once that firestorm had passed she was completely quiet most of the night, until 6:30. Friends, it's been under one week and sleeping until 6:30 is spa-like luxury to me. I am practically human again today.

This morning we experienced the breakfast buffet at the White Swan, and all I can say is wow. I have never seen more food options, even at home. And everything was delicious. Jarrah thought so, too, and especially enjoyed grabbing fistfuls of noodles off her own little plate and slurping them into her mouth. She is also a tater tot fan. This was also the first time she successfully spent a whole meal in a high chair, which meant David could actually eat something. She was really quite a happy girl all morning, full of smiles and giggles.

After breakfast we had the baby's visa photos at a store across the street that clearly subsists entirely on taking official photos of babies. Next to it, a shop selling Chinese name paintings and "chops" (carved stamps of symbols and names that can be inked and reused) displayed examples with names like Mya, Hailey, Noah and Kailee. Shrewd, shrewd marketing, people. The gals in the shop graciously explained that the symbols and animals they use in the paintings are "good luck for the adoption." At breakfast, the staff assessed our little party and walked us past acres of serene, empty tables to a screaming madhouse in the back that I named "The Adoption Ghetto." Every table was filled with foreigners and their squirming children. I've never seen anything like it. And this is my life now.

After the photos we spent some time in The Swan Room, which is a large play room on the first floor jam-packed with toys and children. I didn't think Jarrah would really like it, since she's not walking yet, but she was very happy playing catch with a plastic ball (and sucking it, heaven help her and her immune system) and pressing buttons on a "standing" toy. But the best toy of all is Daddy, who can be climbed, pulled, pushed and fallen from with great mirth. My first glimpse of her this morning was a silhouette in the near darkness, just a tiny head and some waving hands above David's comparitively huge body (the rooms in this hotel have two beds that are slightly bigger than a twin but smaller than a double, so we are sleeping apart) treating him like a jungle gym while he attempted to ignore her. It was really adorable.

Just now we came back for her nap and there was a new addition to the room--a large box which I could see across the room contained a doll. It turned out to be a Barbie doll, courtesy of Mattel, who apparently also kits out the room we were just playing in, but this was not just any Barbie, dear readers. This was "Going Home Barbie," and while she looks very chic in her blue tweed ensemble and rakish hat, her best accessory is the tiny Chinese baby she's holding. I am not making this up. "This souvenir is presented by Mattel to adopting parents of Chinese orphan children staying at the White Swan Hotel, Guangzhou, China." And the front of the box also says: "This is not a toy."

It's evening now and somehow this day has been totally exhausting, even more than other days when I haven't slept, for some reason. One parent from each family spent two hours in Jason's room this afternoon completing visa paperwork for the babies; in our case, it had already been established it would have to be me because David is not American, but it wouldn't have been me anyway since she would have had a seizure from crying that long with him gone. It was sort of interesting seeing the kinds of questions the government asks about foreign-born orphans, such as what kind of student they are and whether they are average in appearance and mental ability ("No, above average!" we all yelled, but Jason said just to write "yes." Hee.) When Paul and I finished, we discovered Mary, David and the babies in their room, rockin' out to the Beatles and dancing in their squeaky shoes. Yes, David had purchased some for Jarrah when he dropped our laundry off, and I was in pain from extreme cuteness. If you want to know what kind of cute I'm talking about, visit CuteOverload or AdoraBlog and you'll understand. She was doing her mad pirate walk and squeaking up a storm, and I can see my days of having a child who patiently waits in one spot when I cross the room are severely curtailed.

We spent a very unpleasant 20 minutes stuffing her into her new red Chinese dress for the famous "red couch" photos taken of every family and group of babies at the White Swan, though I have to say it was pretty hilarious seeing her strutting around with her belly jutting out of the narrow silk sheath. The photo session was typically chaotic, with normally serene babies crying their lungs out and parents wrestling them back onto the couch. Afterwards, we put just Jarrah and Joy onto the couch, now strewn with bite-size snack options, and the two of them were like little squirrels, filling their pouches with every crumb.

Soon after, we had a group dinner at a local Thai restaurant called The Cow and Bridge, though I don't understand that name. It was insanely loud in there, and very smoky, and at first I just wanted to put my head down on some nice, soft noodles and snooze until the check came. But the food ended up being wonderful, and it was so fun to watch the girls playing with their noodles and yumming up all kinds of new delicacies like veggies in coconut and mini ears of corn. I also enjoyed it when Jarrah held her placemat over her head and her hair got filled with congee, though I can imagine that such behavior will lose its sheen of hilarity once she's doing it in my living room.


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