What a Difference a Day Makes

Abigail slept for nearly twelve hours last night. We had to wake her up to get some breakfast. She was much more pleasant for breakfast and even held my hand on the way down in the elevator. In the breakfast buffet, she selected nearly all fruits and waved off everything else.

When we got back to the hotel room, I took a picture of her in the rather hideous garb she was dressed in when we got her. From the high top boots which made it difficult for her to walk, to the shiny leather-type pants, to the impossibly warm hooded sweater, our little fashionista was dressed like ... well ... I'm not sure there's anything to compare this to.

It was then that she discovered the digital camera. Since I took a picture of her, she wanted to take a picture of me. And so began a flurry of picture-taking.
She even discovered self-portraits:

At 10:00 we headed back to the Civil Affairs office for the adoption interview, payment of fees, and the notary stuff. We were a bit worried about this because the orphanage workers would be there again.

We met Jane in the lobby, who Abigail now calls jie jie (big sister). She skipped along with us, prattling in Chinese the entire way.

Road crossings in China can be a death-defying act. But Abigail got right into the swing of things, leaning out over the curb, searching for openings in the heavy traffic. A few times she even pulled the more reluctant Deb along as if leading her across the street.

When we reached the office, the officials were late as usual. As we waited, Abigail chatted with Mrs. Wang and the other orphanage workers. She is very interested in everything and puts her nose right into what you are doing. On several occasions, she also came up to me and said "Baba!" and motioned with her hands like a square box with one finger wiggling (her pantomime for camera). When I handed her the camera, she proceeded to take pictures of first the orphanage workers, then us, then everyone in the room, then the plants in the room, then the floor and ceiling. I think she took over 150 pictures. I am appreciating a digital camera more and more.

When we left, the parting was amazingly easy. She happily waved goodbye to the orphanage workers, even giving one of them a hug, and skipped along with us back to the hotel.

We had lunch at a Chinese restaurant across the street from the hotel. To get there, we have to take an escalator down under the street and back up the other side. Abigail loves escalators. She will not let us take the stairs, but pulls us on to the escalator whenever there's one available. We're finding out she is probably a very strong-willed and precocious child.

At the restaurant, she probably ate more than all of us combined. Must be fuel for all that boundless energy she has been displaying.

One of the first orders of business during one of our free moments is to get her some more practical shoes. The boots she has been wearing may fit in a fashion magazine, but not for a nine-year-old who needs to do a little walking around town. The local WalMart didn't sell clothing, however, and we ran out of time for shoe shopping before having to return to the Civil Affairs office to pick up the adoption certificate.

We received the adoption certificate from the Civil Affairs office, which means that Abigail is now officially ours. For some reason, we had to go to the police station across town to get her picture taken and get a receipt. Abigail picked up the art of hailing a taxi right away and had her arm in the street along with Jane when trying to get a ride. She wanted very badly to sit in the front, but had to settle for sitting between us in the back seat. By this time we could tell she was starting to fade and we would catch her yawning occasionally.

She waited patiently with us at the police station, and we ended up having to take the city bus home because we couldn't get a taxi. Sardines would be an understatement for a description of that bus. It was standing room only, shoulder to shoulder, all the way across town. And at every stop, more people got on than got off.

We decided to eat in the hotel room rather than going out, since all of us were very tired by this point. We had bought some bread and jam and some fruit at the WalMart and we brought these out.

The first thing we discovered is that we had nothing to cut the bread with, and nothing to spread the jam on the bread with. After casting about for something with enough of an edge to cut bread, I thought a piece of dental floss might do it. Deb held the loaf while I sawed away with a piece of dental floss. It didn't work. We ended up breaking bread together in our hotel room.

The next problem was spreading the jam on the bread. An index card, folded over several times, offered enough stiffness to scoop jam from the jar and made a respectable spreading knife.

We found out that Abigail doesn't care for bread. We are probably also instilling in her the false assumption that all Americans cut their bread with dental floss and spread their jam with index cards. She's in for an adjustment when she actually reaches the US and sees a real knife in use.

Abigail is now asleep in bed. Actually everyone is asleep in bed except me and I'm headed there soon. But it has been a better day, and for that we give thanks.