The Sad Parts

 Yesterday because of Chinese New Year, I was going through some of Xanthe's photos.  This is the day we met Xanthe.  Scott and I were introduced to her at the city building in Changsha, where eight frightened and confused little girls were handed over to eight sets of emotional and ecstatic parents who looked and smelled nothing like anyone the babies had ever known.  Xanthe was sick.  She had a cough and probably an ear infection, from the way she kept tugging on her ear.  She reacted tot he trauma by not reacting.  This picture of her lying on the bad was what she did.  Her papers said she could sit up and move around, but her flaccid little body couldn't even roll over.  Now I realize that part of it was the shock of her new situation, but she was nothing like the muscular powerhouse she is now.

 We immediately administered antibiotics, cut her fingernails and gave her a bath.

 I have to admit, Scott and I were freaked out about the shape of Xanthe's head.  It seemed to have two bumps at the crown, one on each side, and as you can see, it was extremely flat.  Xanthe, as we know now, is an observer, reticent to jump in until she knows the lay of the land.  That trait doesn't serve one well in an institutional setting, where the squeaky wheel not only gets the grease, but has a better chance of survival.  Xanthe had, however, acquired the skill of drinking very quickly.  The orphanage was on a strict schedule, and feedings were 4 hours apart.  That's a long time for a baby to wait!  Xanthe at first wouldn't take the food we put in her bottle, a mixture of formula and rice cereal, until we served it literally scalding hot.  Then she sucked it down in 4 or 5 second, the whole bottle.  The orphanage cuts off the top of the nipple so the kids can eat faster, and Xanthe was a pro.

 The other thing we were shocked at were the little scars on her thighs.  Later, when we visited the orphanage, we saw that the crib sides were only about a foot high.  Then we understood the explanation that the babies' thighs were tied to the cribs so they wouldn't fall or climb out at night.  IT seems barbaric to us, where we have so many luxuries, but what is the alternative if you only have what you have?  The most shocking thing about our new little baby, even more so than all the crazy things we observed in the first hour, was that Xanthe seemed to have dark bruises all down her spine, on her tailbone and on her ankle.  As soon as we saw the bruises, we rushed out into the hall of the hotel to get someone to document that we had not inflicted these abuses.  Other parents were out too, looking for our facilitator.  Only then was it explained to us that most Asian children have birth marks known as "Mongolian spots," which look a lot like purple bruises, especially since Xanthe's pigment-rich skin was so pale at that age.  The spots are usually on the torso, mostly the back, and fade over time.  I wish I had taken a picture of Xanthe's impressive Mongolian spot on her tailbone that first day.  It completely boggles my mind that nobody in the adoption process mentioned to us that our babies would have these spots!  We couldn't have been the first parents who were unnerved by this discovery!

 This is the front entrance to the YiYang SWI.  Xanthe's finding place.  She was found on April 14, with a shirt, a hat and a bottle of sugar water.  Her birthday was decided as April 10.

 A few days later, Scott had figured out just how to get this beautiful smile out of our solemn little girl.  She loved to be thrown in the air.  And she loved it when Scott stuck his tongue out at her.  For the first couple of days, the only sign we had that she was "in there" was when Scott would stick his tongue out and Xanthe's little tongue would cautiously sneak out of the side of her mouth in imitation.  That was our only communication, until Scott got those smile out of her.

 After we gave her a bath that first day, pulling on her ear.  Honestly, she was pretty dirty.  The orphanage hallways are outdoors, so obviously there is no heat in the building.  It's cold.  I'm sure there are cultural opinions about not bathing babies when the weather is cold, since they could die of the cold.  They wear layers upon layers of clothing, out of necessity.

 Xanthe's friend Abigail, Tim and Courtney's baby.  The Atnips were our partners in crime in China, since we were the only two couples to fully venture out and see all the sights.  Some of the first-time parents had their hands full!

So these are some of the more sobering aspects of Xanthe's story.  Her Chinese history is rich and without end in its depth.  She will spend her whole life exploring what it means to be Chinese, Chinese-America, adopted, and everything that goes with that.  There are happy parts to her story, too, like the wonderful nanny who took care of her, the comparatively good conditions she lived in, and the fact that we were able to bring her home when she was so young.  Then there are all the other babies and children who are still there.  After we came home, I had this daydream I would play out in my mind, over and over.  "If we were able to bring home one hundred children from China, could I find families fora ll of them?"  I would play it out in my mind, time after time, going through all the people I knew who would throw open their doors for these imaginary children I would bring home from China.  I would also envision how many Scott and I could carry on the plane.  Maybe we could each carry two, three.  Maybe four each, and other people on the flight could help us hold them.

I guess I had those fantasies as a coping mechanism for knowing that we were leaving behind so many perfect little children, dressed in their layers and layers of clothing, tied to their cribs, the light fading from their bright little eyes day by day.  I couldn't stand the thought of it, and I still can't.  There's no way to spin it so it's OK.

I'm just thankful that Xanthe was chosen for us, and that we listened to the spirit that told us it was in the stars, and that we found her.  We found her and she's home.  That is something.  That is a miracle.