The Wonderful Chinese People

I am back from a whirlwind experience in China, which involved adopting my baby, plus doing some sightseeing. I wanted to blog from China, but being a single parent, my hands were literally full -- either with baby, diapers, food, or all of the above.

What impressed me the most about China, besides its beauty and the heart-breaking poverty, was its people. Of all the people I've met, I can honestly say that China has the friendliest, warmest, kindest people. Kinda makes one think, considering the country gets a lot of bad press in the US media for all the communistic ways and lead-in-toys fiasco.

Chinese people would approach me on the street and coo over my baby. They were so helpful, it was mind-boggling to me. No matter where I was strolling my baby, if there was even one step to hurdle through, there was always a Chinese person -- male and female -- to help me by carrying the stroller with the baby in it! They didn't want me to strain themselves and were always my guardian angels.

For the first four days of my adoption journey, Ari was nearly inconsolable -- very understandable for someone who was carted from caregivers she was attached to and carted into a stranger's arms and whisked away into a foreign-looking hotel room.

Ari cried and wailed a lot, often in grief. I coped with it well, so by the end of the trip, she was very attached to me.

During the hard times, though, while Americans were rolling their eyes at Ari and me, laughing at us, or just making rude comments about my "brat," the Chinese waiters and waitresses were picking her up and trying their best to console her. I could tell that they had a fondness for her and managed to calm her.

I can give many examples of the kindness of the Chinese people, but all I have to say is this: They offered me help all the time (including putting me on a direct flight to Chicago because I was a single mother and they didn't want me to struggle any more than I had to), they didn't poke fun of me and my child the way Americans did, and they treated all others with respect and kindness, even though I witnessed piggish, hostile American behavior. I was embarrassed at how rude some Americans were to the Chinese.

When I finally arrived at O'Hare's baggage claim, the American workers were rude and couldn't care less whether I ever got my bags. The two people who offered to help find my luggage and take it wherever I wanted were -- yes it's true -- from China. While Americans who clearly saw that I was one woman alone with a baby refused to help in any way because they opted for selfishness, the Chinese women who offered help were courteous and very kind.

I finally told the first one who offered me help that I was tired of American arrogance and how much I already missed the friendliness of the Chinese people, and she said that in China, the people really try to treat the country's guests with great respect and welcoming arms.

As a single mom with a child who was going through major grief, I am glad I had to do it in China, for without such human kindness, I would feel very alone and afraid. I did miss America a lot and was very homesick at times (the subject of a future blog), but I think Americans can take lessons on courtesy from the wonderful Chinese people.

Beth L. Gainer is a professional writer and has published numerous academic and magazine articles, as well as an essay on her breast cancer experience in the anthology Voices of Breast Cancer by LaChance Publishing. She writes about medical advocacy at www.bethlgainer.blogspot.com, and her cat Hemi blogs at www.catterchatter.blogspot.com. Beth teaches writing and literature at Robert Morris University in the Chicago area. She can be contacted at bethlgainer@gmail.com and gainercallingtheshots@gmail.com. She also blogs on the adventures of her cats, Hemi and Cosette, at http://www.catterchatter.blogspot.com./.

Day 5 and Counting

Well, today I woke up in shock. A week from today, I will be a mother.

It's really hard for me to conceive this, as I've been used to living the solitary life for awhile now.

I can't complain, really.

Rather than stew about the long wait to get her referral, I have lived a productive, fun life that I wouldn't trade for the world. Rather than dwelling on what I haven't yet accomplished, I have focused on what I have. During the wait, I became an oil painter and learned guitar and drums (I'm far from an expert). I've done a lot of writing and nurtured my inner artist.

And I think that part of my fear of parenting stemmed from a fear of somehow losing all of that once I became I mom. But the truth is, not only will I be immersed in what she loves and find a way into her world, she will also find a place in mine. I do not fear losing myself. In fact, right now, I'm figuring out which referral portrait to paint.

I do wonder, will she be musically/artistically inclined? Will she share my love of books, writing, and museums? Or will she be totally different?

She will be her own person, an individual. And the most important thing to me is not whether she is the most brilliant in her class, whether she is the most talented in an area, or whether she is gifted in music/the arts.

The most important thing to me is that she is healthy, shows kindness of heart, is an ethical citizen, and has a solid worth ethic.

And I plan to lead by example.

7 Days and Counting

Well, one week from now I will be China-bound -- on a plane from Chicago to Hong Kong and to Nanchang, in my daughter's native Jiangxi province.

And more and more I keep wishing I had paid attention to my 7th grade history teacher, Dr. Blau, who specialized in Chinese history and geography. I couldn't keep track of all the dynasties and thus found the class boring.

Well, Dr. Blau, I'm no longer bored by China.

In fact, since I got the referral, it's been in the forefront of my mind. I had been reading tomes on China, adoption, and adoption in China. I've earned the right to adopt my daughter, as I've been speaking mangled Mandarin for three years and worked to tears by my Nintendo Chinese Coach. There were certain words and expressions that, at the height of my frustration, I could not find on the system, as it is rated PG, after all.

Even though I've been waiting for this important moment for four years, I can't believe it's so soon.

Too soon, I think, as I frantically try to find all things baby without overpacking. A Walmart is available there, so I only need a minimal number of items.

Still, what to choose?

As someone who does not have kids, I'm confused by the vast array of baby items. Do I get the Pampers Super Duper Delux diapers? The Huggies Quadruple-Layer Super X size? Or the Luv's Super-Pinch-A-Loaf-Catcher model? Like Pin the Tail on the Donkey, I grimace and just close my eyes and choose.

And lately I've had a barrage of contradictory advice from well-meaning mothers about diaper rash, teething, what to feed the baby, etc., etc. They have no clue that after their lectures on baby puke, I am even more clueless.

Oh, and to make matters even worse, I don't like travel, which is why the most exotic flight I have ever taken has been to Toronto.

This trip will have proven that I've come a long way -- just for my baby.

A Baby for Me

Day 1

I am learning that I’m a mother.

I am on the phone with Jane, my adoption agency’s Director of the China Program. I feel a mix of awe and humility when she tells me my 11-month-old girl’s referral has arrived and is being translated into English. Jane has Fu Wen Pei’s pictures in hand, and joyously describes the baby’s cheeks as the chubbiest she has ever seen.

We laugh.

During the four years I’ve been in the China program, I’d imagined this joyful moment when I’d get this phone call. I had also been fantasizing about holding her for the first time, with the first words I speak to her being "I love you" in Mandarin -- the way I practiced during my Mandarin lessons.

Now, finally, it’s happening, and her existence is being confirmed on the other end of the phone. She no longer is a figment of my imagination: she has a name, birth date, and history.

And I think back to the obstacles that to my dream of motherhood – a miscarriage, divorce, breast cancer, major surgery, and infertility. With steely determination, I relentlessly pursued my goal. And, now, after a four-year journey that seemed longer than the Great Wall itself, I am finally a mother who will travel in about six weeks to get my daughter.

I get off the phone, relieved. Now I can fall apart without Jane knowing.

I am terrified.

Now that the time is drawing near, so is self-doubt. I can barely take care of my two cats, let alone a child, I surmise. I can't imagine turning in my card-carrying membership of the Come-and-Go-as-You-Please Club. I must say farewell to all the late nights out with my other single friends, and, oh yeah, uninterrupted sleep.

And worse, I feel I’m the only person in the world who is scared of motherhood. I feel alone and lost. And then I feel guilty because I feel alone and lost when this was what I wanted all along.

Still, I’m hoping this is all a dream, so I pinch myself. It hurts.

Day 2

Sleep deprived, I break down before I collect myself and start breaking the news to family and friends, who ecstatically congratulate me. I pretend I’m as happy as they sound.

But as I describe the pictures I haven’t yet seen – the chubby cheeks are a hit -- I am starting to feel a little more proud of her and more curious about this baby from afar. I know we were randomly matched by Chinese officials. But there is this small part of me that wonders if she and I were destined to be together. I also wonder what talents she inherited from her birth mother, and suddenly I have a pang of sadness that she will never know the woman who birthed her.

Despite my numbness, I tell my elated co-workers, and I smile. But inside, I find myself hoping all of this is a mistake. Sure, I want a baby, but I could use another six months to a year to accomplish my goals: I feel I’m not well-versed enough in Mandarin for the trip – even though a translator will be with us. I feel unprepared to be a mom. I am worried about balancing work and motherhood and getting day care in place. I still feel like I’m the only one in the world who is going through this, even though I know the opposite is true.

Day 3

I’m in denial. This can’t really be happening. The documents are getting translated from Chinese to English quickly, but I convince myself that it will take a few weeks, perhaps. After all, it would take me years to do such a translation! In the meantime, I can continue learning Mandarin and continue with oil painting and guitar lessons.

And why is everyone happy for me? Can’t they see I feel like I’m imploding?


Day 4

I start the day online seeing the unopened file attachments – the referral translation and the photos – sent by Jane. Denial doesn’t cut it anymore; I realize that this is it.

I cringe as I open the PDF file. I’m so curious and so afraid. I scroll down slowly, reading the report. With a sigh of relief, I’m reading good things: she’s seemingly healthy, she likes bells and seems like a sweet baby. I know I’m going to be seeing pictures of her in a nanosecond, and I tense up. I’ve seen her face in my dreams and imaginings, but I’ve never seen my daughter up close and, well, sort-of personal.

I stare at the pictures for a half-hour. I don’t know what I’m feeling. I don’t feel this overwhelming love as I had imagined. I study her face carefully. She has an expression that seems to indicate defiance…or maybe she needs a diaper change.

I send the pictures to family and friends, who send their congratulations and compliments about having such an adorable, chubby cheeked girl.

I’m numb with disbelief.

Day 5

I bring the photos with me everywhere. I feel they are my good luck charms. I’m hesitant to show them to co-workers, but I eventually do – to the sounds of “oohs” and “ahs.” I get hugs and congratulations, but I am a walking zombie.

As I keep showing the pictures, I start feeling pride and happiness. This is my daughter, after all. The panic has subsided…for now. At the end of the day, I even show my daughter’s picture to the lady at the parking garage where my car is. She is ecstatic for me. I am starting to feel a new emotion toward my daughter.

It is love.