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An expectant adopting mother asked me the question, "What was the moment like when you finally met Hannah?"  This was my response....

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You ask what the moment was like when I finally met Hannah.  I cannot adequately describe it without first telling you what it was like moments before!  Saturday night (6/3) was our last night in Beijing. We were getting up first thing Sunday morning (6/4) and headed out to Hefei, to the Holiday Inn where we would be staying.... where later that very day we would be getting our long awaited babies.  It seemed very surreal. I felt  "disconnected" from myself (like I was an outsider to my own thoughts and feelings). I was extremely grateful for the time of group prayer we had together Saturday night.

Sunday. We arrived at the Holiday Inn around 1pm, and before we were given our room assignments, we were told at 3pm to come to the 4th floor and wait outside the Adoption Group Meeting Room. When we went to our rooms, the first thing that struck me was the presence of a very nice stroller, and a very cute mesh crib. THERE WAS A CRIB IN MY ROOM!!!  Still I couldn't picture someone in there... let alone "my" someone.... I panicked. Not the panic of the possessed, but of the dispossessed (?)  Why did I feel *nothing*?  As we busied ourselves about the room, unpacking the baby's things for the first time during the trip, blindly guessing what we might need when we first meet her, I talked to my husband as I worried about the initial meeting...

"What would it be like?"

"What if she doesn't like me?"

"What if she doesn't like either one of us?"

"What if she doesn't come at all, has died, or is someone else?"

I couldn't decide if I wanted to be the first one to hold her, or if I needed some "observation time" watching my husband with her first.... like when we got our referral (everyone else skipped all the written stuff and raced for the photo. I had to *read* every detail, every word, absorbing every fiber of her description etc. before I even looked at her photo).  We didn't have any answers. We prayed before we left the room.

We leave to go to the lobby. We go back to the room. I don't like the shirt I am wearing.  3 pm... Life as we knew it was about to change.... and yet the same feeling that pushed me through the 18 months of waiting clung to me even then, "This will NEVER happen". We take the elevator to the 4th floor.  We waited in the lobby area outside the Adoption Group Meeting Room, pacing, talking with other "expecting families", taking pictures (and having ours taken holding our referral photos) while all the waiting we'd all been doing (some for months, others for many years) was coming closer to an end.  Our Chinese Consultant joined us shortly and said, "The Babies are here".

 In my head it's as if there's an audible *click* and life went into slow motion.  I don't remember going in to the room, but I remember being there!  There were tall dividers on the far side of the room behind where the nannies and babies waited. One baby was crying loudly. We each "knew"  it was ours. . .

One by one a baby's name was called, and the parents of that child stepped forward. It was a marvelous event to observe, and a rich blessing to take pictures of the others receiving their precious children. I felt no "jealousy", no "when will it ever be MY turn".  Mechanically believing they'd just hit the end of the list and not call our names....

"Ling [Chw-en]"

I know that name. It is my daughter's name. MY daughter's name. My DAUGHTER's name!!!

I race to hand someone my camera as the nanny holding "Hannah" steps forward.  And there she is, facing out toward us, babbling happily, "babababa, daddadadada", smiling, flapping, charming. BLAM!!! Instant bonding!  I don't expect this!  My face lights up spontaneously. I lose track of Greg and any other names that are called after mine.  No one else in the world exists!  I reach for Hannah several times. The nanny holds on to her.  Finally, on my next attempt to take Hannah, I hear a voice talking in Chinese to the nanny, and she slowly hands me my daughter. We cuddle, and I kiss her chubby cheeks. She is happy and warm and melts into my body and into my heart.  We have 20 minutes to bond (a Grandpa in the group steps over and takes our "first official family photo" with his digital camera, explaining to us we can later upload it into the computer and e-mail it to our friends and family. God bless him!).

Greg holds Hannah for awhile before he has to go do paperwork.  I take her back, change her diaper, lay her on my lap, and gently rock her back and forth as she looks at me. She is smiling. I sing to her and she happily drifts off to sleep.  Now I am desperately possessed. Possessed by a love so fierce it hurts, a happiness so intense it's shattered my heart, a peace so sublime I'm sure it doesn't get any better than this.  But (as an aside) I am tempted to pinch her, to make her cry, for the one baby that was crying is the *only* baby crying and will not be consoled.  My heart aches for the mother as she sweetly and longingly rocks, walks, cradles, coos to, and cries with her baby. I'm thinking if Hannah cries too, at least poor Nanette will not be alone.  I know pinching is not the answer.  I pray. I pray hard.  Back in the room (the crying baby, still crying, is in the very next room, and I wish God to grant wisdom and grace to the new family), we wait for the nanny to come and answer our questions. She comes, and all my questions seem pointless and inadequate. "Tell me about Ling [Chw-en]"  I plead (I want to know EVERYTHING and questions about her eating, habits, schedule and personality just won't do). The nanny says (through the translator), "I don't know what to say, ask me questions and I will answer them".  I ask the questions I have written down, and she answers. Now I know the technical stuff, but not what I really want to know, but my mind draws a blank and I do not ask what my heart yearns to know,  "Who saw her first smile? How was her name chosen? What makes her laugh?  Who spent the most time with her? Who knows her best?"

The nanny leaves and there we are the three of us. Tired, hungry, happy, dazed.  Hannah takes a bottle. We take the elevator to the 29th floor, to the "rotating restaurant" and order the buffet. Soon, someone needs a diaper change, and the reality sets in: She's HERE, she's OURS, and she stinks:  Cool!  We return to our room. I breathe a prayer of thanksgiving. "Crying baby" is finally peaceful, and I pray for the sake of both parents and child that she is truly settled.  We get ready for bed. Hannah sleeps through the night, just as the nanny said. But I get no sleep. I am up 3 and 4 times during the night, just to tiptoe to the edge of the crib to look at her. To stand awed by her presence. To inhale her. To marvel at her chubby little self. I'm half frightened my staring at her will "unnerve her awake". She sleeps deeply and completely relaxed. I grab my heart with one hand, and with the other stifle a gasp: I am so happy I just can't stand it!

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I'll have to ask Greg his experience, because honest to God, I don't remember him being there! :-o