Today is our last full day in Guangzhou.
Which calls for some pictures of my baby girl in her silks.
Who needs the red couch when you’ve got Shamian Island as a backdrop?
Because I know that although most of who she is will stay the same, much will change in the coming days and weeks.
Boy, does she talk. Her referral paperwork stated that she was able to speak in three word sentences before she was 12 months old. And although I had my doubts, I doubt no more. She honestly talks all the time – to me, to Dalton, to herself. She doesn’t need an audience.
She seems to have a basic command of the Chinese language at 24 months old… and manages to make this mama feel like a complete idiot.
Thankfully, she’s so very forgiving. She giggles and even responds to my efforts at baby Chinese. And to bridge the gap, I’ve also taught her the signs for “more”, “eat” and “please”. She figured them out quickly, so we’ll be adding more as necessary.
And “no no”.
Morning, noon and night. Especially, it seems, at bedtime.
Her most recent update – that we received when we arrived – stated that she knows the words to many Chinese songs. And they were so right. When she’s not talking, she’s singing.
Our guide in Wuhan listened to her singing one day in the car – and laughed out loud. She wasn’t familiar with the song Tallula was singing, but she said the words, translated, were, “Mama, stop playing cards… it’s time for me to eat!”
She is independent as all get out. And feeding herself is one of her favorite pastimes. She doesn’t use chopsticks and prefers a spoon to a fork. And she seems to be ambidextrous. She does allow me to help occasionally, which is nice if we’re in a time crunch, or the meal is especially messy.
Her favorites are rice and noodles. And meat. Give her all three and they all go into the same bowl. Give her anything else and it goes right into the bowl… cereal, banana, raisins, egg, bread, vegetables. All of it.
She is definitely a good eater, but is quick to get her fill. She’s more of a snacker, wanting to eat every hour or so. And if you have it, she wants it.
And no sweets for her. She’s a meat and rice girl, thankyouverymuch.
Oh, but not your average sort of play for a just-turned-two year old. She isn’t a big fan of toys, or stuffed animals. She prefers pens and pencils. And drawing on herself, the bed or her brother. She loves turning electronics on and off, especially if someone is currently using it.
She loves jumping on the bed. And hitting her brother. Some things I’ve had to correct her over, and she’s not a fan. I can tell she hadn’t heard a lot of “no” before and I’m doing my best to choose my battles wisely.
But I can’t let her think it will go well for her if she hauls off and clocks Poppy when she gets home. So we continue to work on it.
She cries the tiniest cries for her foster mama and baba. Especially when she is overly tired, or if she doesn’t get her way… she just can’t hold it in any longer. I am so grateful that she feels safe enough with me to grieve openly. And that she’ll let me hold her and snuggle her until she falls asleep or feels better. Whichever comes first.
I can tell our girl has been so very loved. And I have no doubt that she can, and does, love in return.
She will allow me to hold her and love on her – while she remains relaxed and content. I’m certain that she’d prefer her foster mama at this point, but the fact that she is clearly familiar with this sort of contact tells me more than any referral paperwork could.
And because of that love, she simply shines from the inside out.
Because there is a whole houseful of love waiting on her.