Just Trying It

I put a pillow in Cate's crib last night. Like may things related to Cate, her likes and dislikes, I can thank Alex for this discovery. It has been his insistence that we "just try it" with her that has unearthed many new discoveries, like the knowledge that she loves hard boiled eggs, chili, ginger and bubble baths. And he insisted that a pillow be added to her crib. I balked at the suggestion. My one pre-adoption obsession (besides checking my email and every site even marginally related to Chinese adoption at least every ten minutes) was finding the world's softest blanket and the world's softest toy for Cate. In my mind, I pictured her in a cold, sterile institutionalized setting. The caregivers, I imagined, were kind. But the kind of soft comforts a baby would need to thrive would be absent - replaced with stiff, scratchy, low thread count sheets. I had seen pictures of the stainless steel cribs. I knew this girl needed comfort.

And so, I allowed myself one purchase before we had the "OFFICIAL" word. Just one. And that was a doll. A tiny, soft doll who nestles herself inside an equally luscious peapod. My slightly superstitious nature wouldn't allow me to take responsibility for my breach of conduct. The doll wouldn't be from me... Santa, yes, Santa would bring it. And if he didn't want to, I would just put his name on the tag and slip it under the tree. And that is what I did.

When we were officially, official, I began my blanket quest. I spent at least half a day finalizing the research I had begun a year earlier. I touched blankets. Categories developed. Not soft. Pretty soft. Super soft, but in an unrealistic way. And Perfect. Then for size. Cate is two, and big for her age, so a baby blanket would not do. Neither would a full size blanket. Finally, after much testing and holding up for size, the blanket was found and lovingly packed, along with the tiny peapod doll, into a suitcase headed for China. With these item in tow, no language barrier could ever stand between us. She would FEEL the love and comfort all around her. She would hold it in her hand.

And so we met Cate. We brought her back to our hotel. She looked small and scared and not at all sure she wanted to be with us. Alex and I headed for the suitcase. We pulled out the small panda he had wanted to bring to her. She looked at it, unimpressed, and then flung it across the room. Next, a little lamb, a leftover from Alex's smaller days that pulled at my heartstrings. It too went airborne. "She needs the doll, Mom," he said. I was afraid. "Just try it," the four-year-old advocate insisted. And so we did. This was the first time we saw THE LOOK I have described. She took one look at that baby nestled in a peapod, gave a look of great disdain, and then hit it to the ground with all of her might. Next, she reached for the plastic hotel room key and refused to let go of it for the rest of the day.

And what became of that oh-so-soft- you will never want to let go of this-blanket? Well, I saved it until nightfall. I placed Cate in her crib and put the blanket gently beside her. She paid no notice. But when my head was turned, she stood up and threw it out of the crib. In fact, she threw everything out of the crib. The panda, the lamb, the doll, the blanket, the sheet, the thin mattress, and then she put her head down on the hard bottom and went to sleep. And this is what she has done every night since we have known her, with the exception that I made her work more challenging by adding a beautiful silk quilt to the mix. I figured, she needs the exercise.

So, fast forward three weeks or so... Alex insists we "just try it" with the pillow. I tell him she will throw it out. "Just try it, Mom. Trust me." And so we do. We put a full size pillow in the crib. We put her in the crib, and instead of standing up, she lays right down, her head on the pillow. I put the soft blanket over her. I put the silk quilt on top of that. And just for kicks, I tuck the baby (now out of its peapod wrap) in right beside her. And she smiles, and looks so cute and adorable that I want to crawl into the little nest too. Alex stands triumphant.

I turn out the light and sit down. Cate doesn't move, but begins to talk. And talk, and talk. And sing and laugh and copy any sound I might make - a cough, a sniff. She goes on and on like that, nestled in her pillow bed, and suddenly, instead of tears and cries and sterile cribs, I picture a huge pajama party every night when the lights go low at the orphanage. Little children calling out to their friends, making jokes, and laughing while the nannies quietly sing and shush them to sleep. I start to laugh and Cate laughs back in the darkness. Then, all is silent. The sweet sound of sleep. Or so I think. I crack open my eyes and in the shadowy light, I see her. She is standing. Out goes the silk quilt. Out goes the soft blanket. And yes, finally, the baby doll is flung with as much force as Cate's chubby little little arm can muster.

But the pillow remained. And a moment or two later, I crept out of the room, pausing to look at her peaceful little head nestled in its soft comfort and smiled as I imagine Alex's grin in the morning.