My internal clock is so discombobulated, I have no idea what time it is anymore. Of course, that depends on what your definition of "is" is. Part of me is still on China / Hong Kong time, so it is 11:38 AM. Part of me (the exhausted part) is on Blahtown time, where the clocks read 9:38 PM. Our flight from Hong Kong to Chicago lasted 13 and 1/2 hours, but according to the clocks, we arrived 15 minutes after we departed.
I just don't know anything anymore.
Pearl did phenomenally well on the long flight to Chicago and then the short flight to Blahtown. Angry Driver and I fully expected non-stop caterwauling, but Pearl calmly sat in her assigned seat, watched cartoons on her individual screen with headphones in place, slept for about four hours at a stretch, played with some outer space Colorforms (I'm not sure the concept of "outer space" was comprehended, but she seemed to like peeling, sticking, and resticking the stickers), and even wore her seatbelt when required. I'm not sure why we were so fortunate when other parents seemed to really struggle, but the lack of tantrums made my airplane time less awful, that's for sure. Even with Pearl and Bean behaving well, Angry Driver and I still only managed to sleep about 45 minutes apiece.
When we finally landed in Chicago (left side of the plane first for some reason), we were herded with all the other adoptive families to a very nice customs and immigration agent who reviewed our passports and took Pearl's passport and the brown envelope. Thankfully, our envelope was intact and un-tampered-with. The highlight of this wait came when Frodo the customs beagle sniffed out some contraband beef jerky in someone's backpack and was rewarded with a treat. Personally, I think he should've been rewarded with some delicious beef jerky instead and, judging by Frodo's baleful beagle expression, he agreed with me. After the initial document review and "pet scan", the agent led all of us to a small contained immigration and customs office where we were all instructed to sit in black plastic chairs.
We sat.
After a few minutes, we watched closely as three agents went through the pile of visa packets at the front counter. There was a collective gasp from the assembled parents when one agent tore the first clear cellophane wrapper apart and opened the brown envelope within. I was not kidding when I said that the fear of God was put into us about maintaining the sanctity of the visa packets. Fortunately, the agents seemed to know what they were doing and they worked through each packet quickly and efficiently. When our name was called, Angry Driver, Bean, and I rushed up to the counter, but Pearl was not at all interested in the process, so she continued to lounge in her black plastic chair. There was some initial confusion when the agent pronounced Bean a citizen and presented him with Pearl's green card, but he quickly realized his mistake and instead directed his sincere congratulations to our entirely unimpressed toddler. With Pearl's passport firmly in hand, we hightailed it over to the baggage claim and then waited in an extremely long border inspection line with all our suitcases. I spent the wait time fretting that my supply of Chinese tea would be confiscated, but no one was interested in depriving me of my tea, so that was good. Once we cleared the inspection point, we rechecked our luggage and took the train from Terminal 5 all the way to Terminal 1 with about a hundred of our fellow travelers.
The flight to Blahtown was blessedly uneventful. It was strange, though, to arrive and find that everyone at the local airport had a business-as-usual attitude. I wasn't expecting a welcome party or anything, but it was so great to finally be home with our daughter that it seemed like the whole world should have been celebrating with us. I guess that's just the narcissist in me or something.
Amazingly, Pearl did not cry or fuss at all when she was strapped into her carseat for the drive home. I was sitting right next to her in the backseat, though, so perhaps that helped. From what I've read, most children who are adopted internationally are unequivocally and quite vocally terrified of carseats; there certainly were no car seats in use during our time in China, so it's not like these kids have any opportunities to practice. I was a bit mystified as to how we dodged that bullet and avoided airplane tantrums all in one day, but I certainly wasn't going to question our good fortune.
When we finally arrived home, I wanted to weep with joy and kiss the floorboards in the hallway, but Pearl was terrified. She clung to me like a baby rhesus monkey with dilated pupils, the darting gaze of a hunted animal, and a body stiff with fear. Everything seemed to scare her: the dog, the cats, the kitchen, my uncle. I finally placed her rigid little body on a stool at the breakfast counter so that I could get her some food and milk, but, within moments, I had to turn around and dive to catch her as she fell to the floor. It turns out the dog came within about 3 feet of her and she freaked out, threw herself from the chair, and screamed "Mama, ba ba!" ("Mama, hold me!"). The poor bewildered dog didn't know what to do with herself, but finally made the wise decision to retreat.
The one room that didn't seem to upset Pearl was the bathroom, so I gave her a nice soothing bath, lotioned her up, and dressed her in footie pajamas. This calmed her somewhat, but she still refused to let me set her down. Prior to our China trip, Angry Driver and I had vigorously debated whether we should put Pearl to sleep in her own room or set up a toddler bed for her in our room. One look at the abject terror in her eyes settled that argument for us and she is now contentedly ensconced in her tiny little bed with two tiny little fingers stuck in her mouth.
Really, it makes perfect sense that she is unnerved by our home. This is probably the first time in Pearl's life that she has been in a house of any kind, much less a Western-style residence. Even with the photo book to prepare her, this is an alien environment. For all Pearl knew, we were a family that moved from hotel to hotel like a contingent of 5 star Bedouins. After more than a week of living the life itinerant, we suddenly and without warning shepherd her into a large metal bird where she is held captive for the better part of a day, guide her through a busy airport, ride a smaller metal bird up in the sky, strap her into a carseat like she is some baby Hannibal Lecter, and then deposit her in the middle of what must appear to be a giant indoor petting zoo. The features that we take for granted - the kitchen with its shiny appliances, the living room with the fireplace, the steps leading up to second-floor bedrooms, the curious cats and dogs welcoming us home, the Christmas tree in the corner - must all look bizarre through her eyes. No wonder she is so afraid.
Hopefully, tomorrow will be better for this new American citizen. Although...tomorrow is Christmas Day, so perhaps it won't. Oh, well; I'm sure the concept of an obese plethoric man sneaking into the house to leave massive quantities of overstimulating wrapped packages under an adorned artificial fir tree will totally calm her down.
Right.
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