Friday (which is now Saturday)...

Long, LONG day.

Breakfast was usual. Except Randy informed me that I've forgotten to add hash browns on the list of her usual fare. The girl loves her food. Lord help us if we somehow run out during the flight home.

Her silly faces are HILARIOUS. I need to get them on video. Our boys are going to love her spunk.

Morning swim went well again. She loves water and is so sweet as she splashes and giggles.

She hates to have her hair in her face. She also hates to have bows holding her hair back. I guess a buzz cut would solve that problem, but...

We went back to the intl medical clinic to have her TB test read. American public, you may now relax.

I do not understand why we haven't seen more accidents here. Aggressive driving doesn't quite cover it. Crossing the street reminds me of Frogger.

We've commented on the street sweepers many times since we've arrived. They are always at work with their long, spindly broomsticks, which makes for a surprisingly clean city. I now think there is a reason why we've been so drawn to the sweepers and it makes me smile.

The 2.5 hour drive to the orphanage began without incident, and, of course, with some food. About 30 minutes in, we experienced what will go down in history as The Great Water Bottle Incident. The result was over 90 solid minutes of the most intense temper tantrum China has ever seen. No toy, snack, sticker, parent, comfort, or Mandarin phrase from our guide would help. Her 21 lbs can amazingly transform into that of a prized fighter. I was fairly certain that our driver was going to disappear into the city in order to avoid the ride home. Eventually, she tantrumed herself to sleep, and we all spent the remaining 30 minutes in shell shocked silence.

Our guide asked if THAT was what I'd meant about her screaming at bedtime. I nodded yes, and I think we gained about ten notches on the empathy scale.

Randy is a ROCK. I'm not sure if he is using special drugs of which I'm unaware. (If so, I'm not sure why he isn't sharing.) Or perhaps he has come down with a serious case of "smitten" mixed with an incredible dose of "delirium". Either way, I pray that it doesn't change.

Our guide explained to her what we were doing at the orphanage. She did the stoic (and adorable) head nod that she gives when someone speaks to her in Mandarin. We don't know how much she truly understands, but she always appears to get what they are saying.

She showed a few nerves when we first entered the orphanage. When we got near a toy room she shrieked in protest, but didn't fully melt down. Some older children recognized her and came close to say hello. One fed her some mushy food straight from her own bowl, and our daughter took it cautiously. We then went to her old bedroom; the children and ayis gathered around and made a big show of seeing her. One ayi pulled her out of my Ergo and passed her around to the other ayis. She seemed to be okay with this, and listened to every word they told her. Next we toured her Half the Sky playroom, where the trained nannies work with children. Sadly, our daughter's nanny retired a few months back, so we just visited in general with the other ones. She went to them easily, and came back to us easily.

I'd seen photos of the orphanage, but I was surprised at how dirty it appeared in person. Parts of it were smokey, which I also wasn't expecting. It was hot and somewhat loud. I'd thought that I'd be more emotional about the visit in general, but I think I know too much. Instead, I felt surprisingly numb as we walked the halls.

We ended the visit in the directors' office. We'd requested to look at her file and specifically, a letter that was in it. We came for answers, and I suppose we got some. But not at all what we'd expected.

Our precious little girl is a fighter for a reason. She has survived insurmountable odds and, sadly, more pain and loss in her three years than I have experienced in my thirty five.

As uncomfortable as the visit was, I'm entirely thankful that we went. Walking the halls offered us pieces of her past. Gaining information granted us reason for compassion. Passing through the front gates, for the very last time, provided closure to this chapter in her life. I hesitated to take a quick photo as we left, but she whined and urged me to keep walking to the parking lot. And when the van pulled away she did not look back.

We fought traffic for a while trying to find a particular part of the city. It was way too quick, but I'm glad to have found it.

Finally, we met our volunteer friends for dinner before the drive home. Oddly enough, at the very same restaurant and exact same table that Randy and I had eaten at only one week before. Back when we were merely two. Now the three of us, along with our dear friends, shared food and laughter once again. Our hour together passed in seconds. But it couldn't have been a more perfect end to the day.