Vignettes and thoughts from the first reading of the official Lifebook: Pictures. I need more pictures. "This is boring. There aren't enough pictures." I do not need more pictures of happy Chinese families; in fact, I need fewer. Chicago Mama was most correct when she said that, no matter what you say, the child will think that the pictures of real people are pictures of her birthfamily. Oops. The pregnancy and birth pages were a hit. A true hit. Luckily, they came shortly after the "There aren't enough pictures" part; I asked dotter if I could read just a little bit more, she said yes, and we hit the pregnancy part. Whoa. Now I have a dotter who is going around and thrusting out her tummy as far as she can, then squatting down and SHOUTING "Aaggghhh!", then reaching between her legs to grab the baby. Um. Maybe I should warn the daycare folks? Anyway, I had cribbed a drawing of an almost full-term baby inside the uterus, and the dotter was fascinated by it. Her eyes got quite big when I told her that the baby had to come out that little hole there (pointing). She breathed out, "Where your privates are?!" I nodded yes. She squealed "Ewww!" Then her eyes got bigger. She asked, "How?!" And I told her that it took a long time, up to a day, that a woman's body had to stretch out a lot to get the baby out, and it was a lot of work. She asked, "Does it hurt? Do they shout?" When I said yes, that's when she began the poking her tummy out and SHOUTING. There was a certain amount of connecting the dots: "Did you ever have a baby, mommy?" "No, sweetie." "Aww." (Patting me on the tummy.) "Did my birthmother in China have me?" "Yes, sweetie." "Oh." Pictures of happy Chinese families, as I said, were met with, "Is this my birthmother?" "Is that?" When she finally realized that none of the babies were her, and none of the ladies were her birthmother, she lost interest and dove beneath the covers and squirmed underneath my knees. "Holler at me when you get to pictures of me!" quoth the dotter. When I got to the policeman finding her at the gates, she popped her head out from under the covers on the other side of my knees and frowned. "Is this the Guilin story again?!" she asked in a somewhat disapproving voice. But then there were pictures of the orphanage, and pictures of me and OmegaDad meeting her for the first time, and a picture of her as she is now, and all ended well. The final verdict: "That was long, mama." Then, after a few more attempts to give birth, she laid down next to me, sang the ABC song, and began snoring.

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The Betsy has sailed. Reportage later.