Last week, our 4 year-old son, XiXi had just had his bath, was in his favorite pair of monster jammies, and smelled of that wonderful combination of shampoo and toothpaste. I was tucking his blanket around him when he brought up China. He’s only been home eight months, but very rarely mentions anything at all about his years in the Kunming orphanage. “In China,” he said, “one night I have to go potty, but NO get out of bed. No, no, no.” With each “no” he wagged his chubby little finger back and forth, indicating that getting out of bed was definitely against the rules.
“What happened?” I asked gently. “Did you wet the bed?”
“No,” he answered. “I cry and cry and an ayi come and take me to the potty.”
Always happy to grasp onto moments of love and kindness coming from the orphanage, I said, “That was so nice of Ayi. I’m glad she did that. I bet when she took you back to bed, she tucked you in, gave you a kiss on the head, and said, ‘Goodnight, XiXi.'”
He pouted and shook his head. “No,” he said. Then the corners of his mouth turned up in a grin. “Only a Mama do that.”