Today, Monday, is our first official busy day. We're to visit the doctor's for the last pre-adoption physical, and meet with Gordon, our attorney to get the lowdown on the court proceedings. We also need to make some time to get passport photos since Grace was asleep the first time they tried.

Claudia, the CAA director, has agreed to shuttle us around, since we haven't got a car, and it might be tough to pick out some of the places we haven't been to or past yet. Since there are two families going through this at the same time, and therefore a pair of birthmothers, that's a lot of driving. Ordinarily, Maddy, an assistant to the attorney hired by our agency would be doing this, but she's away for a family event of her own. Claudia works for (or closely with) the RMI government, and is really going out of her way to give us this hand. We've got to figure out how to show our appreciation.

We ate a little breakfast in, trying our hand at making coffee without any measuring instruments, and having a serving of Cheerios in storage containers. We resolved to find some food conveyance today as well.

Claudia picked us up a little before the scheduled appointment. She'd already dropped off the other couple and birthmothers. She had a dentist appointment scheduled, so after dropping us off, she thought she'd take care of that and fetch us after we were done.

Doctor Pinano's office is pretty small and cluttered. Like many things when you travel to a less affluent country, it can give you pause to wonder what the service might be like. We'd been forewarned by other parents before us, and were mostly prepared. He was a gruff guy at first, but that turned out to be just his busy persona. The other family was already there and had been doing some paperwork before their physical. He took a little bit of time with them an peeked at their boy for a while, and then sent them away. Claudia took them back to the hotel while we sat down to do some of our paperwork.

While we were there, a couple of other patients came, he excused himself for a moment to tend to them, and they left. He looked over our paperwork, and identified a U.S. immigrations form we'd need to sign and have notarized. This was part of a packet we got only a day or two before we left; and one that really we should have gotten much earlier. Additionally, we had an older revision of the form, but Dr. Pinano had an updated blank we could use. We just had to find a notary the U.S. would accept.

He took a quick peek at Grace, and asked a couple questions in Marshallese of the birthmother he didn't translate or paraphrase for us. Grace weighed in at a healthy ten pounds, eight ounces, and measured a quarter inch shy of two feet long (she doesn't stand yet, so “tall” seems misleading). She had one little blemish on her foot he told us to keep an eye on as scabies is a common ailment in these parts, but he didn't think it looked like that at first glance. She was awake and responsive and he decreed her healthy and sound and a beautiful little girl.

Unlike the other family, he held onto his papers until we provided him with the signed and notarized copy of the missing form. The form, by the way, is a form wherein we pledge to have our child properly and appropriately vaccinated as she grows, as a condition of obtaining the visa to enter and stay in the country. Of course, we'll have her vaccinated as necessary. Apparently we need to proclaim this officially before we can have this done.

We chatted a little more with the doctor while we waited. He turned out to be quite the jocular fella, once the business at hand was finished. While we chatted, he got a couple more drop-ins, excused himself, tended to them, and sent them on their way.

When Claudia returned, the good doctor laid out his dilemma. Claudia is a notary, but believed her stamp might not be accepted. We called Gordon, the attorney on our behalf, as he's a U.S. expatriate, and as we understand it all attorneys in the U.S. are notaries. Alas, whatever his position, he, too, would probably not be accepted. He did say that the U.S. embassy would have someone who could notarize our document. He called and made an appointment for us, and called us back with the details.

We returned to the hotel to wait. Grabbed a little lunch, and returned again to the room to wait. It was just a little after noon, which is evening for much of the U.S., and it happened that ESPN was showing Sunday Night Baseball, with the Cubs at the Red Sox. They mentioned during the game it was the first time since 1918 that the teams had played there, and that was for that year's World Series! Despite the recent addition of inter-league play, they've apparently only played one other series since that started, a few years ago, in Chicago. The Red Sox clubbed the Cubs, which was neither here nor there for me; it was just nice to see some baseball.

Shortly after, our birthmother knocked on the door for an unexpected visit. We let her in, and traded Grace around a bit. We showed her some video and photos we have on our cameras and the Mac, which made her giggle and smile more than usual. I played a little bit of a Marshallese language instructional I'd purchased, and she chuckled at that, too. She nodded, as if to say he's correct and she understood what he was saying, but she'd laugh, as though she, too, thought he sounded funny. We think he sounds like Bruce from Family Guy.

At one point she asked to use the bathroom. Of course, we let her. I noted to Claire that there weren't any towels in there and that she should offer one to her. At one point she turned on the tub water (shy bladder? I mused). When she came out she tugged on her hair and questioningly said “shampoo?” I guessed she wanted to wash her hair (which is incredibly long and thick), which while a little odd was fine with us. She came out with towel-dried hair and a bigger smile, and lots of Marshallese and English “thank yous.”

Time came for us to head to the embassy, and we all headed downstairs to the lobby. We inquired about how to get to the embassy, half hoping they'd offer a ride in the shuttle, but the clerk said to just catch a taxi. We asked also what it should cost, and she said maybe a dollar-fifty each. Then, not sure how else to explain what we were doing to our birthmother, we asked if the clerk could translate and make sure that she knew when we were all getting together for the next bit. She did, and offered to let us take Grace, but we weren't sure how strict the embassy would be about who got in or how to identify her, so we had to decline.

We headed out to the hotel's rotunda. Birthmother, taking Grace, followed and lingered while we spoke with the security dude who happened to be there about our intention to catch a taxi for our ride. Dude said to stay put and he'd flag one down. It took a while for a taxi going our way to pass, but he flagged and we jumped in. I felt a little bad just bolting like that, but really it's just that I feel bad that we have such a language barrier.

The embassy was a fair ride down the road toward the airport. It provided opportunity to experience the Marshallese taxi fully. Unlike taxis in America, where it's hired by the person or group that gets in after it's hailed, they're more like casual busses, where the taxi will stop for anyone who waves as long as there's room. There was already a fella in the car when it pulled up for us. We said where we want to go (also something they don't really do), intending to provide a little information for the taxi driver to act on, and perhaps to predefine a plan of action when we got there. Along the way, he stopped for someone else, who then got out a short while later. The other fella got off, and the taxi continued down the road.

He continued to and past the embassy without slowing down, clearly having forgotten or ignored our destination as given when we joined his party. I noted we were at our destination, so he popped over to the side of the road and quickly stopped. I asked what we owed, also not the way they do it, as Claire handed a five, to which he said “that'll do.” He then asked if we needed a ride back, probably thinking he'd get the same bonus pay. It took Claire a little too long to try to add his phone number to the loaner phone we have, so I took it from her, tapped the number in, and we exited to the embassy.

The embassy visit was friendly and quick. We met Andrew, the fella who'd be doing the validation and submission of our visa application. We welcomed him to the Marshall Islands, as he's been recently assigned to the post. We mentioned we knew this because of the blog his wife has, which we were turned onto by a recently returned family from our agency, who we're chummy with. He, of course, knew them and apologized to us for their troubles, an expressed hope that ours wouldn't be as difficult. It probably won't; their problem had to do with difficulties with fingerprinting that adopting mother...her story, so I'll leave it at that she has weak fingerprints...

He agreed it was a silly form to have to notarize, but explained that there are parents who would choose to not vaccinate for whatever reason, without considering the extra risk to persons adopted from other countries. There's such a different set of things you're exposed to in different places, and it can be the case that the differences in exposures, even just from the parents, can cause trouble, and the government wants to try to cover it's back by imposing this pledge on adoptive parents. Understood, but why the notarize everything, and why not simply make it part of the other package, and not part of the pre-adoption physical? Government boggles me sometimes.

We also got the lowdown on the happenings that will occur on Thursday, when we return to the embassy for “adoption processing day.” Evidently they expedite things by having scheduled cycles for the things they do, and Thursday is the day they do the adoption-related visa application validation stuff. We parted and both said “see ya Thursday.”

Just as we left the embassy, a taxi happened to be passing. We waved it down, it stopped, we got in, said “thanks” and just chattered to each other. Along the way he stopped for another gal, who chatted him up as he drove. We told him where we wanted to get off, handed him a couple ones, which he took without comment, and got out. Embarrassingly, the door on my side wouldn't open from the inside, so I climbed across and tried to get out of the tiny back seat smoothly. It wasn't so smooth, but I did get out.

I talked Claire into stopping for something to eat, since she wasn't feeling well. It turned out to be a fantastic idea, as she wasn't feeling well. Too much heat and not enough food made her a little uneasy. Part way through her cheeseburger she commented how much better she felt.

We had received a call from Gordon while we were eating saying he was going to meet us in his office instead of at the hotel. Earlier he'd called to say he might meet us at the hotel as he was having trouble with his Internet connection and air conditioning. He gave us directions, which I jotted down on the Mac I'd brought with but not used except for that.

After dinner, we stopped by the hotel desk to find out which way we had to go; while Gordon had given us the name of a landmark store to find the place, we'd failed to get the direction from the hotel. Again, there's really just the one road on the island, but whether you go toward or away from the airport is important; the island is shaped like a C, not an O.

We hopped in another taxi, and told him where we were going (haven't broken that habit yet). It wasn't far, and we noticed it before he passed it, and he stopped when we said something. We gave him a buck, which is the normal fare as we'd noticed and been told.

We found Gordon's office. We were a little early, having left with enough time to apparently circumnavigate the entire atoll. He saw us approaching, and opened the door to invite us in as we debated what to do in the dark hallway. He invited us to listen as he went over the prep with the other adopting family, as he wasn't going to go over anything that he wasn't going to go over in court tomorrow anyway. They were cool with it, so we perched on the sofas behind them.

Their story is, of course their story, but also not terribly different than our own. Except for the details, they work, have kids already, entered the adoption freely, have this detail and that detail and so on. “Here's the question I'm going to ask you,” Gordon would say, and briefly discuss the reason for it and the thought he'd like to see put into the answer.

They offered to stick around and give us a ride back to the hotel (they're literally in the room beneath us), but needed to hit the store before it closed. Since we'd not yet started, Gordon suggested they take off and he'd give us a ride back, as his home is past the hotel anyway.

Gordon went over our prep, laying out the courtroom and the general proceedings. We discussed how the judge was originally from a neighboring suburb to our own, and how that would help ease any discussions about diversity or expectations of services and support we'd be able to provide. We went over some of the details, and some of the questions, and talked about some of the answers.

After, we hopped in his SUV, chatting about his kids and family. He dropped us off and gave us a Pack-n-play™ that had been left by that couple mentioned before (with the fingerprint trouble). He told us to relax, rest-up, and to be at court on time.

We returned to the room, cooled down, and turned in.