Emperor Rong Rong

When the orphanage workers first put Quinn in our arms yesterday, I was worried that he was so interested in everything around him except for us.

A few hours in, the reason became clear: The Little Emperor had simply traded one set of servants for another. This boy was clearly the pet of his nannies and exudes a brand of confidence so bold that it actually takes a while to notice it.

When the workers came out with the children yesterday, I was filling out some paperwork and looked up in the middle of the moment. The other two children were brought out first and I had the vague notion that I couldn't see Quinn. Looking at the pictures last night, I saw that he was surrounded by workers touching him, patting his back and checking us out, HARD.

An orphanage manager was on hand to answer questions after the "hand-off." She didn't seem to know the other kids as well, but she knew every last thing about the little boy they call "Rong Rong" (Jian Rong is the name he was given when brought to the orphanage, which roughly translates to "We hope you can someday rebuild your motherland." She also spared no time communicating that pretty much everything I was doing was not good enough for The Little Emperor. She didn't like the way I was holding him. The way his sweater kept bunching up. And she scolded me severely for taking him outside into the 75-degree weather without his stocking cap, which she pulled onto his head with his full acceptance.

When it was time for us to go, I could tell she and another worker wanted to say goodbye, so I hung back. A male worker put his hand on Quinn's back. The female manager reached out for him, so I handed him right over. Quinn, of course, was fine with all scenarios.

On the bus later, Leah, one of our agency representatives, confided in us: "I think he is very spoiled. Boys are so rare here, and he is so cute." She said it confidentially, like it was a vaguely bad thing. But I couldn't have been more happy.