That's One Small Step For A Man... The absence of a hug, kiss, handshake or verbal engagement from your child over your entire relationship can take its toll on a parent. Since the "Papa issue" surfaced during our first visit with Zoe a year ago, I've gotten loads of reassuring feedback, encouraging me not to take it personally.

"It's a guy thing, they don't see a lot of men in the orphanage." Well, it's not a guy thing. While Zoe definitely prefers hanging with women, she will occasionally hold on to a visiting male hand to lead a tour of her new home. And she has "dissed" more than one female.

"It's your height." While my width may have become a little frightening over the years, it's definitely not a height thing. My brothers, who are almost as tall and even look a little like me, don't get the visceral reactions reserved for me.

"One day, she'll be Daddy's little girl. Happens all the time." Things have been improving slowly over the last week, and while Zoe will eventually become Daddy's girl, it can sometimes take months for Daddies in similar situations to get as much as the time of day.

Mama is certainly loving Zoe's company, but having your own shadow 24/7 isn't all it's cracked up to be when you're exhausted and need a little time to yourself. Jesse is a helpful big brother, but not enough of a draw to distract Zoe from Mama for more than a minute or two.

With all that in mind, we decided to bring on the professionals.

The three of us attended a one-hour session yesterday with the Center for Adoption Support and Education. In the office/playroom setting, it took the the social worker all of about ten seconds to size up the situation.

"Mama, don't look at Zoe. Sit back, and look at Papa." Without Mama offering eye contact, Zoe's focus was entirely on me. We played one-on-one for most of the session, throwing simulated plastic food at each other, making funny faces, laughing. While Zoe still cringed at the prospect of physical contact, we were light-years ahead of where we were at the start of the hour.

While Zoe and I played, Sari and I discussed attachment issues with the social worker. Zoe attaches almost instantly to the numerous friends and family who have visited or she has met outside the house. Usually it begins with something as seemingly innocent as holding her hand, or helping her by cutting up food on her plate. But it inevitably ends with a major, unpleasant scene when the time inevitably comes to part company.

The instantaneous bonding is not unusual when you're used to three years of being passed from caregiver to caregiver over eight-hour shifts. But Zoe has to understand who the primary caregivers are--Mama and Papa. Visits to the house and lunch with the girls are both fine, but as much as our friends and extended family want to hold and hug and help this very holdable, huggable kid, now is not the time.

When will we know when it's time? "You'll know." Did we need to be seen again? "You don't need it."

As amazing as this first and last social work session was, nothing prepared us for what happened as we left the office. Zoe handed the borrowed restroom key back to the social worker, who used the one Russian word in her vocabulary to thank her..."Spaseeba."

To which Zoe replied, without missing a beat: "Nyet Russki!" No Russian! Our jaws simultaneously dropped to the floor. We never knew the word "Russki" was even in her vocabulary, much less that she would be able to clearly express that she now prefers to hear English after less than two weeks in America.

We returned home for a little more impromptu playtime and lunch, with Zoe running back and forth laughing in the hallway between Mama in her office and me in the kitchen. She followed me to the basement--alone--to watch me bring up some laundry and paper towels.

As Zoe finished her lunch, she saw me put on my jacket and grab my car keys to run a quick errand. From behind, I gave her a quick peck on the top of the head (a maneuver she can't see coming and is helpless to defend) and told her I'd be right back. I opened the kitchen door to leave.

"Bye-bye, Papa."

And I made sure I was right back.  ¶ 2:52 AM