Sweet Moon Baby

An Adoption Tale

By Karen Henry Clark
Illustrated by Patrice Barton
Alfred A. Knopf

 This is the lyrical tale of one baby's adventure from China, helped by adoring animals, to the other side of the world.

Karen Henry Clark's poetic text and Patrice Barton's precious illustrations capture the great love between parents and children and the miraculous journey of adoption.

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  • “A sublimely wondrous book about how families get made, even when those family members are born thousands of miles away. Sigh upon sigh. You can’t leave me sniffling alone. Come share this extraordinary journey.”

    Terry Hong,

    BookDragon for Smithsonian Asian Pacific American Program

  • “This lyrical story of destiny and love is a triumph.”

    Kirkus Reviews

  • “Heartfelt, moving and lovely in every way. It’s a marvelous pairing of Clark’s exquisite text and Barton’s glorious illustrations.”

    Nancy Pearl,

    Author of Book Crush: For Kids and Teens

  • “A lyrical fantasy about a Chinese infant's magical trip to her adoptive parents. Vibrant watercolors capture her journey and her delight. “

    School Library Journal

Printable Activities

 The Real Sweet Moon Baby

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On a summer day in China, we filed into the hotel.

Our group of adoptive parents was ushered to the conference hall and seated across from two rows of nannies holding baby girls. Cliff and I had only seen our daughter in a tiny picture taken when she was a few months old. Now, at eleven months, hers could have been any of those faces staring at us.

Then we were called forward. As we stood before a panel of adoption officials, a nanny with our baby, Margaret May Yuping, stepped into place beside Cliff. My heart raced. I was afraid to turn to see her.

But she wasn’t. Her little head tilted past the nanny, looked at Cliff, and stretched forward to see me. And see me she did. Her eyes never left mine as she reached for me.

She knew.

The afternoon was glorious until I read her paperwork that stated: “Baby found forsaking on steps of leather factory.” I realized she would always live with a mystery. Unreachable memories would be locked forever in her mind and her heart.

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Once we arrived home in Illinois, I began weaving a fanciful history for her, something beyond the confines of that basket balanced on a step.

Then one night she looked up at the sky, pointed her tiny finger, and said her first English word: moon. Her joy made me believe they had always been dear friends. And I had the central image for the story I had to write for our daughter.