It’s awfully quiet here in the house of PaNaMa. Pa took Na to Michigan to visit the grandfolks and then Pa headed to Philly on business until Friday. He’ll be back with Na over the Fourth of July and then they’ll both come back here late Sunday night.

That leaves me home alone with the dogs and my thoughts. On the one hand, it’s lovely having all of this free time to myself, knowing that in just a few short weeks, we three will be in cramped, hot and sticky quarters, with the hopes of adding a fourth to the mix. But Na’s sweet voice on the phone this evening tugged at my heartstrings. I miss him already, and it’s only Monday!

With three weeks to go before the trip, our house is still in a state of upheaval. I’ve been painting trim for our den because Pa widened the doorway to the walk-in closet. Now it’s a nook for our TV! Pa is giving up his home office to move Na into that room so our new little one can have the nursery upstairs. Pa’s scattering his office furniture throughout the house–a bookshelf in the living room; a leather chair in the upstairs hall; and his desk will be in the den. Once his office is cleared out, we’ll be painting over the existing “Sand Pail” red with “Liberty Blue” — Mr. Na’s choice. Pa’s next big project (though we suspect this will be after our trip to Ukraine) is to make Mr. Na’s bedroom furniture, including a bunk bed.

I think it’s easier for us to work on Mr. Na’s new accommodations than it is for us to prepare for our new arrival because he’s already here, and the little one…well…he/she isn’t, which makes it so hard to plan. But I am excited about the fact that Mr. Na and I will be coming home at least two weeks earlier than Pa and little Mr./Miss-Who-zy-Whatsit so we can shop and clean and prep for the homecoming. It’s nice, too, because I want Mr. Na to be involved with this process as much as possible, so that he feels important. I’m learning fast that six is a tricky age and kids want extra reinforcement that they’re good in our eyes and loved in our hearts.

Before I close for tonight, I’ll share a cute little conversation we had on the phone this evening:

Na: I miss you soooo much, Momma.
Ma: I do too, sweetie.
Na: I wish I could get smaller and smaller so I could come through the phone to give you a big kiss.
Ma: Awww. That’d be nice.
Na: But then I’d get big again, ok?

Mr. Na and I have been learning Russian little by little everyday since he got out of school last week. We spend about 30 minutes a day listening to the Pimsleur Russian Language Course that I downloaded for free from Net Library.

Back in 2002, Pa and I enrolled in a Russian Language class at a local community college, where, every Tuesday night, we sat in class for two hours, learning the basics by a wonderful Muscovite named Lolita. We took the class for almost two years and retained enough of the language to get through our trip; but since then, I’ve fallen out of practice and have forgotten the majority of the material. Listening to the Pimsleur Course has been a great review for me and the words are slowly starting to find their way back into my head. The only downside is that I don’t have the corresponding workbook for the lessons–and part of the challenge in learning Russian is the ability to read Cyrillic. Luckily, though, I’ve kept all of my flash cards and books from Lolita’s course and I’m doing a read review as well.

Mr. Na doesn’t remember any Russian words at all–not even unconsciously. But kids, in general, are little sponges when it comes to learning a language, so I know he’ll start to pick up a few of the phrases taught by the course. One phrase he already knows is “nee ochen horoshow”, which means “not very good”. It’s cute the way he’s already incorporated it into his daily repertoire, too:

MA: “Do you like the peas and carrots?”
NA: “Nee Ochen Horoshow.”
MA: “How do those shoes fit?”
NA: “Nee Ochen Horoshow”
MA: “Do you like learning Russian?”
NA: “Nee Ochen Horoshow”

As we’ve been going through the course this week, I encountered a word that I think Mr. Na was saying when we first brought him home—yet, at the time, I thought he was saying something completely different.

The Russian word for “here” is “zdeese” which almost sounds like “what’s this” smushed together. At the time, we thought one of Na’s first words was “what’s this?” because we would pick up random objects and tell them when they were and then he’d do the same–almost, in a cute way, quizzing us. He walked around, pointing at objects and said, “’stiss” and we’d tell him what they were; but now I wonder if his use of “stiss” was more of a “here” than a question of “what is it?” Either way, though, he picked up English words with the greatest of ease. Every day, I’d keep track of new words he’d learned by writing them down. By the time I got to 250 words (in 6 months), I stopped logging. But I’ve kept the pieces of paper and recently showed it to Mr. Na who fixated on the fact that “pooh pooh” was one of his first words (What can I say; he’s 6…pooh pooh is funny to a 6 year-old).

You might be wondering why I’ve chosen to learn Russian over Ukrainian. As I’ve mentioned in an earlier post, they are definitely two very distinct languages (think Spanish vs. Portuguese). It’s only been since 1991 that Ukrainian has become the official language, and most people speak both–with Russian, actually, still being the dominant. This is especially true in the eastern part of the country where Ukrainians have stronger ties to Russia and are resistant to making Ukrainian the primary language.

So, for now, Mr. Na and I work though a little bit of Russian everyday, with the hopes that we’ll be able to understand the majority of people while we’re there. Hopefully, by the time we leave on July 20th, we’ll be able to speak Russian “ochen horoshow” instead of “nee ochen horoshow”!

I’ll tell ya–lately, there just hasn’t been enough time in the day to get ready for this trip. I’m awfully glad we have about four weeks to go because I just don’t feel like I’m getting everything done!

We’ve scored the house sitter, which was the most important…but we’ve yet to get presents for Klas and Koko and their children. I don’t want to get them something super-cheesy, but I also want to get them something that reflects “Seattle”. If anyone has any ideas, please pass them my way in the comments section.

I’ve been getting some great advice from readers about running in Ukraine–thanks everyone! A friend also suggested that I look for a running race in Kiev while I’m there. She’s a woman after my own heart, too, because what reeled me in was that she said, “Wouldn’t a Kiev race t-shirt be really cool to have?”

Speaking of cool t-shirts…I’m really hoping we can make it down to Donetsk during our trip (who knows, maybe that’ll be our destination). Not only do we want to show Mr. Na around his birthplace, but we also want to take him to his orphanage so that the director and nurse can see how big he’s gotten.

We also want to get Mr. Na a Donetsk Shakhtar t-shirt or jersey. The Shakhtar (means “Miner Country”) soccer team, from what we saw in Donetsk, is wildly popular among the people in Donetsk. Shops, notaries, and restaurants all displayed wall calendars featuring team players and game schedules. Pa and I were bummed because we had been walking all around Donetsk in the cold one day when we came upon the stadium. We wondered if there was a team shop somewhere nearby but we couldn’t find one. And so we went home without a jersey for Mr. Na and we’ve been lamenting over this ever since. Unfortunately, while the Shakhtar has an official team gear website, there’s no way to place an order from here in the states. So, we’ve vowed ourselves to try and get a jersey this time. Since Mr. Na and Pa love soccer, we figured a jersey would be a nice little piece of memorabilia for Mr. Na to keep.

I had pretty much tossed all hopes aside that I would do some running in Ukraine during our trip in mid-July. Having been there before, the idea of running seemed kind of far-fetched, what with all of the crazy drivers on the road and the lack of sidewalks. The stray dogs, too, kind of puts a damper on any desire to run.

I am a creature of habit and like to run close to home, rather than feeling all adventurous to blaze a new trail–though I will admit I have been bold during certain trips to other cities, and I’ve run routes in Barcelona, Helsinki, New York, Las Vegas, Honoloulu. But there have been times when I’ve held back, feeling a little unsure of my safety–particularly in Paris, Madrid, London and Prague. It’s mostly because of the high volume of traffic and the layout of the cities.

So, along with my decision not to run in Ukraine, I skipped plans to run in a marathon this fall since I figured I’d be gone most of the summer and would miss at least two or three 20-mile training runs, not to mention the fact that I’d have to consider running up mountains made out of coal slag for hill training since Ukraine is about as flat as Kansas. My decision left me kind of bummed, too, because I’ve been hankering to do the Portland Marathon so I can finally get a decent finish time.

But this morning, I got home from my run and Pa asked me if I had planned any running routes in Ukraine. I kinda looked at him sideways and said,
“I don’t think it’s safe, do you?”
He said for sure he’d feel safe in Kiev and that once we got to our child’s city or village, I could determine whether or not I’d feel comfortable. And then, of course, a new seed was planted in my brain. I mean, sheesh, we’ll have so much down-time during our travel, it would seem a shame not to spend some of that time running. So, I’m thinking about it more in earnest now…but of course thinking means planning, since I’d have to schlep more crap with me (i.e. running shoes, socks, shorts, shirts, sports bras, hats, sunglasses, My Forerunner (GPS), bluetooth headset, water belt and bottles, and packets of Gu. And if you’re dying of laughter at the thought of all my “gear” then you should try running 10-20 miles without most of the above. You’d be bored to tears, dehydrated, lost, and low on blood sugar.

Seriously, though, all that extra junk means needing space in my already-maxed-out-luggage or worse–having to pack a second bag. And when you’re in Ukraine, climbing four flights of stairs in a post-communist apartment building with a broken elevator that has a spray painted “Anarchy” symbol on it and you’re sweating your ass off because it’s 98 degrees with 100% humidity, having a second bag just for running clothes really seems asinine.

Aw well, I’ll figure it out. For me, running takes the edge off…makes me feel awesome…helps me to sleep like a baby at night…and I’ll admit, if I don’t plan to run, I will miss it while we’re gone. Seems pretty silly to leave behind a great form of therapy during a super-huge stressful time.

Prior to our first adoption, Pa and I knew next to nothing about Ukraine and we found that to be pretty common among our friends and family. It’s a country that, until recently, received little attention–even when it gained independence from Russia in 1991. The one exception was the Chernobyl disaster in 1986, though I recall the media’s attention was turned more toward Belarus, just north of the accident, where the winds carried the majority of radioactive fallout.

Ukraine has had a rough history, indeed, and here’s a little bit of background:

Interesting Facts About Ukraine

Ukraine is just slightly smaller than the state of Texas.

The official flag of Ukraine is Gold and Blue (Azure) horizontal bands. Gold represents grain fields under the (Blue) sky.

The official language of Ukraine is Ukrainian. VERY different from Russian, although Russian is spoken and most Ukrainians speak Russian.

The capital of Ukraine is Kiev.

It is improper and in poor taste to say “the” Ukraine because it is not a region but rather an independent country.

Ukraine’s borders are the Carpathian Mountains in the midwest; Moldova to the southwest; Poland in the northwest; the Black Sea/Sea of Azov to the south; Belarus to the North and Russia to the Northeast. It also has a peninsula jutting out the south end, called the Crimea.

The northwestern region of Ukraine was once part of Poland, from 1919-1939.

The Great Famine of 1932-1933 (called Holodomor–meaning hunger plague) wiped out an estimated 5.5 million people in Ukraine. Holodomor is referred as the Ukrainian Holocaust because it is believed that the famine was a directive by Joseph Stalin to completely obliterate Ukrainians.

1.5 million Jews living in Ukraine during 1941 were shot and killed by Nazis. One mass slaughter occurred at Babi Yar — a place just outside of Kiev.

Yalta–a city in the southern part of the Crimea–was the site of the February 1945 Allied conference between Roosevelt, Churchill and Stalin.

On April 26, 1986, Reactor #4 of the Chernobyl nuclear power plant exploded, releasing large amounts of radioactive particles into the atmosphere. It is the worst nuclear reactor accident in history.

Today, 22 years after the accident at Chernobyl, Prypiat–the closest town to the nuclear plant–is still abandoned. If you want to look at some pretty intense pictures taken recently, go here.

The current president of Ukraine is Viktor Andriyovych Yushchenko. He has been president since 2005, but during his “Our Ukraine” campaign in 2004, he was mysteriously poisoned with dioxin which nearly killed him and left his face disfigured. During the election in November 2004, Yuschchenko’s opponent Prime Minister Viktor Yanukovych, was declared the winner after a very tight race. This sparked a massive protest in Kiev and in other parts of the country where citizens claimed the race was fraudulent with voter intimidation and torching ballot boxes. The protests, called the Orange Revolution for Yushchenko’s campaign color, lasted for six days until the government backed down and called for a re-vote, which resulted in Yuschenko winning the election with 52 percent of the votes.

It was a lot of fun writing about our first adoption experience, since it brought up so many things I had forgotten. I have to say, it wasn’t an easy process, but it really wasn’t that bad. I’m hoping it’ll be that way again. In fact, I’m really very nervous about it. I’m so afraid we are going to come home empty-handed and defeated. I mean, I know we’ll get a second appointment down the road, but it’ll still be pretty devastating if we do come home without a child.

We finally bought our plane tickets last Friday and I swear it’s more expensive for the three of us to fly to Kiev and back than it was for Pa and I to fly to Australia for our honeymoon in 1999. It’s not that Kiev is a hot destination, it’s that the airlines are charging up to $160 for fuel, per passenger, on top of their sky-high (pardon the pun) summer fares. If we weren’t going to adopt, I’d skip any kind of vacation requiring air travel this year. As it is, Pa and I rarely drive any more, given that gasoline is predicted to be $5 per gallon by the 4th of July!

Well, I’d be lying if I told you our trip from Amsterdam to Seattle was as smooth as the one from Warsaw to Amsterdam. It was so bad, in fact, I found myself second-guessing if I was cut out to be a mom. I felt like the biggest failure for 7-1/2 of the 9-1/2 hour flight. Mr. Na was so tired, frightened and sick, he cried incessantly.

We were assigned to the middle of a middle row of four seats across in the 747, sharing our row with a man assigned on the aisle. He got to know Mr. Na pretty quick given that he was one of a half dozen people who tried consoling him throughout the duration of the flight. He was only one of a few, though, who seemed to like kids. Everyone else around us threw angry looks our way whenever Mr. Na began to wail. I tell ya, I’d been on many, many flights all over the world and this one seemed like it was the only one I’d ever heard a child cry for almost the entire time—AND HE WAS MY KID!

We tried feeding him, rocking him, letting him stretch out over us, laying him down on the floor, letting him roam around, changing him, singing to him, reading to him, playing with his toys, watching cartoons—and he still cried. The only time he would stop was when Pa got up and walked him up and down the length of the plane. To this day, Pa claims he walked Mr. Na all the way home from Amsterdam.

There was a point where I actually started to cry out of frustration and sleep deprivation and the need to finally be home. The hours stretched endlessly. A woman behind me with her own infant tried helping—giving me some advice about what she did with her son when he was colicky. Little did I know then that part of the problem was Na’s constant hunger pangs gnawing at his little tummy. The giardia he had in his intestines practially ate everything he ate and he was always in a state of either sheer hunger or massive cramps and diahrea. The only way to have successfully consoled him would have been to constantly feed him, until he fell asleep. But, of course, hindsight is 20/20 and had I known the ills of that pesky little parasite then, I would have proceeded to shovel food in Na’s mouth the entire time.

By the time we finally did land in Seattle, the three of us were in pretty bad shape. Standing in the never-ending line to get through customs was painful and it wasn’t until the Passport Control officer said “Congratulations” to Mr. Na for being a newly-minted U.S. citizen that I actually stopped and smiled.

Our friends picked us up at the airport, but judging by the looks on our faces, they knew not to ask too many questions, or get offended that we weren’t overly excited to see them. They pulled up in front of our house, dropped us off, gave us each hugs, and left quietly. The front door opened and my mom stood there with tears in her eyes. She was beside herself at seeing her new grandson—and Mr. Na let her pick him up and cuddle him with all of her grandma love. I took him upstairs to his new room—where she had washed the sheets and put them on the crib. I changed him and put him in clean pajamas and he was asleep almost instantly. Even though I felt I could have dropped, face first, on my own bed and slept for days, Pa and I had to go to Babies R Us for some extremely important supplies. Not knowing how old our child would be prior to our trip left us unable to prepare our house, let alone buy a car seat, stroller, or high chair, so we spent our first two hours at home buying all of our provisions and setting everything up for our newest addition.

Finally, after 16 days, thousands of miles, and several beds in various cities I dove under my covers and slept for nearly 14 hours—thankful to be home, safe and sound, with our new son.

After two weeks of living in a somewhat gloomy hotel in Donetsk–with its darkened, carpet-less lobby and it’s creaky post-communist staircases and elevators, the Sheraton Warsaw was downright palatial. I could have crashed right in the lobby of the Sheraton, among the polished brass, plush carpeting and elegant lighting and would have had the best rest I’d had in two weeks. There was no need to, though–a stately queen sized be with a white, fluffy down duvet and a half dozen pillows awaited us in our room. Housekeeping even set up a playpen with a smaller duvet for Mr. Na–the likes of which, I’m certain, he’d never before experienced.

It was like camping in the wilderness for two weeks and then vacationing in a palace. The marbled bathroom had a large soaking tub, hot water and large, clean bath towels–and best of all, REAL TOILET PAPER. It was the best darned toilet paper I’d felt in a long time.

Despite our weariness from the long journey and the jarring experience at the border, none of us could get to sleep when we tried. We opted, then, to take turns showering while Mr. Na made himself right at home in the room, leaving piles of new toys in his wake.

Once we were clean and dressed, we headed downstairs to the hotel’s main restaurant, and splurged on their breakfast buffet. We piled our plates high with fresh berries, melon, pineapple and grapes–as though we hadn’t had fruit in years. After two solid weeks of eggs and mayonnaise-based salads, we skipped the elaborate custom-order egg dishes in favor of the cinnamon-laced French toast and fluffy pancakes. Much to his delight, Mr. Na sampled everything from our plates and probably had himself an adult-sized portion!

After breakfast, we ventured out into the chilly air. The sun was shining but the sidewalks were icy and carrying Mr. Na without slipping was some what of a challenge. I wanted to drink in the sights, smells and sounds of Warsaw but I was too tired. I just wanted to go home.

We were buzzed into the American Embassy and lead down a narrow corridor that opened into a wide waiting room about three times the size of the one on Kiev and filled wall-to-wall with people. At the time, Warsaw was the only connecting point back to the U.S. and adoptive parents had to stop there from any of the neighboring Eastern European countries to get their child’s transit visa. The room was full of babies and toddlers–mostly boys, and Pa and I were amazed by the facial and body structure similarities of all of the children. Despite their small, underweight sizes, these kids were perfectly rectangular in body shape. Their stocky, linebacker features were complemented by large, high foreheads. Given that Pa’s ancestry was Polish/Austrian–he seemed to fit right in, so the room looked as though it was filled with a team of tot-sized football players with a coordinating coach. What was even more amusing was that, by the look of these boys, one would think they’d have names like “IVAN” or “ANDRE” or “VIKTOR” but instead, parents were calling out to “Connor”, “Tyler” or “Tucker”. We laughed, thinking that our pre-chosen name for Mr. Na–”Trevor” didn’t suit him at all and that he needed a more “traditional” Eastern European-sounding name rather than a traditional Anglo-Saxon name.

Mr. Na was a friendly little guy and enjoyed wiggling out of my grasp to wander over to Tucker and Tyler and Connor and pretty soon, all the boys in our row of chairs were chasing one another, squealing and laughing. He was not very happy, though, when our named was called and Pa scooped him up in mid-play. Once we got to the window to hand in our paperwork and talk to the visa coordinator, Mr. Na threw a mighty-sized tantrum. I did my best to re-frame him and get him out of his funk while Pa spoke to the coordinator. It was pretty stressful though, for all of us given that we were dog-tired–not to mention the fact that all of this tantrum-stuff was fairly new for Pa and me. We were still working out our parenting skills.

Pa managed to get the paperwork turned in and we were told to come back at 4:00 p.m., when the visa would be ready. We decided to bring Mr. Na back to the hotel so he and I could try and nap while Pa went to the Northwest Airlines office to get our tickets for the flight home the next day. He also wanted to check out “Smyk”– a fairly large children’s store in the heart of Warsaw that we’d heard about on the adoption boards. Despite my love of shopping and the fact that I had been waiting for YEARS for the chance to finally shop for our child, I was seeing double at that point, as a result of being overtired. Shopping would have to wait until I got home and got over my jet lag.

Pa ventured off and returned to the hotel later that afternoon with the visa, our plane tickets and some new clothes for Mr. Na. He also bought a Chicco backpack/child carrier so he could carry Mr. Na hands-free. Our flight to Amsterdam was at 5:30 a.m. and so we headed down to another restaurant adjacent to our hotel, for one last dinner on European soil. We met another family who had also adopted a little boy in Ukraine, and over dinner we swapped war stories. The boys ate pancakes and babbled to each other incessantly until it was time to leave.

We returned to our room around 8 p.m. and I drew a bath for Mr. Na. But when I went to take off his little onesie, I saw these huge, red blotches all over his neck, his chest, and his stomach. At first, I was terribly worried and had visions of running him to the hospital and trying to explain in English to a Polish-speaking doctor or nurse that my Ukrainian son, who only knew Russian, was suffering from something I wasn’t sure was an allergy because I didn’t know his medical history. The blotches didn’t seem to bother him, though, and instinctively, I broke a baby Benadryl in half and gave him a little piece to chew on. By the time he was finished with his bath, the blotches had faded. I guessed that perhaps during his breakfast feast, he ate something that his body didn’t like. Then I remembered that it wasn’t a good idea to feed children under two strawberries. Already I felt like an inadequate parent!

The three of us crashed the moment we got under the covers in our beds. 3:30 a.m. rolled around quickly, though, and we fumbled with our things as soon as we got the wakeup call from the front desk. We left Mr. Na sleeping peacefully until the porter arrived to take our bags we were absolutely ready to go.

The cab took us to the airport in the same inky, pre-dawn light we saw only 24 hours earlier. We arrived at the airport with plenty of time for a bite to eat and then we boarded our flight to Amsterdam–running into another couple who had been on our flight to Ukraine 16 days earlier, and were going home with their new 22 month-old son. I kept Mr. Na busy eating handfuls of “Fitness” cereal (Ukraine’s answer to Wheaties) and the plane took off smoothly. Mr. Na was the perfect passenger during the entire 2-1/2 hour flight to Amsterdam.

With just one more leg to go, we’d be home in Seattle with our new son!

The trip from Kiev to Warsaw took 17 hours.  We stayed awake for most of the time, playing with, feeding and changing Mr. Na.  When he got fussy, Pa and I took turns walking Mr. Na up and down the narrow train corridor outside of our compartment.  The train chugged along the flat, monotonous landscape that stretched endlessly in either direction.

Fellow passengers also walked up and down the corridor to stretch their legs, and for the first time during the trip, I felt nervous.  I knew enough Russian to get by, but not enough to strike up a conversation and up until this point, I didn’t worry too much about it because we had Koko or Klas to help us out.  But on the train, when people smiled and cooed over Mr. Na, and I would return the smile, but I kept very quiet.

By 8 or 9 p.m., after sending Pa on the harrowing quest for food in the restaurant car, we went to sleep in our bunks.  But around midnight, Pa and I awoke to thumping noises that seemed to come from underneath the train.

“You’re not going to believe this,” Pa said looking out the window, “but we’re up on some sort of elaborate jack.”

I joined him at the window.  Sure enough, we could see other train cars raised up by large, rising platforms.

“Did we break down?” I asked.

“I don’t think so,” Pa said.  “But it looks like they’re replacing the wheels.”

It seemed odd that all of the train cars required new sets of wheels and I wondered if it had anything to do with entering Poland.  Sure enough, after I located one of our guide books, I read that trains leaving Ukraine do, in fact, need their wheels changed from 4’-8-1/2” to 5’gauge.  Clearly, we were no longer in Ukraine.

The novelty of it all soon wore off and we managed to go back to sleep in our bunks—that is, until our overhead fluorescent lights came on a few hours later and we were awakened by a loud knock at our compartment door.  Pa got up and unlocked the latch and two men in uniform barged into the compartment.  They looked at me on the upper bunk and without so much as a word, one of the men threw off my blankets.  All I could think was thank goodness I was dressed.  I swung my legs out of bed and they shouted something in Polish or Russian—I couldn’t tell because I was still pretty thrown by what had just happened.  Pa grabbed our passports and handed them to one of the men who smirked.  When he saw that Mr. Na’s passport was Ukrainian he asked, in very broken English, what we were doing with a Ukrainian child.  Pa handed him a folder that contained copies of our adoption decree.  Klas had put one together specifically for the border agents and these guys greedily snapped it out of Pa’s hands and inspected it.  They left without saying a word but we hoped that when they returned, they’d hand us back our passports.  It seemed as though they were unfamiliar with or—dare I say it—a little suspicious of our documents.  But I didn’t care.  I was still seething by the one guy’s abuse of power and if he didn’t have control as to whether or not we’d be allowed to leave Ukraine, I would have considered punching him in the nose.

After about an hour or so (and I have to say at this point, Mr. Na was sleeping through the entire incident—even with the jarring overhead light), one of the men came back and silently handed Pa our passports.  We were too keyed up to go back to sleep and it was 5:00 a.m. Kiev time and 4:00 a.m. Warsaw time, which meant we still had about two hours left on the train.  Thankfully, the lights went back off and we were able to relax again, somewhat, once the train got rolling; but I only managed to doze for the remainder of the trip.

By 6:30 a.m., pulled into the Warsaw train station. I had to waken Mr. Na to get him fed and changed before we could get off since I wasn’t sure how long it would take to get to our hotel.  I took him in one arm, grabbed my suitcase in another and followed Pa to the platform and then up out of the station.  Dawn was just beginning to break and the sky in the east was a lighter shade of gray.  Pa hailed a cab and we got in and asked the driver to take us to the Sheraton, where we would unload our luggage, shower, and eat something before going to our midday appointment at the American Embassy. 

The next morning, I dressed Mr. Na in layers before leaving our “borrowed” apartment and going to the American Embassy for our interview. Snow flakes swirled in the air and a light dusting fell on the city streets. It felt refreshing after all of the running around and sweating we did for the last 14 days.

I carried Mr. Na in my arms as we walked up the long driveway that led to the embassy, and this elderly “babushka” appeared seemingly from nowhere, shouting at me in Russian as she pointed to the bottoms of Mr. Na’s pants that rode up and exposed two inches of baby legs. I knew right away she was bawling me out for not covering him up completely and I tightened my grip on the little guy and picked up the pace.

Once inside, we were asked to show our passports to a security officer behind glass. Klas told me that he could not escort us any further and said that he would wait outside. The moment we opened a door into the main waiting room, I felt as though we had been instantly transported back to the States. The lobby looked just like any other lobby one would see in an American “waiting area” — vastly different from sparse, rustic Ukrainian interior design. There was neutral, wall-to-wall carpeting, standard waiting room chairs accented in a pleathery purple, and tables with current issues of American magazines. On the wall was a large framed photograph of George W. Bush and an American flag stood off in the corner.

Pa handed our necessary paperwork to the woman behind the desk and we sat down next to a small activity table to keep Mr. Na occupied. There were a few other families in the room with smaller children, and we exchanged brief, knowing glances. After 30 minutes passed, our names were called. The woman behind the desk had reviewed our paperwork and said all looked well. Legally, she had to ask us if either of us were coerced into adopting Mr. Na. Once again, the question caught me off guard and I grinned, shaking my head. Pa did the same. The woman stamped the papers and placed them in an envelope, telling us that we needed to present it to the embassy in Warsaw, where we would pick up our son’s visa. She told us we were free to go and with a broad smile, she said “Congratulations!”

Back outside, we spotted Klas’ car. It stopped snowing and I looked around suspiciously for any other annoying babushkas to come up and yell in my face. Klas told us we had time for lunch before having to board the train to Warsaw and he took us downtown to a cafeteria-styled restaurant. There, we sampled Borscht, potato knishes, sauteed mushrooms and onions, and…Chicken Kiev!

After lunch, we drove to the train station. Pa and Klas got out to buy tickets for the 1 p.m. train to Warsaw, while I stayed in the car with Mr. Na and our driver. The driver got out of the car for a cigarette break, and just as he left, a foul smell emanated from Mr. Na. It was the first time I ever had to change him in public and I was a little nervous–especially given that his diapers were pretty messy and stinky. I laid him out on the back seat and undid the snaps from his pants, getting closer to the source. The diaper must’ve weighed about eight pounds and every ounce of it was pure ick. I wiped him down, put on a new diaper and grabbed a bag to discard the offending smell. The only problem was, I didn’t know where to throw it away. We were in the middle of the train station parking lot, and there wasn’t a garbage can in sight. I started getting nervous, worried about the driver, Pa and Klas coming back in the car and being bombarded by Mr. Na’s toxic waste. I couldn’t open the car windows because they were electric and the driver had the keys. So I waited while Mr. Na wiggled around the back seat. If course he was happier, he was ten pounds lighter! Not knowing what else to do, I opened my car door to let some fresh air inside. But this made Mr. Na intrigued and he attempted to climb over my lap to try and go outside. I focused my attention back to the train station, trying to will Pa and Klas to come back to the car. After several minutes of sweating it out, I saw them in the distance; but the driver must have, too, because he stamped out his (third) cigarette and opened his door to get in the car. I felt like someone who had just passed gas, pretending to be oblivious. And once I saw Pa and Klas in a safe distance, I stepped out, holding up the bag o’ poop and shouting, “I need to toss this!” I waited for them to come inside the car so I could leave Pa to watch Mr. Na in the back, but I could tell by their faces that the lingering stench caught them off guard.

“Must’ve been something he ate,” I said. “Maybe Chicken Kiev doesn’t agree with him.”

After I got back from my diaper dump excursion, Klas told us we had thirty minutes to board the train. He asked the driver to get our bags out of the trunk and I scooped up Mr. Na. We said our goodbyes to the driver and Klas walked us to the station and located our train. He helped us to our compartment with all of our bags and we proceeded to set up Mr. Na’s bunk with luggage reinforcements so he wouldn’t fall out.

“This is where I say goodbye,” said Klas.

A lump formed in my throat and as soon as I set Mr. Na down in my bunk, I gave Klas a big hug.

“Thank you for everything,” I said. “And please thank Koko again for us, too. She was an angel.”

“Tell her I hope her bruise heals quickly,” said Pa.

Klas laughed, “Oh yes, that. You should see it. It’s all the colors of a rainbow!”

Klas bent over Mr. Na who was playing with his toys on the bunk. He patted him on the head and said in English,

“Enjoy your new home!”

With that, Klas stepped out of our compartment and off the train, and for the first time throughout the course of the trip, I felt a little nervous and scared without him or Koko by my side.