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.

Trackback URI | Comments RSS