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!

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