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.

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