Homeward Bound (and Gagged)

It's very late Friday night. Our final day in Moscow is coming to an end, and with it, the long, meandering route that this adoption adventure has taken us on. We are coming home.

Our flight leaves at 7:00 a.m. from Sheremetyevo Airport, which means that as soon as I post this final entry in this Russian chapter of the blog and finish (okay ... start) packing, I'll have maybe three hours' sleep before the ever-reliable Vladimir is knocking at our door at 4:30.

The trip home will occur in four stages: (1) Moscow to Frankfurt, Germany (~2.5 hours); (2) layover in Frankfurt (~1.5 hours); (3) Frankfurt to San Francisco (~10.5 hours); (4) indescribable joy as we touch U.S. soil and go home to sleep in our own beds (~ ever after). This is, of course, not counting the sub-stages that will occur along the way, which will be dictated by Genevieve's mood and the tolerance of the nice people seated in our general vicinity at any given time. (The title of today's blog posting is a play on what these nice people may be thinking between about Iceland and Idaho tomorrow morning.)

As you will already have read, Genevieve Syevinch Sanguinetti came home from the orphanage with us this past Monday afternoon. The first couple of days were spent getting to know her (and vice versa) — calibrating our expectations to the determined attitude of this independent toddler. We knew that this last week would be spent indoors when we weren't jumping through the final adoption hoops. I don't think either of us anticipated that indoors meant sitting on the floor in the living room searching for new "toys" (defined as anything relatively unbreakable that might hold G's attention for more than 20 minutes) and new sounds (running the gamut from barnyard animals to faux Russian with a whole range of clicks, clucks, and snaps in between) to entertain our little guest. (Those of you with kids, stop your laughing — I'm angling for sympathy here, not entertainment.) Fortunately, her schedule had been set in the orphanage for two two-hour naps each day, allowing Renee and I an opportunity for adult interactions (i.e., sleeping or eating). (The photo here is the "before" shot of the much-loved peek-a-book experience.)

Tuesday, we had an appointment with a doctor for Genevieve's physical — a requirement of the U.S. government prior to granting her a visa to travel to the U.S. Given that G does not like having her clothes tampered with (taken off or put on), that she does not do well around strangers, and she does not like being poked or prodded, you can imagine how the physical went (in fact, if you were listening carefully at about 3:00 a.m. Tuesday morning (PST), you may have actually heard how the physical went). Despite the kicking and screaming, she was given a relatively clean bill of health — a bit of vitamin D (?) deficiency (from lack of sunlight) and a mild respiratory issue, both of which should clear up quickly.

On Wednesday, one of our two "free" days this week, we took the opportunity to get in one more day of sightseeing and shopping. The weather had warmed to slightly above freezing, so the snow, which had clung to the ground since we arrived, was melting. So despite the fact that we could still see our breath, it felt like a good day to be outdoors. Renee strapped on the baby carrier, plunked G in, I grabbed the Cheerios and Kleenex, and we were off.

To her credit, Renee has done exceedingly well given that G still wants little to do with me. The attachment process tends to work on a one-person-at-a-time basis, so she's happy with me providing her with silly distractions ... but only so long as she can cling to Mama. Renee had not, however, used the carrier with G more than a few quick outings, so we learned that an 18-pound child will weigh 78 pounds after an hour of walking (something having to do with new physics, I think). And given that the ankle I hurt last Tuesday had yet to heal, the walk was far from successful. (This photo was clearly taken at the beginning of Wednesday's walk, as Renee is smiling.)

That night, Renee developed a headache and swollen glands. Not good given the situation. As the primary caregiver — really as the only caregiver, given that I'm more of the cook/busboy/house cleaner/data-entry clerk — she needed to be accessible to G whenever G was conscious. (If you heard the incessant, high-pitched wailing when Renee had to use the restroom, you'd be a lot more understanding of the situation ... like an air-raid siren up an octave!)

Thursday, Renee was feeling worse, having added migraine to the growing list of symptoms. She had most of the morning to take things easy, as I became increasingly more innovative with our definition of "toy" and found very creative ways to keep this toddler busy. We all rallied for our 2:00 appointment at the U.S. embassy for G's necessary visa. Masha met us at our apartment building and walked with us all the way to the embassy (see photo for scale — click to enlarge), where she left us in the care of the U.S. Marines who ushered us inside. Apparently, the adoption process is one that the embassy staff are quite familiar with. In fact, they have got it down to a science, scheduling all adoption visas for the same time each day. In the little waiting area on the second floor of the building, we were in the company of maybe seven other Russian kids and their respective adoptive parents all hoping for the rubber stamp that meant all was in order. After nearly an hour, everyone got their golden ticket home.

Friday, today — our final day and another "free" day — was spent recuperating. Renee was still feeling pretty lousy; Genevieve, despite her frequent adorable nature, was as independent as ever; and I was just wanting to take it easy. When G went down for her 2:00 nap, Renee joined her, and I, beginning to come down with my own case of cabin fever, escaped for a last walk through the city. This excursion was pretty much limited to the Arbat (touristy walking street), as it had the souvenir shops I was needing and was a very short walk away, but it was nice to get out — especially knowing that I don't intend to be back here for a very long time. (No offense to Moscow, the Muscovites, or my Moscow-loving friends.) The highlight of my mini-adventure was a side trip into downtown Moscow's first Starbucks (my home away from home, which opened while we were here) where I could order a grandé cappuccino in the comfort of the English language. (It took me until my final day, but the photo captures the second-best thing about this trip. I hope the first-best thing goes without saying.)

In all seriousness, the past several weeks have been the toughest, longest, hardest, and greatest that I've had in a very long time. It's time to come home and "home" never sounded quite so good.

Renee and I missed this year's Thanksgiving, but we are unimaginably thankful that the approaching holidays will be a season of joy like we've never experienced. This process has opened our eyes to a whole other world outside of our suburban comfort. So this year, every decoration that we set out, every candle we light, every card we write, every gift we give will be in recognition of some child somewhere who will be spending the holidays without a home and without a family. Our wish is that every one of them can discover the love that we hope to share with Genevieve.

Thank you for your continued support the past several months and years as we've undergone this grueling adoption process. We look forward to sharing our 16-month-old Christmas gift with you.

Much love,
Larry, Renee & Genevieve
(a.k.a. Papa, Mama, and Baby G)

Day Two: Decision

Okay, I think we'll keep her....

...And Baby Makes Three

I was expecting that this posting would be another heart-wrenching narrative in which I share the intense feelings of new fatherhood or the tender emotion of watching your young child sleep, but halfway through the writing of this post, I realized that I was in a very different space. Blame it on jet lag, poor nutrition, caffeine withdrawal, or sheer giddiness at having finally achieved this long sought-after goal, but my apologies for those anticipating drama — this is more of a sitcom, I'm afraid.

>>><<<>>><<<

[Note: As of Monday — the day of physical custody — I am going to start referring to the focus of this blog as "Genevieve," relegating the Russian "Syevinch" to the role of middle name. Sorry in advance for the confusion.]

Upon waking Monday morning, Renee and I looked at each other knowingly and smiled. I said something like, "This is the last morning that we will wake up childless" and she said something like, "You've got an hour — get your butt in the shower."

Okay, maybe not, but there was some degree of recognition that today was the day that our lives would change. The rushing tends to happen regardless.

Vlad was scheduled to pick us up at 10:00 to drive us across town (why is it that all of our drives seem to be "across town" and yet we've seen so little of the city?) to apply for an expedited Russian passport for Genevieve. ("Expedited," in this case, meant greasing the palms of some Russian bureaucrats with a little U.S. greenery — but at this point, whatever it takes to get us through the last five days and homeward bound is worth the price.) This first errand was to be followed by a visit to the supermarket for Vlad's assistance in purchasing the toddler-friendly supplies that most closely resembled those found in the orphanage. And then off to Genevieve for our final visit at the orphanage to complete the paperwork and bring our baby home.

As we were getting ready for our big day, the phone rang at 9:20. It was Vlad calling to let us know that he had already arrived and was waiting for us in his car. That sped up our morning preparations. We threw ourselves together and met him downstairs.

The temperature had dropped again the night before, so it was a crisp –8° C (17° F) with a fine but icy snow blowing that stung our eyes as we raced to Vlad's car. I was quite appreciative of the fact that we were going to be driven around on this coldest of cold days; a walk to the orphanage in Monday's weather would have been absolutely punishing.

We drove clockwise on the ring road, admiring the tasteful Christmas decorations displayed throughout the city as we headed for the Office of Vital Statistics. Once there, we provided our passports to the uniformed clerk who jotted down our vital statistics before allowing us to head to the third floor, where we encountered a line of 10 or 12 people. Vlad took my U.S. currency and slipped into a side office. A short time later, he appeared again and called me in to join him. Assuming that my cash had bought me this pass to the head of the queue, I sat down at a desk with a very stern-looking woman who had me sign two different forms authorizing the issuance of Genevieve's passport — my first task in the role of parent/guardian. Once done, we headed out and back to the car to continue our day.

Despite the methodical layout of Moscow's city streets, the circular structure leaves us novices never really knowing where we are, other than whether we're proceeding clockwise or counterclockwise on the various ring roads and to or from the city center on the arteries. All this to say, once we left our apartment, I was totally clueless as to where we were and was surprised to find us passing the back side of the Kremlin after leaving the passport office. As we inched past in Moscow traffic, I snuck a peak between St. Basil's cathedral and the Kremlin wall to see the beginning of what apparently became a 5,000-strong youth rally in support of President Putin and his successful, albeit tainted, victory in Sunday's parliamentary elections. (See photo clipped from the Yahoo! News site — this is the view I had quite a bit earlier in the day.)

Our drive continued back up one of the main arteries from the city center. At one point, about halfway to the orphanage, we saw that an accident had tied up traffic in the opposite direction. Vlad explained to us, quite angrily, that drivers involved in accidents are required to wait at the scene for the police (militsiya) to show up and take a report. His anger came from the injustice of how the rules force hundreds of people to pay for the actions of two. Not more than three or four minutes later — seriously — Vlad slammed on his brakes to avoid a car that stopped short in front of us and we were sideswiped by a van attempting to pass us on the right. (The icy roads didn't help.) Apparently there was no damage to the van and minimal damage to Vlad's pristine Renault, so we did not wait for the militsiya and instead continued on our quest for Pampers.

We hit the supermarket (not literally, despite the van incident), where we stocked up on the Russian equivalent of Gerbers, purchasing jars of beef stroganoff and other Slavic delights, as well as pureed fruit, yogurt, juice, and cookies. We were also informed that in addition to the gifts that we had brought for the orphanage director and the numerous caregivers back in September, it was expected that we would bring gifts of tea and coffee again this trip. While it was frustrating to learn of this additional tradition in the moment, in hindsight it seems like a very favorable trade — one adorable little 16-month-old in exchange for a jar of Sanka, a box of Lipton tea, and a tin of butter cookies (although I think I'll hold off on sharing this news with Genevieve, as I don't want her to develop a false impression of self-worth).

We arrived at the orphanage just as Genevieve was finishing her lunch. Renee was escorted away to dress her in the clothes that we brought for her. (The clothes that she wore while at the orphanage are the property of "the state," so they must remain there.) I was taken another direction to sign the orphanage's papers to accept physical custody. While signing for this adorable package, I learned that Genevieve had been christened shortly after arriving at the orphange in September 2006. Because "Syevinch" is a Muslim name, she was christened as "Svetlana" ("Svyeta" for short), although I think only the most devout of orthodox caregivers in the facility referred to her by this new name; everyone else seemed okay with her non-Christian heritage and unique name.

As I made my way back to where Renee was preparing Genevieve, I saw a gathering of green frocks as the caregivers sought one final goodbye with their little girl. As I projected in Sunday's blog, it was very touching to see how affected they all were and how clearly sad they were at this farewell. We intend to send regular updates to the orphanage workers to ensure that they can witness Genevieve's development over the years. (The photo at right shows three of Genevieve's caregivers with one of the facility's doctors.)

Genevieve apparently was less than thrilled to be bundled up for our drive home. (Actually, the bundling was for the very brief walk from the orphanage to the car and from the car to the apartment, but with temperatures this extreme that level of protection is mandatory.) But once we got outside, she was mostly okay — occasional sobs with slight chance of bawling, clearing later in the day.

An hour later, Vlad dropped us off at our aparment building informing us that the week's schedule had once again changed. Rather than push the medical exam out to Wednesday, he preferred to do that on Tuesday (today), so that we could pick up Genevieve's new Russian passport on the way home and eliminate the need for two days of errands. So the plan now is for the three of us to ride with Vlad to the clinic about 20 minutes away, where we will meet Masha who will use the time to help us complete the final forms required by the U.S. Department of Homeland Security (yes ... more forms!). Once Genevieve has a complete physical (a requirement of the U.S. prior to the issuance of a visa), Vlad will drive Renee and her back to the apartment and take me on our convoluted trip back to the nice lady at the passport office to retrieve Genevieve Syevinch Sanguinetti's Russian passport.

Wednesday will be a free day for us. With the weather warming to a balmy 34° and Genevieve warming to us, we may attempt to venture out to see how she does in the big, wide world — a sort of test prior to Saturday's air-travel adventure. Thursday, then, is our visit to the U.S. embassy, another brief formality, but one that will allow us to bask in the comfort of the English language.

"Okay, okay," I hear you say. "Enough with the practicalities! How did the first day with Genevieve go?!" I'm glad you asked — I was just getting to that.

We were dropped off at the apartment after our morning's errands sometime just after 1:00. Genevieve had already had her noontime feeding and it was still an hour before her scheduled afternoon nap, so we spent the next hour showing her around our home away from home, attempting to allay any fears of this strange, new, pink place.

She did quite well and settled in to Renee's lap in the corner of the living room to play with her now-familiar toys. Given that in the orphanage she is already drinking from a teacup, she did remarkably well with the concept of a sippy cup (although she was extremely frustrated with it this morning). We tested out the concept of video as a distraction by playing one of the two "Baby Einstein" DVDs that we had brought with us. While she wasn't captivated by it, there was enough interest that this may work as a distraction on Saturday's flights.

At 2:00 — her scheduled nap time — we realized that she was not pleased with the idea of lying alone in her crib (a complete understatement!), and it took nearly two hours of encouragement and pseudo-sleeping in Renee's arms before the transplant to her crib was successful, leaving us with an hour and a half of calm before we woke her at 5:30 for her afternoon snack. Outcome: She loves pureed mango, loves banana yogurt, hates vitamin-enriched cookies.

Shortly after snack time, Renee bravely ventured forth to conquer the soiled diaper and returned victorious, despite Genevieve's anguish at being changed. We dressed her in her sleeper (you gotta love the little footsies on those sleepers!) and played with her for a bit before Renee decided that she desperately needed a bath. Feeling that there was no benefit to postponing the inevitable, we attempted this challenge together. Outcome: Genevieve does not like baths. (Actually, we've heard awful reports of how kids are washed en masse in the orphanage, so there's really no surprise that she shies away from the sound of running water.)

So the bath was short lived, but at least she came away smelling better — we'll have to deal with the therapy costs arising from our "water torture" later in life. Another hour or two of playtime before dinner, where we discovered that if we want her to eat her chicken stew, you don't start by feeding her the much-preferred yogurt. Needless to say, every meal is supplemented with the ever-present Cheerios. (By the way, we never made it to the weekend brunch at the Marriott, but we were able to find the Russian equivalent of Cheerios at the local market and have restocked our supplies.)

After dinner, another few minutes of play time, drumming along to "I Am a Pizza" (thanks a lot, Steve!) and some kid-friendly Mozart before attempting a return to the crib. Fortunately, Renee had learned the trick earlier in the day and got the process down from the initial two hours to about 40 minutes (a relative success captured in the beautiful photo here).

So day two has begun. Being the closet statistician that I am, I calculated that we are approximately 0.007% into our projected lifetime with Genevieve. It's nice to know that we've got another 14,000 days (give or take) to figure out how to make the process work.

Thanks to all of you who responded with your assurances that this is a "learn as you go" experience. It helps to know that we're not alone in our ignorance.

More stories and photos to follow on the last few days of our Russian experience.

With love,
Larry & Renee

Culmination

By the time many of you read this latest entry, Renee and I will have been "home" (back at our Moscow apartment) with Syevinch for at least a couple of hours. One very lengthy adventure finally over and one that will last the remainder of our lifetimes just beginning.

I realize in writing this that those of you who have kids must find the climax of our little story just a bit melodramatic. After all, ordinary people become parents every day — there's not a whole lot extraordinary about the process. And yet, in truth, there is something extraordinary about it every single time it occurs.

Our process may be interesting because of the international element, the extended duration, or the roller-coaster nature of our experiences the last two years. I'm sure the rarity of adoption adds to the interest level, and the idea of bringing a walking, talking, reasoning 16-month-old into our lives and convincing her that two relative strangers will be her parents is a factor — it's certainly the one with the greatest impact on Renee and me. But we're not that different from what happens everywhere in the world on any given day.

And yet, from a very subjective perspective, it is the most profound thing that I could possibly imagine. That is why I write and that is why I share it with you.

>>><<<>>><<<

Because of the time lag between Moscow and you, even though I opened this blog by stating that the adoption was complete and Syevinch was "home" with us, I am writing this from the familiar side of that life-changing event and am still struggling to understand and prepare for tomorrow's reality.

• What does she eat?
• How do we feed her?
• When will she nap?
• How will we know what she needs?
• How do we communicate what we need?
• How do we explain this disruption to life as she knows it?

So many unknowns. This is something that I've wanted for a very long time and I am ecstatic that this dream is finally coming true, but the excitement is tempered with fear and with doubt ... such mixed feelings.

Parents, tell me ... is this how you felt in anticipation of parenthood?

>>><<<>>><<<

Okay, enough with the pondering ... back to the details.

Saturday was cold. We made our regular trek by metro and foot to the orphanage and had a nice but fairly brief visit with Syevinch. Nothing out of the ordinary ... except for the cold. I think it hit a high of about 23°, which was comparable to our very first visit to the orphanage back in mid-November. It was cold enough that Renee and I both questioned whether we would return on Sunday. But given that Sunday would be our final visit with Syevinch in her familiar surroundings, we didn't want to give that up.

Sunday was colder. I learned that my gloves max out around 20° and that anything colder than that got through the REI-approved exterior and bit at my hands. Sunday's temperature was 17° not factoring wind chill. When we first arrived in Moscow on November 18, I asked our driver Vlad what he thought of the cold. He responded with a common saying in Russia: "Rather to sweat for seven days, than shiver for one." Despite my intense preference for cold-weather climates, I now understand the logic of our Russian friend. And yet it didn't seem to stop the natives from getting out and even having fun. Both Saturday and Sunday we saw a lot of parents pulling their kids on sleds (the winter equivalent of our little red wagon), adults cross-country skiing in the "green" spaces on the fringe of the city, and families out on leisurely strolls through the snow. (Photo at right.)

Holding to our initial decision, we got ready Sunday morning, bundled up, and trudged out. Exiting the apartment squeezed the breath out of us as the wind and cold slapped at exposed flesh. (My sympathies to Heather and Sarah who reportedly experienced similar weather this week in Colorado and Minnesota, respectively.) There are a couple of elderly homeless women who have taken up residence in the clearing outside of our apartment building — I don't know how they have managed to survive such levels of exposure. Passing them every day on our way to the metro is hard, not knowing how to provide assistance. Knowing that the temperature will continue to drop and remain dangerously low through January leaves me wondering what will become of them.

Despite the weather's intent to stop us, we made it to the metro, acknowledging our last ride to the end of the purple line, our last walk through the far reaches of the Moscow city limits, our last visit to Syevinch's orphanage home. The visit itself was nice. Every day we see her, she is walking a bit more, toddling around on her wobbly little legs, fearless in her efforts to be that much more independent. When we poked our head into her room, she walked over, smiling, to Renee's outstretched arms. And for the next hour, in a tiny little space at the far side of the building, she continued to grow increasingly more comfortable with us. (She now enjoys hanging upside down, as the photo at right shows.)

However, she has grown bored with the arsenal of toys that we brought with us, finding the greatest amusement in tossing them to the floor. Now she takes great delight in manhandling more fragile things like my watch and the camera, taking particular pleasure in putting the lens cap on, as if she were a miniature Sean Penn dealing with the paparazzi. (Partial photo at right — "I said no more photos!")

All of the caregivers that we've encountered, despite the lack of common language, have been very pleasant and helpful. Recognizing Syevinch's final days in the orphanage, they have been especially attentive to her. We talk about the concerns of attachment from the perspective of the child and how transitioning them from an institutional environment to a home environment is a complicated process, but we've neglected to think of how hard this must be for the dozen or so women in the orphanage who are forced to say goodbye to the children that they have effectively raised. We get the sense that they too believe that it is in the child's best interest to be raised in a loving family, but still ... goodbyes are never easy. We've been able to get a few random photos of some of these caregivers, but due to shifting schedules and such, there's no way for us to capture everyone that Syevinch has had contact with. (Photo of just two of these special women — note Syevinch's utter displeasure at having to say goodbye.)

As we slogged home, we decided to go out to eat tonight in "celebration" of our last night of childlessness (and in recognition that eating out will soon be a rare occurrence), but upon settling in to the warmth of the apartment, I fell asleep and didn't wake until after 9:00. Looks like leftover soup and instant coffee again. Meanwhile, Renee has made yet another scan of the apartment in an attempt to baby-proof this unproofable space. Fortunately, we won't have much need (or desire) to leave the apartment for the next week (other than scheduled outings to the doctor and embassy), so we will both be able to keep watch over Syevinch as she adjusts to her new surroundings.

And so tomorrow looms. Unlike the anticipation for the court date, which was a 20-minute ordeal and then over, this anticipation is much longer-lived.

It is finally here: The moment that we have pursued since this whole adventure began in July 2005 ... the goal of our painstaking adventure finally within our grasp.

With a sigh of relief and a gasp of trepidation,
Larry & Renee