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.

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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?

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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