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)