In which a week can feel like a day.
There's nothing worse than having to wait to hear how it ends, is there?
Does it help if you know it ends well?
They say children make time pass like water and I suppose that's proving to be true. I sit down to type this a week after being home and I can't think where the days have gone. So much has happened, we'll take it from the top:
The plane ride. Everyone wants to know how that went. In a nutshell, Owen behaved beautifully; his parents were less well mannered.
We lucked out with bulkhead seating from both Almaty and Amsterdam and those seats came complete with nifty bassinets-- flying cribs. You can see him relaxing in one at left.
Owen rode in style, lounging comfortably in his air bed while his parents got to sniff their own knees folded up behind him. When he did decide to grace the cabin with wakefulness, by and large he did so with a series of his now standard grins. A big Russian gave him a "thumbs up" after the Almaty leg. More impressive, however, was the second "thumbs up" from a post-collegiate type returning to the States from a party trip through Amsterdam.
If your baby doesn't bother the mildly hung-over, then you know he was an angel.
The last hop, from Detroit to Kansas City, was the toughest on the parental units. You see, we'd cleverly begun this 24-hour journey without any sleep. The night before Vitali picked us up at midnight. For whatever reason, we thought we'd skip going to bed on Saturday and just sleep on the plane for Sunday's flight. Apparently our stay in Almaty had turned us into idiots.
Anyhow, as we boarded the Detroit to Kansas City plane-- the last ones on thanks to lines in customs and immigration-- there was a man sitting in MY aisle seat. "Mine," I told him in no uncertain terms. "Move." (Forty-eight hours without sleep will make you a little Neanderthal-esque.) Robin softened my threat with a "Please." Whether in fear of my glare or out of respect for a new mother, he moved.
Owen and Dad fell promptly to sleep. I don't know what Mom did. At this stage, I was no longer able to care.
The flight was mercifully short. Robin switched out Owen's travel togs for his Welcome Home duds (hauled to Siberia and back for the sole purpose of making an impression coming off the plane). He was his usual sunny self and the flight attendants offered to keep him. We considered but then decided, hey, if we've carried him this far...
And then the big greeting. Both Grandmas and Grandpa were waiting, as were uncles Doug, Kirk and Dan; along with aunts Melissa and Barbara; new buddy Jack, surrogate grandmothers Kathy and Marnell and Uncle Mike. There were grins and photos galore and then we had perhaps the longest ride home from the airport ever. The house has never looked so sweet. Inside we were greeted by Aunt Sandy, cousins Christine and Chelsea, and, of course, the menagerie.
Betty, the hateful little vixen, wouldn't give us the time of day and sat on Robin's mother's lap the whole time. Murray, on the other hand was delighted to see us. The cats, of course, acted like they hadn't noticed we'd been gone.
Everyone was very kind. Gifts were given, food was stuck in front of us, talk was made. It's all a bit blurry at this point. I do remember going to bed, though; and, as nice as Kazakhstan was, I have to tell you there's nothing in the world like your own bed!
After that there've been licks from the dog, chuckles at the cats, walks around the block, naps in the new crib and visits with family and friends. A week and some few days later the jet lag is beginning to wear off. I go to work and actually hear a good third of what's said to me. Owen's 4 a.m. feedings are beginning to taper off and he can actually stay semi-alert all the way up until 7 p.m. Robin's speaking in complete sentences.
And, for those of you still in Kokshetau, we're flushing toilet paper down the stool whether we've used it or not!
Life's good.
But time does slip away. I have a whole new appreciation for the parents I work with. Like them with their children, I only see Owen for the five minutes it takes me to change his diaper in the morning and for the twenty minutes of his bath in the evening. It doesn't seem right after having him twenty-four/seven for so long.
Robin's ticking off hours until she returns to work and has to experience the same thing. It makes us realize there's a method to the madness of stranding yourselves in Siberia for six weeks. As much as we wanted to be home we were lucky to have the opportunity to spend so much uninterrupted time with our little boy.
We'll tell you more about him next week-- his first visit to the doctor, his introduction to little Holly. A week's not so long to wait.
It'll be gone before you know it.
