In which a baked baby discovers more about his frozen parents.
Today our two hours with Owen turned into three. I'm not sure any of us knew what to make of one another.
He showed up in the blanket burrito right at 10. The nurse unveiled him and there we were, all alone with one another. Robin and I launched into the cuddles and giggles and our easy-going Owen from the night before was right there where we left him. One too many camera shots, though, and we saw the first of the fussiness. No real crying, but he just wouldn't be put down. After some kicking and scowling and not a little mewling, our little guy finally fell asleep on his mommy's chest.
That's when we discovered the blanket burrito was being stuffed with slow-baked baby.
Yes, it's minus seven degrees farenheit outside (I haven't checked a mirror yet, but I'm not positive I still have a nose). Inside however it's a good 70 degrees. Kokshetau has government sponsored heat-- all the buildings are uniformly warm. Despite all that heat, though, our poor little Owen had been crammed into a footie outfit about a half size to small. He had a "onesie" on underneath that, and don't forget the barricade of blankets.
Halfway through his nap he and his mother were nicely basted in sweat.
After he woke up, I gave him his bottle. Take a look at the picture-- nice pre-World War II glass bottle with a giant nipple on top that showers the poor baby with formula on the way to the kid's mouth. The milk was good and hot, too. He tanked that down and got daddy good and sweaty along the way. After that there was more general fussiness until we finally got the courage up to change his clothes.
Being under-dressed in Kazakhstan is a big no-no. Both Robin and I have been scolded more than once for not wearing our gloves or hats. A baby in less than three layers-- and we're talking in doors here-- is shocking. Stripping one down to his skivvies may or may not be cause for arrest.
We risked it. He quieted immediately. I gotta admit, after baking in my own juices on Kokshetau Air, I understand where he's coming from.
So before the big bust we had to get him re-dressed, but at least we could put him in something that fit. Right about then, our interpreter let us know we had another hour. The driver was running errands. We had smiles to partly fussy weather until the nurse came to collect Owen. He seems to know who's boss. Fussiness gone. He let himself be re-burrito-ized and away he went.
We invited Inna and Oleg to lunch. Oleg had chores to do-- our passports had to be registered to keep us from being tossed out of the country-- so he declined to join us but did take us to see the ice sculptures in the park. New Year's is Kazakshstan's big holiday. That's when the trees go up and the gifts are exchanged. The sculptures are a leftover from the celebration. Although we thought them quite impressive, the Strelos tell us they were even more impressive closer to January. They've melted a bit recently.
After that, lunch with Inna. It was exotic and, apparently, so were we. A few heads turned to gape at us as we settled in. Robin and I both ordered the spaghetti and meat sauce. It was spaghetti, with a few cubes of beef, carrots, garlic and cucumbers in a mildly spicy broth. After that were the salads. Mine was tomatoes and walnuts in olive oil. Robin's was apples and cheese in mayonnaise.
We were skeptical but everything stayed safely down. We went back to the apartment and convinced Matt to take us to out for a walk on the town.
Did I mention it was minus seven?
We tried to see the (enormous) bowling alley. We were tossed out on our collective ear. (Don't know why, but the casino is attached to the alley-- wonder if that has anything to do with it?) A quick visit to the baby store where you can buy Russian pacifiers with nipples almost as large as the bowling alley, and the pharmacy where you can buy-- comparatively-- cheap diapers. (Although good luck asking for them when you don't speak Russian!)
Why do we need to ask? Because all of the shops are organized as kiosks. All the merchandise is behind the desk. You have to ask for what you want and the clerk brings it to you. Kind of fun when all the Russian you know is "um..." and "er..."
Then we ended up at the Viola Store-- the local grocery market. We grunted our way through cereal, milk, a pork chop (which we ate this evening and which, at this time, has not yet killed us), assorted frozen vegetables, and some AWESOME chocolate. I might have snuck in a very American Diet Coke as well.
Yes, bowling alleys and grocery stores. The exciting city life in Kokshetau never sleeps.
