Gotcha!! Two Years Later

Two years ago today Randy, my mother in law Jenna, and myself walked into the Fryazino orphanage for the last time. In the past when we would enter the orphanage, we would show our identification to the guard and then be allowed to go into the home. This time we showed our ID and had to wait, and wait, and wait. A half hour went by and I remember starting to worry that something was wrong and we weren't going to be allowed to get Artem. I was worried that a Russian family came and got him, even though our adoption was finalized and we held the decree in our hands; I still worried that something wasn't right and they were just stalling, avoiding telling us the bad news.

All my worries were unfounded, and admittedly a little crazy, and after the half hour passed we were allowed in to get Artem.

It took two of us to get Artem dressed into his new clothes. The orphanage care giver kept asking me in Russian if I wanted to keep Artem's tights. She asked several times if we wanted them, each time I politely told her, "Nyet", "No" in Russian, but only because I didn't know how to say in Russian, "Are you out of your freaking mind? Keep those tights on him another minute? Boys don't wear tights people!" That just didn't seem appropriate at the time.

We stripped him of his undershirt, shirt, tights, corduroy pants, socks, and sandals; several layers despite the fact that it was mid April and a beautiful sunny day outside.



Artem was holding a little green hammer in his hands. That was his cue that he was nervous. In the beginning he always held onto something; the little hammer, a small lotion bottle, a stacking cup; he always had to have something in his hands. After we came home from Russia that nervous habit began to disappear and instead of holding something, he would clench his fists. Randy and I always knew if he was getting overstimulated in a situation because we would see him start to curl his little fists up, and then we knew he'd had enough and it was time to get home.



After getting Artem dressed, the care giver gave him some nose drops and I thought a little water from the sippy cup would help wash them down. He had never used a sippy cup before and didn't know what to do. He was 17 months old and had not drank from a sippy cup. What a reality check for this new mom.



When we saw Artem before court in March we watched him feed himself at 16 months old with the giant spoon and drink from a tea cup. Some might think he showed great coordination to feed himself, but I knew differently; I knew it was because he didn't have anyone to feed him, he had no choice, he had to learn to feed himself or go hungry. It's sobering to see what a baby can learn to do when they have to.



After the nose torture and the impromptu sippy cup lesson, it was time for pictures. This was as close as Nana could get to Artem without him getting upset. From day one when we met Artem he clung to me and Gotcha Day was no exception.

But after a little bit he started coming around and gave a little smile to Randy.

And just like that, we were three.

I remember this moment. I felt like one more hurdle had been tackled but oddly enough, I still didn't feel like we were home free. I still worried that something would happen and we wouldn't be allowed to leave Russia with Artem. Even after we had returned home to the states, I didn't want to answer the phone for the first few days. I was worried that someone was going to call and tell us the Russian authorities had made a mistake and Artem had to return to Russia. I don't know why I worried like that, maybe because our journey to have a family was seven years in the making and it hadn't sunk in yet that it was real, we finally had our family.

After one more look back at the orphanage, it was time to leave.

The ride home was magical. I had this beautiful, chubby, healthy baby nestled sweetly in my arms, Randy sitting next to me looking lovingly at his new son, and then my husband said those words...those words that changed that beautiful moment for us..."I thought it was going to be a lot harder than that."

And as God as my witness, within seconds, Artem began to get car sick and projectile vomit ALL OVER us and we were facing a two and a half hour ride back to Moscow from the baby home. My mother in law photographed that glorious event, much to my horror. She said one day we'd look back at it and laugh. At the time I really wanted to flip her the bird, but she was right, we laugh about it now.

Our sweet baby puked and puked and puked until we couldn't take it anymore and had to pull over. Randy tried to clean us up as best he could using wet wipes, jackets, sweat shirts; anything with an absorbent quality to it was fair game. We thought we were in the clear and returned back to the road and within a few minutes Artem was at it again only for us to discover that Randy had put the wet wipes on the roof of the car when we were pulled over and we drove off without retrieving them. All that was left was a half a pack of travel tissues and we were still an hour out from Moscow. Talk about initiating us straight into parenthood!

After a few hours to rest from the ride home, we started to get a glimpse of this little boy's personality, and every hour, every day, and now every year, it just gets better and better.

Now this mohawk wearing, flip flop loving, almost three and a half year old little boy continues to be the center of our world and is the reason we are making this crazy journey all over again to Russia to bring home a sibling, or two, for him. And this time, we're bringing a barf bag for the ride home; we aren't rookies anymore!