Settling In

We haven’t written since the big occasion for the reason that all new parents cease to function: we haven’t slept much. We also haven’t had a moment to pause and reflect. So much has happened each day that it’s hard to cull out the crystallizing moments.

So here are a few highlights, worth mentioning before we forget.

Day 1:

• We didn’t go to our regularly scheduled visit with Jem in the morning the day we picked her up. By the time we got there, she greeted us with loud sobbing. Her caregivers said that she’s angry that we didn’t show up when we normally do. Of course she came around after a few minutes and we were a loving three-some again—though two of us were in very excited and nervous about leaving the babyhouse for the final time. All together.
• Dr. Alma opened our mandatory gift to her—a very ugly Gucci scarf donated to us by a fashionable friend who has friends in the fashion bizness. She wrapped it around her neck in a bored, cursory “See, I’m trying it on” way, before tossing it aside. She did not toss aside the bag it came in, however, because it contained our second mandatory gift: several bills with Ben Fanklin’s face on them.
• Yes that’s a photo of President Nazarbayev above Dr. Alma’s desk. Her office is littered with photos of him—as if he’s royalty, or perhaps the ruling party’s beloved leader?
• Only Jane cried, her face a puckering cranberry, as we thanked the staff and departed from the baby house. It’s clear who’s the real baby in the family.
• Jem was very excited when she got to our apartment; she played right through her three regularly scheduled nap times. Who are we to ruin a little girl’s fun for sleep?
• In the wee-hours of the morning we decided that the loaner crib in our bedroom worked better as a piece of sculpture rather than as a piece of functional furniture. After rocking her to sleep about six times we had gathered sufficient proof that plan A was not working. Now we’re a threesome in our bed of pointed springs.

Day 2:
• Early this morning, we were lucky enough to sleep for an hour. We sort of expected to be sleep deprived, but it’s been a long time since the grown-ups here had to pull “all-nighters.” Ouch.
• Jem’s voice is emerging. We’d heard it at moments before, but today she became a beautiful little bag of vocal chord vibrations. At one point, Jane swears that Jem looked her right in the eyes and said “bottle.” Jane ran to get her her bottle and Jem chugged—something she does not do if she’s not interested in drinking. Steve thinks this is coincidence and that Jem said “fjeiuxjkfiwjf.”
• Jane and Steve are mastering feeding techniques. Jem is very easy to experiment with. She doesn’t mind looking like Colonel Sanders as she eats yogurt. In fact, we think she might want to open the first KFC franchise here in Kazakshtan, with her photo swapped in as the icon for new central Asian markets. (There are no retail franchises here yet.)
• Little Miss Frogkick is fearless in the bathtub.
• Jem’s cold returned our second night together, so all the sleep we get is quickly interrupted by Jem’s coughing then crying—her face a cracking pumpkin—until we rock her to sleep again.
• We taught Jem the “Twinkle-Twinkle Little Star” song when she was in the baby house and sang it only when she was tired, so she would know that this is a sleeping song. Two nights into this new journey, we conservatively estimate that we’ve sung it about 200 times. And with all the rocking we’re doing to accompany the singing, two of the three of us are in serious need of chiropractic care.

Day 3:
• More exposure to Jem’s tears as her cold worsens. We seldom saw her cry at the baby house, so this is new and oddly intimate. It’s a privilege to see all the ways her face can express delight, distraction, contentment, discomfort, and sorrow—even if we wish we could spare her life’s harsher realities. (We feel guilty about inflicting one of those very harsh moments upon her now.)
• We carried Jem out to get groceries today. Jane is afraid to meet the gaze of Kazakh’s peering at Jem; she doesn’t want to see disapproving faces because we’re taking one of their children. Steve has made eye contact and says that he does read that in their expressions, but they also have adoring little glances for Jem.
• Steve, the system’s man here, has perfected a technique for powdering Jem after a diaper change as if she’s a delicious dessert—which of course she is. Her baby house diaper rash is gone.
• We’ve now sung Twinkle Twinkle about 400 times. Our efforts at helping her fall asleep aren’t successful with as her cough flares up every time she lies down.
• Late afternoon Jem finally sleeps for a little while, so we seize the moment to eat lunch. We don’t dare speak, for fear of waking her. Half way through the meal Steve whispers that he’s chewing to the rhythm of Twinkle Twinkle. Jane is doing exactly the same thing.
• By evening Jem’s breathing is starting to sound more labored than ever. She’s wheezing—something we’ve never heard before. We call Dina to find out if we can go see the baby house doctor, if her condition worsens during the night. She says no. There are no doctors there in the night. We ask if we can go to a hospital if needed. She says no. There is no medical care at night. Jane starts to get panicky. Her NY-area personality shifts into high gear. She hangs up the phone and writes an email to the two international adoption doctors who’ve been reviewing Jem’s medical profile since we got here.
• Jane calls Dina back and says there has to be something that can be done if Jem starts to have a lot of trouble breathing. Dina calls her friend, Dr. Rosa, who used to work at the baby house, who agrees to come over for a house call. When they arrive they’re very calm. We have the feeling that they’re looking at us like strange specimens, much the same way we have found Kazakh culture bemusing at times. Touché!
• Both doctors from the US call. One is from Russia and he gives us some advice and then says he’ll call back after Dr. Rosa has examined Jem and speak with her.
• Diagnosis: something short of bronchitis, probably. Viral throat. Lots of flem in her sinuses. We brought some Amoxicillin with us to Kaz, and a dosage is recommended by our US doctor. Dina shows us how to steam Jem’s face in a way that’s a horror to Jem (and us). We do it while she watches.
• Dr. Rosa and Dina go to an all-night pharmacy to buy 5 different natural remedies for Jem, all of which make her scream and cry. We give them to her in their presence and don’t know if we’re bad parents or good ones. She’s exhausted and wrung dry of tears by the time they leave. We’re not exactly fresh as daisies.
• Later that night we have a profound realization: Twinkle Twinkle and the Alphabet song have the exact same tune!

Our posting is getting slow now because we’re devoted our time and energy to the life that inspired our blog. We know you understand. Sharing this with all of you has meant a lot to us, and hearing from you even more. We’ll keep writing, just less frequently. So stay with us…