Eight Days A Week

Eight Days A Week
Originally uploaded by jakeyd.

Eight days to go. The day began inauspiciously. Otis had slept until 9:15, after finally giving up the ghost and falling asleep around 8:30. Otis has clearly learned all sorts of tricks for staying awake during his time at the orphanage; staring at lights, punching his eyes, arching his back, rubbing his face back and forth in your chest, all the time getting crankier. If we had any worries about his intelligence, at least we know he’s crafty. The Orphanage Director had told us that Otis was “emotional;” we thought she meant sensitive, and while he is sensitive, probably what she really meant was that he’s a stubborn little cus. I got up with Otis, gave him his formula, played with for a while then put him in his playpen so I could take my shower. I had left the door unlocked when I put the garbage out in the hall. As I was walking from the kitchen to the bathroom to shower, Galina walked in, (unannounced, again) and caught me in all my glory. She quickly ducked back out the front door as I hid behind the bathroom door. I threw on some clothes, as did Candace, and let the somewhat flustered Galina back in. Galina had come to tell us that “My work here is finished, (Mine too, I thought to myself) I have Otis’ passport, and we are waiting for his exit visa to come back from Astana, but now Maxim will be working with you, to go to American doctor and American consulate.” We made plans for a thank you lunch for everyone on Saturday, and Galina took her leave of us, maybe somewhat worse for the wear.

This afternoon we took Otis out in the stroller to the local park and the Silk Road grocery. The picture above is of, presumably, a peace monument in the park. Right next to the monument, local skateboarders practice their hobby. When we got back to 120 Furmanov, we had our first encounter with an exploding diaper, which necessitated a bath for Otis; he doesn’t much care for baths, at least the scrubbing part, but he’s likes the being swaddled part just fine. Tomorrow we go to a notary to have powers of attorney executed and to the “American” (Maxim says, “He’s foreign”) doctor to get the medical clearance for the American consulate. We’re scheduled to do the American consulate interview on Tuesday and then it’s wait for the plane, boss.