From Here to Maternity (4 page)

James sat up. ‘I assume there’s no chance that if I asked you nicely you’d close the curtains and let me sleep for another few hours?’

‘None. Now, come on, ask me the questions.’

James sighed and looked at the list. ‘All of them?’

‘Yes. Alexander said they’re the likely ones to be asked, although they’ll probably only ask a couple of them, but I want to be prepared. Fire ahead.’

‘Do you recognize the authority of this court?’ said James solemnly.

‘Yes, Your Honour.’

‘OK. The next question is for us to give our names and address, where we were born and our occupations.’

‘OK – move on.’

‘What is your educational background?’

I answered thoroughly, although James pointed out that the Russian judge wouldn’t really need to know about Mrs Farelly’s playgroup when I was three.

‘Describe your house, the rooms, the surrounding area et cetera.’

I described it, exaggerating a little when I said our garden was forty feet long when in fact you could barely swing a mouse in it, it was so small.

‘You’re going to be in court, I really don’t think you should lie,’ said James.

‘I’m not lying, I’m just bending the truth a little. The Russians are used to big open spaces and they’d be shocked if they saw our postage stamp. Anyway, it’s not as if the judge is going to turn up on our doorstep to inspect it.’

‘All the same,’ said James, ‘I’d rather you were honest. Just say it’s a compact garden, perfect for babies and toddlers.’

‘Fine. Next question.’

‘The next few ask if we’ve met the child, what age he is, are we aware of his medical records and will we do everything required for his medical needs.’

‘Yes, ten months, yes and yes.’

‘Why are you adopting from Russia?’

‘Because there are loads of orphans here.’

‘Um, I’m not sure about that. I think we should say that, as Europeans, we decided to adopt a child from Europe, and after extensive research we chose Russia because of its wonderful cultural heritage and because of its excellent relationship with Ireland.’

‘Brilliant. Next.’

‘Why are you adopting and not having a biological child of your own?’

‘I’m doing both,’ I said, grinning.

‘I don’t think we should tell them you’re pregnant. It could go against us.’

‘OK, I’m adopting because unfortunately I haven’t been able to get pregnant naturally and I desperately want a family. I think of Yuri as my own child and I couldn’t love him more. Adoption to me is just another form of childbirth – it takes longer and is a lot more complicated, but the end result is exactly the same. The joy of motherhood.’

‘Good answer, darling,’ said James. ‘The next few questions are about our hopes for Yuri and how we plan to raise him.’

‘We hope that he will have a normal, happy childhood in Ireland and we will give him every opportunity we can.’

‘Will you teach him about his heritage?’

‘Yes. My husband and I have been learning Russian and we plan to spend all our summer holidays in Russia.’

James grinned. ‘That might be a little over the top. Why don’t you just say that we plan to educate him about his country of origin throughout his life?’

‘Good one.’

‘What religion will you raise him in?’

‘Catholicism.’

James raised his eyebrows. ‘Really?’

‘Yes,’ I said, surprised that he seemed surprised. ‘He’s going to be living in Ireland and going to the same school his uncle Sean went to, and it’s bad enough that he’s adopted without being non-Catholic too. I want him to blend in, not stick out.’

‘What about Church of England, like his father? And since when did we decide what school he was going to? I seem to have missed that conversation.’

‘James, you never go to church. Nor have you ever shown the slightest interest in anything religious since I first met you, so don’t start sticking your oar in now. Besides, Sean’s school is perfect for Yuri and it’s only down the road.’

‘As the boy’s father, I’d like to be consulted on decisions involving his religious upbringing and education, but we can go into that later. Next question, what do your family and friends think of this?’

‘Well, my mother tried to rugby-tackle me off the plane, my sister’s more interested in her new nose than her new nephew, and my brother is about to marry an Iranian so he’s kind of distracted too.’

‘This might be the time to practise some of that truth-bending you’re so good at,’ said James, laughing.

We met Olga and the director of the children’s home outside the court. My Jimmy Choos were totally unsuitable and my feet were turning blue as we walked inside. Still, at least the judge couldn’t say I hadn’t made an effort to dress up. We went into the courtroom, to find the court clerk, a doctor from the Department of Health, a prosecutor and a stenographer. A moment later the judge swept in and I was relieved that she was a woman. She had a kindly face and good child-bearing hips – which, hopefully, meant she had a brood of kids at home and would be sympathetic to our cause.

She flicked through our dossier, and then the children’s home director gave a short speech in support of our adoption. (Olga translated quietly to James and me.) The judge turned her attention to me and asked me if I had seen the child and what age he was. I answered as rehearsed, although my voice was shaking, while Olga translated. Then the judge asked, ‘Who will look after your child in case of your death?’

James forgot to ask me that one. I looked at him in panic. I had no idea. Christ, we’d only just found Yuri and the last thing I’d been thinking about was what we’d have to do if James and I were killed in an accident. Give a girl a break – could I not have even five minutes of official motherhood before having to contemplate Yuri being orphaned again and who to leave him to?

James hissed, ‘Henry and Imogen.’ Henry was his brother and Imogen his dreadful sister-in-law, but now was not the time to remind James of how much I loathed her.

‘My brother-in-law Henry and his wife. They have three beautiful children so they would be the perfect choice,’ I said, hoping that this was not going to be an irreversible decision, set in stone in the courts of Russia.

The judge nodded, then asked about the ten-day waiting period and if we wanted it waived. We said we did. The director of the orphanage stood up and said he thought it necessary because Yuri needed medical attention. This was not strictly true – a considerable bending of the truth, in fact – but Alexander had told us that it was the best way to have the ten-day wait eliminated and the director had been happy to help: he said he did it all the time. If the judge said no, we’d have to stay in Novorossiysk for ten days in limbo before the adoption decree became absolute. During that time it could be appealed by the prosecutor – Alexander said it happened rarely, but we didn’t want to hang around to find out. I crossed my fingers and prayed that the judge would agree.

She stood and left the room. For the next twenty minutes James and I sat holding hands and praying to God, Buddha, Allah and every other holy representative out there. This was it, the final hurdle. If the judge signed the decree, Yuri was ours for ever. No more waiting and worrying. We could put behind us the years of being scrutinized by gynaecologists, fertility specialists and social workers. We’d be free to get on with the rest of our lives.

The judge came back in. She looked very stern. I thought I was going to faint. James squeezed my hand. She spoke and we listened as Olga translated. I seemed to be swimming under water – everything was in slow motion and Olga’s voice was muffled. I looked at James, who was beaming at me.

‘It’s over, darling, it’s finally over. He’s ours!’ said the besotted father, as I collapsed into his arms.

Chapter 4

We hugged each other, then Olga and the director. I even lunged at the prosecutor – I was ecstatic. When the judge had written up the decree we went to get the adoption certificate and Yuri’s new birth certificate, which named us as his parents. We then had to go to the local police station to have Yuri released from the adoption register, and finally we went to the passport office to get his new official passport. After that we raced back to the children’s home to see Yuri and pack his things.

He was waiting for us, dressed in the blue Babygro we had first seen him in a month ago, freshly washed and groomed. The carer handed him to me and I held him so tightly that he began to cry and James told me not to smother him. We looked around for his things, but the director said Yuri had no real possessions. Everything in the home was shared between the children, even their clothes. The only thing he said we could take was the tatty little grey elephant that Yuri slept with every night. It was the only thing his mother had left with him when she’d dropped him off at the home.

I have to confess that I was tempted to leave it behind so that Yuri could start completely afresh. I didn’t want him clinging to some toy his biological mother had given him – I’d rather he clung to me – but it was important that he had a keepsake, so I said nothing. James and I took pictures of the home so that Yuri would know where we had found him. We photographed his cot and the toys he played with and the other children in the orphanage, and James put a handful of soil from the garden into his handkerchief for Yuri. The director handed us a sheet of paper with notes on Yuri’s sleeping habits and what food he liked. Then, finally, we bundled him into his new white snowsuit and headed back to the hotel – parents at last.

Yuri cried all night. We cuddled him, bounced him on our knees, tucked him into the bed with us and fed him milk that he kept throwing up. The director had said that he drank tea laced with sugar when they had no milk – which was quite often, apparently. I was loath to continue to give a baby tea, but we decided to give it a go – anything to calm him down. While James boiled the kettle, I played Yuri the Mozart CD we had brought with us. He continued to howl.

‘Do you think he wants to go back?’ I asked, as I wiped the big salty tears from his cheeks.

‘No, he’s just a bit frightened by the unfamiliar surroundings. It’ll probably take him a while to adjust. It’ll be better when we get him home.’

‘How long do you think?’ I wanted James to say days. I wanted him to lie to me. I was exhausted – emotionally and physically. I needed reassurance.

‘I’d say it could take a while, a couple of months or so.’

I suppressed the urge to join Yuri in a wail. The kettle whistled.

‘How much sugar?’ asked James.

‘It says here he likes three spoons,’ I said.

‘That can’t be good for him. It’ll rot his teeth. Maybe we should try it with just half a spoon.’

At this point Yuri had been roaring for over three hours and the people in the room next door had banged on the wall several times and shouted at us in Russian. It’s amazing how similar ‘Shut the hell up’ sounds in all languages. I was beginning to panic at Yuri’s distress.

‘James! This is not the time to start weaning him off sugar. Add an extra spoon, for God’s sake, anything to calm him down. I don’t care if the few teeth he has fall out. He’ll grow new ones. Now hurry up.’

James faffed about with the tea, blowing on it and making sure it wasn’t too strong or too milky. Eventually I grabbed it from him and placed the bottle to Yuri’s lips. He sucked and swallowed. The silence was wonderful. James and I smiled at each other. Yuri didn’t want to go back: he was just hungry and cranky.

Eventually we all fell asleep on the bed, fully clothed. I woke up four hours later to the sound of gurgling. I rolled over and saw Yuri snuggled up on James’s chest, his huge brown eyes staring at his new father in wonderment. I basked in the beautiful sight. Sensing that he was being watched, Yuri turned his head, looked at me and started to cry.

Twenty-four hours later, having flown to Moscow to pick up Yuri’s visa from the Irish embassy, and another fitful night spent with him in our bed – when we got three whole hours’ sleep – we were on a flight home. The plane was crowded with other recent adopters and a handful of unfortunate businessmen, who were subjected to the howls of Russian babies unused to their surroundings. Having been removed from their familiar orphanages, the babies and toddlers were now sitting in a big, noisy metal bird with strangers trying to feed them unfamiliar food. They were not a happy lot and I was reassured to see that the other new parents were all looking extremely frazzled too. We smiled and nodded at each other in sympathy.

An hour into the flight and Yuri threw up yet another bottle of milk, so we ended up feeding him more sweet tea to keep him calm. When he continued to cry, we changed his nappy again and bounced and cuddled him as best we could. I had managed to buy some
kefir
(some kind of Russian yogurt, which looked particularly unappetizing), which the children’s home director had listed as one of the main foods fed to the children. I spooned it into Yuri’s open mouth and prayed it would stay down. The poor little fellow was probably starving.

Thankfully, it seemed to satisfy him for a while and he fell asleep in my arms. At this stage I felt utterly shattered – between being pregnant, the emotional rollercoaster of finalizing the adoption and the lack of sleep over the past two nights. I turned to James: ‘You know the way everyone goes on and on about how having a baby changes your life and nothing can prepare you for it and you won’t believe the tiredness, blah blah blah?’

He nodded.

‘Well, I think I’m beginning to understand. It’s only been two days and I feel more tired than I ever have before. I’m a bit scared,’ I whispered.

‘Don’t worry, darling,’ said James, squeezing my hand. ‘It’ll get easier.’

‘When?’ I asked, trying not to panic.

‘Emma, it’s only been two days. It’s not that bad. Here, give him to me and try to get some sleep.’

I handed Yuri over and closed my eyes. But sleep was not an option – my head was spinning. Bed was my favourite place in the world. I loved my sleep. I’m a nine-hours-a-night girl. I had seen the state of my friend Jess when her kids were born – she was a wreck for months. She always looked exhausted. Was this it? Was it over for me and my bed? Suddenly the elation of motherhood began to fade. I hated myself for allowing negative thoughts to enter my head so soon. It was ridiculous: I was over-emotional and pregnant to boot. It’d be fine. I took deep breaths and told myself to get a grip. But what was going to happen when James went off to work and I was on my own? What if it took Yuri a year to settle in and he just cried all day? I’d have to get help. Mum would help and Jess, and maybe we could get a child-minder for a few hours a week.