And so the story continues, because remember, we are only just arriving in London and there are a long 18 hours to go. When we got to London it was cold. We had to walk off the plane onto the ground, which is no fun when you're toting a child, an unopened stroller, and 2 bags. I'm lucky we didn't face plant on the way down the stairs. Out into the icy air we went... Monica's first taste of a true winter.
Upon walking into the airport they were checking passports, which of course means we got stopped. I informed the security guard that he was going to have to let me get Monica settled into her stroller before I could show him our papers. The second Monica's toes brushed the stroller, the screaming began. Top of the lungs, piercing screams. I'm sure everyone there was thinking I must have kidnapped this child or something.
So there i stood, rummaging through our extremely small backpack trying to find the papers I needed while she shrieked. (And remember, I was running on NO sleep) As I handed over the papers, it became clear to me that nobody in the airports know what to do with adoption. The papers went from person to person. Confused looks promptly appeared. Glances were exchanged and then they would shuffle off out of ear shot to try and figure out what to do. Eventually they would give up trying to understand and send us on our way.
So off we went, the screaming echoing through the halls, to spend the next 8 hours wandering Terminal 5 of the London airport. Monica became more adventurous and would wander around beside me as we waited in the security line (if you remember that same security line caused me to miss my flight to France). We made a few laps around the place, investigating all the possible places to hang out and finally I settled on a seating area that had semi-comfortable chairs and finally got Monica down for a nap. She didn't sleep long and when she woke up, she was in a nasty mood.
We had pancakes for breakfast. But no blueberries! If I so much as suggested trying one, the screaming began again. And of course, as soon as I put her back in the stroller, she began to wail. So there we were, walking back and forth through the airport, Monica shrieking, and me on the verge of collapse. I wanted nothing more than for her to fall asleep in the stroller so I attempted to lean it back (it had an adjustable seat), but no matter how hard I tried, I could not get the stupid thing in place. At one point I had removed Monica from the stroller and proceeded to attempt beating the stroller into submission. Eventually it worked. But the change caused more screams.
The story continues like this for another 4 or 5 hours.
Once again I finally got her to sleep on a cozy chair. It was blissful for all of 15 minutes when our gate number finally appeared on the screen and we had to move to a different part of the airport. I attempted a gentle transfer back into the stroller in hopes of keeping her asleep until we got on the plane. But no such luck. We arrived at the gate crying (her, not me), swiftly boarded the plane, as I prepared myself for the true horrors of traveling with a 2 year old.
(to be continued....)