Six

We've been staying with my parents since returning to the States. Saturday we left for Texas to visit Michael's family for most the month of July. We strategically planned it so the first leg of the journey was nap time, and the last half of the journey would be during the kid's bedtime. And for the most part everything went according to plan. We were delayed a bit when John got car sick about an hour after dinner, and another delay when we had to stop to assuage James who is cutting his first tooth. Early Sunday morning - our 6th anniversary - found us at a Shell station somewhere in Arkansas; nursing a baby in the car, air smelling like sulfur, my teeth with that gross road trip fuzziness, splitting a pint of Blue Bell ice cream with the man who is so much a part of me that I can barely remember what life was like before there was us.

I chiseled out a bite of ice cream with my flimsy plastic spork, James nursing away, smiling at the memory of the two young kids that we were that day.

"Here's to us."

Snakes on a Plane

From the moment we found out Michael had the Fulbright I was dreading the flight back to the States knowing John would be almost two. It's just not the best age for flying. Bless their hearts and all that. But I became more hopeful when we got a flight that left Copenhagen at 3:30pm rather than the normal crack-of-dawn flight. This way John's bedtime would fall right in the middle of the nine-hour transatlantic flight. I wasn't worried about James since it's super easy to fly with kids who aren't yet mobile and who are still breastfed. Nurse them during take off and landing to protect their ears, and then the hum of the plane puts them to sleep. Easy-peasy.

We get our four carry-ons, car seat and stroller on the plane in record time, switch seats with a Very Kind Guy so we can all sit together in back middle row of the plane, and start to breath easy. And then discover the one thing John wants to do more than anything is kick the seat of the Very Kind Guy who is now front of us. We pulled out all the new toys we had saved to entertain John on the flight. We plugged him into Horton Hears A Who. We tried distracting him and threatening him. We each took a foot and held it. Four hours later, Very Kind Guy was into his sixth glass of wine and John finally fell asleep. I hope he knew we were doing everything we could think of.

To every person who has had a small child kick the back of their seat on a long international flight, I apologize.

The rest of the journey was physically taxing, but uneventful. We made it through customs in O'Hare at what felt like midnight to all four of us without incident. My first order of business after getting our ridiculous amount of baggage through customs, finding our way to the domestic gate and calling my mother was to buy a super-sized, corn syrup filled, icy cup of McDonalds Coke.

It tasted like America.

Doctor Who

Almost six years ago Michael started his doctoral journey and it all cumulated today with the defense of his dissertation. In between the beginning and the end were two masters degrees (one for each of us), two children, three moves – one of them abroad, one Fulbright, rich times, poor times and the better part of our 20-something life. And Michael celebrated, as only he can, with a bucket of chicken and Blue Bell ice cream.

30

He's an old soul this husband of mine. Today his body took another step toward catching up with himself.

Happy birthday. I love you, babe.

Our Linguist

Language acquisition is such a great thing for a child. Finally being able to articulate what one is thinking. Communicating clearly with the people you love most. Today John spoke his first three word sentence as Michael was putting a fresh diaper on James:

"Bye-bye baby wee-wee."

The Easter Egg Hunt

The toddler Easter egg hunt is such a funny ritual. Teams of small children wandering around a yard picking up brightly colored plastic eggs trailed closely by their parents who are documenting the experience moment-by-moment with cameras. When they're not taking pictures or videos, the parental units are pointing to and encouraging the collection of these eggs. And if you're in Copenhagen, add to that scenario falling snow and all the children dressed in unisuits.

At some point this afternoon I pulled the camera away from my face, after spending a couple of minutes trying to convince John that plastic eggs were so much more interesting than soccer balls, and had to laugh.

One for the Children

James is making up for his runt-like birth weight by putting it on at an incredible rate:

Birth: 6 pounds, 10 ounces
1 Week: 8 pounds, 2 ounces for a gain of 1 pound, 8 ounces
3 Weeks: 10 pounds, 5 ounces for a gain of 2 pounds, 3 ounces

Even though he started life weighing over two pounds less than his big brother, he weighs just as much now as John did at three weeks. His little face is all chubbed out complete with double chin and his skinny little newborn legs have filled out. This combined with his propensity for nursing all the time have scored him some new lovable nicknames like: Little Piggy, Wilbur (think Charlotte’s Web), and Chubby Hubby.

James is sleeping well as far as newborns go; he usually goes to bed around 8:00p and wakes up at 11:00p, 2:30a, 5:30a and 8:30a. Sleep deprivation is just a fact of life for me these days but, if we’re lucky like we were with John, he’ll be sleeping through the night in a few weeks.

I really enjoy seeing how different James and John already are. James likes to be swaddled up tight to sleep where John couldn’t stand it; James is such a cuddle bug where John needed his space; and, perhaps because he was smaller at the beginning and greatly dislikes being on his stomach, James has rolled over from tummy-to-back three times. About a year ago I had a friend back home who told me he rolled off his parent’s bed when he was a month old and, being a freshly educated (and arrogant) student of all things related to child development, I basically suggested that he must be wrong and he should call his mother so she could set him straight. Shows what I know.

Meanwhile, since James’ arrival, John has suddenly aged and gotten at least 50 pounds heavier. In the last 3-4 weeks he’s picked up many new words and jabbers conversationally with other people and on his play cell phone. He’s always generally been a friendly child but now he can say “Hi!” so when we’re out walking he’ll wave and say “Hi-ee! Hi-ee!” to everyone he meets. The elderly Danish people he encounters on our numerous daily walks eat this up.

John is my big helper – he knows how to throw away James’ diapers in the diaper pail and is pretty good at bringing me things while I’m nursing James if I need them. Michael bought a small wooden car and truck puzzle for him and he really enjoys working that. He’s also very into his daily walk and will stand near the door shortly after breakfast (or sometimes shortly after he gets out of bed at 6:00a) saying, "Waaa-ak! Waaa-ak! Waaa-ak!" The kid likes his exercise.

Political Matters

I’ve been surprised by how closely the Danes pay attention to American politics. In many cases they are more on top of things than even myself, the PoliSci undergrad and masters degree holder who specialized political communication.

My most recent conversation with a native Dane on American politics happened just shortly after James’ birth in the delivery room. A nurse asked where we were from and, after finding out that we were from the States, wanted to know which state we were from and which candidate we were planning to vote for in the primaries. I explained how the state we currently reside in didn’t get on board the “Let Move Up Our Primary So We’ll MATTER” train so by the time May rolls around I fully expect the McCain v. Obama showdown to be set in stone.

The nurse persisted and wanted to know exactly what we thought of Hillary, McCain, Obama and company, and I gave her a couple of ill-formed impressions of their leadership abilities, how I expected their administrations would affect our foreign policy, et cetera, based far too heavily on the few episodes of The A Daily Show we pick up here. It’s hard to imagine Americans caring so much about any other country’s political elections.

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And off topic: let’s here it for Michael who today completed the first full draft of his dissertation! Editing his final chapter was one of the last things I did before going into labor (and it wasn’t my best work given that I missed a reference to “Knight of Infinite Regression”). And given the challenges that life with a newborn and 19-month-old offer, his meeting his goal to complete a full draft by the end of February is especially noteworthy.

Speedy Baby James: A Birth Story

I have distinct memories during this pregnancy of three separate people telling me that the second birth is much faster than the first. They weren’t kidding.

They tell you labor is never how you expect it to be. With John I imagined a horribly long, unpredictable labor, and it ended up being a textbook labor that only lasted 12 hours. With James I was expecting the same experience except perhaps shorter. Ha. There was almost nothing about this labor that mirrored my first.

This birth can pretty much be summed up as “Zero to 140.” With zero being me sitting on my bed watching an episode of Veronica Mars while having mild contractions and 140 being the speed in kilometers per hour the cab was going down the Danish interstate about an hour later; me in the backseat trumpeting at the top of my voice, "I CANNOT HAVE A BABY IN A CAB! I CANNOT HAVE A BABY IN A CAB!"

The morning of my due date Michael and I got to sleep in until 9:30a because my sister Rachel had arrived two days before and took care of John when he got up at 6:00. Rachel and I made plans to stop by the mall before my midwife appointment at 1:00p. I started feeling a little crampy around 10:30 or 11:00 – around the time we started our half-mile walk to the mall.

We had lunch at Amager Centret and then walked a few blocks over to the midwife’s office. Camilla (my regular midwife) was on vacation so I saw her substitute. We had a brief talk about how Danes handle post-dates; at 10 days post-date you go to the hospital for a vaginal check and then at 14 days post-date they induce. Then she palpitated the baby who was still right-lying – and told me she could still move the head a bit which indicated it wasn’t quite engaged – typical of second pregnancies. She estimated James was about 3900 grams – or about 8 pounds 8 ounces.

We were planning to stop back by the mall on the way home so Rachel could go to H&M, but John had a diaper blowout so we headed home. I was kind of glad because I was feeling more crampy and uncomfortable. We got home at 2:00p and I was happy to see Michael was already back from the library where he had been working on some dissertation changes. John and Rachel both laid down for a nap. I was pretty sure at this point I was having true contractions that were going to amount to something later. I puttered around for a bit folding laundry, putting a few last things in my hospital bag and checking email. Michael was encouraging me to lie down but I told him I didn’t feel like it, so we settled on watching Veronica Mars while he insisted on timing my contractions. So we watched two episodes back-to-back; when I felt a contraction starting I would tap him on the leg, he’d start the stopwatch and then stop it when I tapped him again. We never paused the show though I started to ask him to put counter-pressure on my lower back at some point during the second episode.

Around 4:00p, John was up from his nap and, even though he wasn’t being disruptive, I really didn’t want to be around him in anticipation of the harder contractions to come. Michael and I moved into the bedroom and watched another episode while Rachel entertained John in the living room. Toward the end of the episode, I had to close my eyes and focus during contractions. Once the show ended close to 5:00p, Michael told me the contractions were floating around 45-60 seconds long and 5-6 minutes apart. Two weeks before Camilla told me to call in to the clinic when contractions were about 60 seconds long, 5 minutes apart and had been that way for about an hour. I decided to call in, though I thought it was a bit premature, in part because I felt like we needed to leave. The clinic picked up and told me to call the Hospital because they were so busy. This perturbed me, surprisingly not because I was so interested in doing the whole Danish birth clinic thing, but because I had this nagging feeling we really needed to leave.

I spoke with a hospital-side midwife who suggested that we wait another hour, though she made it clear we could come if we felt we should – just that we should call again before we left. I hung up the phone and immediately had two much stronger contractions much closer together that I moaned a bit through. I told Michael it was time to go and he immediately called a cab. I remember trying to give John a hug and kiss – he was playing with Rachel’s iPod and ran into the bedroom to show me. Then I called the midwife back and told her we were on our way.

I stepped into my Crocs and decided to use the bathroom before we left. While I was sitting there I felt like I needed to pass gas and then suddenly my water broke with a small pop and I realized that what I was really feeling was an urge to push just as I launched into a huge transitional contraction. Michael called out that the cab was there. I yelled at him to shut up. He came to the door and asked what was wrong. I expressed at the top of my voice that I was having a contraction, roared loudly and cried that I didn’t want John to see me like this. Michael later told me that he rolled his eyes at Rachel to let her know I was just freaking out and not to think anything was wrong.

I was completely torn by the strong urge to not move and the equally strong urge to get to the hospital as fast as we possibly could. But I hustled into the calf-length, black wool London Fog coat my friend Robyn gave me – the only coat that somewhat covered my baby belly – and charged down the stairs toward the cab. I called out for the cab driver and Michael to hurry and launched into another mind blowing contraction right as the wheels started to roll. It felt like I’d been picked up by a tornado.

The next 20 minutes are fragments of memories – holding myself off the seat with my arms and leaning toward my right side because it hurt too much to sit; waiting endlessly for the cab driver to turn left onto Amagerbrogade dodging bikes and two lanes of rush hour traffic; Michael patting my leg and telling me to relax; my expressing every thought that came into my head at the loudest possible volume; WE’RE NOT GOING TO MAKE IT; I CANNOT HAVE A BABY IN A CAB; I CANNOT HAVE A BABY IN A CAB; a car driving slowly and then stopping in the middle of the road blocking us; the cab driver honking insistently; between contractions my praying that God would make them move and get us to the hospital; the cab driver jumping out the car and telling the driver the situation before the punk finally drove off; blazing down the interstate; MY BODY IS PUSHING THE BABY OUT; I CAN FEEL THE BABY’S HEAD; I CAN’T STOP IT; Michael telling me that I’m doing a great job and we’re almost there; the contraction stops and I think "Yes, we will make it. Everything will be ok"; I drop my head back on Michael’s shoulder and see the most beautiful piece of Copenhagen sunset sky; I CAN FEEL THE BABY’S HEAD; OH GOD; I reach down and can feel the baby’s head crowning; I CAN FEEL THE BABY’S HEAD; IT’S RIGHT THERE; Michael calmly telling me that’s good because the stretching will keep me from tearing - we’re almost there - here’s the exit - you’re doing a great job; I struggle to follow my Bradley labor training – low pitched roars, allowing my body to do it’s work – yet doing so only seems to make the baby advance even more quickly down the birth canal; THE BABY IS COMING; I feel the ring of fire and pull off one of my pants legs and half of my underwear; I FEEL THE HEAD; the baby’s head is out and my palm is around it; the cab suddenly pulls up to the maternity wing of the hospital and the cab driver jumps out and runs in for assistance; THE BABY NEEDS TO BE BORN NOW; GET SOMEBODY; THE BABY NEEDS TO BE BORN NOW; Michael looks over and sees James’ head and shoulders, realizing for the first time what I was getting at when I said "The baby’s head is right there," then jumps out of the cab to run around to my side.

In those few seconds alone, I was suddenly gripped with the notion that I needed to push the baby out IMMEDIATELY and voluntarily pushed for the first time. James plopped out onto my coat just as Michael opened the door on the other side. Michael picked him up and handed James to me, and to my immense relief he immediately started to cry. I could see from the light in the cab that he was pink and healthy, and he quickly calmed.

A nurse entered the cab behind me and rubbed James with a towel and piled more towels on him to keep him warm. They brought a stretcher to my side of the cab and helped me maneuver around my coat, the part of my pants that were still on and the umbilical cord. We were rolled down the hall into a delivery room, with me holding a quiet James close as I watched the ceiling tiles pass above my head and sighed a huge sigh of relief. Relief that James was fine; that labor was over; that we were in the competent hands of medical professionals.

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Ten days before James’ birth I read a fascinating blog post from a Brooklyn midwife about how the taxicab birth narrative can shape other women’s childbirth plans. Everyone seemingly has a friend of a friend who has given birth in a cab and it can fundamentally form their choice of homebirth or hospital birth, how they prepare for labor and delivery, etc. To be honest, I am somewhat compelled to tell this story in so much detail because I feel the need to justify the fact that I DID end up having a baby in a taxicab. I consider myself to be fairly ahead of the curve when it comes to understanding and being prepared for childbirth; from taking independent childbirth classes to reading extensively about birth to having experienced an unmedicated childbirth once before. Yet I was still surprised by the overwhelming force that is childbirth; unpredictable, powerful and unharnessed. And its ability to go from nothing to something in the blink of an eye.

But I also should say that as much as I was overwhelmed by the speed and uncontrollable force of James’ arrival, I sit here days later still unable to be "traumatized" by the experience. It was extremely uncomfortable bouncing along in the back of a cab during transition and my body’s involuntary second stage pushing, but being knowledgeable about the birth process helped considerably in my ability to control the one thing I could control about the whole experience – my reaction to it. It helped me focus when I was frantic. And I had some notion of what was normal and abnormal about delivery that gave me some peace of mind that James was ok even if he was exiting my body at 140 kilometers per hour.

I am a little sorry that I missed out on trying the labor tub. Not sorry enough to wish that I had been in labor much longer though.

Baby Shower!

I remember after my final baby shower during my first pregnancy telling Michael that it was "my last shower ever" because I couldn't think of another life event that would warrant another such party. So I was really surprised and excited when two families from our church here in Copenhagen decided to throw a shower for baby James and the second child of another couple in our church. We all had such a great time and it was wonderful getting a head start on the things that parents of newborns always need - diapers, wipes and non-slobbered-on teddy bears.

I mentioned this at Christmas but the baby shower reminded me again of how thankful we are to have found the church we attend here in Copenhagen. It has made so many things about moving to Copenhagen so much better and easier - and nothing more so than the assistance with and celebration of our newest addition.

Mental Mud

There are about eleven ideas for a blog post floating around in my head but I am finding that I lack the mental energy to make much of those ideas. We have had a full, fun week of Christmas shopping, dinner with friends and other special projects in addition to the normal every day. And now it's 7:25p and I can barely find it within myself to form a grammatical sentence let alone try to describe the lovely scene of Copenhagen in winter twilight that I was able to experience recently.

I can tell you that John said his first non-consecutive two syllable word on Tuesday. "Apple."

Back in Business!

At various times I've mourned the fact that I put my precious milk frother in storage when we moved here to Copenhagen. It was bothersome enough that I've mentioned it multiple times. Since arriving in Copenhagen I've had various moments where I've thought "And why didn't I bring [X] with us??" but I can usually chalk it up to (a) it weighed too much/was too large to fit in one of our five pieces of luggage, (b) I could do without it for 10 months and/or (c) I didn't need it in two different colors.

That milk frother though... I've thought about it longingly every other morning since we arrived and kicked myself for not bringing it. I mean what was I thinking? The one tool that can add so much to any hot drink and I didn't bring it with me to the land of the "varm drikke"?? No, I stuck it callously in a box with other random kitchen items.

My birthday was last weekend and that (combined with the fact that Michael recently discovered how much he loved chai lattes) added up to a very special birthday gift. Some girls want their diamonds. Other's want their milk frothers.

Unchartered Territory

This day last year John and I boarded a plane back to the States after spending six weeks of my maternity leave in Copenhagen with Michael. I remember being surprised that it was already starting to get dark at 4:30p here. I also remember my parents picking us up and taking me to Starbucks on the way home since the one thing I couldn't get my mind off of was a pumpkin spice latte.

We're getting ready to move into unchartered territory. I don't really know what the weather will be like or how the darkness of winter will affect us. Coming back to Copenhagen surprisingly felt very familiar. Life here is falling into a pleasant pattern and while I can't seem to find canned pumpkin or scented candles or a glass bigger than a dixie cup, Denmark has it's charms.

All the same, go enjoy a pumpkin spice latte for me.