Mother and Baby Well (etc. etc.)

Spencer Joseph

Born December 18th 9:40 am
9 lb. (4100g) 23.5 inches (60cm)

Thoughts and Observations

• I was not remotely surprised to see how muscular his skinny legs are.
• Some babies are apparently born without eyebrows.
• Always after spending so much time looking at my own babies in the hospital I am shocked at how cute other people's infants are when I look at theirs. Our babies just aren't that cute (and are often quite the contrary: proof below). But they are OURS. (and plus they grow out of it).
• 
• Spencer looks so much like all our other babies. I have not yet taken a picture that captures it, but they always look like wise old men. There is something in their eyes (and their bald and wrinkliness).
• The above fact is rather fitting, since Spencer is named after two wise old men (as I knew them): Spencer W. Kimball and my Grandpa (Spencer's great-grandpa) Joe.
• Spencer is sweet as can be.
• I am extremely grateful about so many things over the past few days.
• Greg and I thought bringing this baby home was the perfect gift for us to give each other on our anniversary today (12 years!).
  
• Baby and I really ARE both doing very well.
  
• For those with inquiring minds more details about the birth in an upcoming post.

Oh, Pickles!

You know how in What to Expect When You're Expecting they talk about your water breaking and tell the story of the lady who carried around a jar of pickles in case her water broke in public so she could drop the jar and pretend that that was where the liquid came from? I keep thinking about that.

I'm sure that's an extreme case, and I know that I'm a little on the opposite extreme when it comes to being easily embarrassed, but I have to wonder, do women actually worry much about their water breaking in public (beyond the obviously awkward "Now what do I do?")? If it happened to me I can imagine that I might think or exclaim any of the following:

"Woo Hoo! My water broke!"
"Aaaak! My water broke!"
or
"How about that? My water broke!"

But NEVER:

"My water did NOT just break. This jar of pickles, on the other hand, Whoops! That broke! And most of the pickle juice? Oh! It splashed right up on my crotch and down my legs!"

Never that.

And I'd be happy for my water to break anywhere just now. Preferably at the hospital, though. Within the next few hours. . .

Polish Hospital-ity and Having Babies

No baby yet, but to refresh my own memory I'm reminiscing about this (in a sort of jumbled way):

Greg and I watch a cool Polish drama series that takes place during WWII. A lot of scenes are shot in a hospital and about half way through the series it struck me: They probably didn't have to do anything to the hospital or use special props to take it back almost 70 years. Nope, those are the same white-painted (and repainted) metal framed "beds" and side tables they use in most hospitals I've been to. Those tiny sinks with ancient faucets: same. Strange, thick, stained and holey sheets? Check.

When I was pregnant with David I went into pre-term labor. Of course this meant a hospital stay. The Mielec hospital had recently been renovated and the maternity ward was in a new wing. What this meant was that the halls were a little brighter and the paint was fresh. All the equipment was still old.

When I went to my room, besides surprise at the condition of the sheets and the uncomfortableness of the bed, and the fact that you wear your own pajamas, I was pleasantly surprised to find that there was a bathroom in my room. What wasn't so pleasant was the fact that there was blood on the toilet seat and everything else there was not clean, either. The little table at the side of my bed had sticky rings from other people's cups and was dusty and grimy.

My friend went straight home, got all her cleaning and sanitizing supplies and did quite a number on my room, top to bottom. After that I felt much better.

After a few weeks back at home on bedrest, David was ready to be born. We went to the hospital only to find that the maternity ward was closed. CLOSED. Why? Because they close it down twice a year for a week at a time for a thorough sanitization. I sort of wondered if this is why my room had been so icky: they knew they'd just be cleaning it within a few months anyway?

We didn't have a car at the time so I was driven by ambulance, which looked almost exactly like a station wagon, or a (small) hearse, to the nearest hospital in the small town of Kolbuszowa*. In the hospital we went to the elevator, opened the ancient, creaky metal gate covering it and then opened the swinging door to get in. This little hospital was dark and cramped, but the birthing room was spacious with a wall of windows overlooking the countryside.

What's more, the doctor was terrific. He mostly chatted to Greg and commented repeatedly about how well I was handling my labor (while I wanted to die). He loved that Greg wanted to be there for the birth and said they're trying to get more families to do that. They did a great job with the delivery and they even let me have my own room! Greg stayed with me the first night.

Aaron was born in the Mielec hospital and my midwife was great. The doctor on call didn't care to make an appearance until the baby was pretty much out, but I'm sort of glad because he didn't seem interested anyway and the lady there was very good.

I have felt very confident in the doctors here (in general). Despite some of the scary experiences I've had, I (obviously) don't feel terrified about having children here. People do it ALL THE TIME. So can I. (although not all the time, please. Once more will suffice for me)

Aaron was born at 8:30 am and I was starving. Lucky for me they were serving breakfast just then. I remembered after Evie had been born and they asked what I wanted to eat and drink. I could have pretty much whatever I wanted. Not in Poland, you get three "meals" a day, on their schedule.

So it was Easter morning, and I was beyond exhausted and starved and my breakfast came in the form of a stack of three slices of dry bread and one peeled, hard boiled egg slipping around on the plate (no butter, no salt, no fork or knife). Of course only hot tea to drink (this is all they serve), which I passed on, so it was my lukewarm water from my bottle.

This isn't meant to be a food log, but Greg went home and popped the caramely french toast dish (which I'd prepared just an hour or two before my water broke the night before**) from the fridge into the oven and brought me a huge dish of it, all warm and gooey and crisp and perfect. Which I ate with relish only two hours after the birth. Mmmmm. So strange the different forms bread and eggs can be served in. . .

They have ultrasound machines and some other decent equipment, but nothing like what is the norm in the US. I had an ultrasound at every doctor's visit. That's what you get when you get rid of insurance and have public health care! You also get everything else that's written in this post (except the french toast. You only get that if you visit me). (and of course America will never have holey sheets and poor furniture etc. I mean socialized health care in a poor country. I didn't mean to get all political!)

* We took my mother to see it and she was rather shocked, without even going inside. I have a picture that I need to figure out how to get up here.

**I had actually been cooking (cheesecake, seven layer bars and preparing that french toast) cleaning and filling and hiding Easter baskets right up until midnight, when I laid down in bed and my water broke. If anyone was leaving home well prepared, it was me!

Dry

Have you ever cried so hard and so long or so frequently that you found yourself constantly amazed that your body could produce so much liquid? Have you ever cried non stop for days, trying not to let the people around you see it, doing much of it from the inside? Have you ever wished that tears really were as precious as they are made out to be in poetry and that your abundant offering would somehow have at least some small impact on the people and situations you are crying for?

If so, I'm very sorry. I know how you feel.

I'm closing comments on this one. I'm okay, and I hope you are, too.

Preparation

Yesterday I took the Christmas decorations down from the attic. We decorated the tree to Christmas carols and ate mint brownies. I think we're ready for Christmas. (except for the shopping. . . minor details).

While I was up there (in the attic, not the tree) I thought maybe I'd take down the baby clothes and stuff like that. You know, since I had an important reason to be up there anyway and everything. I sorted through them and now I just have to wash them. Last week I bought some doll sized diapers and wipes and nursing pads (that's everything, right?). I think we're ready for a baby.

Good thing too, since my doctor estimates he'll come in the next week and a half or so. Any day now, really. My strategy for preparing myself for giving birth is to not think about it until it starts to hurt. Clever, aren't I?

There was one other thing I've been pretty concerned about: Aaron. He's been the baby of the family and gets LOADS of attention, since Ev and Dave were pretty old (5 & 7 irrespectively) when he was born. He's excited every time we talk about having a baby in our house, but of course, I've been worrying a little about jealousy.

Last weekend we went to visit some friends in Warsaw who have a three month old baby. Liz (aka Lith, aka Anion,according to Aaron for some strange reason), the mother, was shadowed by Aaron almost the entire time we were there because he just couldn't get enough of little Ania and watching and "helping" Liz care for her.

I worried a little that he wouldn't want me or Greg to hold her, but the only issues of jealousy were expressed this way, "Aaron hold it!?! Aaron hold it, baby Ania!?!"

This picture, taken after at least five minutes of him sitting like this, sums up how Aaron feels about babies. I think he's ready to be a big brother.

Perfect Day

Today is a holiday (Poland's Independence Day) so Greg and the kids stayed home. Here's what it was like for me:

warm house full of happy children

gray and drizzly all day

leftover chocolate cake

I can't imagine better conditions for curling up with a good book. So that's what I did. Except for the curling up part. Because you can't really curl up with a binder (especially not with an enormous belly), and what I was reading was a binder full of recipes. Recipes that suggest that you "thoroly blend" ingredients together, or that tell you to drop the dough on a "cooky sheet", or that require you to drain or reserve "sirop" from a can of fruit and give you the option to use either a chopped bar of chocolate or "packaged chocolate pieces", and where 90% of the cakes and cookies call for shortening instead of butter. There's also a separate section entitled "Leftovers" and one for "Canning and Freezing".

I'm so completely charmed by this 1949 Better Homes and Gardens Cook Book that belonged to my stepmother's great aunt (how's that for a cool connection?). It's just fascinating reading for me. And the book's stuffed full of old newspaper clippings of recipes and ideas for entertaining (with the fantastic advertisements here and there). I've been completely transported back in time, and I LOVE it. I feel that if I can just stick with this book, plus another favorite of mine that my mom gave me, The Art of Homemaking (1969), and also develop the fashion sense of this lady, I'll be my perfect self.

I just received it in the mail yesterday and the fact that I've already found two recipes (identical recipes!) that I already make regularly and love dearly (brownie pudding and borscht) makes me really excited to start trying out some of the other recipes.

Thanks so much to Pam for the cook book!

Halloween in Poland

Well, they don't celebrate it. It's considered a very pagan American holiday (which is pretty much what it is, except I think it originated in England). Still, you can find a few Halloween decorations and costumes in large stores and probably some teens "celebrate" it in bigger cities.

We always do something at home, since there's no trick-or-treating. A couple of years ago the kids had a party and invited friends from school. They were all so confused when they saw Evie dressed as a ballerina. Ballerinas aren't scary! They thought you have to be something frightening.

As I say, I always try to do something Halloweenish. This year we did the usual stuff, but the kids made almost all the preparations.

"We" carved a pumpkin: Greg (who hates Halloween) did the artistic part, the kids scooped out the "monster teeth" (all while I took a nap). Note the little hanging decorations the kids made a few days ago for the stairs.

We played Halloween Bingo by candle light: the kids drew the pictures on the cards (spiders, witches hats, eyeballs etc.).

We played with slime: I just put the potato flour and water and bowls on the table and let them make it for themselves (no green food coloring or anything).

As usual I hid the candy around the living room and they searched for it by candle light.

Then we watched The Legend of Sleepy Hollow and ate dirt dessert with worms.

And there you have a lazy mother's Halloween.

******

As a heavily (95%) Catholic country, they celebrate All Saints day on November 1st and the Day of the Dead (not sure if that's what you call it in English) on the second. This is a very lovely holiday when everyone visits the graves of their loved ones. The cemeteries are amazing, all lit up with hundreds of candles. Even though we live far from the graves of any family members, we always visit a nearby cemetery just to walk around. It's magical. Here's proof (from a few years ago):

It's also a big drinking holiday (any excuse will do in Poland :), and as it falls on a Sunday this year we'll be staying off the roads, meaning no going to church. This is one of those holidays that they give statistics on the news every night about how many drunk drivers were stopped etc.

But those cemeteries are gorgeous.

Such Rebels

In doing research for articles I often look through online reviews for stores, products or services.

I just want to say that I really sort of love people who "defiantly recommend" things. And an alarming number of people do defiantly recommend things.

And I think they're darling.

Lookin' Good

I just finished my English lesson, said good bye to my students and went to the bathroom. On looking in the mirror I noticed that my collar had been sticking up at the corner. Oops. I pressed it down and looked for another second in the mirror, mentally replacing the vision of me sitting in front of my students with my collar looking retarded for the past hour with one of it behaving the whole time.

I do this sort of often. I'll come back from shopping or church or doing anything in public, really, and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and see that one of my curls is flipped the wrong way or that I forgot to wipe off the bit of mascara that got brushed on my eyelid.

And always I wipe off the mascara, or flip the hair down or whatever, look for a second at the fixed me and convince myself that that's what I actually looked like. Or maybe it's more of a "that's what I meant to look like". Or something. And then I'm fine with the fact that dozens of people just saw me looking the wrong way. Almost as if turning down my collar after the fact has some sort of retro-active power, making it so that it really WAS the right way the whole time.

And I wonder, do other people do this?

4th Time's a Charm?

I don't have issues with my stomach after having babies (except for the inevitable inability to get it quite as flat as I'd like). No stretch marks. No loose skin. As long as I get down to an okay weight I really have no complaints about it (and when I'm actually thin, I sort of love it)*.

But this time around I'm not feeling so certain. Here I am at 32 weeks and my belly is as big as it's ever been in any of my other pregnancies. As I always carry straight out in front (basketball style), I would be very surprised if my skin holds up this time around, since I will obviously be ENORMOUS by the time this little boy comes (did I mention he's a boy? Oh, he is). And my weight gain is just the same as in all my other pregnancies (I always gain 26-32 pounds. That's lbs., not Ł).

I wonder if you can get stretch marks for the first time in your fourth pregnancy?

*I feel okay saying this as NOBODY EVER SEES MY STOMACH so this is an almost useless advantage. Also, if I don't say it, nobody will ever know, and what's the point of an unseen asset? :) Rest assured that I have my pregnancy scars in FAR more conspicuous places. For example I'll probably never really wear shorts or even skirts without opaque tights because of the veins. NOW complain about your stretch marks! HA! I SO have you beat. Plus, I'll likely have the stretch marks in a few weeks, anyway!

Growing Up

In the last month David turned eight, Evie turned 10 and Aaron is exactly 2 1/2 today. That's why I'm posting some stuff they've said recently.

I really hope that during these months when all I want to do is curl up on my bed and be alone, but am forced to do a Very Large number of things that are NOT that, that I'm able to balance out all my grouchiness and excessive yelling with enough of fun and love that my kids will remember that I DO love them! Normally I consider a "balance" to be maybe 3/4 good with 1/4 bad (at most) (this is probably WAY too much bad, but I have to be realistic). These days if those statistics are switched I think I've done very well. Ugh.

Evie:

I was explaining how to drive while taking the kids to school one day. "Now I'm slowly taking my left foot off the clutch and slowly pushing on the gas with my right. Now I'm taking my right foot off the gas, pushing down on the clutch with my left and changing gears. . . etc. etc." The whole way. They were shocked to find out how hard it was. I explained that it's especially tricky because there are three pedals that you use constantly, but you only have two feet so you have to do a lot of going back and forth.

Evie said, "Woah! Hey mom, did you ever get your two feet tied in a braid while you were driving?"

David:

We were extremely low on food and I went into the kitchen to find David standing in front of the baking supply cupboard. I jokingly said, "Oh! I guess we really don't have anything to eat if you're sneaking baking soda and cinnamon!" But I realized my baking chocolate is in there too, so I asked what he was eating. He held out his hand. It had a blotch of cinnamon on it. Which he'd been licking. Plain.

After watching Top Gear together one night we went upstairs for the boys' showers. While I was washing his hair David asked, "Why in England do they always say 'it costs' instead of 'it weighs'" I didn't know what he meant so asked him to clarify, but it kept coming down to the British saying that something cost how much it weighed. I finally realized that he was talking about when they are giving specs on a car and they say that it costs xxxx pounds. How confusing!

Aaron:

I've only written one set of articles in the last month (love that). When I did I was pressed for time so I set little goals. I was supposed to have the first two done by 2:30. After helping David with some homework I came in to get started when Aaron asked me SO cutely to read him a book, so I sat down with him, beginning my reading with a little, "Oh, Aaron! At this rate mommy's never gonna reach her goal!" He looked up at me, raised both of his hands above his head and said, "GOOOAAAAAL!!!" which he and his brother are constantly screaming when they play soccer in the hallway.

They can also be found lying on the floor with their heads together looking at a book. All the time. Anywhere in the house. I caught them in the play room one morning looking at David's little scout book.

Who Learned You To Spoke The English?

I wouldn't be surprised if I found out that David, the only native English speaker in his class, is the worst student in English. It's true that he has a hard time formulating complete sentences all in English, but that's no reason for him to perform worse than other students with zero English exposure in his class.

It's also true that he's expected to learn this kind of English.

They are not taught "Do you have. . . ?" at all, or even "I have. . .". Ever. In our house we don't say "Have you got. . .?" very often. Call us crazy.

Still, this is no excuse for this:

At first I just read the last line. "Yes, I haven't"? Come on David!! I laughed a little over it and asked what he was thinking. He explained that they were asking if he had a pet and he doesn't have one! (And yes, I regularly laugh at my children's homework, in case you're wondering.)

Then I looked at the other ones and ran into the color one. Sheesh. I've got a bad cold and that one made me laugh so hard I coughed for three minutes. I also realize that it's probably not actually all that funny.

I wonder if he thought he'd get extra credit for writing it in orange.

Did you notice I wrote "I'VE GOT a bad cold?" I didn't even do it on purpose. Maybe I'm wrong about that one. . .

Hope

We have only been to the temple three times since we moved to Poland nine years ago (besides once or twice during visits in the states). I find this to be sort of sad, but considering what it means to "go to the temple" in Poland:

Drive or ride about 12 hours each way to Freiberg, Germany; stay for 4 nights in the temple"hotel", taking its underground tunnel to the temple at 7am every morning and going through session after session -- four per day (including an evening session) -- for four or five days in a row.

and what our life has been like in those nine years:

over two full years of pregnancy, 2+ years of nursing infants, years of kids in school and lots of "life"

I think three is an okay number. Actually, let's put it this way, we maybe attended fifty or so sessions, over the course of nine years, at a temple that's 12 hours away. That sounds a little better. :)

Our last visit was three years ago. That time we became temple workers. This meant spending hours learning exactly what that entails, what to say and do (in both Polish and English) attending super early prayer meetings, and getting to know the temple presidency and temple missionaries rather well.

Unfortunately, when we first arrived at the temple and before we were asked to be temple workers I realized that my back was wrong as it sometimes is for weeks at a time. This would make the whole week difficult. I determined to try to attend a session or two each day, if I was able and rest the rest of the time. Then we got the calling. I explained my dilemma and, after our meeting with the temple counselor and his wife (the pres. was out of town this week), he and Greg gave me a blessing that I would be able to work. So I did.

Okay, that was a very long lead in to my point:

I had the chance to rub shoulders with some wonderful missionary couples. I know that being in the temple is an uplifting experience in general, but spending so much time (and there's quite a bit of standing around time for temple workers) with those people was really and truly wonderful .

Those mature women were such an enormous pleasure to talk to. They were smart. They were fun. They were warm. They were wise. They were extremely sympathetic, seeming to be intensely interested in every minute detail of my back issues, family, hobbies and everything I might possibly enjoy talking about. I came away feeling like I was an interesting and good person (who isn't interesting while talking about their back problems, really?) And not like I had hogged the conversation, either, somehow.

I came away from nearly every conversation thinking, "I wish I could, I HOPE I will be like that one day. I would just give anything to be like that. To make people feel like that, just by being who I am."

Currently, though, I am NOT like that (at all). I am starting to realize that it's not exactly the time for me to be like that. I need to be much better about being less oblivious of others and their needs, but it's also okay that I focus mostly on my family right now. So I'm sort of okay about it.

But then I worry that I am just too selfish in general. I am not the kind of warm and caring person I'd like to be by nature. I'm too tied up in me. BUT. . .

I am starting to realize that the experiences I'm having now that require me to be tied up more in myself and my family than I'd sometimes like to be are the very experiences that might make me that more mature woman that I want to be some day.

I've been thinking about this more than usual in recent weeks.

I really hope and believe that these last few months are part of that training. Other women have the same experiences I've been having. I think, I HOPE I will be more understanding and sympathetic to them as I learn to untie myself from me over the years.

I know the reward for what I'm going through these months is the baby that will be mine forever. That is enough. But it doesn't stop me from hoping that I'll also be rewarded by getting a little closer to becoming who I want to be, too.

Obama's Big Blunder

Barack's Big Blunder would sound slightly better but I don't appreciate people calling authority figures by their first name, and Obama's still got the "b" in there, so I'm good.

One of the 30 posts I have written in my brain in the past few months was a sentimental, patriotic one about the anniversary of the fall of communism and how much I love Poland for it's bravery and awesomeness. I'm more sad than ever that I never wrote that post after today.

Today is the anniversary of the day the Red army marched into Poland, high fiving the German's on their way out of the country. This is not a happy anniversary. They've been showing footage of the hundreds of tanks rolling in on this day seventy years ago, and the Russian and German soldiers tearing apart Polish flags, all marking the beginning of decades of oppression and poverty and lots of other bad stuff (losing my vocabulary, here).

Today, on this very anniversary, Barack Obama announced that there will be no missle defense sheild built in Poland. Not that this is a huge surprise in itself, but today? All over European news they're talking about how this is basically a bow to the Russians, or a gift to them. Just what they deserve, really.

I'm sure he said some conciliatory stuff during the announcement, too, but come on. Poland has stood by America through thick and thin. They had the third highest number of troops in Iraq after the US and England. They have been super forgiving of the country that basically ignored their plight during WWII for years while millions of people died and their country was trashed.

I've not been too interested in Obama's mistakes up until now but this one I definitely have an opinion about. I gladly admit that Bush wasn't the best when it comes to foreign policy, but today is being declared a major low in US foreign policy. Under who?

Who's the dim wit that decided this would be announced today? The idiocy.

***

I know I've been virtually absent from the blogging/emailing/Internet world, but I still think in blog posts and read blogs sporadically. All the posts I have lined up in my brain are just waiting for me to feel like doing anything, at which point I will post them.

Double Standard

Why is it that I just love when one kid does something, but hate when another does?

Take KICKING for example:

Older children doing it to each other? NOT cute.

Children in my tummy doing it (when I'm less than nine months pregnant)? VERY cute.

Funny how that works.

And speaking of weird stuff, yesterday Greg and I came back from the doctor and our friend, who had stayed with the kids said, "I think Aaron had an accident," and showed us the huge wet spot on the couch.

Both Greg and I were nonplussed.* First of all, Aaron doesn't really have accidents, especially not more than a drip. Also, he wears a pull up so it wouldn't matter anyway.

Then David answered our confusion with the beginning of an explanation, "We were doing something and it was so funny. . ." And both Greg and I were no longer confused. It was seven year old David who'd peed on the couch, not Aaron. Now we understood.

The two year old isn't expected to have an accident, but it's a very common occurrence with the seven year old. Poor boy. He got it from me. I remember the days of hoping nobody would make me laugh too hard. Maybe he'll outgrow it, too, by the time he's 25 or so.

*(I put that in there for you, Sus)