Baby’s (second) First Christmas

December 25 snuck up on us this year. We enjoyed a wonderful celebration just before we left California with my family. Our holiday schedule: Thanksgiving on Thursday, get ready for Christmas on Friday, celebrate Christmas on Saturday. Dietrich wore his first-Christmas bibs. Christmas happened.

We arrived here, we got busy, and all of a sudden it was December 23, and we were without a tree. Our holiday schedule: Buy tree on Saturday, decorate tree on Sunday, open presents under tree on Monday. We bought our little tree when it was already dark outside, otherwise we wouldn’t have picked one with slightly yellow needles. But he’s a charming little guy for the $12 we spent on him.



Dietrich got some cool puppets from his grandma Cindy.

Sunday also included an all-day church celebration (most of which I spent in the hallway, trying to protect Dietrich from the poking, germy fingers of the 50 or so kids who performed in church), and Monday was meant to include take-out from our favorite restaurant, but strange weather coupled with Eric’s impending sore throat canceled those plans. We did enjoy chili from our favorite freezer, however.

My favorite Christmas moments were the two phone calls that bookended our day. My parents, brother and sister-in-law called on American Christmas Eve, which is Christmas morning for us. What a delight it was to hear their voices and to know that, though we were missed, the Miller household still celebrated a joyful Christmas. The end of the day brought a call from Eric’s parents, who also sent us a package of goodies that arrived that evening. How fun to know that ahead of them lay a whole day of remembering Christ’s coming, even as we wrapped up our day of remembrance.

Another highlight was Sunday night, when I asked Eric to read me the birth narrative out of Luke. I keep asking him to pause while I reflected; for the first time this year, I felt like I could (in a very small way) begin to understand the story from Mary and Joseph’s perspectives. I’ve delivered a baby boy. I’ve wrapped him in strips of cloth, a.k.a. blankets from Target. I treasure those memories in my heart.

Still, I wonder: Did Mary have a girlfriend who gave her the inside scoop on what to expect during delivery? Maybe John's mom, Elizabeth, played the role of experienced friend? Were Joseph and Mary alone in the room where Jesus was born? What kind of birth coach did Joseph prove to be? And what did these two young people think when they finally held in their suddenly very grown-up hands the slippery, red, squirmy bundle Who would grow up to be the Savior of all those who put their faith in Him?

When nostalgia hits, it hits hard

Whilst writing thank-you cards yesterday afternoon, I penned the following sentence: “Seems like only yesterday we were enjoying summer in California.” And with that, a wave of nostalgia passed through our kitchen, knocking my emotions off their feet. I felt the freedom of sitting in the passenger’s seat, my legs on the dashboard, my seatbelt fitted under my bulging tummy, watching the wild sunflowers fly by as we drove up and down the 5. I felt the water nestle me as I dragged that same belly along the length of the Whittier public pool. I felt the comfort of waking up – for the first time since my sophomore year of college – morning after morning in my mom and dad’s house. I felt the elation of posing for pictures on the beach just a few days before Dietrich made his way into the world. For the first time, with my pregnancy near its peak, I loved the way I looked in a bathing suit.

But that one sentence might not have been the only cause of the nostalgia storm. It was about a year ago that our theoretical, sure-let’s-try-to-have-a-baby concept turned into a very tiny Dietrich. It makes sense to celebrate birthdays: The birth moment is clear, easy to pin a date on. But Dietrich’s life began a year ago yesterday, or the day before, or sometime around there – and that’s something to celebrate, too.


Our 12-month/3-month old.

The flu bug

What a week. Last Sunday, Eric consumed a grilled cheese sandwich and promptly came down with what we assumed was food poisoning. Then, wiped out from Sunday, he spent most of Monday asleep. Tuesday night we hosted our small group’s annual Christmas party (see previous post).

Wednesday was a good day. Our good friends Jon, Andrea and Joy Hoglund rolled into town for a 4-day visit. I tried a new bread recipe, one that the Minimalist in the NY Times promised would change my life. It did, but that’s an entry for another day. We babysat for Joy and gave Jon & Andrea a night on the town. Thursday progressed smoothly, too. We all went our separate ways during the day, then in the evening, the boys participated in a theological discussion group, and Andrea and I hung out in the kitchen while I tried a butternut ginger soup recipe.

Then Friday rolled around. First, only the boys were able to take showers before our hot water was unexpectedly turned off for the rest of the day. Second, Friday was the day little Joy got sick with the stomach flu. It was the start of a very long weekend for the poor Hoglunds. In the wee hours of Saturday morning, the bug bit Andrea. By Saturday afternoon, all three Hoglunds were stricken.

You might be thinking, “A flu bug? A flu bug is not remarkable. A flu bug is not worthy of a blog entry.” But this, you see, was an ironic little flu bug. Jon & Andrea planned this trip for one purpose: So that Andrea could help throw a shower for little Dietrich. That shower was Saturday morning, just hours after Andrea fell ill. Obviously, she didn’t make it to the party. Now, we figure that the bug that bit the Hoglunds was the same one that got to Eric earlier in the week, when we thought he had eaten bad cheese. So, if the Hoglunds hadn’t come to stay with us, they wouldn’t have gotten sick, and Andrea could have gone to the shower. But, since Andrea was staying with us in order to go to the shower, she couldn’t go to the shower. Mean bug.


We took this picture of the Hoglunds this morning, just before they headed home. Momma and Poppa Hoglund feel better, but Joy is still on the mend. Thankfully, so far Dietrich and his mommy haven’t gotten sick. If you're the praying type, please ask God to keep it that way. Thanks.

The birthday bug

Yesterday was Dietrich’s 3-month birthday. To celebrate, we had our SEND small group over. (OK, to be honest, they were over to celebrate the birth of another famous baby, one who was born, born, born in Bethlehem.) We had racklett (a German dinner that involves people heating up their own meat, cheese and veggies on a machine in the middle of the table), and I made a chocolate cake with mint frosting.

This was the first time that we’d done any serious hosting since baby came along, and I was thrilled to discover that we’re still able to have people over without too much stress. This is good information to have, as we are currently discussing which of our former activities we can/should commit to again now that baby’s around. Dietrich is a people person; when a group’s around, he refuses to sleep, yet he stays happy as he’s passed from arm to arm.

In honor of the birthday boy (D not Jesus), I thought we’d take a look at how he’s grown. Here’s our little lovebug about a week after birth:



And here’s our barrel-chested big boy – all 14 pounds of him – this morning:

He did it!

Friday night: 7.5 hours
Saturday night: 7 hours
Sunday night: 8 hours

And that, my friends, is a trend.

Trendwatch continues

On Night Three, Dietrich only slept four hours before he needed a 2 a.m. snack. Last night, he logged 7.5 hours, however, so we're back to Trendwatch: Night 2 tonight. Eric's going to be his primary caretaker for much of the afternoon today while I go to a wedding shower, so hopefully daddy playtime will tucker him out.

Third time's a charm?

Hopes are high in the Oldenburg house tonight. For the past two nights, our son has logged first 9.5 and then 8 consecutive hours of shuteye. One more night, and it officially becomes a trend. Granted, those long stretches of sleep have started at midnight or so, but that works just great for his mommy’s schedule, since she’s a bit of a night owl herself. And for the first 30 minutes or so, we have to turn on the blow dryer and hang it from his door. That setup isn’t as handy as the heat fan in his grandparents’ bedroom, but it works. So, sleep well little D, sleep well.

Sad stroll

Just got back from my first stroll to the market with Dietrich. It didn’t go so well. I forgot my shopping list, Ukrainian money and my bag. Dietrich was screaming in the store, in the checkout line and while I went to change the $20 American that I fortunately had with me.

But the worst part was how lonely I felt. I must have passed 10 other women about my age pushing their babies in strollers, and not a single one of them did anything more than stare at me. I know that they don’t mean anything negative by it; it’s just such a shock after being in America where people are eager to ask about your baby. Americans tend to strike up conversation with people in similar circumstances – folks called for jury duty, people waiting in the long line at the post office, moms caring for their children. When we first got back to America, I remember being shocked, and maybe even a little offended, at how open people were – like, do I really need to know the medical history of the girl changing into her swimsuit in the same locker room where I’m changing into mine? But now I miss that transparency.

Hopefully tomorrow’s outing will be better.

Riding in style

It even comes with a cover to keep Dietrich warm!


Home from church and taking a snooze.

We took advantage of Saturday’s relatively warm weather to venture out on a shopping trip with, and for, our little one. At the central children’s market we browsed through about 50 stroller styles. This one lured us with its classy color scheme, its excellent shocks and its ability to change as baby changes. When he’s old enough to sit up, we can snap that bassinet right off and snap in a seat instead. Both options are quite adjustable, too – the bassinet can be elevated; the seat can recline. I’ll use the basket underneath and the matching bag to carry producti – fruits and veggies from the outdoor market, meat and flour from the grocery store.

Dietrich took his first ride in his new stroller when we took him to church yesterday. (He was very popular and even doled out some lovely smiles to a chosen few.) Evidently, he loves his new stroller so much that he’s too excited to sleep. Saturday night (pre stroller ride), he slept eight glorious solid hours. Sunday night (post stroller ride), he slept four and refused to go back down for a second round of zzzz’s. Probably the stroller people should not use that fact in any marketing campaigns.

Flying first class

We're back in Ukraine, which makes this blog's title legit again. The five months we spent in the States felt more like five minutes. And in those five minutemonths, our whole lives changed with Dietrich Mark Oldenburg's September 12 arrival. We are no longer a couple; now we're a group.

Unfortunately, time didn't fly during our flight back to Ukraine. In my old life, I loved long plane flights because of the movies. On overseas trips, you usually get your choice of five or more fairly current releases. But when you're locked with your baby in a flying machine with several hundred strangers, your priority switches from cinematic enjoyment to making sure that the several hundred strangers don't hate you and your child by the end of the flight. At the first sign of fussing, D and I (or D and Eric) were out of our seats, bouncing through the cabin.

Thankfully, D behaved quite well during our 24-hour (from door to door) journey. And he also got to enjoy something for which we grownups have to pay about $7,000: his own bed. I've never flown first class, and I doubt I ever will, but Dietrich made it look pretty comfy.