Eric’s week looked like this: Work, work, work. Eat. Work, work, work. Snag a few hours of sleep. Work, work, work. This is Eric’s busy month (he’s speaking at a conference, helping to run the Talbot session, and working on the Talbot assessment report), so I’m steeling myself for a month of theological-education widowhood.
Monday night, Eric usually has brothers’ meeting (like an elder meeting). These start at 7:30 p.m., and usually last until at least 10:30. But this past Monday was the day after our pastor’s birthday, so he showed up expecting to discuss difficult issues, but instead they ate cake.
Tuesday, I found a worm inching up our kitchen wall as I sliced apples for sauce. I popped him in a jar, and Dietrich spent the whole day carrying the worm from room to room, so that the worm could watch him play. Slimy entertainment! I also started our newsletter. Did you get it?
Wednesday, we took the boys to the doctor. Dietrich needed a TB test so that he can get a TB vaccination. Lev needed his four-month immunizations. I thought I might need Eric’s help on the metro. I was right: On the way there, Dietrich fell into a deep sleep, and Lev lost it. Nothing I tried would soothe him, which meant: hungry Lev.
I clearly wasn’t thinking ahead when got ready that morning, because I was wearing a jacket, a Moby wrap, and several layers under the Moby. No milk access. I made a last-second decision to jump off the metro, abandoning Eric and Dietrich.
On the subway platform, holding the screaming Lev, I made all the necessary adjustments, jumped on the next train, and fed Lev the rest of the way. Once his tummy was full, he was a dream. He didn’t even wince (much less cry) when he got the shot. Also? 19.25 pounds.
And, as expected, no TB for D, so more shots are in his future.
Thursday morning, I got to introduce another missionary to my favorite outdoor market. (We live a 30-minute walk from most of our teammates, and those 30 minutes make a big difference in which market you frequent.) This particular teammate is rather new to Kyiv, but very experienced in missionary life. She’s Martha-esque in her wide range of abilities, except that she’s more practical and not at all off-putting. Today, for instance, she’s helping someone gut and prepare a live goose. (Which probably is off-putting to the goose, but I think it's rad.) I always leave her presence inspired to make some small change that will help me serve my family a bit better.
Thursday at 10:30 p.m., we learned that Friday was Teacher Appreciation Day. I pulled three loaves of pumpkin bread out of the freezer and sent poor Eric out for flowers. We have two 24-hour flower kiosks just outside our building. We used to laugh at them. "What kind of sad sap would need flowers in the middle of the night," we scoffed. Since starting sadik, we’ve been caught off-guard by two holidays, and now we look at the kiosks with deep appreciation.
Friday, our crazy day, was crazy. Eric had to go in to work super early, so I took Dietrich and the Teacher Appreciation presents over to school. Home to do a flier for the upcoming Talbot lecture. Back to sadik with snacks in my pocket to pick up Dietrich and rush him to music class. I walk in, and the teacher comes over, excited, to announce that Dietrich ate his whole lunch!
“That’s odd,” I think. “Lunch usually doesn’t start for another 30 minutes.”
At this point, I should have realized something was up, but instead, I was just happy that we didn’t have to fill Dietrich full of snacks on the bus ride to music class.
Music. Back home for a quick break before dance class.
We walk in the door for dance class, and an extraordinary number of parents are there picking up their kids. Unperturbed by the kids all around us putting on their clothes, I tell Dietrich to change into his dance clothes.
He gets half his clothes off before the teacher’s assistant comes running out, saying, “What are you doing?!?”
Um. Something tells me dance class is a no-go. Teacher's Appreciation Day evidently also means a short day. See, now, that's appreciative!
Saturday, Eric had to work and Dietrich really wanted to have someone over to play. I had a ton of loose ends from the week to tie up, so I asked one of the preteen girls on our team if she’d like to be a mama’s helper for a little while. So for about 90 blissful minutes on Saturday morning, I finished up all the things that were hanging over my head while Dietrich played hide-and-seek with someone who doesn't go crazy when he hides in the same place 10 times in a row. After she left, I was free to play with the kids all day!
Sunday, we took both kids to church for the second time, but it was not a success. The tram that we normally would take was parked on the tracks, not moving. We walked, but my back was sore from toting the 19.25-pounder before we even got there. Lev decided sleep wasn’t for him. Dietrich kept trying to intentionally choke himself on pretzel sticks. After about 40 minutes, I gave up and took the kiddos home. Thankfully, Sunday comes once a week, so we can try again.
Monday, October 04, 2010
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Summer flashback: Annual conference
The SEND Ukraine team's bylaws include the need for an annual business meeting, at which we elect leaders and hear a report from our area director. This usually takes about an hour, but in order to encourage connections between team members, we take the opportunity to spend a few days together. (Our team is widely distributed, working out of five Ukrainian cities.)
This year's conference was at a Christian retreat center by the Black Sea. The accommodations were pretty simple ("high-class camping," someone dubbed it), but the setting was beautiful. Until nightfall, that is, when the mosquitoes and spiders got to work. So many bugs. I was actually thankful to see bats, because bats eat bugs. Go bats!
We stayed in little cabins, and in the mornings and evenings, people gathered on the front stoop to chat.
Catching up with sweet Joy, our conference neighbor.
On the last morning, someone came by with chocolate chip cookies! Before breakfast!
A team from an American church came to serve us by providing a vacation Bible school, music and teaching. The teacher had been through cancer recently, so he spoke about confronting "giants" in our lives. It seems like people who come to talk to missionaries often focus on surviving through hard times, as though our lives are so, so difficult. Usually this bugs me, but I actually appreciated this particular teacher's approach.
Lev was a peach, sleeping through most of the morning meetings and contentedly resting in other people's arms when he wasn't snoozing.
I was very thankful for the excellent mosquito netting that came with Lev's stroller.
Art, one of our teammates, made it his mission to make Lev laugh by the end of the conference. Success came on the last day.
The program for kids was a highlight of the trip. It was the first time that we've been at a conference at which Dietrich has been old enough to really participate and enjoy being away from us for long stretches of the day. And it was good for us to see how much he's grown in the past year.
The childcare workers knew the way to a boy's heart is paved with Matchbox vehicles.
On the last night at conference, the kids put on a little concert for the adults. Last year, Dietrich wanted to be on stage with the big kids, so he stood up there with them, but he didn't know the words or the hand motions. This year, he fit right in.
The kids program was so good that being back home was a bit of a letdown. So, I let Joy and Dietrich decorate Lev.
Joy seems to be wondering if this is REALLY an okay way to treat a baby.
But look! He likes it!
This year's conference was at a Christian retreat center by the Black Sea. The accommodations were pretty simple ("high-class camping," someone dubbed it), but the setting was beautiful. Until nightfall, that is, when the mosquitoes and spiders got to work. So many bugs. I was actually thankful to see bats, because bats eat bugs. Go bats!
We stayed in little cabins, and in the mornings and evenings, people gathered on the front stoop to chat.
Catching up with sweet Joy, our conference neighbor.
On the last morning, someone came by with chocolate chip cookies! Before breakfast!
A team from an American church came to serve us by providing a vacation Bible school, music and teaching. The teacher had been through cancer recently, so he spoke about confronting "giants" in our lives. It seems like people who come to talk to missionaries often focus on surviving through hard times, as though our lives are so, so difficult. Usually this bugs me, but I actually appreciated this particular teacher's approach.
Lev was a peach, sleeping through most of the morning meetings and contentedly resting in other people's arms when he wasn't snoozing.
I was very thankful for the excellent mosquito netting that came with Lev's stroller.
Art, one of our teammates, made it his mission to make Lev laugh by the end of the conference. Success came on the last day.
The program for kids was a highlight of the trip. It was the first time that we've been at a conference at which Dietrich has been old enough to really participate and enjoy being away from us for long stretches of the day. And it was good for us to see how much he's grown in the past year.
The childcare workers knew the way to a boy's heart is paved with Matchbox vehicles.
On the last night at conference, the kids put on a little concert for the adults. Last year, Dietrich wanted to be on stage with the big kids, so he stood up there with them, but he didn't know the words or the hand motions. This year, he fit right in.
The kids program was so good that being back home was a bit of a letdown. So, I let Joy and Dietrich decorate Lev.
Joy seems to be wondering if this is REALLY an okay way to treat a baby.
But look! He likes it!
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Seven Days in Kyiv, take one
I'm finding, now that I'm a mother of two, that I accomplish little beyond what is built into the structure of our daily routine. Enter Seven Days in Kyiv: my attempt to add blogging to the routine. And away we go ...
Monday was a normal day (Eric to work, Dietrich to preschool, mom and Lev at home), which was a blessing since Dietrich had been sick for four days, and Eric joined in his misery over the weekend. Dietrich, Lev and I have created a fairly enjoyable afternoon routine, which includes some rest time, some English-language school time, some reading time, some coloring time. I've noticed that Dietrich responds well to lots of structure, and spends less time experimenting with things that will only lead to trouble. (What happens if I bounce Lev's seat really, super hard? What about if I hang from the kitchen counters?)
Tuesday, Lev and I spent the morning traveling to the center of the city to pay Eric's registration fine. It seems that the Ukrainian embassy in San Francisco gave Eric the wrong kind of visa. He's been filling out registration paperwork based on a religious visa, but he actually holds a private visa. Despite this, he's always had his registration approved. People holding religious visas no longer have to register (hooray!), but Eric, thankfully, noticed that his visa is different from mine, and people holding private visas do still need to register. So, he sent in all the money for registration, and then was informed that he also needed to pay a fine for doing his paperwork incorrectly last year -- even though that paperwork was approved. Sigh. Lev did great, mostly sleeping during the long metro rides to and from the center of the city.
Then, Tuesday night, Dietrich started showing signs of tummy troubles. He stayed home from school Wednesday and Thursday. Feeling sympathetic, I let him eat whatever he wanted on Wednesday and the first half of Thursday. When this approach seemed to do more harm than good, we switched to a very simple diet: bananas, crackers, noodles and rice. By Friday, he was well enough to go to school for a couple of hours, and by Saturday, his tummy was back to normal. The banana-and-starch diet had an added benefit: It made our reluctant eater eager to eat ANYTHING other than bananas and starch.
At the beginning of the week, Eric was busily preparing for two mid-week meetings. He serves on two leadership teams for our field: He represents theological educators on the Executive Committee, and he's one of the elected leaders on our Area Council. He got home from his Wednesday afternoon EC meeting just in time to help me set up for our SEND home group meeting, and the next day he was at AC from 1:30 until 10.
Thankfully, back at the seminary on Friday, he got good news: Seven of the eight potential Talbot extension students who took the English-language competency test two weeks ago received high-enough scores that they can continue with the application process.
Friday has become our very busiest day, with Eric fitting Ukrainian language class into his work day, and Dietrich going to preschool, music lesson and dance class. (When we signed up for dance, we asked what days it would be, since we already had music class on Fridays. Oh, we never have extra lessons on Fridays, we were assured. Live and learn.) It's the one day during which Lev just gets hauled around, snacks when he wants to, and does most of his napping on mommy. Music class is a hit; it even made the "Thank you Jesus for ..." list during his prayers that night.
On Thursday, a nagging pain in my tooth prompted me to call the dentist, whom I hadn't seen in six years. I had a two-hour appointment scheduled for Saturday. It was one of the more uncomfortable dentist visits I've had, but I blame myself and my six-year gap. He fixed my exposed root, gave me a new brushing strategy and told me I need to come back for two more two-hour visits. Boo, but again, mea culpa.
It was the longest I've ever been away from Lev, so I left a bottle for him. He slept almost the whole time I was gone, but we gave him an ounce from the bottle just to see if he'd take it. His older brother rejected the bottle. Passionately. This was not an issue for Lev. One ounce, down the gullet in three minutes flat. Good news, given my upcoming trips to the dentist.
This morning, we went to church as a family of four for only the second time. Church services bore Dietrich (no Sunday School for his age; indeed, he's the only kid his age at our church), so it was difficult to get him out the door, even with promises of a tramvai ride and chocolates as a reward for good behavior. But once we arrived, he did great. He really enjoys trying to write his letters, so he mostly just practiced A, H, O and K, and did a bit of coloring. He also found all the number 8s in the hymnal. Lev, on the other hand, needed a lot of coaxing before he finally fell asleep. I left the service and walked around the block three times to get him to dreamland. About 10 minutes after I got back, the church gave the pastor flowers for his birthday, and everyone clapped. And that was the end of that nap!
I spent the afternoon freezing apple and pumpkin purees for future Lev consumption, and then we went to a good-bye gathering for some teammates who are heading to Russia. Home again, pizza for dinner, then Eric was off to watch American football at another teammate's place. I put the boys to bed, and here I am typing.
And there you have it, Seven Days in Kyiv. And now for the week's best photos:
Monday was a normal day (Eric to work, Dietrich to preschool, mom and Lev at home), which was a blessing since Dietrich had been sick for four days, and Eric joined in his misery over the weekend. Dietrich, Lev and I have created a fairly enjoyable afternoon routine, which includes some rest time, some English-language school time, some reading time, some coloring time. I've noticed that Dietrich responds well to lots of structure, and spends less time experimenting with things that will only lead to trouble. (What happens if I bounce Lev's seat really, super hard? What about if I hang from the kitchen counters?)
Tuesday, Lev and I spent the morning traveling to the center of the city to pay Eric's registration fine. It seems that the Ukrainian embassy in San Francisco gave Eric the wrong kind of visa. He's been filling out registration paperwork based on a religious visa, but he actually holds a private visa. Despite this, he's always had his registration approved. People holding religious visas no longer have to register (hooray!), but Eric, thankfully, noticed that his visa is different from mine, and people holding private visas do still need to register. So, he sent in all the money for registration, and then was informed that he also needed to pay a fine for doing his paperwork incorrectly last year -- even though that paperwork was approved. Sigh. Lev did great, mostly sleeping during the long metro rides to and from the center of the city.
Then, Tuesday night, Dietrich started showing signs of tummy troubles. He stayed home from school Wednesday and Thursday. Feeling sympathetic, I let him eat whatever he wanted on Wednesday and the first half of Thursday. When this approach seemed to do more harm than good, we switched to a very simple diet: bananas, crackers, noodles and rice. By Friday, he was well enough to go to school for a couple of hours, and by Saturday, his tummy was back to normal. The banana-and-starch diet had an added benefit: It made our reluctant eater eager to eat ANYTHING other than bananas and starch.
At the beginning of the week, Eric was busily preparing for two mid-week meetings. He serves on two leadership teams for our field: He represents theological educators on the Executive Committee, and he's one of the elected leaders on our Area Council. He got home from his Wednesday afternoon EC meeting just in time to help me set up for our SEND home group meeting, and the next day he was at AC from 1:30 until 10.
Thankfully, back at the seminary on Friday, he got good news: Seven of the eight potential Talbot extension students who took the English-language competency test two weeks ago received high-enough scores that they can continue with the application process.
Friday has become our very busiest day, with Eric fitting Ukrainian language class into his work day, and Dietrich going to preschool, music lesson and dance class. (When we signed up for dance, we asked what days it would be, since we already had music class on Fridays. Oh, we never have extra lessons on Fridays, we were assured. Live and learn.) It's the one day during which Lev just gets hauled around, snacks when he wants to, and does most of his napping on mommy. Music class is a hit; it even made the "Thank you Jesus for ..." list during his prayers that night.
On Thursday, a nagging pain in my tooth prompted me to call the dentist, whom I hadn't seen in six years. I had a two-hour appointment scheduled for Saturday. It was one of the more uncomfortable dentist visits I've had, but I blame myself and my six-year gap. He fixed my exposed root, gave me a new brushing strategy and told me I need to come back for two more two-hour visits. Boo, but again, mea culpa.
It was the longest I've ever been away from Lev, so I left a bottle for him. He slept almost the whole time I was gone, but we gave him an ounce from the bottle just to see if he'd take it. His older brother rejected the bottle. Passionately. This was not an issue for Lev. One ounce, down the gullet in three minutes flat. Good news, given my upcoming trips to the dentist.
This morning, we went to church as a family of four for only the second time. Church services bore Dietrich (no Sunday School for his age; indeed, he's the only kid his age at our church), so it was difficult to get him out the door, even with promises of a tramvai ride and chocolates as a reward for good behavior. But once we arrived, he did great. He really enjoys trying to write his letters, so he mostly just practiced A, H, O and K, and did a bit of coloring. He also found all the number 8s in the hymnal. Lev, on the other hand, needed a lot of coaxing before he finally fell asleep. I left the service and walked around the block three times to get him to dreamland. About 10 minutes after I got back, the church gave the pastor flowers for his birthday, and everyone clapped. And that was the end of that nap!
I spent the afternoon freezing apple and pumpkin purees for future Lev consumption, and then we went to a good-bye gathering for some teammates who are heading to Russia. Home again, pizza for dinner, then Eric was off to watch American football at another teammate's place. I put the boys to bed, and here I am typing.
And there you have it, Seven Days in Kyiv. And now for the week's best photos:
Friday, September 10, 2010
Watch out, or Lev will eat you
Can you give a 3-month-old a complex about his weight? Good golly, I hope not, because it's hard to look at Lev without commenting on how stinkin' huge he is. After a long, hot summer, during which he only wore diapers, I pulled out what I thought would be his fall clothes. I chose the 6-month box. No way, Mommy O. This boy's on to 9-month duds, thank you very much.
Our love for Lev totally matches his humongousness. We're so glad there's so much of him to kiss.
Tuesday, September 07, 2010
Taking it literally
Like Americans, Ukrainians have several idioms that they use to describe how they slept. We, for instance, say, "I slept like a log." They, for instance, say, "I slept without back legs."
And now, allow Dietrich to demonstrate:
And now, allow Dietrich to demonstrate:
Thursday, August 05, 2010
Lev's birth story (part 4)
The delivery room was yellow. And tiled. And, in an example of extremely poor design, the loo was through an office and down a hallway. And those are about the only impressions I have of it. The hour I spent there was just a little too intense for good memory making.
In Ukraine, you often carry your medical records with you, so one of the first things we did was hand over a folder containing all my analyses, bloodwork, ultrasounds and results of prenatal visits. For some reason, the doctor chose not to read it. Instead, he kept asking me questions:
"How big did your last ultrasound say the baby would be?"
Pause for contraction.
"About 3 1/2 kilos? I don't know. It's written in the folder."
----
"How much weight did you gain?"
Pause for contraction.
"About 13 kilos? I don't know. It's written in the folder."
----
"Did your eye exam show that you can have a natural birth?"
"Yes."
"What was your vision?"
Pause for contraction.
"I don't know. It's written in the folder."
You get the idea. Evidently, he finally did, too, and started reading. I know he started reading, because pretty soon all the medical personnel started laughing. "You're allergic to buckwheat? How odd! Probably it's only toasted buckwheat that you're allergic to." And so on.
I'm pretty used to this reaction to my strange, strange allergy ... but I really couldn't understand why this was applicable to my current situation. Surely they weren't planning on feeding me?
While all this was going on, we also met our midwife. Turns out, she was the one who would actually deliver the baby. The doctor was just there to ask irritating questions, I guess? No, just kidding ... he did play a bigger role than that.
I love our midwife. I don't know her name. I would not recognize her face. But I love her. She:
a) Didn't make me use the fetal monitor. This meant I was free to roam, and didn't have to deal with an uncomfortably tight belt around my uncomfortably contracting belly.
b) When I said I didn't want pain medication, she bathed me in encouraging words and called me a little rabbit. (That's a tender nickname in Russian.)
c) Responded to my individual reaction to contractions. So, for instance, when she saw me jolt into a sitting position on the hospital bed, she said, "No, don't sit like that, this will be better." And then she rolled out the birthing ball. I'd tried a birthing ball with Dietrich, but it felt very unstable. This midwife showed me how to position my legs, plus she rolled the ball right up to the end of the bed, so I could lean on the edge. It felt stable -- and wonderful.
d) Left decisions up to us. My water hadn't broken. She and the doctor said they could break it, but I clearly was hesitant. So, they told me to think about it and let them know when I was ready. The midwife came back one more time to clarify the possible outcomes (longer but gentler labor if water stayed intact, shorter but more intense if it was broken), and then she did another wonderful thing for us --
e) She left us alone. For a good stretch of time, it was just Eric and I, working together, in that delivery room. When I finally decided I was ready to be done and that I wanted my water broken, he had to leave the room and go down the hall to find someone.
Here's where the doctor actually did something: He broke my water. But first he checked me and declared, "Your cervix is gone!"
"Oh great," I said. "That means I'm at 10 centimeters?"
"Young lady," he responded. "Ten centimeters, eight centimeters, 15 centimeters -- who cares? Your cervix is gone!"
He broke the water, checked me again, then said: "OK, I'll say nine centimeters. Tell me when you want to push."
The next contraction found me yelling, "I want to! I want to!"
At this point, the quiet ended. Lots of people rushed in. They were touching me and positioning me and basically throwing me off my game. I lost it for a minute, but the midwife yelled (louder than I was yelling) to get my attention, and quickly guided me through the pushing. I never felt like I got to the point of focused pushing, and Eric said the baby's shoulders seemed stuck and that the midwife had to pull pretty hard on him.
Still, just a few minutes later, Lev (middle-name-still-to-be-determined) Oldenburg was out and on my chest.
I couldn't see his sweet face, just his fingers and arms and legs. He was purple, but no one forced him to cry to pink him up. They just let us hang out together.
And then I really lost it. I started laughing. Cackling, actually. Loudly. My joy overcame my self control and all I could do was let it pour out of me. Lev was here. He was alive. Healthy. And, as an added blessing, I'd had the natural birth that I'd longed for. And I did it all in Russian. Crazy. Happy. Thankful.
In an unexpected twist, after about 30 blissful minutes with our little one, I was informed that I'd be knocked me out while they fixed me up.
While I was out, Eric had a moment of clarity while holding Lev. We had gone back and forth on a middle name for weeks. Since Lev isn't a common American name, we wondered if we ought to give him a plain-Jane middle name so that he'd have a backup option. While I understood that reasoning, I was holding out for Eleos, which means "mercy" in Greek.
When I woke up, shaking uncontrollably and wearing different clothes, Eric brought Lev to me and explained that, during their quiet first moments together, he had realized that Eleos was perfectly appropriate.
The medical staff slipped away, and we were left alone with Lev Eleos Oldenburg, who started nursing and hasn't stopped since.
And, today, nearly 10 weeks after his arrival, I feel the same way I did in the seconds after I first spotted his tiny fingers.
Crazy. Happy. Thankful.
In Ukraine, you often carry your medical records with you, so one of the first things we did was hand over a folder containing all my analyses, bloodwork, ultrasounds and results of prenatal visits. For some reason, the doctor chose not to read it. Instead, he kept asking me questions:
"How big did your last ultrasound say the baby would be?"
Pause for contraction.
"About 3 1/2 kilos? I don't know. It's written in the folder."
----
"How much weight did you gain?"
Pause for contraction.
"About 13 kilos? I don't know. It's written in the folder."
----
"Did your eye exam show that you can have a natural birth?"
"Yes."
"What was your vision?"
Pause for contraction.
"I don't know. It's written in the folder."
You get the idea. Evidently, he finally did, too, and started reading. I know he started reading, because pretty soon all the medical personnel started laughing. "You're allergic to buckwheat? How odd! Probably it's only toasted buckwheat that you're allergic to." And so on.
I'm pretty used to this reaction to my strange, strange allergy ... but I really couldn't understand why this was applicable to my current situation. Surely they weren't planning on feeding me?
While all this was going on, we also met our midwife. Turns out, she was the one who would actually deliver the baby. The doctor was just there to ask irritating questions, I guess? No, just kidding ... he did play a bigger role than that.
I love our midwife. I don't know her name. I would not recognize her face. But I love her. She:
a) Didn't make me use the fetal monitor. This meant I was free to roam, and didn't have to deal with an uncomfortably tight belt around my uncomfortably contracting belly.
b) When I said I didn't want pain medication, she bathed me in encouraging words and called me a little rabbit. (That's a tender nickname in Russian.)
c) Responded to my individual reaction to contractions. So, for instance, when she saw me jolt into a sitting position on the hospital bed, she said, "No, don't sit like that, this will be better." And then she rolled out the birthing ball. I'd tried a birthing ball with Dietrich, but it felt very unstable. This midwife showed me how to position my legs, plus she rolled the ball right up to the end of the bed, so I could lean on the edge. It felt stable -- and wonderful.
d) Left decisions up to us. My water hadn't broken. She and the doctor said they could break it, but I clearly was hesitant. So, they told me to think about it and let them know when I was ready. The midwife came back one more time to clarify the possible outcomes (longer but gentler labor if water stayed intact, shorter but more intense if it was broken), and then she did another wonderful thing for us --
e) She left us alone. For a good stretch of time, it was just Eric and I, working together, in that delivery room. When I finally decided I was ready to be done and that I wanted my water broken, he had to leave the room and go down the hall to find someone.
Here's where the doctor actually did something: He broke my water. But first he checked me and declared, "Your cervix is gone!"
"Oh great," I said. "That means I'm at 10 centimeters?"
"Young lady," he responded. "Ten centimeters, eight centimeters, 15 centimeters -- who cares? Your cervix is gone!"
He broke the water, checked me again, then said: "OK, I'll say nine centimeters. Tell me when you want to push."
The next contraction found me yelling, "I want to! I want to!"
At this point, the quiet ended. Lots of people rushed in. They were touching me and positioning me and basically throwing me off my game. I lost it for a minute, but the midwife yelled (louder than I was yelling) to get my attention, and quickly guided me through the pushing. I never felt like I got to the point of focused pushing, and Eric said the baby's shoulders seemed stuck and that the midwife had to pull pretty hard on him.
Still, just a few minutes later, Lev (middle-name-still-to-be-determined) Oldenburg was out and on my chest.
I couldn't see his sweet face, just his fingers and arms and legs. He was purple, but no one forced him to cry to pink him up. They just let us hang out together.
And then I really lost it. I started laughing. Cackling, actually. Loudly. My joy overcame my self control and all I could do was let it pour out of me. Lev was here. He was alive. Healthy. And, as an added blessing, I'd had the natural birth that I'd longed for. And I did it all in Russian. Crazy. Happy. Thankful.
In an unexpected twist, after about 30 blissful minutes with our little one, I was informed that I'd be knocked me out while they fixed me up.
While I was out, Eric had a moment of clarity while holding Lev. We had gone back and forth on a middle name for weeks. Since Lev isn't a common American name, we wondered if we ought to give him a plain-Jane middle name so that he'd have a backup option. While I understood that reasoning, I was holding out for Eleos, which means "mercy" in Greek.
When I woke up, shaking uncontrollably and wearing different clothes, Eric brought Lev to me and explained that, during their quiet first moments together, he had realized that Eleos was perfectly appropriate.
The medical staff slipped away, and we were left alone with Lev Eleos Oldenburg, who started nursing and hasn't stopped since.
And, today, nearly 10 weeks after his arrival, I feel the same way I did in the seconds after I first spotted his tiny fingers.
Crazy. Happy. Thankful.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Growth ...
Five weeks
Six weeks
At eight weeks, Lev is quite possibly the happiest person I know. He's full of smiles, especially when you sit down in front of him with a rattle or some bells and shake, shake, shake. He's a bit of a flirt, raising his eyebrows in an attempt to lure all the girls in the house (i.e., mom) to his side. We took him to his first big group gathering last night, and he was content to be passed from person to person, with occasional stops at mom for snacks.
Lev loves his brother! And brother loves his Lev! Lev's at his most content when he gets to float in the bathtub while brother splashes, kicking up waves. And to wake Dietrich, we plop Lev down next to him. Lev's attempts to gobble up brother always rouse sleeping Dietrich. Also popular with Dietrich: instigating "brother hugs" and doing "quiet activities" with mom while Lev eats.
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