A Few More Details

Star date, March 2010: I visit Prague with my husband, a romantic trip with just the two of us (and the currently non-hurricane Vilate). It's idyllic. I eat something called cabbage with three meats at a restaurant (note: I do not recommend this.) and begin to feel like my insides are being turned inside out. I become intimately familiar with every public WC in Prague center. After three days of this, my nausea begins to have a familiar feel to it. I am in denial.


Star date, May 2010: We cruise from New York to Southampton. Pregnant people are not supposed to cruise without a note from their doctors. I have no such note, since my insurance has conspired against me. I could only see a doctor in the DC region, but I haven't been there since March. The nausea remains unconfirmed as anything specific, and I am happy to leave it that way for the present. There are too many other things to stress about.

Star date, June 2010: What do you know, we ARE pregnant! 17 weeks--and it's a boy! This news, for some reason, is very poignant to me.



Star date, September 2010: I become an enormous slug-like creature. Walking is difficult, since my hips are all out of joint. The only place I can comfortably move around is in the pool.



Star date, October 2010: I am enormous. The size of my stomach makes my rear end look small. Which it's not.





Star date, November 14 2010: I am resigned to being overdue by two weeks, although my due date is three days in the future. I wake up in the middle of the night with extreme heartburn and nausea, and realize that my underwear are mysteriously wet. I alert my husband, and we both go back to sleep. When I get out of bed at a decent time, water gushes all over the floor. I shower, wash my hair, finish packing, and we take the kids to church where they can participate in the primary program and meet up with their assigned families.



The branch president gives us a ride to the hospital in his Mercedes. I nicely arrange my towel on the front seat, and pray not to make a mess. At the hospital, everyone speaks Czech, so they all speak to my husband (slugs don't speak Czech) and after I am monitored (in a room with several other women, who are all dressed in skimpy long t-shirts) I am put in my own room. The contractions still haven't really started, but they're coming . . .

I note that all of the uniforms for the hospital are thin white cotton. I am not sure whether or not the dark thong that everyone seems to be wearing is part of the uniform or not.


I take a long shower, and now the contractions have started. I use some Hypnobabies techniques to get myself under control, but I have a charlie horse of some sort in the bottom right-hand part of my uterus. This is not fun.

I finally get a light epidural (I can still feel the charlie horse), take a short nap, and then it's time to push. The baby comes out with his hand over his face, screaming and hollering. His shoulders are stuck, and his feet are running back and forth under my skin. I push again, Alan cuts the cord, and at some point the newborn grabs the scissors, and we have to take them away.


He is measured metrically, but I'll translate: 8 lbs, 14 oz; 20 inches long.

His name is Ammon Matthias. He has a dimple, and I have caught a hint of a mischievous little smile that promises interesting things for the future. He is absolutely precious.

What I did last weekend . . .

There is too much. Let me sum up.

Westley: Who are you? Are we enemies? Why am I on this wall? Where is Buttercup?
Inigo Montoya: Let me 'splain.
[pause]
Inigo Montoya: No, there is too much. Let me sum up. Buttercup is marry' Humperdinck in a little less than half an hour. So all we have to do is get in, break up the wedding, steal the princess, make our escape... after I kill Count Rugen.
Westley: That doesn't leave much time for dilly-dallying.

So:

1. From Kirtland, Ohio we went to New York. We ate hot dogs, saw the Statue of Liberty, and rode in the Ferris Wheel at Toys R Us. I did not see my aunt--which I regret deeply.

2. We cruised from New York to Southampton. No one fell off the boat and drowned. We did empty our supply of Children's Tylenol as everyone took turns with a mysterious fever. I wore two formal dresses and two different pairs of formal shoes. The black ones hurt--the brown ones looked fabulous. (Darn Ann Klein!)

3. From Southampton to London to Prague. A two-hour plane ride. In which we are convinced that the cruise was not a luxury. (You know what's fun? To be in the only row of seats on the plane where everyone is cheering for the take-off. The enthusiasm and excitement just put a smile on your face. It's just when all that enthusiasm and greased lightning-speed start trying to explore the rest of the plane . . .)

4. Prague. In which we buy a $250 lamp from the Marriott, (In all fairness, they provided the pens and left them out in an accessible place), move into our home, and attempt shopping for eight. On public transportation.

5. More Prague. In which I discover the beauty of Ordering Groceries Online, and my children discover the fun water fountain in the bathroom. (Who knew a bidet could be so versatile?)

6. Adjustments, discovery, myriads of small trips, and lots of swimming. (It's nice to have a pool. There, there, little luxury . . .)

7. A trip to Kyiv, Ukraine. Good times. (Did you know that nine people can fit in a small sedan taxi if most of them are quite small? Did you know a taxi driver's face could freeze in the exact same expression your grandma warned you about?)

8. And school starts. The three oldest started at Czech school today. After all of my anxiety and worry, it was amazingly restful and peaceful to play with the three little ones and read stories.

And maybe, eventually, there will be more detail. Let me know if there's anything you are particularly interested in knowing more about (Czech hospitals for example, don't seem to have the same hygienic or professional dress standards as US hospitals. That might be an interesting story . . .)

Adventures Part 3: Easterly

Maybe you have been to/through Vernal, Utah, and its wonderful promises of Dinosaurland and tabernacle-turned-temple—but I had never found a reason to meander that way before. It’s a beautiful little town (although we hit more snow on the way there, of course), but the drive out of town toward Wyoming is probably one of the prettiest I have seen. We stopped at a lookout that promised dinosaur footprints, and discovered that we were there during the wrong season—the reservoir was too high during the late spring. The stop wasn’t wasted however—everyone clambered out of the car and went for a hike in some tempting sand and rocks. (Meanwhile I kept reminding myself that rattlesnakes are cold-blooded, and so if we met any, they would be slow.)

In Wyoming we met with the obligatory blizzard (it’s part of the Wyoming welcome packet. Here’s your room key, a map of the town, and a blizzard. Enjoy!) and accompanying freeway closures. We soldiered on to Nebraska with ice frozen on our windshield wipers and radio antennae, and made it to Winter Quarters, one of the highlights of our trip. Winter Quarters was the stopping place for the Latter-Day Saints on their migration west from Nauvoo to Salt Lake City. Although they knew they would only be there for a short season, they built homes (mostly rude log cabins and soddies) and planted crops. The trek from Nauvoo had been one long mud puddle, and the people were exhausted. In the Visitors’ Center, the children had the chance to fill toy wagons with small blocks that represented flour, beans, and other essentials. They had the chance to dress up as pioneers and to push and pull a handcart. Excellent fun.

After a walk around the temple, we had a sobering walk through the adjacent cemetery. Our oldest was particularly struck by a monument that listed all of those who had died at Winter Quarters. There were several infants on the list—many who had not lived for more than a few days. There was a sacred feeling in that place, as though it had been sanctified by the sacrifice and devotion of a people who loved and trusted in Christ above all.

And from there . . .

Adventures Part 2: on to Utah

(This is part 2 of a very long series of posts. Part 1. Part 0.)

We crossed the mountain pass that divides Western and Eastern Washington and entered a different world. Western Washington is wet and green, and you sometimes get the feeling that the vine maples and other creeping greenery are engaged in a guerilla war to wipe out all signs of civilization. Eastern Washington is made of open sky and rolling hills, and sunshine—a nice escape from the constant drizzle (Washingtonians have as many names for rain as Eskimos have for snow. {OK, as a linguist, I know that the Eskimo-names for snow thing isn’t entirely accurate, but the point remains!}) The freeway through Oregon includes the Blue Mountains, which curve and descend at a terrifying rate, (unless you choose to sleep through that part of the trip while your brother drives. Wise). The freeway also has my favorite rest stop of all time—it’s named Deadman’s Pass. Encouraging, né? Idaho was beautiful—a perfect sunset over the Snake River gave the whole state a golden glow. (I have to say, ANY sunshine at this point of the trip was appreciated.)

We took a little detour through some unexpected parts of Idaho (which are not so charming in the middle of the night. Not uncharming, either. Just dark.) and explored a new route to Utah. Once there, we found more grandparents, more cousins, more aunts and uncles—more romping, more love. And although I could say a lot about Utah (sleepovers, more snow—was it following us?, adored baby cousins, homemade bread in batches of 16 loaves, a phenomenal geode hunt, Sarai getting a book signed by her hero, cinnamon bears, endless good times) the crucial thing was the sense of family and the feeling of belonging. We don’t attend family reunions often, and our kids really miss out on having cousins around, but they have two sets of grandparents and endless aunts and uncles who have made a place in their hearts that my children call home.

And from there . . .

Adventures Part 1: Washington

There is no better way to start a two-year European adventure than a farewell tour of the purple mountains majesty and the for-spacious plains. We started off in Washington, where we breathed in the salty ocean air in Seattle and crossed over the mighty Columbia (roll on). Our scenic plans were thwarted by rain, snow, and seasonal roads that were still closed, but many magical moments were spent on the farm, running through meadows, hiking cow trails in the woods, and destroying Grandma’s flowerbeds. The Old House, repository of who-knows-what, both repelled (me) and attracted (others of a certain adventurous spirit.) The Boy played with boy-cousins (well, mostly with their toys) and enjoyed having more “sisters,” as he called them (the poor guy doesn't know that there are any other kind of short relatives, after all). The children gathered eggs from the chickens; chased the guinea hens; rounded up pigs; sat on Leroy, the three-legged dog; petted a cow; cuddled with the cat (or chased the cat, depending on the child); learned to avoid Roxy, the one-woman min-pin, and had a fabulous time. And then . . . (this is a cliff-hanger, obviously, so you'll be waiting on pins and needles for part two.)

And I’m alive!

We are moved in, unpacked, and ready to go (more or less!) We have all of the necessities, including toilet paper (no Charmin extra-soft here, though, or anything like unto it) and finally, Internet (and with Internet comes Skype, which means contact with family again). I’ve brushed off my trusty iMac, which has weathered upheaval fantastically well, and am ready to blog our Adventure, the mini-series. With any luck, it will rival the Pride and Prejudice mini-series. (Probably not the writing, though. Or the plot. Or the romance. Or the excellent morals. But maybe length. Maybe.)