Everything's Gonna Be Alright

Katrina's had a tough few months, what with the addition of a brand-new baby and starting at a brand-new school. And being the little extrovert that she is, all of her feelings are expressed...loudly. Trust me, unless you have been here to witness it (hi, grandparents!), you have NO IDEA how loudly.

But things seem to be calming down a bit. And Katrina's fallen in love with the baby, bit by bit. And Annika's first real laugh, just a week ago, came when Katrina leaned into her line of sight and smiled.

The other morning, I mentioned the upcoming surgery to mend Annika's cleft lip (November 19).

"Oh, poor Annika!" said Katrina.

"I know, but she needs it to fix her lip," I said.

"No she doesn't! She's cute the way she is!"

And, that, folks, is when I fell in love all over again with my amazing older daughter.

Typisch Deutsch

One Friday evening in late August, we returned home from a dinner out. As we got out of the car, we heard music from across the way and walked over to investigate. It was the Kindsbach Kerwe. I took the opportunity to take pictures of a typical German event. Now, I believe Kerwe is dialect for the anniversary of the founding of a church, which is also considered the founding of the town itself. In real terms, a Kerwe usually is a festival of some sort...the Kaiserslautern Kerwe is a week-long carnival. Here in the small town, the Kerwe includes a small carnival and some evening events.

And what does one do to celebrate the founding of the church? Well, pull the beer truck up to the church grounds, of course!




Don't get me wrong, though, bratwurst and beer equals socializing and celebration, not (necessarily) drunkenness, here. It's just a bit unusual to raised-a-Methodist (founded during the Temperence Movement) me.

Anyway, it's also not a German celebration without long tables under a tent, conducive to communal talking, eating, and drinking. Very few individual tables.





Music, too, is essential. We hear live music pretty regularly coming from the church grounds. I don't know if community bands, orchestras, and singing groups are more common in Germany than in the States, or if they are just easy to overlook in the DC suburbs as opposed to a small town.



And really, what's music without dancing?



OK, OK, so my kid was the only one dancing. And I was the only one taking pictures. Yeah, we blended well. But I wanted to record this typically German celebration. Wherever you go around here, you can find these elements...beer, brats, music, long tables, white tents, community.

I Want...Compare and Contrast

I listen to both Christian contemporary music and whatever is on the radio. Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference between the two. And sometimes the differences are striking. Case in point...

The Pussycat Dolls "When I Grow Up" is about doing what it takes to become famous. Being "nameless" is seen as bad...the goal is for people to know your name. This YouTube version has the lyrics written out so you can see what I mean.



Are these the values that American pop culture is pushing now? Being famous as the highest goal? I know that some people look up to celebrities, and, sure, having that much money might be fun, but, really? I can't believe that being famous or rich gives your life much meaning.

Contrast with Sara Groves "When the Saints." (Unfortunately I couldn't find a video with lyrics attached.) Where the highest goal is to be part of the company of people who live what they believe. Whether you're famous or not.



I think these two songs point up a key difference between (one type of) a so-called secular worldview and a Christian worldview. Which seems more attractive? More meaningful? More realistic? Do you think the Pussycat Dolls song is typical of the values of our current pop culture?

Becoming Solid

After Katrina was born, I did not call her by name for months. "Baby Girl," I would say, with all of the love and wonder and paranoia in me. At first, it seemed bad luck to call this little stranger by name quite yet. She was small and fragile and I was drained of blood and of sleep and of my old solitary self. She was always there, all the time, unlike anyone else I could remember. I had been freelancing for five years by that time, used to long stretches of time alone in the house. I was never alone now.

Baby Katrina

My first came into the world with a vengeance, with a loud voice and seemingly constant need. She took over, as first babies are wont to do. She was fire and passion and noise. She made me a mother, which for me--and I suspect, for most women--was a profound shift in my heart, my soul, my thinking. Everything was different. And despite my initial anxiety, Katrina made her impact within weeks. I was taken up with her, and everything else fell away. I could not imagine anything other than mothering her.

Annika was Annika from the beginning. The name sounded strange in my mouth, but I said it often, to make her real for Katrina. But she was even more fragile, delicate, translucent skin stretched over bony limbs. I looked at her through clear plastic, judged her health by the sounds of the beeps. Went home and put on a good face for Katrina. Others would say, "oh, it must be so hard not to have her home." And it was, but not as much as they thought. Subconsciously, I kept some distance, I think, just to survive. When I was home, Annika was like a dream. I tried not to think about her (often unsuccessfully), lest fear overtake me. When I visited her, she was real, but not quite solid. She was light in my arms, always pale, usually quiet. Ethereal. And after almost losing her, I found it even harder to trust that she would come home.

So when she finally did come home, it all still seemed quite unreal. Newness usually does, to me. Some quirk of mine. I was juggling baby care with older sister care. Katrina remained fiery and loud, a giant next to her baby sister. She took up so much space.

Annika still seemed ethereal, waking only to be fed, making her thoughts known fiercely, but briefly. I held her close, or others did, trying to make up for those weeks in the warm, hard incubator. But the distance remained. In the back of my mind, I worried. Despite her hard entry into the world, she did not make the splash in my heart that Katrina had. Perhaps because I was already a mother. That shift had already occurred. Perhaps the weeks of suppressing worry, fear, and maybe? love as we drove back and forth to the hospital had taken their toll. I loved her, of course I did. But the all-encompassing surge I remembered with my first baby, well, that did not happen. A futile attempt at self-protection.

Slowly, though, Annika grew and changed. She gained weight. She now has chubby cheeks and fat legs and little creases around her wrists. Her weight in my arms, or lying on my chest, is noticeable. And one evening, last week, I held her to me, the unmistakable weight of warm baby on my chest, and everything changed. She no longer seems breakable, a translucent fairy child in a world of giants. Finally becoming solid, deepening her imprint on my heart.

Self-protection and motherhood just don't mix.

Baby Talk

Eh, eh, eh, eh (accompanied by head moving back and forth) = "Mother, I'm feeling a bit peckish."

Eh, eh, eh, ehEHeh, EHHHHHH! = "I'm starving! Gimme food NOW!"

WAH! (accompanied by arching of back or drawing up of legs) = "Oh! The agony of gas pains! OWIEEEEEE!"

AhAHah, ahAHah, AhAHah = "You're not moving fast enough! Pick me up/give me bottle/get me out of this car seat NOW!"

(grunting, with face going red) = "Oh! The agony of pooping! Better gear up to change diaper!"



And finally...

"I can hold the baby if you need help." = "Give me my grandbaby. Now."

Double Digits

Annika is now 10 pounds! We had a follow-up appointment at the preemie clinic, and the doctor deemed her normal and doing well. She is still slightly anemic, but we were able to cut her iron dosage in half. Someday I'll have enough brain cells and quiet time to write an actual...post whatchmacallit...that makes--whatdoyacallit?--sense...and lasts longer than, well, this.

Aw, no one cares about the words. Bring on the baby pictures! Well, only one today. What a blog slacker.



Snoozin' on Grammy...don't you dare put me down! I will scream the scream of the the lonely and unloved! I don't care if you're hungry, thirsty, or unclean...as soon as I touch the crib/bassinet/bouncy seat I will wake up, and you. will. be. sorry.

First Day of School

Bleary and Disjointed

The house is in chaos, of course; it's iffy in the best of times, but the advent of a newborn with her attendant stuff, added to the getting-to-be-severe sleep deprivation of mom and dad, leads to piles of laundry--clean and dirty--lying everywhere, to books and toys and papers and dishes and cardboard boxes (that used to hold the stuff) scattered over every horizontal surface. And, apparently, to run-on sentences.

Annika is doing well, and Katrina also. Katrina has had way too much TV and computer time, in between running and fetching for a mama with hands full of baby. She starts school on Tuesday and will ride the bus for the first time. Rather, the mini-bus--according to the transport person, there are only 4 children on the bus. Advantages of a small school.


I backed into a parked car last week. I blame the sleep deprivation. It was a beat-up old van in need of a paint job, thank goodness, so the owners were not terribly upset. A few hundred euros and they were satisfied. Good thing, too, since they live right around the corner from us. I was upset with myself. My husband was very tolerant, however. "I'm not mad," he said. "These things happen..."--he smiled just a little--"to you." I had to laugh, because he was right. My spatial perception is just not all that good--particularly when backing up the car. No wonder we've been looking for the smallest car we can get away with that would still have space for two car seats and an additional passenger or two.

So Annika sleeps peacefully...during the day. Her longest and most peaceful stretches of sleep are during the afternoon and then again between about 8 or 9 and midnight. By peaceful, I mean quiet sleep, without grunting and arching her back and struggling to get gas out. Her cleft lip prevents her from making a tight seal on the bottle nipple, so she gets a lot of air in her little tummy while feeding. We started giving her Mylicon drops, but haven't seen much of a difference. She is over seven pounds now, and her cheeks are getting chubby. She looks like a baby now, instead of an old man. When we take her out, people comment on how tiny she is. But to us, she looks ever larger and more solid.

She studies the world around her with dark-blue eyes. She sucks on the bottle and stares up into my face, sometimes with furrowed brow, as if wondering who this person is that holds her. She smiles sometimes, to herself, just a flicker across the mouth and then gone. I think of her as a plugger, hanging in there, trying her best...to suck with a bum lip, to sleep even through tummy discomfort, to live despite a too-early arrival, to figure out this strange and wondrous world, so different from her little incubator.


We saw the lip surgeon two weeks ago. He was personable and confident. He said that he'd like to wait until at least November to perform the surgery on her lip, until she was stronger and bigger. We go back in late October for another check and to decide for sure on the surgery. The biggest issue in deciding is not the procedure itself, which by his description is relatively simple, but in her tolerance for the anesthesia. He will do the least that can be done--sew the muscle around her lip together. No extensive work. Once the muscle is where it should be, he says, we wait and watch. Often the growth of the face with the restored muscle re-shapes the (now-flat) nose. Further surguries may or may not be needed. Orthodontic work may or may not be needed later. She will be in the hospital for a week. I can stay with her.

The surgeon put a dental mirror in her mouth to examine her lip and palate. He pushed gently down, testing her muscle tension. "She has good muscle tension," he said. "Some babies have very little muscle tension--a bit floppy. She's a fighter!"

She sure is.

Home

Annika came home Monday late afternoon. We're all doing well, though sleep-deprived.

Almost But Not Yet

Friday, the doctor said Wednesday night. If she continued to do well, we could take her home on Friday.

Thursday was hot. Very hot. No air conditioning in the hospital. Annika was dressed in a onesie, a long-sleeved shirt, and fuzzy velour-like pants. And socks. And two blankets on top. She had multiple instances of shallow breathing, leading to drops in heartrate (bradycardia).

We're not happy about the shallow breathing, the doctor said Friday morning. We'd like to keep her until Monday, and then re-evaluate.

No bradycardias today or yesterday, only Thursday. So, maybe Monday.

In the meantime, pictures!

Mean Girls

Katrina (in aggrieved tone): K. was mean to me today.

Me: Oh, yeah? How was she mean to you?

K: Well, I stuck out my tongue at her...

Me: That wasn't very--wait. YOU stuck your tongue out at HER?

K: Yes, and I said I was sorry, but she made me feel SO BAD.

Me: ...

Vigil

"She looks sick," said the doctor, turning her back and forth after examining her. The words echoed in my head, and my mind leapt to that old sleepover game, when all the girls put two fingers under a girl lying down in the middle, and each repeats "She looks sick" and then...

No! Don't think about that!

So she went back up to intensive care, after three days on the regular sick-baby ward. The IV went back in, the feeding tube went back in, antibiotics and infusions were started. And Saturday night, the nurse assured us that she looked okay. Her heart rate and blood oxygenation levels were very good. We should go home and get some sleep.

The phone rang at 9:15 am Sunday morning. We needed to get to the hospital immediately. There was something wrong with her abdomen. She needed to be transferred to another hospital, one with pediatric surgeons. When we arrived, our baby was naked in the isolette because, the nurse said, just the touch of the diaper around her tummy pained her too much. She laid on her right side, her legs drawn up. Her stomach was hard. She whimpered and sometimes cried in her sleep. She was too pale.

Within minutes of our arrival, her isolette was surrounded by doctors. It was clear they had no idea what the problem was. Infection, they said, but from an unknown source. Or a twist in the bowel. Or meningitis. Or, or, or. Her vitals remained steady, which each doctor reminded us of just after he or she mentioned one more horrifying possibility. And the monitors did chug steadily on, the only reassurance.

An enema seemed to relieve some of the pressure. Her tummy became soft again. But she was still in pain, still clenched in a ball, her little legs drawing up as far as they could go. The doctor decided to wait two hours and then re-evaluate. She remained stable. They took blood again. Her white blood cells were down, her hemoglobin declining. Both indicators of infection...somewhere.

They made us leave the room for the lumbar puncture. When they let us back in, she was lying so still, with a sheen of perspiration on her face. The sedative, they said. It would take several hours to wear off. At least she wasn't in any pain.

By this time, it was 2:30 pm. Time for the nurses' shift change. The kind nurse who had cared for Annika since the early morning hours peered into the isolette one more time before she went home. "Her color looks a little better," she said. "This morning, she looked gray. It's hard to describe, but her skin looked...yes, gray. Bad. Her color looks better now," she repeated. We took some comfort from this. Nurses can tell, right? They have seen many sick babies.

Through the long afternoon and evening, we waited and watched and reached our disinfected hands into the isolette to cup her head or hold her hand. Each time the doctor came back, we asked more questions. He admitted that he just didn't know. She didn't have enough of the right symptoms to add up to any one diagnosis. She got an X-ray and an ultrasound. We saw her intestines, liver, gall bladder, kidneys, brain. All clear. They would wait another few hours (again) and then re-evaluate (again).

Sitting there, watching her, I was seized by the urge to go home. To go home to my healthy, robust 6-year-old, where I could do something. Hug her, talk with her, put her to bed. Contribute to her well-being. Anything but watch and wait and cry and pray and think entirely too much.

Finally it seemed that she was going to remain stable, that perhaps the worst had been in the morning, that maybe, maybe, she was holding her own. We left the hospital at about dinnertime. We'd had only a snack or two all day. Grandma, who has been taking care of Katrina, made dinner. We ate together, trying to be cheerful for Katrina's sake. My husband went back to the hospital immediately. I stayed behind to read stories, sing songs, provide a bit of normalcy to Katrina before bed. When she was asleep, I went back, as well.

Annika was the same. Holding her own, vitals stable, but still very sick. Her anemia (low hemoglobin) had nearly reached the point where a blood transfusion would be needed. Last blood draw had showed hemoglobin of 8.3. If she went below 8, she would need a transfusion. One more blood draw, at about 9:30 pm. Results would be back in a few hours. I decided to stay for the results. My husband went home to get some sleep.

I sat in the darkened NICU beside the isolette, the only adult in a room with five sleeping babies. I must have dozed a bit, because the doctor was suddenly there, kneeling down to my level in the chair. "We got the results back and her hemoglobin was up slightly," she whispered. "There will be no transfusion tonight." I smiled wearily and thanked her, then patted my baby one more time and left for the night.

It was midnight. She had made it through the day. We would start again tomorrow.

-----------------------------------------------

Since Sunday, Annika has improved. The doctors have not yet made a definitive diagnosis and are still testing for a variety of possible bacterial, viral, and fungal infections. The leading contender at the moment is some sort of virus. The doctor said to me yesterday, "Doctors treat, but nature cures."

After several days with no milk, just a glucose and vitamin infusion (plus three different antibiotics and immunoglobulin), they started her on just a few milliliters of sterile formula diluted with water every few hours. Today they went to undiluted formula, just 4 milliliters every three hours. Thanks to the infusion, she has continued to gain weight even through this crisis. She is still pale but pink, and is now lying comfortably on her back, stomach, or side with no apparent pain. She is still anemic, but not enough to require intervention. She managed to pull out her feeding tube yesterday and, in one doctor's words "killed" her IV today. So, mostly back to her active, kicking self.

But I don't think her father and I have recovered yet.


Before the crisis

Lovely Lullaby

Perspective

It's hard to tell in pictures just how small Annika is. Of course, there are babies in the NICU who make our little one look large and robust. Anyway, perhaps this picture can give you a better idea.



And another one, just for fun. She often has her hands up around her face, and when she deigns to open her eyes, she looks around, brow furrowed, as if to say, "How in the world did I get here?"

In Between

It all feels just a little bit skewed. I'm no longer pregnant--no longer waddling around, feeling kicks, wondering what is to come. But I have no baby at home, either. And when I'm at home, giving birth, having Annika, all seems like a dream. Life seems normal--taking care of Katrina, thinking about what to have for dinner, planning playdates and trips to the playground. I'm pumping around the clock so that Annika can have breastmilk, but other than that, moment-to-moment, it seems like nothing has changed. Except a vague feeling that something's missing.

Until I arrive at the hospital, and see my baby in the isolette. She's becoming familiar now. She no longer looks impossibly small--even though she still is. The lines of her face, her cleft lip and slightly flattened nose, her long fingers, her muddy bluish eyes...she's no longer a stranger. I stay as long as I can, just holding her, a little gnome wrapped in a towel, sometimes looking at me, mostly sleeping. It is often peaceful in the room; monitors beep every few minutes, but nurses generally speak in hushed tones. And I talk softly and sing softly and feel the weight of her on my chest or in my arms. And that missing part falls into place, and for the only time that day, everything feels right. I am where I am supposed to be, holding my child, cupping her small head, telling her I'm her mama.

And then I have to leave, to tend to my beloved older child, to go home and pump once again, to eat, to sleep. So I give my baby back to the nurse, and tell her good-bye, and walk away.

And it just feels wrong.

So I give myself a pep talk, and try to put aside my longing, and go home. And again home feels the same, yet different.

Something's off. Someone's missing, a someone who hasn't even been here yet.

And Now For Something Completely Different

A friend of ours is working in Baghdad for about six weeks. He's a contractor working on computer-type stuff for the military. With his permission, I'm posting some of his pictures and thoughts. I thought you all might find it interesting.

I’ve been consistently pulling 16 hour days so I come home and crash pretty fast. [My wife] sent me a box the other day with some cash and our little camera so I finally have some pictures to share.

This first shot is walking up towards Al Fah Palace where I work. We’re on a bridge over or at least next to the water. The two guys in front of me are my co-workers/friends here. M. is the big guy on the left, and the Navy guy on the right is CDR B. They’re running my project for the government. Both are terrific people. We have lunch and dinner together every day along with a few other people from the office. It’s nice to have companions that you enjoy spending time with.

One of the others is an Army SFC and behaves exactly the way a senior NCO should. He respectfully guides the 1LT in our group while taking good care of the whole office. He has something like 13 kids. Seriously. The guy has the biggest heart. It’s a bit of “hers, mine, ours and theirs”. They have been adopting children and fostering children for some time. His wife is in Hawaii living on post in special housing because of the number of kids. He grew up poor and can’t believe how lucky he is to be in the Army and able to provide for his family. Amazing guy and a good dose of perspective for us all. I’ll have to find a picture. Oh yeah, his favorite word is hoo-ahh, but it’s the fun, friendly style, not the aggressive one. On his wall he has a list of 15 definitions of hooahh for the Air Force and Navy guys.

If you look at the palace you’ll see some black SUVs. Those are General Petraus’ vehicles. I sit within earshot of his morning briefs and use that conference room for my training. Hooah! Can you say ring-side seat to history?



Below is a common sight, but it still gets my heart rate up. I love seeing the helicopters take off low and fast.



Sunset around the palace. I think we were walking back after dinner.



My bed. They take a single wide trailer and divide it in thirds. Then two people share each third. So it’s basically just enough room for a bed and your clothes. I walk about 100-200 yards down a set of gravel roads to go to the bathroom or take a shower. I wake up every morning to my bladder telling me to get moving. You have to get dressed and make the walk. Sounds silly but it is almost always an emergency and is the worst part about living here (beside being away from my family). Be sure to show M. [my son] his picture on my wall.



These are the toilets in the palace. Picture doesn’t do the palace justice. The detail work is all some sort of gold. It’s quite a luxury to have these bathrooms. The palace is pretty amazing. The overall workmanship isn’t always the best, but the sheer volume of detail work is amazing.



Another shot in the bathroom.



Walking out of the palace. This is the exit along the same bridge. Notice the white blur in the sky. That is one of the blimps that is tethered to the ground and always out there presumably monitoring Baghdad. Also, look at the tower on the left. When you get close you can tell that it obviously took some hits during the war.



I miss you all terribly. I don’t know how these guys do these long deployments. I’m only over here for a month and I’m already dying to get home. Thankfully the work keeps me busy and is something I mostly enjoy. I’m also getting lots of runs in and am getting into better shape, although not marathon shape.

Love,

J.

Fingers and Toes

Quick update: I'm home from the hospital and doing well, with hubby and Grandma playing fetch and carry for me. Annika is staying stable and has gotten back to her birth weight plus about an ounce (as of yesterday). She's sleeping most of the time, so has not taken much nutrition by mouth...too sleepy to suck. But the gastric tube is doing its job.

And now, pictures!

The Daily (Hourly) Cry

I ordered a CD by Sara Groves before all the drama of this week and I just put it in to listen this morning. Haven't gotten past the first song yet. "Song for my Sons." I couldn't find an official video on YouTube, but I did find a pretty good amateur video using the whole song. This mother has daughters, not sons, just like us. But the song works just as well. I can't wait to have video of Katrina and Annika playing together, just like the girls in the video.

I needed the reminder today...life doesn't always go as planned. But God is always there....and so are friends, family, the precious ones who have been given to us and to whom we have been given.

An Early Arrival

Annika Stefanie was born at 1:14 am on Tuesday, June 17, after a day-long but unsuccessful attempt to delay her birth. She was 3 pounds, 3 oz. and 17 inches long. Despite her early arrival, at 31 weeks’ gestation, Annika is doing very well. Her APGAR tests were 9/10/10…amazing for a preemie. She is breathing on her own with no need for extra oxygen or a respirator. She’s receiving nutrients intravenously and formula/breast milk through a small stomach tube, but can also suck well and will get more and more nutrition by mouth as she gets bigger and stronger. For the foreseeable future, she’ll stay in the Kaiserslautern hospital’s Kinder Klinik (NICU), until she’s big and healthy enough to come home.

Annika was also born with a cleft lip, which will be corrected with cosmetic surgery sometime in the next year. Luckily, the cleft only affected the soft tissue of the lip, and did not include the palate (the bony part of the top of the mouth). So the defect is only a cosmetic issue, not one that impairs the working of her mouth.

We think she’s beautiful, anyway.

I’m doing well, after an eventful c-section and recovery that, ahem, “challenged” the doctors. The senior doctor on call did a stellar job in saving my uterus, and my life, with little of the loss of blood that caused my very hard and slow recovery from Katrina’s birth. The medicine that effected this minor miracle unfortunately had the side effect of bronchial spasms, so I spent the twelve hours or so after Annika’s birth clutching my poor midsection, coughing, and trying to breathe. It gave me a whole new sympathy for people with asthma.

Once the coughing abated, though, I’ve recovered pretty well…I’m surprised at how well I do feel, compared to my state after Katrina was born. It does help that I’ve been through it before and know what to expect (for example, the copious crying for no apparent reason arrived right on time, about 24 hours after the birth. Sniff.) As I write this, it is Friday night, and the doctor said I could go home on Saturday if I continue to feel well tomorrow.

When I was a teenager, a friend of mine had a button on her backpack that said “Why Be Normal?” When you’re a kid, normal is boring. Average is a dirty word. Believe me, though, that in this situation, being normal, average, and boring is a good thing. One does not want to be interesting to a doctor. If your doctor thinks your case is average, or perhaps ignores you a bit, be grateful. Interesting cases are hard cases. I can’t wait to get back home and be uninteresting again.

Katrina is doing as well as could be expected with the upheaval of our lives the past few days. She spent two nights with friends of ours who have a little girl the same age. She had a lot of fun but very little sleep, which all of us are paying for at the moment, especially my poor harried husband. The biggest issue for her right now is that she can’t see her new sister; children are not allowed in the NICU. So we’re trying to make do with pictures, but it is hard for her to wait outside with Papa while Mama spends time with the baby (and vice-versa). Grandma was able to get an earlier flight than originally planned and arrived this morning, which will make the mix of taking care of Katrina at home and Annika in the NICU much easier. Plus, another person to give Katrina much-needed attention while my husband and I are more distracted than usual will, we hope, make the transition to “big sister” a bit easier for her.

This could get very long if I include the million and one little stories and details of the last five days. I’ll try to include some in the upcoming days and weeks, as well as keep you updated on Annika’s progress. Right now we’re just so grateful that our little one has arrived safely and is in capable hands. Nothing like a miniature baby to remind us of both the fragility and strength of life. Though she looks impossibly fragile right now, our Annika has already proven her strength.

Thanks be to God for his marvelous gifts.

The Fog

My normal state is one of disorganization. It takes a real effort for me to focus and accomplish much of anything minus a deadline (and that deadline must be, like, tomorrow. I am a skilled procrastinator.). After many years of standing in front of the fridge at 5 pm trying to figure out what to make for dinner, I have managed to both start and maintain for a number of years (since Before Katrina, a long span of time, indeed) weekly menu planning and grocery shopping. That's about the only thing that's kinda organized. But I have now descended far below my normal state. I didn't think it was possible.

At the moment, the pregnancy nesting instinct is at war with the pregnancy brain fog. In practice, it looks like this: Must make a list of things to do/buy before baby is born! Must write thank-you notes for baby gifts! Must plan Katrina's birthday party and order random crafts from Oriental Trading!...yawn. Soooo sleepy. Must...take....nap. Oops! Time to pick up Katrina from school. Wait! What have I been doing for the last six hours? What day is this again?

So at some point I will post a few pictures from Katrina's exquisitely cute kindergarten graduation--you know, if I can find the camera and remember how to plug it in. She has one more week of school, which includes two field trips. The child is so DONE with school, and frankly, so am I. Looking forward to NOT badgering her to get dressed as soon as she wakes up. (Instead, said badgering will happen, oh, two hours later or so. She does love her pajamas.)

Oh! and good news! My computer is back from HP in Texas and working again! No more Ominous Beeps of Doom. No more clunky web e-mail interface. I'm so very glad, I might have to take a nap to celebrate.

Anxiety

It's there all the time, when I'm pregnant. I stave it off, sometimes, by immersing myself in other people's lives: books, TV, activity, conversation. But it thrums beneath the surface.

...what if something's wrong? what if I'm fooling myself? I shouldn't have smiled and told that person that everything's okay, i'm just asking for trouble... any minute, it could all go horribly wrong. just have to get to the birth. just hold on, baby. a few more weeks. what's that twinge? is this the beginning of the end? should I call the doctor? no, just wait, see if it passes, look there's a kick, everything's fine, but what if it's not? how would I know? what if my water just broke? what would I do next? I'm deluding myself, I shouldn't expect everything to be fine, that's exactly the point at which it all goes wrong....

Then the fun times when it is not beneath the surface, but washes over me. Nightmares, yes, but also waking attacks. A something, a different sensation, a negative thought or story. My skin prickles and gets hot, my face flushes, muscles tense. I am positive that Bad Things are beginning. I start to calculate my baby's chances out in the world, to figure out what to do if I need to go to the hospital Right Now. I'm nauseated and breathless and tears come to my eyes but do not overflow. Crying would be a relief, but my body and mind are too wound up in the dark spiral of "what if."

...oh my God, what if something's wrong? what if I'm fooling myself? any minute, it could all go horribly wrong. just have to get to the birth. just hold on, baby. what's that twinge? is this the beginning of the end? should I call the doctor? no, just wait, see if it passes, look there's a kick, everything's fine, but what if it's not? how would I know? I'm deluding myself, I shouldn't expect everything to be fine, that's exactly the point at which it all goes wrong....

"Call if something doesn't feel right," the doctor said kindly. She probably says that to everyone. Althought she smiled sympathetically when I told her that one of my pregnancy symptoms is high anxiety, I doubt she really understands that if I really called whenever "something doesn't feel right," the poor woman would be deluged.

Anxiety, and melancholy, seem to be natural parts of my personality, even when I'm not pregnant. Even panic attacks, though it was only years later that I recognized what they were. In pregnancy, though, everything is magnified. Anxiety walks with me every day, rather than just once in a while when I'm under stress. My rather precarious reproductive and medical histories don't help. It is difficult even for my doctor to tell me what physical symptoms would be normal or not. Because I am not normal. I have a concrete medical history of abnormalities. Relatively rare ones, at that.

...I'm sorry my womb is not the right shape, baby, can you hold on anyway? what if something's wrong? what if I'm fooling myself? any minute, it could all go horribly wrong. just have to get to the birth. just hold on, baby. what's that twinge? is this the beginning of the end? should I call the doctor? no, just wait, see if it passes, look there's a kick, everything's fine, but what if it's not? how would I know? I'm deluding myself, I shouldn't expect everything to be fine, that's exactly the point at which it all goes wrong....

Turning down the thrumming, trying to talk myself out of the anxious spiral, have side effects. I rarely "trust my gut." I wonder if anyone who deals with higher anxiety does. MY gut tells me darkness is descending, even when it's not. My gut tells me I will be exposed as weak and stupid and useless. My gut says I'm foolish to believe everything will turn out all right. I hear people refer to their instincts, their gut feeling that something is right or wrong. To function right here, right now, I must mistrust such feelings.

Sometimes I wonder how much I miss because of that...the real communications from my body, my spirit, even from my family and from God, that get lost while I hunker down and wait out the next anxiety wave. (Don't talk to me, Katrina! I'm busy obsessing over here!)

Ironically, that's my biggest fear: that in trying to control my fear, I'll miss something I really should be afraid of.

The Joy of Spring

Young Women of Character

If by the grace of God, we can raise Katrina to have the compassion and character shown by the young women in this clip, we'll be satisfied.

"Mama, I'm Nervous About the Baby"

We've been reading How to Be a Baby, by Me, the Big Sister every night this week, by Katrina's choice. We talk about both the baby to come and Katrina's birth a lot--again, mostly at Katrina's instigation. Some days she pats or kisses my (growing! fast!) tummy more than she kisses me. And at other times...

--Mama, I'm still nervous about the baby.

--What are you nervous about, sweetie?

--I don't know.

--Do you have any questions?

--No.

(pause)

--Sweetie, what do you think is going to happen when the baby comes?

--What if I get a trophy from soccer or from doing really good art, and I don't want to put it up high, because I can't see it as well up high, so I put it low, and the baby comes into my room and breaks it?

(Note that she is not currently involved in soccer or in anything art-related that would bring a prize; we have talked about signing her up for soccer in the fall if she wants to play, and about perhaps taking an art class over the summer. So any trophy is purely theoretical on her part.)

--Well, sweetie, the baby won't be doing much moving around on her own for a while. And by the time the baby can crawl or walk, we'll figure something out. Remember baby Taylor? Could she move around and break things?

--No. But what if the baby kicks me?

--I think if the baby kicks you, it wouldn't hurt, because she'll be so small. Did Taylor kick you when you held her?

--Yes.

--Did it hurt?

--(half-smile) Yes!

I laugh and tell her I don't think that's true, and we move on to other important questions, such as how the baby is going to come out and the exact day I knew that the baby was in my tummy, and how did I know that, anyway? Which, ironically, I find much easier to answer than how we will prevent the baby from invading Katrina's room and destroying all of her stuff, both the stuff she has today and imagined, future stuff. Because, really, it would be untruthful to tell her that her young sibling will never get into her belongings or break anything.

Now that spring has finally reached Germany, it is bittersweet. We're in the last month and a half of school, and "Kindergarten graduation" has appeared on the school calendar. I used to think that was a silly thing to do, but in this situation, the kids really are graduating, in the sense that they will leave this school and go on to first grade in a different school. And this year, those new schools will be scattered across the United States and Germany. It will be a true good-bye for most of the kids in Katrina's age-group.

And as we think ahead more and more to the new baby's birth, these months are a good-bye to something else--the current structure of our little family. We've gotten comfortable together these past 5, almost 6 years. Katrina has had the mixed blessing of being an only child--lots of attention, having her own space, not having to share except when friends visit, not getting as much social interaction as she'd like, not needing to learn how to compromise as often as kids with siblings, plenty of one-on-one time with mom and/or dad. Soon she will have the mixed blessing of being an older sister. I think she will probably love and hate the experience in equal measure, with the love winning out, but perhaps not for a while. The age gap will mean she will hopefully be able to understand more about the needs of a new baby and better express her own feelings so we can talk her through the inevitable jealousy and discomfort with change; but it will also mean that her new sister (or brother) will never be a true playmate. I suspect being the object of hero worship is in her future, which has to be good for any kid's self-esteem!

I find myself hugging her a little more closely and often, praying that I'll have enough emotional resources to care for both her and the baby, and just being very aware that we are on the cusp of a huge change. And, like her, thinking a lot about the start of Katrina's life, and marveling anew at the gift she has been and continues to be to us. (As well as marveling that this long-legged, sun-kissed blond, articulate creature could have come from that tiny, squalling, orange-skinned baby!)

So, anticipation, love, saying good-bye and hello in the same breath. You know something, my darling firstborn? Sometimes I'm nervous about the baby, too. But I also know that we'll treasure this new gift from God, because that's what we did with you.

I Don't Know Why He Didn't Win PA

Unrelated note: My computer is seriously ill. It makes a sad beeping sound and will not start up. We think the videocard is dead. It will be going back to HP for repair soon. So, if you don't hear from me for awhile (especially on e-mail), that's why. I'm at the library right now, because after only two days, I'm going through Internet withdrawal. Pathetic, I know.

The much-quoted quote from Obama about his Pennsylvania trip (but I couldn't resist anyway):

"You go into these small towns in Pennsylvania and, like a lot of small towns in the Midwest, the jobs have been gone now for 25 years and nothing's replaced them...And they fell through the Clinton administration, and the Bush administration, and each successive administration has said that somehow these communities are gonna regenerate and they have not.

And it's not surprising then they get bitter, they cling to guns or religion or antipathy to people who aren't like them or anti-immigrant sentiment or anti-trade sentiment as a way to explain their frustrations."

Wow, those people sound really unpleasant. Good thing I don't know anyone in those God-forsaken small towns in Pennsylvania (um, wait...) who cling to their silly religion (like going to church every week? and maybe even like, trying to do good stuff and all? hmmm...) and want to use actual guns to kill innocent creatures (oh, you mean like deer? I seem to remember having a school day off for hunting season. And, venison bologna? Yummy.).

Yes, I remember all of those bitter people just sitting around waiting for the government to save them from their horrible fate. Like, when the paper mill closed? And the town fell through the cracks of the Bush administration, never to be seen again. And...oh, wait, didn't a local group of investors end up re-opening the mill a few years later?

Yeah, I think I'm over Obama. I knew I didn't agree with him on many issues before, but this statement along with the one equating an unexpected pregnancy with an STD, has finished off any illusion that I could vote for him. What really got me about the Pennsylvania quote is the sheer condescension. Like he was slumming for a while and then went to San Francisco to tell the other smart city folk what he had learned about those poor schmucks who don't have the sense to move out of hick country (pause for irony check re: my current whereabouts).

Still, the people Obama are talking about are not familiar to me. There are bitter people everywhere. There are fanatics about religion or guns or anti-whatever everywhere. But I just haven't met too many of them, in small-town Pennsylvania or anywhere else. And the whole story line of these poor benighted towns who are waiting for the federal government to save them just doesn't ring true to what I've experienced. I've listened to plenty of bitch sessions about what is wrong in this or that town, this country, the world, but rarely has the conclusion been that it's the government's job to solve it. (Unless we're talking about things like the war, that is.) I'm not even convinced the government really has the capacity to do much to help the economy. We did that to ourselves, with the crazy lending and borrowing practices, the frenzy to buy over-priced homes, etc.

And I suppose that's where I part ways on much of what Obama and Clinton are saying. I just don't think that the federal government can or should solve many of the problems in our country.

The war, well, that's a whole different post.

Hi, There.

Um, yeah, like, I'm back. What with getting ready to go to the States, being in the States, getting back from the States, and taking a little side trip to Euro Disney, just haven't had the time or brain power to blog. And even if I had something to write, my little one has renewed her obsession with Webkinz and has been on my computer at every opportunity.

This morning, Katrina not only read her homework but used her two Webkinz (a stuffed pink pony and a smaller stuffed white unicorn) to act out Harriet Tubman's flight to freedom. (Harriet Tubman for a five year old: "Harriet wanted to be free. She ran in the dark. Men with dogs chased her. She ran in the creek. The dogs couldn't smell her. She hid with friends. She ran and ran until she was free.") The white unicorn was Harriet. The pink pony was the dogs. She paused after each sentence to make one or the other talk. High voice: "I'm running in the creek!" Shaking pink pony: "Ruff, ruff, I can't smell her anymore!" Who needs Uncle Tom's Cabin when you have such a stellar dramatic interpretation at your own kitchen table?

In other news, baby is doing fine. I'm at 22 weeks and had a doctor's appointment yesterday. Everything looks good, and I got to see the little one sucking her thumb and hiccuping on the sonogram. Yes, her. At least, that's what the sonogram shows (or, rather, doesn't show). She is now in a transverse position (lying horizontally across the uterus), which is the exact same position Katrina was in from this point to the end of pregnancy. So getting a lot of kicks on the right side. A LOT. And getting stronger. Another "very active" baby. You mean there are other kinds? Since having Katrina, I do get amused at the assumption that boys are higher energy than girls. Because, my word, it's hard to imagine a toddler boy being any more active than my daughter was. Now that she's older, I do see a difference in her being more verbal than *some* of the boys. But at two? It was off to the races.

That's about it for now, except for me whining about the weather. It was 35 degrees this morning. We had rain and hail yesterday afternoon. Last year at this time it was 70 degrees (which, admittedly, was highly unusual for Europe in April). I want it to get warm! WAH!

Happily Ever After

Once upon a time, a baby girl was born. She was beautiful and smart; she had to be, to survive. You see, the girl's mother was troubled. She either couldn't or didn't know how to take care of her daughter. The girl often stayed with friends or relatives of her mother, who sometimes didn't take care of her well, either. Even when she lived with her mother, the little girl didn't have enough to eat, and she often had to find or prepare food for herself. She was three years old.

Eventually, people found out about the little girl and her neglectful mother. And the mother made perhaps the only good decision she had ever made about her daughter: rather than let the state take away her daughter, the mother would give her daughter a new mother, a new father. She contacted someone she knew through an acquaintance. Would this woman take care of her daughter?

The woman had already raised her own two children. She was looking forward to a new phase of life. But she could not get the plight of the little girl out of her head. So she said, yes, she would take care of the little girl. But only if the little girl could be hers and her husband's forever. They would adopt her.

It took some time, and some money, and a lot of paperwork. Finally, the woman flew to the little girl's home, and drove the little girl's mother two hours away to a lawyer who specialized in such things. As the woman waited for the mother and the lawyer, her hands shook. She was afraid the mother would change her mind, and that would be terrible, for the woman already loved the little girl. But the mother did not change her mind. With her signature, she gave her small daughter a new family, one that could love her and take care of her.

At age three and a half, the little girl had a new mother. But they hardly knew each other. On the plane to her new family's home, the little girl dropped something on the floor and used the words she had always heard around her. Her new mother looked at her, shocked (as did the other passengers), and told her gently that such words were not used in their family.

When they got to her new home, the little girl stood, speechless, in front of the full refrigerator. She had never seen so much food in one place.

When her new mother wanted her to get in the bathtub, she screamed and fought. She remembered being put into deep water when someone was angry with her. Water was dangerous. But her mother was patient. She got into the tub with the little girl, every night for months. After a long time, she stopped being afraid.

Now the little girl is six years old. She is happy with her new family, who is now just her family. She's learning so much in school. And she's taking swim lessons once a week. She swims in the deep pool, practicing the crawl, the backstroke, and treading water. She has fun at swim lessons. Her swim teacher is pretty and nice, and her class is all girls around her age. One of her swim friends is named Katrina.

The little girl doesn't know she is a heroine in a fairy tale. But to anyone who hears her story, she is. And so are her mommy and daddy. At least, the mommies of her swim friends think so.

Attention Easter Bunny

Katrina doesn't like Jelly Beans. They are "too sour." Um, ok, the first ingredient is sugar and the second is high-fructose corn syrup, but whatever. Not liking candy is a good thing, health-wise.

But peas are now off the (short) list of acceptable vegetables. Last time I served them, she ate them and liked them and asked for more. Last night? "I don't like them anymore."

Rice, plain or flavored? "I don't like that anymore." Rice, people! The blandest food on earth!

This is in addition to disliking anything remotely spicy, such as chili or goulash, two of our (former) easy-meal standards.

And yet she now likes my relatively spicy Amy's Cheese Enchiladas. Even though she's tried and said "too spicy" at least five times in the past year. Now I must buy one for her and one for me. She does like tacos, as well (no salsa or lettuce, please).

She still likes corn...but only the way we make it on the stove. When she eats frozen kids meals (occasionally), the corn there goes uneaten.

Bananas and grapes no longer hold the appeal they once had, although she does not dislike them, per se. She no longer likes plums, though.

Oh, and no peanut butter.

And then there was the other day at the commissary, when for the second or third time, she begged me to buy Cocoa Pebbles. Since one of her usual cereals wasn't there, I complied. As we were standing in line for the register, she suddenly said, "Mama! I forgot! I don't like those anymore!"

A rotating menu of spaghetti, pizza, fish sticks, fried chicken, and schnitzel (but only at a restaurant, not homemade), with liberal helpings of french fries and mayonnaise, maybe an apple once in a while, would be just fine with her. Or, we could just give up and buy an industrial-sized barrel of Chee-tos.

On the other hand, she has recently decided that she likes cottage cheese and apple butter. Maybe there's hope yet.


Meanwhile, I've been eating a lot of green olives. And grapefruit juice. And garlic hummus with potato chips. And more green olives. And pickled beets for a change. And queso cheese dip. And maybe just a few more olives. And Reese's Peanut Butter Eggs, which are a poor substitute for what I'm really craving. But only between the hours of about 10:30 am and 2:00 pm. By the time it's time to make dinner, I'm feeling a bit queasy. I blame it on the pregnancy, but it could be all those olives. I bought cheese-filled green olives at the German grocery store the other day. Isn't it about lunch time?

Toothless Wonder

Minus 1...


Minus 2.


No more are loose at the moment. The tooth fairy left 2 Euro coins for each tooth. Katrina was happy, thank goodness, because apparently other families' tooth fairies have been a bit more generous, and the kids have been talking at school. "N. got lots of dollas and a new nightgown, Mama!" Um, that's nice, honey, but I think you and N. may have different tooth fairies.

Perspective

I just finished reading a Stephen Donaldson book called The Runes of the Earth. One thread running through the book is that ordinary people, faithful in service, can change the world. Which is pretty interesting for a fantasy novel with a plot centered around finding a particular object of power.

Ordinary people, without magic powers, with no particular talent, just being faithful.

How much do you know about the ordinary person sitting next to you in church, or living in your neighborhood, or working In the Cubicle Next Door?

Unorganized Thoughts On Being Undecided

I vote Republican. Rather, I have always voted Republican.

I liked a number of the Republican candidates. Unfortunately, none of them actually succeeded.

A strong reason for my voting Republican is my unshakeable belief that abortion is wrong, that it is taking a life, that it hurts not only the unborn but their mothers and fathers and society at large.

But...

Republicans have been in power for a while now. Other than Bush's stand against federal funding for stem-cell research, Republicans have done little that I can see on a national level to reduce abortion. (State levels might be something else, but having been away from the U.S. for a while, I'm not up to speed on that.)

I have felt for some time that reducing/eliminating abortion will not be achieved through politics and laws. Only through a cultural change, changes of heart, compassion for women in trouble, and concrete help for women in crisis pregnancies and their families. The pro-life movement needs to stop fighting the government and put more energy into helping women. They already do, actually...I volunteered at a crisis pregnancy center in Virginia. They did really good work on a shoestring budget...they stayed with their clients (no matter what their religion) throughout their pregnancies and births, and did their best to supply them with what they needed for their babies. That's what should be at the core of pro-life movement.


I think Republicans in power have ignored the poor. Democrats may not have the right solutions for helping the poor, but at least they talk about it.


I think John McCain is a blowhard. I thought that before this election, every time I've ever heard him talk on TV, for years.

Hillary Clinton's voice makes my teeth hurt. And oh, so many other things about her.

Barack Obama is one of the most pro-choice candidates. And he doesn't have the substance of any of the other candidates still in the running. But damn, the man is inspiring. He seems honest and sincere. (One can be sincerely wrong, of course.) He's refreshing.

SO. What does a good little Republican do? I'm not sure.


It will be interesting to see if the Democrats shoot themselves in the foot again like they did when they nominated no-personality Kerry. The Republican party is fractured right now. I think the only thing that would get out the Republican vote (assuming McCain wins the nomination) is...Hillary.

Details & Updates

• I'm 11 weeks pregnant.
• My previous losses all happened between 5 and 8 weeks.
• I've had two sonograms already--at 8 weeks and 10 weeks--and have seen/heard a strong heartbeat both times. Measurements were right where they should be at 10 weeks.
• We've heard a heartbeat before, at about 6 weeks, before one of our previous losses, so it wasn't as much as a reassurance at 8 weeks as the doctor seemed to think.
• I love the German reliance on sonograms--one in every exam room.
• The doctor also copies each sonogram session to a CD and gives it to us to take home. But she says it won't work with Windows Vista, which is what we have, of course.
• My due date is August 18.
• Katrina's due date was August 21.
• Katrina's birthday is July 15.
• The hospital at which my OB works has no NICU. We have to decide whether to stay with my OB or switch to a different one at the bigger hospital a bit farther away.
• My fun pregnancy symptoms: nausea/lack of appetite (which is starting to abate); crippling fatigue paired with brain fog (or more fog than usual); shortness of breath; constant low-level agoraphobia paired with periodic high-level anxiety/panic attacks just for variety; and because of all of the above, irritability, whining, self-absorption, and a marked reluctance to leave the couch.
• I'm a joy to live with. Pray for my poor husband.
• We've decided not to move to a bigger house, so we may have company in our room for some time to come. Our bedroom is upstairs, and the other bedrooms are downstairs. There's no way we're trotting downstairs X times a night for feedings.
• We're delaying telling Katrina for as long as possible. One, in case something goes wrong, better for Mom to just be sick and getting better. Two, she'd want to see the baby right NOW and drive us crazy with asking when, when, when?
• Thanks so much for your kind comments and prayers. We appreciate you all so much.

Planned Parenthood

“And was this planned?” asks the doctor, and her pen pauses over the file.
And I try not to laugh--or cry--only smile wryly.
We gave up our plans, slowly, painfully, years ago,
Replaced them with hope, with longing, with trying again.
With hard surrender to our limitations, with adjustments to our dreams.

Planned? Like the years-long wait, the rush of blood, the mad dash to the hospital,
Searching black screens in vain, tears, appointments, procedures?
And our longed-for, hoped-for child, the only one to hold on long enough to be born?
No plans there, either. Five years later than planned, and five weeks earlier.

And the past weeks, again, fearing to hope, trying to smile, nightmares filled with blood.
No. Nothing has been planned.

But that’s not her real question, is it?
So I ignore her words and respond to the unspoken.
Is this baby wanted? Will you welcome it with joy? Will you do all you can to keep it?
Yes, I answer.
Please, God, yes.

Big News

Now, my sister may have just given birth to the cutest baby girl on earth (well, that's what she tells me, and the pictures sure are cute) on January 9--but that doesn't mean that OTHER family members can't also have milestones to be forever remembered.

Today, ladies and gentlemen, Katrina got her first loose tooth.

Oh, yeah, and strep throat. (As does at least 4 of her classmates. Including one with scarlet fever, which apparently is strep plus rash and other nasty stuff. I have never been so glad to live in a time with antibiotics.)

Oh, all right, a loose tooth just can't compete with the miracle of life. Welcome to the world, Taylor Alexa! By the time you see your cousin, she'll be missing at least one tooth.

Perhaps at some point in the next year, between Taylor getting her teeth and Katrina losing hers, they will have a matching number of teeth and gaps. Get your cameras ready!