2010: The Honeymoon Christmas

To celebrate the five year anniversary of my blog, for five days I am reposting one of my favourite posts from each year.

If 2009 was big, 2010 was bigger, although it passed in such a blur. As I summarized here, in 2010: I made the saddest and most careful decision of my life, we moved into our very own house, I taught at the University in Oslo, I got pregnant again, our cats entered the story, and to top it all off, out of the blue, we got married.

But my favourite post has got to be this one.
                                                                                                                

2010: The honeymoon Christmas

For once we didn’t go anywhere. This was our seventh Christmas together, but our first Christmas alone together. Our first Christmas in our very own house with our very own tree. Our first Christmas with our very entertaining cats. Our first Christmas married. Our first Christmas in Norway. My very first white Christmas.

On Christmas Eve we tidied up a bit then settled down for presents about 4pm (Michael having ascertained in advance that we would do German presents rather than Australian ones so he wouldn’t have to wait till tomorrow). The kittens were most excited with their toy mice, Michael loved his huge warm grey dressing-gown, I put my early Christmas present of an ipod touch to good use providing some quality Christmas music, and we emptied the Christmas stockings of an over-abundance of Swedish chocolate I had purchased to make up for already having eaten the Australian chocolate Mum had sent me. (We still have some German Christmas goodies left cos Michael’s Mum sent over four boxes of them!) We then called Michael’s folks, had a yummy dinner of roast carrots, parsnips, garlic, red onions, falafels and brussell sprouts, and capped off the evening by watching ‘Let the Right One In’ – brutal and poetic and heart-warming all at once.

The 25th continued in much the same way – our favourite food, a crackling fire, novels on the sofa, a walk in the snow, skype calls to family, and Michael practicing taking photos of lights. Some new friends, a Japanese family, came over for dinner, and their little daughter proved what a good kindergarten teacher I’ve been for the last few months by giving us spirited renditions of ‘Twinkle twinkle little star’.

I thought some more about how much I like that Norwegian advent poem - how joy and hope are there, but longing too. The last verse goes:

We light four candles this evening,
and let them burn down,
for longing, joy, hope and peace,
but most of all
for peace on this small earth
where people live.

My Nanna said that Christmas wasn’t the same this year without Irene, my Dad’s twin sister who died earlier this year. And I must admit, looking at several of my friends’ Christmas photos on facebook of their six month old babies, I felt a little twinge for our lost little one whom we will never meet. But then I felt an even bigger twinge from the very present little one kicking and wriggling inside me, and I smiled. We should meet him very soon. But I like that poem very much because those who are absent can be with us too, they are not shut out.

I love Christmas. I love Christmas in Australia with my family and the sunshine, and I love Christmas in Germany with Michael’s family and the perfectly wonderful German Christmas markets. But this year, this quiet, happy, snow-filled Christmas was exactly what we needed, and I wouldn’t change a thing.

 

Aussie babes

We met Felix’s second cousin Mala today for the first time. Caitlin and I reminisced about the days they were born, just over ten months ago, on opposite sides of the globe. I was still in hospital when I heard Mala was born; Caitlin was in the early stages of a protracted labour when she heard about Felix. We had announced our pregnancies to our families on the very same day last year, and met up in Berlin when we were both about 20 weeks. It was so sweet to finally see the little ones together.

The babes were oblivious to the significance of the occasion, but were very happy munching their vegemite toast.

 

Happy and sad

Felix and I have been alone in Salt Lake City for a couple of days, while Michael flew to Chicago and back. We have done some errands and visited coffee shops, gardens and parks. Last night I took Felix out to dinner at our favourite Noodles & Co. I had a glass of wine with my meal. It was possibly the first time I had ordered a glass of wine for myself when no one else was drinking (I was going to say when dining alone, but I wasn’t). I felt the warmth of the wine tingle down my shoulders. Felix was blissed out. He sat in the highchair, holding onto the front of it, looking around at everyone and up at the lights, doing a slow happy jiggle, opening his mouth distractedly every now and again for me to spoon more food in. He’d already eaten up a good portion of the ciabatta roll, crumb by crumb. When I put some of his rice puffs on the table in front of him he pounced on them with delight. Felix, I said, I love you so.

But I have been feeling sad, too. Recently, three of my good friends lost much wanted pregnancies, one right at the end of the first trimester, and two into the second trimester. It is heartbreaking.

Tonight, at another Noodles & Co (there are plenty), ‘Are we human, or are we dancer’ came on the radio. It tunneled me back a few years, when it was one of the songs played in my yoga class at the gym. I would listen to it, and the other songs, and think of my friend Kate, who died for no good reason, when a truck ploughed into her bike. And here it was again.

I thought of Kate, who will never have a child. I thought of my friends. I thought of the little lost ones who lived such a short time and couldn’t get beyond life’s beginnings. I thought of the frail marks they leave on the world. The hearts they re-arrange. The beautiful name of my friend’s son, stillborn at 20 weeks. And my own little one, with no name but only a clutch of poems.

Outside the late autumn light flared in the trees.

Felix knew the answer to the song. He smiled and wriggle-jiggled and kicked his legs and danced.

 

Birth Story

Warning: this is a very long post. Also, if you’re not interested in the gory details, you might not want to read on.

On Saturday night, just over two weeks ago, we walked over to our friends’ place for waffles. I was bored, frustrated, more than a week overdue and tired of waiting. Waffles were just the trick. I brought some brownies too. Our friends live only five minutes away, and I insisted on walking, trundling my heavy form through the thick snow and biting cold. (The funny thing is, my friend was nearly two weeks overdue just over a year ago, and the day we went out for chocolate cake together was the day her labour started.) It was a nice evening. We walked home slowly through the cold and went to bed.

At one I woke with a dull ache in my legs. This had happened before and not meant anything. I went to the bathroom and back to bed. At two I woke again with what I soon realized were waves of pain in my lower back. Terribly excited, I crept downstairs without waking Michael. The contractions were coming every two and half minutes. If I walked up and down when they came I felt ok. After half an hour or so Mum came down. Other nights she’d come to check on me but I had just been coping with bad cases of heartburn. Tonight was different. ‘Is it anything?’ she asked. ‘Yes’, I said, ‘yes, I think so.’

 

Just in case you were wondering if no news was good news

It’s not. It’s just no news.

Still, we’re doing ok. And the week is flying past. The hospital is meant to ring me tomorrow to organize some sort of ‘overdue’ ultrasound, but it will drive me crazy waiting for a call all day so I think I will ring them. Yesterday I did all the vacuuming and made delicious apricot and marmalade flapjacks. They are all gone. Today it snowed all day. Mum and I braved the weather on an arctic expedition to buy milk.

 

41 weeks

Getting a bit tired of waiting. Felt quite irritable today. Feel better tonight after a bean and lentil ‘shepherd’s pie’. Michael is even more impatient. He spent hours on the weekend breaking up ice on the driveway. Everyone says to enjoy the peace and quiet but it is difficult. Perhaps I should resign myself to it taking another whole week but I really don’t want to! Bubs is oblivious to our increasing impatience and is happily doing jigs in there. Michael says when he comes out he’s going to give him a big cuddle. He’s also jealous of the kicks and wriggles I feel, and says he’d like to be pregnant next time! And he says if the baby doesn’t arrive by tomorrow he’s going to the gym. Come on babbie!!! We want to meet you!

 

40 + 3

 

Forty weeks

I have been meaning to write this post for a while but have been a little distracted. But I want to record what this past week or so has felt like before it all becomes distant history! So… last week it finally began to sink in that there’s going to be a baby around here pretty soon. I got really excited. And realised there was still a couple of things I needed, which prompted a shopping spree. So I bought some bedlinen, for me and for him (thought I’d better get myself a single duvet in case he comes into bed with me and I don’t want to smother him – recently we’ve been using a double duvet each). I bought a chest of drawers. I bought cloths to use on the changing-mat, and some blankets. And then I saw a couple of cute cute cute suits in rainbow colours with lions and mooses and mushrooms on them, and we didn’t need any more clothes but I couldn’t help but buy them. I restrained myself from buying the light-brown furry coat with bear ears. And then I regretted my restraint and went back to get it anyway. I gave it a hug.

I had some friends over on Friday night and made home-made pizza. It was delicious.

Then, over the weekend, the spring-cleaning bug set in. I did loads and loads of washing. I put all his clothes away in the chest of drawers. I moved most of my books from my office to the spare room. I threw stuff away. On Monday I tidied the spare room for mum. I made up the bed for her. I thoroughly cleaned and re-arranged the bathroom. Today I finished the vacuuming and hid in the cupboards everything I couldn’t work out how to throw away. I had a midwife appointment then picked up Mum from the station. So nice to see her. She arrived with a bag stuffed full of gifts from Australia, including the most gorgeous teddybear from my brother and his girlfriend. (And we love all the other presents too!) So, yeah, still pretty excited.

Mostly I feel very healthy, although my belly is starting to feel like a balloon fit to burst.

Michael says waiting and waiting is the most boring thing in the world. He has been fixing door handles and rehanging the fridge door and moving the kitchen light-switch from the hall to the kitchen.

The midwife says everything looks perfect. She says to rest and to eat. So tomorrow, I will try to quell the excitement and get some rest, just in case he comes sooner rather than later. Who knows?

 

Confinement

Such an old-fashioned term. But at the moment it’s just about right. It was a lovely day today, really. Plus 3 degrees, which feels so, so warm. It had rained over night, and the trees were rinsed of their frost. The sun shone through hazy blue patches of sky and the bare tree-tops reminded me of England. But as soon as Michael got to work, he sent me an email entitled ‘ice’, which read: ‘Don’t go out under any circumstances. It’s too slippery even for crampons.’ Which was fair enough, as these three-day forays into the positives only succeed in turning our sloping driveway into an ice-rink. And all the footpaths, too.

So I washed the floors, and baked rosinboller. (My recipe wasn’t as fancy as that one. I got it straight off the sultana pack. But check out that blog! She lives in a much prettier part of Norway than I do. And has a cute baby boy. And I think I might be clicking back over there to try out some of her other recipes…) Over the weekend I had a serious craving for hot-cross-buns, so I bought some yeast and sultanas on Saturday morning. When I got home, though, I discovered it would take several hours to make them, so I made scones instead. (Which were amazing, by the way.) Anyway, today, having the whole day to myself, I thought I would have a go at the boller. It’s the first time I’ve tried cooking with yeast on my own. (When I was a kid, Mum and I would do it all the time.) And it worked! They rose! The living room smelled all warm and yeasty as they sat in the windowsill. They were very nice, though next time I’ll have to add more spices. I ate four of them straight out of the oven. Michael liked them but said the scones were better. But now I’m thinking of all the other things you can do with yeast…

I’m pleased with the photo I took today. I’m getting quite fond of this bump of mine. It is nice to feel round and full of life. (Also if you’re planning on getting pregnant I recommend being extremely tall. You get much less squashed.) 38 weeks tomorrow. When I see photos of myself not pregnant it feels like that’s not really me. Right now, this is me, and I am grateful for these few last weeks. I like that I am looking out of the window, and that the windows are full of light but that you can’t see through them. I like the crib stacked in the corner behind me, with my maternity bag inside it and a box of baby things. And for me, the photo is strange, because the room is reflected in the mirror, and it is all the wrong way round. Everything is stilled in the strange light. It captures perfectly this deep breath, this pause, this readiness. This quiet, hopeful time of looking straight in the face of a future I cannot yet clearly discern, and saying, despite this, yes. Yes.

 

In other news…

This is me a whole week ago when I was nearly 36 weeks. Now I’m nearly 37 weeks. And feeling pretty good really. I think bubs tried to engage about two weeks ago which was quite uncomfortable, but he jumped out again cos he likes wriggling around so much. At my GP appointment last week she said he was still really high up, and she would have liked to see him lower by now. Anyway. I feel him rumbling around and sticking little bits of fist and foot out at me and I can tell just by stroking him whether he’s lying on my left side or my right (he likes to swap around). At least he’s head down. My only real complaint is heartburn which seems to be exacerbated by his wriggling…

But it’s getting a bit boring just waiting and waiting. Today I did a couple of loads of washing, and the clothes horse is now full of little white suits and hats and socks all ready to go. Also my grandma knitted me the most gorgeous hat and jumper and booty set. The hat has a pompom! It is the sweetest thing in the world. I can’t wait to put it on him.

And yep the snow does make getting around a little difficult. Not too difficult, because Norway is used to such conditions, but reversing out of our driveway is a challenge. Actually last night it started to rain and we kept waking to the sound of great thuds of snow crashing down from the roof. Today our driveway resembled an ice-rink. We tried to go for a walk this afternoon but after teetering down the first little hill with our crampons on we gave up and tiptoed back. Can’t really afford to stack it on the ice at this point. The snow’s going to keep melting for a day or two and then it will all come back again.