Welcome to the world, Braxton!

10 out of 10 strangers ain’t wrong… IT’S A BOY!

Well, it’s taken me a long time to write this blog.  It's amazing how little free time I have these days, and I’ve prioritized the precious little bits I find towards sitting to eat supper with Chris and trying to squeeze in little naps whenever possible.  This baby’s birth did NOT go according to plan, and within the first ten days of his fragile life he had been through more procedures and stayed more nights in a hospital than I would’ve hoped he had to in his entire life.  I think it’s taken a long time to write this blog because the fear for his life was too fresh, and my emotions too jarred to sit and think logically.  All that said, meet our perfect little angel, Braxton Dennis Schmidt! 

 

He was due March 14^th, but we thought for sure he’d be late.  So when my lab results for obstetric choleostasis (a liver issue that is associated with a higher incidence in still-birth) came back way too high (explaining the ridiculous itching I had been struggling with for weeks that everyone said ‘was normal’) on Friday the 7^th I was told I’d be having the baby within the next 48 hours. The midwife did an ultrasound to make sure baby was growing and okay (he was, and in a good position for birth, his head engaged in my pelvis).  I was instructed to go home, pack my bag, collect my husband, and return in two hours to be induced.  WHAT?!  My birth plan involved massage and acupuncture at two weeks post-due to help my body go into labor naturally.  It also involved the midwife-led unit at the local hospital, no interventions, a birth pool to help ease pain, and everything ‘granola’ short of having a home birth. Being induced meant being hooked up to monitors, a higher incidence of interventions, more pain, etc, etc.  No bueno.  But there wasn’t any fighting this, ‘the baby needs to come out NOW’ said the doctor,   ‘We would’ve induced you weeks ago had we known the state of your liver.’  So, after almost nine months of prep I felt totally rushed and unprepared to actually have a baby.     

Chris cancelled his last patient of the day and met me at home where I irrationally ordered him to vacuum the entire house while I ran around packing my and the baby’s hospital bags.  Our good friend Angela gave us each a huge hug and took a couple photos of us right before we left for the hospital, both of which I’m so thankful for!  (Three weeks later I look back and realize that I was going to babysit her kids that evening so she and her hubby could go out for a nice birthday dinner… )

 

I’m not sure how the induction process works in the States, but on the UK system the main goal is to jumpstart your body’s natural labor. The midwives were inducing four of us that evening for various reasons (gestational diabetes, 2-weeks late, a very large baby, and me).  We were each hooked up to monitors and in our own little curtain-enclosed cubby of a larger room.  The first step of the induction was to apply up to three rounds of hormone gel to the cervix, each six hours apart to start contractions and thin the cervix.  The first one was in the evening, and despite pacing the halls of the hospital for hours, did nothing for me.  Chris went home to get a good nights’ sleep and I stayed in the hospital coming to grips with the fact that we’d very soon be parents.  Saturday morning the next dose was applied and we were told to walk around and get things moving.  With my cholesostasis I wasn’t supposed to leave the hospital but since we only live two miles away, Chris broke me out for an hour so I could take a shower and go on a little walk at home.  We got a coffee on our way back and made it back to the unit in time for them to tell me to keep walking for another hour.  Did I feel contractions?  Well, I felt new lumps places, did that count?  I thought maybe that meant certain parts of my uterus were contracting.  I was wrong.

Hooked up to the monitors.

Pacing the halls for hours!

Looking through a name book.

When the midwife hooked me back up to the monitor before my third round of hormones she noted quite regular (every three minutes) contractions, so decided to try to break my waters.  During the process, though, she realized that she could no longer feel the baby’s head in my pelvis.  She went quiet and stepped out for a minute, returning with a doctor and portable ultrasound.  As soon as the doc put the scan on my upper abdomen I saw a very clear image of baby’s head, meaning baby had flipped from a head-down, engaged position to a breech position.  The doc quietly explained that since I was in active labor and the baby was now breech, it was in both of our best interest to get to the operating room quite quickly to do a C-section.  I heard, but didn’t.  I guess that’s what denial is?  I wanted to tell her, no thanks, I’ll just go to that lovely warm birth pool as planned.  The situation felt more real when she discussed anesthesia options, had me sign the consent paperwork, and told me she’d see me within the next couple hours.  Chris, thank God, was strong for the both of us.  I don’t remember crying until they told me to get a gown on and we walked to the operating ‘theatre’.  Chris could be there with me, since they were doing a spinal injection instead of general anesthesia.  He stayed strong as I literally shook with fear and adrenaline, then sobbed for the duration of the procedure.  “I don’t want to be here!  This isn’t what I wanted!” It had all just happened so fast.  The spinal injection scared me enough, but losing all sensation and ability to move from my breastbone down was absolutely terrifying.  About twenty minutes into the actual procedure the surgical team went really quiet and a larger screen was quickly raised so Chris couldn’t see what was going on.  Chris was maybe six inches from my face… I think he could tell I got infinitely more scared.  “’We’re going to Destin when we get home”, he launched into plans for an extravagant beach vacation.  After a few really hard tugs the surgeon started talking again and the midwife next to me let out her breath.  Within seconds we heard an amazingly loud wail and the surgeon held up our baby.  “It’s a boy!”  Then he was whisked to the other end of the room for the pediatrician to look over.  Chris stayed with me, inches from my face, until I insisted he go see the baby.  He ran to that side of the room and then came back to tell me baby was absolutely perfect.  Within ten minutes Baby Boy was on my chest for some skin-to-skin and the midwife was helping him to feed for the first time while the surgeon sewed me back up.

My first cuddle with Baby Boy.

 

Worth all of it.

Chris' first cuddles in the recovery room.

Ten perfect fingers and ten perfect toes.

 I wish I could say I handled the whole ordeal with more grace or confidence than I did.  Despite my tears, though, I was very grateful for the entire staff at Hinchingbrooke hospital.  Every single person who provided care was patient, kind, and quietly confident in their abilities.  Once I had Baby Boy in my arms joy took the place of fear.  The midwifes on duty that evening set me up nicely in my bay and were at my side in a moment’s notice whenever I needed anything.  I stayed in hospital that night and the next and left on Monday morning.  By the time we left hospital we had finally come up with the name Braxton, which beat out the other couple names we tried to call him at first.  (None of them sounded right!)  I was a bit sad to leave Hinchingbrooke: the food was excellent, the 24-hour breastfeeding support set me up for success, and the extra bit of sleep the midwives gave me by holding my ( very cranky) little guy for hours at night were invaluable.  That said, it was awesome to strap him into his carseat and head home as a brand new family!

Hanging out in the C-Section bay :)

Proud daddy!

On a lighter note, quite a few people have jokingly asked whether completing an Ironman or being a first-time parent is more difficult.  I can honestly say, without any ounce of hesitation, that being a new parent has been infinitely harder than training for and completing an Ironman.To the point that I’m now in awe of every person I see with a child in tow.  Ironman training was predictable, and on my own time. I was tired, but physically more than emotionally.  And the results were tangible. This parenthood thing is TOUGH!! 

Angela snapped this photo as Chris and I headed to Bolton for our Ironman triathlon in the summer of 2012

Angela snapped the same photo on our way to Ironman #2 AKA childbirth.  Notice the carseat taking the place of the bikes on top of the car!

Steph's visit

Stephi came to visit for a long weekend, thanks to a business trip to Dublin that let her bounce through London.  I was 38+ weeks, and about to pop.  On top of just being wonderful to see her, the visit provided a much-needed distraction to get my mind off being generally uncomfortable.  We had a fantastic (if not way too short) visit!

Steph is beautiful but how does one manage to look like one million dollars after an overnight cross-Atlantic flight?  AND she managed to sneak in two Top Pot donuts through customs?  Well played, Steph! We went right from the airport to Windsor Castle, where in a matter of half an hour it was sunny, then rained, then hailed, then was sunny once again.  Welcome to England :)

numnumnum

We managed to make it to Cambridge for an afternoon but otherwise the rest of her visit was spent making pretzel bread, talking, cooking, laughing, and then going to a 4-course delicious dinner with four of our best friends, Courtney, Randy, Angela, and Ryan.

Favorite photo!

Fancy dinner

Drinking ridiculously good beer.  Chris and Steph are double trouble. 

Because you have to take this photo whilst in England...

37 weeks down, (hopefully) 3 to go!

8+ month bump

 

37 weeks down, hopefully no more than 3 to go!  Although I had to be induced two weeks after I was due, as did my brother.  So did Chris.  And his brother.  Oh dear.

“So, are you ready?” asks everyone who sees me these days.   Well, I’m certainly ready to be able to do those amazing things like talk on the phone without getting winded, tie my shoes, wear my wedding ring, have anything in my closet fit, not have crazy dreams, pee fewer than 20 times in a day, and sit up instead of roll out of whatever position I’ve gotten myself into.   Unfortunately, though, I think maybe people are asking the much tougher question: “Are you ready to have your entire world rocked?”  Ummmm…. Am I ready for labor?  To be a mom?  To leak breast milk? (Something, by the way, no one tells you before you’re pregnant but then love to share ‘hilarious’ stories about when you’re about 7 months in!)  To sleep in two-hour bursts at a time for the foreseeable future?  To not have Chris to myself?  Those things I’m not ready for and am not sure I’ll ever be!  We’re just preparing as best we’re able.  The nursery is set, our tax return has been filed, I’ve frozen a bunch of meals, and projects around the house are finished.  We’ve taken a hospital tour and are in the middle of an extensive first-time parents’ class.  We’ve changed diapers, babysat, and picked our parent-friends' brains extensively.  All we’re thinking now is ‘How hard could it be?’  (ß Good gracious, I’m joking.)   We had a really sweet moment at last week’s Park Run, when a new dad pulled us aside and said “everyone tells you how hard things are going to be and how little sleep you’ll get but the thing I was least prepared for was just how much in love I’d be with her from the moment she was born.  It’s amazing.”  Thanks, man!  We needed that!

The other question we get is “boy or girl?”  We honestly don’t know, but EVERYONE thinks it is going to be a boy based on my shape. People in places like the grocery store will randomly tell me I’m having a boy, or “it’s a boy, right” and when I tell them we haven’t found out they're quite thrilled to be the 'first' to tell me that it’s for sure a boy.  I’m now saying I think it’s a girl just to be different from everyone!   We’ll find out in a few weeks, anyway, so we’ll see if the wives tales about carrying out front are true.  Mom said she carried me and my brother the same exact way as I’m carrying this little bundle, so I think it’s probably more genetics than anything predictive. 

Side view :)

The last question we get is if we've picked any names, to which we always look at each other and think, dang, we really have to do that! Ideally we’ll go to the hospital with a few boy and a few girl names and decide on one once baby is born. 

Bailey seems to know something is happening :)

We’ve been thrown two wonderful baby showers in the past month.  The first was thrown by two of my best girl friends, Angela and Courtney.  Not only are they funny, supportive, kind, awesome people, they have SEVEN amazingly adjusted, well behaved kids between them.   Ang and Courtney are always great hosts but they totally outdid themselves with food, games, fun presents, and hilarious stories.  Almost all of my American girl friends in the UK were able to come, and family and friends in the States also sent amazing gifts as well.  I felt ever so loved!

Courtney, me, and Angela

Ducky punch

Measuring the bump :)

Chris’ boss’s wife (and a friend of mine) Lyn also threw us a shower, this one for all the med clinic folks we work with.  She made lunch for everyone, Major Calderwood baked some amazing cupcakes and cake pops, and Chris’ work mates brought some great toys and clothes to get us prepared for the baby.  We couldn’t be more thankful for a supportive work environment!  My favorite memory of the work shower was 4 year old Tom-Tom tearing around the room at breakneck speed when he suddenly stopped next to me, climbed into my lap, and pointed at my belly, his eyes HUGE with concern.  “What happened to your tummy?!”  He said, as he rested both hands on my bump and looked straight into my eyes.  (He’s been in an epic battle with leukemia, so I’m wondering if he’s a little wise beyond his years when it comes to nursing/caring/health/body).  When his dad said “There’s a baby in there”, his worried eyes got even more concerned as he asked me “Why did you EAT a BABY?!”  We gave Tom-Tom a better explanation to lessen his worry but wow, we had a good laugh.

 

The most gorgeous and delicious cupcakes I've eaten in years.

Party set-up before everyone showed up.

 

My running days are finally over (one week I could run, the next there was no chance in hell) but I’m still walking the weekly Saturday Park Run 5k’s and am still going to the gym a few times a week to sit on a spin bike.   Being there with Chris makes me feel a little more normal, although the few people I don’t know at our tiny base gym tend to give some weird looks.  I will say that folks tend to be really nice to pregnant people.  Strangers routinely say “you look great” or “what a tidy bump” or “great job” when they blow by me as I waddle around the lake at Park Run.  I miss being fast, and it’s taken a while to get used to getting lapped at the 1K mark of our 5k.  The difference in perspective is sort of fun, though.  I get to see people of all shapes and sizes and abilities who truly work HARD each week and it’s been fun to support them. 

Waddling around with the tail runner at Peterborough Park Run.

 

The next few weeks are poised to fly by.  My last couple days of work are this week and way more excitingly, my friend Steph is coming out to visit the first weekend of March.  I can’t wait! 

Normandy, France

Mont St. Michel

 

The drive to Normandy, France from our house in England took about six hours.  35 minutes of that was sitting in our car as a car-mover train zipped us through the Channel Tunnel, an experience we won’t soon forget!  It’s the fourth way we’ve transported ourselves from England to mainland Europe (the other three being the car ferry, by airplane, and the Eurostar train).  The flexibility of having our car was great and we were even able to take Bailey with her brand new pet passport! 

Sitting in the car, on a train, under the ocean.  Strange!

The Chunnel dropped us off in Calais, France where a heavily tolled series of roads led us along the coast of Normandy.  The forecasted cloudy afternoon instead turned out to a beautifully sunny one so we shuffled plans and detoured for a few hours to Etretat, a tiny town surrounded by white cliffs along the Cote d’Albatre.  This Alabaster Coast is truly Monet’s Normandy and is known as the cradle of impressionism.  Monet lived in the area for years and produced more than 80 canvases of Etretat alone.  I don’t appreciate art to the extent I could, but despite this lack of knowledge really do enjoy Monet’s paintings.  The colors at the cliffs were amazing.  The white limestone was speckled and streaked with reds and browns, the grass was bright green even in the middle of winter, and the Atlantic was such a unique milky turquoise… I’ve never seen anything like it.  Of course we had to hike along the well-worn path along the cliffs.  This meant stairs.  Loads of them.  I think Chris forgets that I’m carrying an extra 20 pounds these days!  The light was beautiful and so was the day.  Our winter really has been mild this year: a light jacket and hat have been all we've needed so far!  We left the beautiful coast at sunset and drove the last couple hours to our hotel near Mont St. Michel. 

Me, belly, Chris, and Bailey with Etretat in the background.

 

Beautiful Cote d'Albatre white chalk cliffs and cloudy turquoise waters.

Mont St. Michel is a fortified abbey perched upon the top of a tiny, steep, rocky island just off the coast of the junction of Normandy and Brittany.  Apparently the narrow cobbled streets are seriously crowded in the summer months but we had the whole place to ourselves at first light on Sunday morning.  The three of us wandered around the (did I mention steep and stair-filled?) island for a couple hours, and then headed back to the car to drive to the D-Day beaches where we’d spend the rest of the day.   

Me and Chris with Mont St. Michel in the background.

Abbey sitting atop the steep, rocky island.

You know how you automatically turn sideways to fit through something narrow??  Yeah, that doesn't work anymore. 

 

It was only a couple hours drive to Utah Beach.  We stopped at a small bakery along the way to get our mandatory-daily-while-in-France chocolate croissant.  In my humble opinion, every country should adopt the chocolate croissant as a staple food.  But yes, on to Utah Beach.  We parked and then walked along the beach to its supposedly excellent visitor center and museum.  Gee, there aren’t any cars here.  And the lights are all off.  And the door is locked.  Face palm, they’re closed the entire months of December and January except for Christmas.  We had definitely missed that memo.  Luckily we prepped for the trip by watching videos on D-Day and brushing up on our history.  I’m so thankful we did that; otherwise we would have just been wandering around a beautiful, peaceful beach.

Bailey was so happy to be out of the car!  This was our first view of the D-Day beaches.

 

 

Chris taking down imaginary Nazi planes.

On June 6, 1944, 6,000 ships and 13,000 Allied airplanes hit the beaches of Normandy, France. The initial landing force was 45,000 men but in the course of a few weeks would swell to 135,000 as Allied troops stormed ashore along Utah, Omaha, Gold, Juno and Sword beaches.  There were 37,000 Allied casualties in the 76-day Battle of Normandy, a number I find absurd. Hitler’s German army had captured just about all of mainland Europe by this point (and had held it for years) and had their sights set on capturing the United Kingdom as well.  Russia was battling Germany on the eastern front, dividing Hitler’s army and leaving just enough of a weakness along the coast for the Allies to capitalize on.  Japan’s bombing of Pearl Harbor galvanized the United States to start up the ‘war machine’ that dragged us from the Great Depression.  Three years later we joined Canada and England in the largest military operation in history, Operation Overlord, and attacked Hitler along the Normandy Coast.  This battle was decidedly the turning of the tide against Hitler – he would be dead within a year.

From Utah Beach we drove a couple miles to Pointe du Hoc, a strategic outcropping of land between Omaha and Utah Beach that held some of Hitler’s major artillery used to defend those beaches. US Rangers captured Pointe du Hoc by scaling the 100’ sheer cliffs from the seaward side. Way more than half the Rangers involved in the attack were killed. Wiki has a great article about the battle: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pointe_du_Hoc. It was so interesting to walk around the pock-marked, almost lunar landscape and think of the area being shelled from the gun boats below.

Walking around Point du Hoc's lunar landscape.

The cliffs the Army Rangers had to battle their way up, under fire, to capture Ponte du Hoc.

 

Our last stop of the day was a coffee and then sunset at Omaha Beach, the other of the US’s main landing beaches.  I won’t do the battle justice in my own words on this blog, but would really suggest watching a video on the battle. 

Les Braves Monument on Omaha Beach

The Wings of Hope
So that the spirit which carried these men on 6th June 1944, continues to inspire us, reminding us that together it is always possible to change the future.

Rise of Freedom So that the example of those who rose up against barbarity, helps us remain standing strong against all forms on inhumanity.

The Wings of Fraternity So that the surge of brotherhood always reminds of our responsibility towards others as well as ourselves.
On 6th June 1944, these men were more than soldiers, they were our brothers.
Anilore Banon

Peaceful sunset walk along Omaha Beach.

The next morning we awoke early to head to the Normandy American Cemetery as they opened at 9:00.  We had the place to ourselves.  I don't have much to say other than I was so touched by the place I cried.  It was a much more moving experience than I'd anticipated. 

Frosty first view of the Normandy American Cemetery

Crosses and the Star of David in the morning light.

9,387 Americans are buried at the Normandy American Cemetery.

We absolutely could’ve done with an extra day or two to explore Rouen and Honfleur, and all the Calvados (a kind of cider) producers in the area. I’d have also loved a few days to hike around Brittany. Hopefully we’ll be able to make a trip back out that way (primary motivation: chocolate croissants) next summer before we head back to the States.

Chasing the Northern Lights in Iceland

Northern Lights success!

 

We’ve been able to take advantage of each of the three Thanksgiving breaks we’ve had while living in England.  (I can’t believe we’ve been here for three Thanksgivings, wow.)  The first one took us to Barcelona, where we met the coolest girl named Cassi.  Cassi was a (particularly young) corporate big shot before she decided that the work was killing her soul.  She saved up a chunk of money then quit her job, packed a bag, and traveled across the world.  I just realized that Cassi’s travel advice inspired our next two Thanksgiving’s trips: last year to Istanbul and Cappadocia, Turkey and this year to chase the Northern Lights in Iceland.  Thanks, Cassi, for helping us to discover two of our favorite places!  

We spent a week in Iceland a few months ago, driving the country’s ring road and catching many of the sights.  We were warned many times to not plan a trip solely to see the aurora, since it’s not guaranteed to show up any particular day and seeing it requires clear skies.  Having absolutely loved our time there, though, we were happy to play the odds.  We’ve never had a trip be so dependent on the weather and as the weekend approached Iceland’s forecast turned pretty bleak:  rain, total cloud cover, and 30 mph wind.  That said, we already had Bailey care sorted, car parking booked, and our plane tickets purchased so it seemed silly not to at least try our luck.  We had an uneventful trip to the airport and arrived in Iceland where the weather turned out to be even more rainy and windy than predicted… there was no chance whatsoever of seeing the lights that first night.  Since the sun didn’t rise until 10:30, we decided to have a lie in (as the Brits say) and eat a massive breakfast before exploring the capital city of Reykjavik.  We wandered around the cute downtown for a few hours and despite the light drizzle found it to be quite charming in a ski-town sort of way… many outdoor stores, narrow hilly streets lined with cute shops, colorful small houses with sharply angled roofs, etc.   As the weather turned a little nastier we took a break to watch a great documentary about two of Iceland’s latest volcanic eruptions and enjoy a cup of coffee. 

Reykjavík

Reykjavík

After the movie we headed towards our next lodging.  I had booked farm house accommodation in the middle of nowhere (the goal was to be away from city lights) for the following two nights, so we drove northwest along the ring road for a few hours, watched the sun set at 3:30, and checked in by 5:30.  Honestly, the darkness even that early in the evening was profound.  If it hadn’t been chucking down rain and hurling 30+ MPH gusts of wind we would have had an ideal spot for aurora watching!  But the weather was what it was, and so we cooked dinner and played cards and had a good look at an online aurora forecasting site.  The website predicted 0% chance of seeing the lights for about 95% of Iceland for the next 48 hours.  The only tiny spot that had a chance of clear skies the following evening was the southernmost tip of the country – about four hours drive from where we were staying.   Worth a try?  Well, we did come all the way to Iceland for this sooooo…. yes.  We lucked out and booked the last room in our favorite B&B from the previous Iceland trip - Grand Guesthouse Gardekot – which happened to be right in the middle of the predicted clear spot.   

The next morning was another lazy one with a huge breakfast (we may not have had a proper Thanksgiving feast but we managed to consume an equivalent caloric excess!)  The darkness and rain ruined all chances of a hike, so we were in the car heading towards Vik before sunrise. 

Leaving our farmhouse accommodation in western Iceland... at 10:00 in the morning.  Menacing skies, no?

Sunrise on our drive to Vik.

An entertaining James Patterson book on CD made the trip pass quickly and we made it to Vik with an hour of sunlight to spare.  Maybe it was the joy of seeing relatively clear skies, or stretching our legs after an atypically sedentary few days (not helped by the large breakfasts and constant snacking on Pringles, bagels, and candy…) but we really enjoyed Dyrolahey black sand beach and its cool caves and basalt columns. The wind was amazingly strong and we entertained ourselves by running with it (I was fast again!) and then against it (achieving the pace of a fast walk even at max effort).  We also spent some time watching the angry sea and exploring the area. It was lots of fun except for the occasional stinging stone projectile. 

Basalt columns on Dyrholaey Beach near Vik.

Very angry ocean and fierce winds.

Cool geology in the cave.

Fun times in 40 mph winds... until one of the little black rocks flung up and smacked me right as the picture was about to be snapped. 

After the beach we headed back to our place to warm up with a shower, then joined a couple other guests for some tea and a chat.  We heated some soup for an early dinner and were ready to go searching for the Northern Lights as soon as darkness fell.   We ended up in a little rest area with a good view of the northern horizon, far enough off the main road to not be bothered by passing traffic.  Then we waited.  I’m not sure if it usually happens this way, but we saw the first wisps of the lights fairly early in the evening (around 7:00 pm) and they were just barely off the horizon.  By 1:00 in the morning they were visible all the way from the horizon to overhead.   And yes, we stayed out there looking at them for 7 hours!!  I think some people get lucky and see the lights without much work but for us it took a bit of tenacity.  The first few hours we saw underwhelming, very faintly green (almost gray, really) streaks that looked like clouds.  Honestly, the 25 -econd shutter speed we were using on the camera makes the green look more brilliant than it did in person for most of the time we were out there.  That said, the camera did absolutely no justice to the two-minute stretch of crazy light show we saw right at the end of the evening.  Chris happened to be outside of the car and started pounding on the roof.  I jumped out and looked straight up and saw at first some bright shades of green swirling slowly overhead that gradually turned into a brilliant kaleidoscope show.  Yes, it was two minutes out of the seven hours we sat in the car (again, thank goodness for James Patterson) but honestly it was so worth it! I hate to say it, but I feel a little hooked on seeing more of a show.  Maybe we’ll break the budget and go Lights hunting again this winter? 

Staying warm while snapping photos of the lights required a little imagination :)

The lights were just along the horizon in the earlier hours.  That bright spot is Chris holding a flashlight on himself for the 25 second exposure.  LOL.

Clouds in front of the band of light.

My favorite photo - maybe 10:00 pm?  Northern Lights with the Big Dipper.

Car drove by :)

Other than my trip home to see family in December, we literally have no other trips planned (for now).   It seems like the sun is setting on our string of crazy travel adventures.  As I get further and further along in this pregnancy (can’t believe I’m already 6 months along) we’re hesitant to venture too far from home and are looking towards the future.  There will certainly be more adventures, but for the next while they’ll be much more focused on the birth and rearing of a hopefully healthy and happy baby.  Boy and girl name suggestions and advice are always welcome, as are used baby clothes! 

 

20 down, 20 to go! Halfway to Tiny Schmidt.

Well after a few weeks of (again) feeling like this whole pregnancy thing wasn't really happening to us, we were glad to have our 20-week (aka HALF WAY THERE!) scan on Monday. I've attached the ultrasound of this beautiful baby. Okay, it really looks like a Halloween prop, but humor us!

 

20 week scan

12 week scan

Our ultrasound tech Diane was amazing. She literally showed us everything from the ventricles in Tiny's brain to the entire spine vertebra by vertebra to ten tiny fingers and ten toes. We know there's no cleft lip, no sign of Down's, the kidneys are working well and the baby is swallowing amniotic fluid like he should. She is totally average in terms of size and growth rate, which we're thrilled about. To my eye dork friends, Diane even showed me the lenses and orbital bones. My goodness.

Going against both of our Type A personalities, we decided to NOT find out if Tiny is a boy or girl. The tech put it well when she said "it’s like a Christmas present... part of you wants to know but it'll be so much more fun on the day if you don't!" Besides, both of us like the thought of having more gender neutral stuff in case we decide to go through this circus again someday.

We’ve been taking weekly belly pictures and all I can say is WOW, I underestimated how big I'd get! Chris has been so incredibly supportive and kind… I am so thankful for him.  I’ll occasionally catch him staring at my belly with his jaw open (how did you get this BIG?!) but I do the same so can’t really blame him. 

My first trimester food aversions are pretty much gone, or at least to the point that I can now be in the same room as an avocado.  More recently I have gone through some (thankfully short-lived) cravings.  The first was instant ramen noodles.   I was shocked to see their price had nearly tripled (40 cents?!) from  the time I was in school.  So much for your body knowing what you need, huh?  Surely that baby didn’t need 212% of my daily sodium and zero vitamins in one bowl of (40 cent?!) noodles.  The second craving was for kettle cooked salt & cracked pepper potato chips.  I rarely eat chips, and never that kind, so am not even sure how I realized I wanted needed them.  The lowest point, at least so far, was three weeks ago when I changed into yoga clothes for a 5 PM class, grabbed my car keys, and then thought   “I wonder how hard it is to make doughnut holes.”  Twenty minutes later I glanced at the kitchen clock just as it turned to 5:00; I was rolling just-fried doughnuts in a bowl of powdered sugar.   The worst part about this story (other than skipping yoga to make doughnuts) is that Chris had a flag football game and didn’t make it home at his usual time so I ate the whole batch.  Luckily for our health, I’m back to craving normal, nutritious foods.  Fruit, veggies, full fat dairy, meats, grains, and peanut butter are all back into the rotation, and that last package of ramen is sitting forgotten in a dusty corner of the pantry.

Over all, it’s really nice to finally like myself and not the low-energy nauseous blob of brain farts I was for a couple months there.  It’s amazing that something the size of a key lime sapped so much liveliness and productivity from me!  There were times I sat on the couch staring at the ceiling because I felt too tired to watch TV.  That’s pitiful.

During the first trimester we had to choose between two very different care options.  Since we’re military living in the UK we had the choice to have prenatal care and the birth on the British National Health Service (NHS) hospital two miles away from our house or to go to the American hospital on RAF Lakenheath, an hour’s drive away.  The choice was really tough and we still question our decision. We know and trust the military health care system but are interested in as natural a birth as we can handle.  In addition to being so near, the NHS system is midwife-based and has birthing options that range from an OB-led hospital clinic to home water birth by midwife.  Is that even an option in the States?  The Lakenheath system is much more structured, of course. An IV and heart monitors are placed at the start of labor and the rooms are much more comfortable, but the C-section rates are much higher and I’d be lying on a table for hours.   Everyone has put their two cents in about the matter, but since Chris and I were both born abroad by midwife we figure we’d keep the trend going! 

All my appointments and care so far have been by midwife and if the pregnancy continues in a normal fashion I may never see a doc.  My midwives Judy and Debbie are great and reassuring.  Their general stance is that pregnancy and birth are natural phenomena and that mammas need to relax.  They’ve basically said I can do anything I did before I ‘fell’ pregnant, just modified (run, but slow; bike, but at the gym instead of on these crazy roads, etc) The only things they have forbidden are downhill skiing and more than a half glass of wine a few times a week.  I can handle that!

Tiny is already pretty well traveled, and I can honestly say that people (men, women, teenage waiters) in Greece love pregnancy and babies the most.  We stepped out of a taxi at our guesthouse in the Greek island of Kos and within ten seconds the matriarch of the family came straight at me with her hands extended, speaking a million-word-a-minute Greek.  Before I knew what had happened her hands were on my belly and she paused from her Greek tirade to look into my eyes and shout BABY!  Mind you, I was only 15 weeks and could’ve just been carrying a few extra pounds!  What a brave woman. 

I think my mom is most excited for this baby.  Her nickname for me has changed from Claireabelle to Claireabellly.  

Friends here have been incredibly generous with maternity clothes donations.  Chris’ mom sent me a belly band that let me wear my own jeans and resist maternity clothes for quite a while.  Then I finally got around to ‘just trying on’ some maternity jeans my friend Angela had brought over.   The second that stretchy band went over my belly I realized I was never going to wear normal jeans again (or at least not for the remainder of the pregnancy).  Men and women should all own a pair of these things at least for Thanksgiving afternoon and the entire two weeks surrounding Christmas.  Just this week another friend Sarah brought bags full of cute shirts, jeans, and sweaters so I’m pretty well set on wardrobe for the foreseeable future.  

Moses basket - one of the many things Angela is letting me borrow for the next few months.

 

One more exciting piece of news is that as of this week I'm feeling Tiny’s movement!  It's marginally less strange than I thought it would be, although still seriously odd knowing there's an alien knocking about in there.  Chris was also able to feel a couple kicks – I’ve never seen his eyes get so wide. 

We haven’t come up with any names and are looking for suggestions.  We tried to get Uncle Calvin to help but so far he’s come up with “Bull” and “Peesa”, neither of which works too well with our last name! Let us know if you have any suggestions or any advice J This already has been a crazy adventure.