Rosalba

Probably you figured out that this is not a real tiger.

We have talked about our trips to the zoo in the past, but this is not so much about the zoo as it is the people with us at the zoo. The photo above is missing Rosalba, who is the link between us, but don't worry, there is a picture of her below.

About a year and a half ago we entered into what is possibly a most typical missionary dilemmas - do you hire someone to help you around the house? We do not have a big apartment, and for a year and a half we managed just fine. Okay, let's be honest - Richard managed just fine as he cleaned and I read him books (best.arrangement.ever). After Nora was born, however, we were feeling a little overwhelmed. We weren't sure what we were doing (and we had not yet acclimated to that perpetual reality), we were dead-dog tired, and we weren't feeling up to the challenge of the daily January dirt dusting that comes with the blessed breezes of the North Coast. In talking through things with someone from the church, she suggested Rosalba just come by and give us a hand one day.

I have never seen a person clean so thoroughly as Rosalba did that day. I have heard tell of people moving furniture to clean before, but I have not really had them take every item out of my kitchen cabinets, wipe down each item along with all the shelves, and replace everything (resulting in fun hide and seek games once she left, but whatever). Perhaps even this seems normal to you, but may I just show you one picture which further underscores my point? That cow (which is our water filter) had spots before Rosalba came. I am not kidding you. Richard painted spots on that cow with what we considered to be permanent marker. That was evidently inaccurate. When she left that day (approximately 10 hours later...) we marveled at how clean our home could be. We relaxed. We walked around barefoot. We went to bed early. We were hooked.

Rosalba

Rosalba usually comes once every 2-3 weeks (or just before our parents come to visit) to get the deep down clean that our (Richard's) sweep and mop doesn't quite cover. Over time we have gotten to be friends. I am finally not just "Señora" with a name too hard to remember. I have heard about her life and she has lived some of mine as she has watched Peanut grow up from 4 months on. I think the first real break was when we invited Rosalba and her two youngest daughters to the Nutter's birthday, getting that same invitation in return to her grandson's first birthday this past February. Every time she comes I make us all breakfast and for lunch she either tries out "an adventure" (read: what we usually eat at home), or I go buy something for us at the corner store that is more immediately recognizable.  Each of her kids has come to our house with her and played with Peanut, to her everlasting delight. We are grateful for their presence in our life.

And yet...because isn't there always an "and yet" to a dilemma?

And yet, Rosalba works for us. Can't get around that. She does not come clean out of the goodness of her heart (why would you do that?), and, apart from the meals we fix, we do not help her out while she is sweeping, wiping, mopping, etc. We have the luxury of paying her to come do what she also has to do at her own house because...well, it is her house. We live fairly simply, yet with a "home computer" and a "work/travel computer" while her kids (she notes) don't even know how to turn one on. We pay her better than she expects to be paid, but again, we can. We took she and her family out to the zoo just to have fun, because we can. 

I am not putting the dilemma forward very clearly I don't think, but it revolves around whether, if you can, you choose to ask someone else to come in and do work that you could do, or not. If not, we would have never met Rosalba or her wonderful kids. Peanut would have a smaller world, whether she knew it or not. And sure, Rosalba and her family would not have the still meager income we provide her twice a month. But because we do are in each other's lives doesn't mean we can pretend that making breakfast or a birthday invitation puts us on equal footing in the world or that other choices we make (or don't) serve to maintain or even widen the gap between us. 

And yet...we will still treasure our trip to the zoo

We are ostriches, can't you tell?

Fun with Numbers

Nothing to do with numbers

We are in the great wide world of counting now. Peanut can recognize a few numbers  - 1, 2, and 8. (Please do not imagine that I can explain why those three.) Every once in a while she will blurt out one of the numbers that she knows, and you better look sharp to see where it came from because it is likely not a random vocabulary spurt but rather on the window of your taxi, part of the design on your Dickey's barbecue cup, or part of the scripture reference on your fabulous living room art. These numbers, my friends, are everywhere.

So in a double homage to numbers and the Nutter, I give you the following completely randomly numbered list:

4. I get a kick out of the imaginative number sequences as we go down the stairs, or poke on the computer. Linear is just so...tired. Who doesn't need a little 2,3,4,2,5,2! in their lives? And even better if it is in Spanglish so it can come out dos, tres, cuatro, dos, five, two! 

9. Then there is the fact that 5, in Spanish at least, is now intimately tied to a particular song in which a clown finds he is allergic to his nose paint after CIN-CO MI-NU-TOS, thus requiring that every time the number 5 is said a bellowing CIN-CO MI-NU-TOS comes from the (you guessed it) Peanut gallery.

2. It is likely that when YOU count, you begin with one. Peanut, on the other hand, mostly begins with two. I don't know if it is because I usually get us started, thus clearly reserving the number one to me, or what, but it is very funny to hear a vehement "2,3,4!" before the little one throws herself down the slide.

5. MI-NU-TOS

Welcome to our world.

5 - Party Preview

You may remember that I was fretting here earlier about first birthday parties and all the hoopla surrounding them. Let me be clear that if it were up to Richard and me alone, we would have a small cake, invite the neighbors, sing, and voila - first birthday. However, much as we might like to think so, it is not all up to us.

Peanut is very much a child of the community here, and as early as six months Doris was asking me what I was planning for Peanut's cumpleaños. At the time, I laughed (choked?) and said that I had not even considered it given that it was double her lifetime away, but Doris was in earnest. She began making suggestions and contacting others so they would be ready when the time came.

Well it has come.

The 5 for today are photos of the 5 different hand-made (not by me) invitations that each child (all 30ish of them!) will receive. We have either a zoo theme, or a farm theme, depending on your point of view. Whatever we have, we do not have a Disney theme which, in this context, I consider to be a rousing victory.

Each part individually cut from foam and pasted together. Oh yes friends, this is an EVENT.

Along with these animals will be an balloon archway consisting of animal faces as well as stand-alone balloon animals. There will be a banner with Nora's photo, a styrofoam fence (farm-leaning...) plus, of course, palm trees. I believe I heard something about face-painting, a sing-along, individually made foam animal visors as party favors, and I am sure I am missing something. If you can think of it, it is probably happening. 

The thing is, I am doing fairly little all in all. This party is much like the gift of my wedding. After a week of rain and last minute changes to make an outdoor, backyard gathering into an indoor, fellowship hall celebration, my family and friends transformed a concrete slab room into a sacred space. It was the greatest gift one could receive - all that work with no one even really telling you how much work it was. Peanut's birthday has been a cause taken on by a variety of people that jumped in and said, "You know, I would love to do invitations." "I have a decorating business and I want to do this, this, and this for Peanut if that is okay." "Of course you can use the church, it will be such fun." So while I am sure that next week will be a little more stressful than normal, it may only be as hard as getting a little cake, inviting the neighbors and singing a song. And I can do that. 

Now tell me, you can't wait to see the photos next week can you? :)

Oh, and in case you didn't see the announcement for Peanut's baptism and birthday, here it is. You are all invited!

Legends of the Legume

Peanut, 9/12/2010

It has been over two weeks, and I have been meaning to write about Peanut's birth.  Some of the reason I have not gotten this done before is that time seems to slip so quickly away, but some of it has been my reticence to put it all into words.  I think it important, yet somehow an experience that was so deeply embodied seems to defy being summed up on a page.  I am unable to capture the intensity, the good and the difficult.  As my body continues to heal and my heart continues to grow the whole process totters between carnal and mythical.  Imperfect as it may be though, "hay que intentar" (you've gotta try), ¿no?

Querida Peanut,

Though you came to rest in my arms on September 22, I feel as if the story of your birth begins a bit earlier.  One could argue it begins 9 months earlier, but even the final drama began a few days before your official debut.

It was Monday, in the early hours of the morning, and I felt odd.  I did not feel like I needed to go to the bathroom, and yet it felt as if the muscles of my bladder would not stay under my control.  Each hour I would get up to go to the restroom, but little resulted, yet still I could not fall deeply asleep for sensing a drip, drip, drip that reminded me of Poe's tell-tale heart.  By the time light had dawned I knew something was happening, but I was still not sure what.  

I should tell you now that many a time throughout our nine months together I was told that "I would just know" things.  "I would just know" when you began kicking.  "I would just know" when my water broke.  "I would just know" when contractions began.  "I would just know" when it was time to push.  Unfortunately it seems I am a little slower than folks believe me to be.  Ah well, you will undoubtedly agree when you are 14.  

At any rate, I called Dra. Lucia to let her know what was happening, and when I went to her office she first believed my water had broken, just with a small tear or something that had not allowed the movie-like gush to occur.  After moving your head around and thinking longer, she decided it was simply my mucous plug that was very watery and signaled a move toward labor but not yet an immediate one.  That afternoon we returned to check on your heartbeat and movements as well as my contractions (heartbeat and movement -  good; contractions - non-existent), and we were told to walk around more and see if we could encourage effacement and dilation.

Then there was Tuesday.

While Monday was sort of exciting (maybe we are almost there!), Tuesday was a little frightening.  What had been a clear or reddish-tinted liquid began to have a greenish tint, and though I know virtually nothing, I do know that any time something leaving your body is green it is basically bad news.  Another call to Dra. Lucia.  Another trip to her office as soon as possible.

The fear was that somehow the green color was due to the fact that you had passed some meconium already and that you were potentially in distress.  The confusion was that my water still did not seem to have broken, so there was no way for meconium to be showing up this way.  But something was green...  So back to monitoring in the afternoon again.  You still seemed fine, contractions were still merely a dream.  Dra. Lucia was willing to wait, but she was concerned.  I sensed we were running out of time with her, and I was also very worried that you were having some trouble we could not identify.  I was afraid.

Early morning on Wednesday I began to feel some pains.  They were not bad, but I did notice them.  I began to look at the clock to see if they were coming at even intervals because then I felt I might legitimately be able to call them contractions.  They were every twenty minutes or so for a little while, but then they faded into uneven patterns and when I moved around I was not sure if I felt them at all.  Was it simply discomfort?  I wasn't sure.

I texted Dra. Lucia anyway, just to let her know.  She asked me to come into the clinic that morning first thing, 7:30am, so that she could see me.  "No problem," I said, and started to get ready.  But then the roller coaster of worry snuck up on me again, and I began to wonder why she wanted to see me so quickly.  Could it be that she thought something was wrong and she just didn't want to say it over the phone?  My heart pounded as we took a taxi to the Clínica Asunción.  

We met Dra. Lucia in the Emergency Room lobby and she said, "So, it is a good day to have a baby, ¿no?"  An ultrasound said that you were okay, but I was not at all effaced or dilated.  When she said "Well, let's check you in" I was stunned.  Everything I had read about birth said not to go to the hospital too early because it was more likely that the birth scenario would end in a c-section, not to mention that it is just easier to live your life in your own home while you wait for things to build.  We had not even brought our bag (expertly packed by your father, of course) because if you were well then I figured she would just tell us to go home.  But it seemed that was not the path we were on, so we checked in, found our room, and your Papi went back home to get our things.  

While he was gone I was given part of a tablet to help me efface - not to induce labor, though sometimes that is a result of the effacing.  I was comfortable, excited, anxious for your dad to return, and wondering what would come next.  That was 9:00.

I did not have to wait too long.

By 10:00 your dad was back and setting up the array of early labor activities we had planned.  We had the little computer with 2 movies, the iPod with early and active labor music rotations, a book, and I don't even remember what else.  We let folks know we were in the hospital, set up the computer, turned on the first movie and got about 25 seconds into it when the first pains hit.  

All the books will tell you that labor builds gradually.  You have some pains every 20 minutes, working down gradually to 3-5 minutes when you should go to the hospital, birthing center, or be prepared to get down to business at home.  Until then you should distract yourself.  Your body and mind will accommodate the pains slowly and your strategies to manage those pains can shift with them.  None of this was my reality.  I don't know if it had to do with the effacing tablet or if it was just my lot in life, but when my pains hit they hit strong and hard from the get go.  Your dad recorded every time I felt pain, and it seemed way too often to be contractions, but I didn't know what else it could be.

By 12:00 when Fanny and Gloria came to visit I was having pains every minute and a half - one shorter, and therefore more manageable pain, followed by a longer pain that seemed do-able only because it would be over and I would have three minutes until it came again.  After a very brief greeting everyone got into the act with me rubbing my head against a pillow, Fanny letting her hand be twisted out of shape by mine, your daddy pushing down on my back, and Gloria holding my leg to stop it from shaking.  

At 3:30 Dra. Zoila, the on-call doctor, came in to check me, and I had dilated 1 cm.  You've gotta be kiddin' me.

At that point we decided to opt for an epidural.  On the one hand I felt like we were on that slippery slope the books warn you about for going into the hospital early, but on the other hand I knew that I would not make it a lot longer without something since I had been in almost constant pain since 10:30 with only 1 cm to show for it.  So at 4:30 I was wheeled into the surgical room, told I would get a partial pain killer so I could still participate actively in the labor, and instructed to curl up in a ball and not to move.  If I was worried about the pain from the needle, I should not have been.  I'm not sure it was the "tickle" I was informed it would be, but after searing pain for the previous five hours, the epidural was a walk in the park.  

And sure enough it did help for a little while.  Tia Susanne who came all the way from Bogota to be with us arrived at 5:00, and I was able to talk with her and just stop occasionally for pain.  It was as if I was getting a peek at the labor I thought I would have at 10:00 in the morning!  The anesthesiologist came in to see how I was doing and said he was glad to know I had teeth (that I could smile), and hopes in general were higher than they had been in a while.  Unfortunately that only lasted about an hour.  (In fact, your Tia Susanne thinks I shouldn't even mention the epidural since it didn't seem to cut much of the pain at all in her opinion.)

The challenge is that this being my first time to do any of this, I have no idea if what happened from there was more like normal or still particularly intense.  But, for me, the intensity came back quickly and then simply never left.  A part of the reason for that (I came to understand) was that you were facing the wrong way (head down, but face up rather than face down), so your head and back were pressing on my spinal column (ouch).  Thus a lot of the pain I was having was not "productive" pain; it was not the result of contractions...it was just pain.  But you were all good, thanks be to God.  It was a pretty comfortable position for you - why move? - and it was evidently also all but impossible for you to make your way out.  Dra. Zoila pushed for a c-section.  Luckily, Dra. Zoila was not my physician.

Dra. Lucia and I had talked a lot about how much I wanted a vaginal birth and that it meant a lot to me.  Your dad and I were clear that if there were any problems for you then we would certainly concede to a c-section, but we really wanted a genuine shot at a more natural birth.  We had been told that some doctors here would schedule me for a c-section based solely on my age, so our conversations with Dra. Lucia had been very clear from the start.  Keeping an eye on your heart rate and trying to figure out how to help me turn you around, she then had me sit up, legs crossed and start to push just to see if it would do anything.  Given that after a dilating cream and the return of persistent pain I was only dilated 7 cm with no desire to do any pushing, I did my best, but not much changed.  

At that point your Tia Susanne stepped in and suggested we get the birthing ball from our room, turn me over on all fours, and see if we could get you to turn over that way.  Dra. Lucia was skeptical, but willing to try it...as long as I stayed on the table.  So I don't know who, but someone went for that ball, somehow I turned over on all fours, and then I passed to a point in which I just wanted to cry and scream, and I thought there was no way this was going to happen.  Susanne was leaning over me and bearing her full weight on me.  Your dad was getting his hands crushed.  The two doctors were...taking pictures.  Yes, it seems the birthing ball was a new thing for them...

Dra. Lucia, Margarita, Peanut, Susanne

To be honest I thought then that it might all be over.  I did not have the energy or strength to keep going any longer, and the pain was ripping through me as if to tear me in half to try and get you out.  When I asked Dra. Lucia to check my dilation one more time, thinking that would help me decide if I was going to keep this up or not, she insisted I get on my back again.  I wasn't sure I could do it.  I really wanted her to check me while I was on that ball.  I figured I would move when I knew what the next step would be because even the thought of doing it "just to check" anything made me want to fall apart.  

From there things get very shady for me, and maybe your dad or Tia Susanne can fill you in.  I was still not fully dilated, but Dra. Lucia told me to start to push.  My legs were up in stirrups that were higher than Mount Kilamanjaro (I really should have taken a photo of that), and I realized I had no idea how to push.  For all the "prenatal classes" I had taken, I had only learned exercises to keep me flexible (likely helpful given those stirrups), but never anything about breathing or pushing or anything.  

In the end I think I dilated by the sheer force of pushing you out.  Dra. Lucia would tell me to push by saying, "Okay Mamie, fuerte, fuerte, fuerte, fuerte, fuerte."  It is about the only thing I can remember from that time, and it was something that helped me focus.  I laughingly say that you heard her and figured she was talking to you so that each time you push up your head or stretch out your legs you say to yourself, "I am strong, strong, strong, strong, strong!"

Eventually my/your waters did break, and eventually I did get to 10 cm, and Susanne talks about the moment she saw in the doctors' faces that this was really going to happen.  And when I say "doctors" let me be clear that we had a whole panel in the room with us.  The anesthesiologist was back  (I found out later that he got in on the game at one point, taking his arm and pressing down on my stomach to help push you out).  The pediatrician came in.  Dra. Zoila was there.  Dra. Lucia was in charge.  There was at least one nurse (Margarita) who had been helping us the whole time, but maybe others?  My eyes were closed from the time I got on my back again with my feet in the air and my hands on grips that helped me pull up and get air between me and the bed.  I don't know how long it took, but they promised you were coming, so I kept pushing until at some point I actually wanted to do so. 

And then, there you were.  

Once your head was out the rest of your little body just shot right on through.  You made a small cry, not too big, but enough to make us know you were all right.  They put you on my stomach but on some sterile blue paper and we asked to hold you closer, skin to skin.  You were warm and sticky - blue and covered in white and some red.  Evidently you came out with your arm beside your head (as you can often be seen now), and that led to an episiotomy with a fancy right hook to avoid the hemorrhoids that came back with a vengeance with all of that pushing.  But sticky, white, blue, red - you were beautiful.  Your heart shaped face and your small little body were all that I needed.  

I think it is not true that you forget the pain.  You can't really keep it in focus and remember just how much it hurt - that does get blocked out, I think for the sake of your mom's mental health - but you don't forget that it hurt.  What you know more is that somehow all the hurt is still really worth it.  You really are the prize.  You are the miracle.  You are my Peanut, my sweetest one, and it was worth it. 

So welcome to the world baby girl.  We love you, and God loves you.  And you are one great nut.

Peanut Unshelled

Most of you all probably already know that Peanut joined us in the outside world this past Wednesday, September 22 at 10:31pm.  We are thrilled to have joined Isaac of the Chicago Lorenz/Boettner family as well as Tommy Lasorda, Jeremiah Wright, Joan Jett, and Scott Baio for this most auspicious of days.  

We are still going to stick with Peanut for the blog...too much paparazzi otherwise.  But we will offer you more photos of our sweetest little NEWBie here so you can soak her up.  More commentary on the days leading up to her birth and these first days after will come, but for now we know all you people really want are photos.  

Hence we present for your viewing pleasure...

Welcome to the world baby girl.

¡Bienvenidos! Welcome!

Welcome to Peanut's Progress! We figured you all might be interested in following what was going on in our hearts, minds, and belly even though you aren't close enough to see, touch, and hear for yourselves.

This blog is private, so it cannot be searched and found on Google or Blogger lists - however you do not need a password or permission to get in to see it. We don't want to stop folks we know from keeping up with us if they want to, but we don't need extra onlookers, if you know what we mean.

We decided to create a separate blog apart from Called to Colombia because we intend for that one to be focused less on our family, though there are times that we will post something in both places. Don't worry, you don't have to read it twice. :)

At any rate, here you will get more photos, videos, as well as commentary and updates on how Richard y Mamie are doing with the little legume both before and after official world release. Thanks for your love and support. We are deeply grateful for it - perhaps especially from far, far, away.