Home Stretch

I can't believe how fast I've reached the 35th week of this pregnancy. Two more weeks and I will have hit full-term. Pregnancy is so strange. It lasts for almost a year so you have get used to it and live everyday without focusing on it. Then you hit the third trimester and you wish it would slow down while you simultaneously hold your breath for it to end.

It would be nice if I delivered a little early. I'm starting to get uncomfortable. Lots of abdominal pressure makes it hard to walk, hard to sleep/rollover, I can't wear shoes with laces anymore, tums sit next to the bed to nurse nightly heartburn, I've very tired and growing bored. I want to enjoy the summer, but it's getting hard to do much. And with these very hot days, if I'm outside I have to be in the shade and be sure not to get overheated. I can't really get out of town at this point, and hikes, bike rides and all the other active things I normally love to do, are pretty much out of the question. Plus I'm just so tired, did I mention that already?

Lorenzo is great at reminding me to slow down. In fact he reminded me that I need to be writing. I'm terrible at slowing down, but I really want to appreciate these last pregnant days. Our life plan doesn't include a number 3 which means this is it and I need to remember it and cherish it. I am one of the lucky women who handle pregnancy well. There are moments of discomfort, but overall, it comes easy. It makes me appreciate my body and feel happy that I've really tried to take care of it. It does however, still feel like work. If you haven't ever been pregnant, expect lots of changes and be ready for them. I have a hard time describing what it's like to be pregnant. It's so strange to watch your stomach moving in different directions, completely out of your control. And it's amazing that this little person is right there, just below the surface, growing inside of my body. She's a full baby, no longer a zygote or a multiplication of cells. She could be born tomorrow and she would be a little lady, fully formed, yet somehow she's still inside of my body, as a fully formed human, continuing to grow.

The biggest difference in this pregnancy is that I feel like I blend into the background more than with Luca. It sounds very needy to say this, but with Luca I felt like people were really looking out for me, protecting me and I liked it. Grocery store clerks always offered to help me out, people on the plane offered to put my bags in the overhead compartment, strangers went over of their way to let me go in front of them in line or to ask me about the pregnancy. None of that has happened this time. I think it might be because I forget that I'm pregnant and think that people don't think I look pregnant (funny now looking at that picture there's no mistaking it for a beer belly). It's just different. Lorenzo on the other hand is extremely protective of me, much more than he was with Luca. He is forcing me to sit down, he's doing everything around the house and reminding me not to work so much. He's been great, and to see how excited he is about this little girl's arrival, it's really sweet.

Pregnancy is a stepping stone, but being a mother of two, that's the real deal. The real test. Am I patient enough, wise enough, compassionate enough, loving enough to give my all to three other people? I believe I am. But like everything, I'll be challenged regularly in this new space. It's funny how you daydream about your life. I honestly didn't think I would become so domesticated, and Lorenzo, he never fit this profile. But here we are, about to complete our little nuclear family of 4, dog, house and car included. I struggle with that. But I am also so completely in love with Luca, he is so amazing, and I'm so proud of how Lorenzo and I have steered through these new waters together. Now I'm excited, scared, but excited about becoming a mother again. And then in a few months we'll work on breaking the domestication rules and we'll get adventurous again.

Second 1st Day of School

The anticipation was worse than the actual event. I was very sad thinking about Luca's first full-day of daycare. I knew he would love it and do fine, but what about me? Yes it was stressful to leave work to pick him up at 11:45, to make lunch, put him down for a nap and run out again when grandma came over. Or stress over the things I wasn't accomplishing on the days when we didn't have grandma's help. And in reality, I wasn't spending that much more time with him. But it's the idea. My little man is growing up and I can't slow things down. I've lost control.

I fantasize about the leisurely days we spent in Rome. Everyday as a family, we would spend an early hour walking in Villa Borghese. I would run in front of Luca's stroller to make him laugh, Jackie would play and chase dogs and Lorenzo and I would marvel at the beauty of the place. Lorenzo would drop me at work and then go home and spend the next few hours with Luca and Nonna until I got home and we spent the afternoon at the other park in our neighborhood, Villa Glori. We were so lucky. And once you've had it that good, it's hard to let it go.

I feel guilty that my kid is spending 7 hours at school. But really, it's only a matter of time right? He'll always be in school. It's not that I would keep him at home just to spend more time with him. He's building academic prowess, social skills and being potty trained. All steps in his embarking on elementary and then junior high, high school and beyond. And at each of those steps I'll be thinking about my little rascal. My little man who says a new word everyday in his little man voice. At each stage I'll remember Rome and how he changed from baby to little boy there and how much I loved that time with him.

Quiet the Banter

I have this running inner dialogue in my head and I realized today, the dialogue is me trying to work out how to get my thoughts down on paper. In the same way that I have conversations with Lorenzo in my head when I'm away from him, thinking of the ways to share everything I'm experiencing, I work out how I might structure this event or idea into a story or in this case, blog post. This is all a long way of saying, I'm committed to writing more. If for no other reason than to stop this annoying banter in my head.

And I have a lot to think about these days.

I will however focus on only one of those things here, for the sake of time and energy. And that thing would be the surprise visit we had from the stork about 12 weeks ago. It all started when I put the clothes in the dryer and forgot to turn it on. Then I put the kitchen sponge in the refrigerator. Then I fell asleep on the couch at 7:30, fighting to keep my eyes open. It all seemed too familiar. My intuition drove me to the Rite Aid to buy a test, and 5 minutes later, there was no hesitation from that plus sign, not even a lighter color despite the fact that I was three weeks from a missed period. How many minus signs had I seen in the effort to conceive Luca, each one more depressing than the first. And this time, not a one, and that plus sign didn't elicit the elation it did the first time. I was confused, "what is this plus sign? I must be reading it wrong." After two more tests (totaling three, the national average as I found out later from my midwife), the confusion turned quickly to fear.

Having a second baby is, strangely, something you think about from the moment your first is born. After 30 hours of labor, nurses think it makes sense to tell you how easy it will be the second time, as if it's a given. The common phrase, "the next will just shoot out." People start asking you right away, "so, do you think you'll have another one?" It's such a strange question to me, it really makes it seem more like you're raising domesticated puppies than people. But it makes you think, and ask yourself the question, over and over and over. And you start to think about your age, and if you'll ever regret that you didn't have two. And you think about how fun it would be to have a bigger family. You think about how much joy you felt when you held your baby in your arms for the first time and how you'd like to know that feeling again. You wonder if your kid remains an only child, will they be sad that they didn't have siblings? Will you be inadvertently screwing them up emotionally? And all those clothes you saved...could you really just give them away?

You get closer to making the decision, so you get a little riskier in the birth control department. It took so long the first time, we thought, we can take a few risks right? Wrong. One risky adventure and here we are, a bright blue plus on a shiny white stick. Now there will be another person in the world. And as soon as I saw that plus, I panicked and the banter started, "how will I take two small children to the store by myself? How will I work? I can't afford to have two kids in daycare. Oh my god, pregnant again. Shit. My body going through the 40 pound metamorphosis all over again. Breastfeeding. But I wanted to start riding my bike again, we were going to go to Europe, oh my god, we'll never be able to afford to go back with two kids, shit, will my crappy health insurance even cover everything? Oh my god, pregnant again."

Scared. Pure and simple. I am trying to be excited, Lorenzo is ecstatic and reassuring. He said, "there's nothing more beautiful than a pregnant woman." That is of course until my face bloats out around month eight.

I do know this is a beautiful thing, and I will come around. It's just so much harder for a woman who wants to have a career to give birth and nurture a new baby. We really have to be super heros. Our male counterparts can be at our sides during the birthing process and give us emotional support, and then help with diaper changes. But they can also go back to work without having to worry about feeding their kid, or nursing their genitals back to health or recovering from the 40 pound metamorphosis. They can take off three weeks and then go back to their normal lives. But for me? It's so much more complicated. And even if I wanted to pass the burden on, really I can't, I mean I could if I was so career driven that I didn't care about giving my kid formula from day one. But that's not me, I'm career driven and want to be the best mom I can be. I want to give my kid the best start, but that means trying to work around breastfeeding every hour or pumping, which is god-awful. And if I do rush back to work, because I love it, I will feel guilty. Especially because of the way I spent Luca's first year. And there are those pesky social stigmas when you put your kid in daycare.

No answers yet, but I will continue to write and ponder and get advice; as I said, I'm committed to writing for at least the next 7 months. For now, the big question is, how do so many women pull this off? If ever there was any doubt, women are f-ing incredible. We do it all, and most do it really well. At the expense of ourselves of course, but hey we're mothers, we come last. But I was just moving up on the totem pole again...

Breathing Again

I've been running a four-month long marathon.

The routine. Wake with much difficulty, eat while Luca clings to my leg and asks for pieces of my toast, diaper change and dress, put him in front of a video while I shower. Then out of the house for some combination of stimulus pre-nap. Library, friend's house, park, Children's museum.

Run, chase, laugh, say no, clap, lift, snack, change diapers, wipe buggers, clean hands.

Make lunch, try to eat while Luca steals pieces of my lunch instead of eating his own. And then, finally, after 5 hours, a break. Nap time. But only after many shhh's, backrubs and books. Quickly, I jump on the computer to check work emails. All too quickly, the up from nap cry. Diaper change, snack, leave house.

Run, chase, laugh, say no, clap, lift, snack, change diapers, wipe buggers, clean hands. Shop for dinner. And then, Lorenzo returns home.

He makes dinner while Luca and I run, chase, laugh, say no, clap, lift, change diapers, wipe buggers and then clean hands. Eat dinner while simultaneously feeding Luca.

And then, I start my work day. Until I can't keep my eyes open any longer.

But that was then. Today, Luca started school. Yes I'm happy I get time to breathe, but I was also really excited for him. This is the first step in what will be his long and healthy relationship to education. He literally ran into that classroom and didn't look back. I wasn't sad. I feel implicit trust in his teacher and in the environment and I know they will teach him things I can't (including Spanish).

Now I feel compelled to explain that while this has been a tough re-entry back to "real life" post Rome, I have also been incredibly lucky to have a flexible job, working with people I love. It gave me the opportunity to run, chase, laugh and teach my son new things. It has been invaluable time with him that I have loved. He is a very funny person and I adore him.

The Fog

This post is long overdue. In fact, exactly two weeks overdue. I haven't had the words, and that is a rarity for me. I have sat in front of this screen multiple times and they still have failed to come. It's hard to describe what it means to relocate twice in less than a year, and by relocate I mean to move from one country to another, across an ocean, across a vast cultural landscape, and to arrive back where you started. Well, almost where you started.

Let's look at just one piece to what it means to move from the US to Europe or vice versa. Jet-lag. According to our pediatrician, it takes an adult up to 10 days to recover from jet-lag and a child up to 22. Your body confuses day for night, your metabolism speeds up at the wrong intervals and your melatonin levels increase when you should be awake. But most people don't get 10 days of recovery time to adjust. Most people have to start back to work or get up in the middle of the night with a crying baby. Which means that for a good two weeks you walk around in a fog. And when you move from sunny Rome to cloudy Portland that fog saturates both your head and your physical being. It's unsettling and a bit like living in a dream.

And when you walk around the place you left 8 months ago in a fog, you notice that things are the same, albeit with a slight variation. This variation is just enough to set off the alarm that says you've been gone while other people have continued on. Babies have been born, buildings have been built, streets have closed down, people have moved; all subtle reminders that some time warp has occurred. And then you have to reintroduce your newborn, the bald kid you left with who still threw up at regular intervals and laughed with a toothless grin; who is now babbling and walking and eating adult food.

Then there's that other huge thing; the fact that people here speak a different language. I don't think I can address that part yet, it's a little bigger than I can handle.

You may want to know why we moved back or you may wonder if we feel like we gave up or if we regret anything. The short answer: work. We took an 8 month sabbatical from it, and now we both have it. Regret is a strange word. Yes, there are things I would change, but going to Rome for 8 months, taking trips to France, Germany, Spain and 10 days in Sardegna; that I would not change. There are moments when I miss Rome a lot. And there are moments when I realize that I'm home. If you have a connection to two countries there will never be an escape from the feeling that you are missing something by being away from one of them.

There are just some people who are difficult to satisfy. People who need a steady stream of stimuli and increasingly difficult challenges. People who don't find contentment in the day to day joys like other people. People who are always looking for what's next. Perhaps an undiagnosed disorder like ADD would explain it. Whatever it is, it's exhausting. At some point I have to find solace in knowing that about myself and just deal with it. It's just too hard to always miss some other place or some other opportunity. It's high time I understand that the grass will always be greener over there and that my little piece of dry grass can be watered and manicured and appreciated.

All of that means, in a roundabout way, that I'm happy to be home. And yesterday when I asked the bus driver where the next stop was, he replied, "I can drop you off wherever you want." Ah, this is Portland.

Stages

When Luca turned one, it felt strange. How can I still feel like a new mom when he's already one-year old? How do I recapture and hold onto each stage one by one? The sleeping all the time stage (that was nice), the learning how to smile, then how to laugh; how to grab something, then how to put something in his mouth (this will continue to go on for awhile I suppose). Next he learned how to roll himself over and in Germany he sat on his own for the first time. His first tooth broke through at Benedetta's wedding - during which I had to stand outside for the crying, and once back in Rome he started rolling across the room as it got him where he needed to go quickly. At 6 months he had his first taste of solid food and hasn't turned back. His next step was crawling military style - pulling himself with his elbows, and at 8 months he pulled himself up and started walking using the furniture for assistance. In Sardegna he learned how to throw a tantrum, which makes me desperately miss that first sleeping stage. A week after his first birthday he started standing on his own and taking an occasional step. One week later he has mastered walking and has finally become an upright citizen and fellow biped. Weighing in at a solid 22 lbs., my aching back thanks him.

This is the moment every parent looks forward to, and again I'm grasping at the air trying to make the moment last. This is the event that quickly transitions your baby to toddler. And toddlers become adolescents who quickly turn into pre-teens. So when does my transition from new mother to resident expert make its shift? I keep waiting for that big lightbulb to go on when I tell myself, "Ah, yes, this is how it's done. Now I get it." (Fellow mothers, don't laugh). There must be various levels of difficulty that you bypass with each stage right? From green circle to blue square to black diamond? Once the black diamond is conquered (even clumsily) and one returns to the green circle; it can be completed with grace and ease. Where is the green circle that I can go back to; the stage that he passed so quickly but that I didn't quite get right. The one that would be easy if I had a second chance to do it again. Is that why people have a second kid, to correct or perfect what they didn't get right the first time?

With each stage I've had to learn how to keep Luca busy and stimulated while simultaneously navigating the shifting tide in my relationship with Lorenzo, my relationship to myself (with the loads of physical and emotional changes), and my relationship with my son. My son. He's a year old. He has 8 teeth. His name is Luca (these are the phrases I've perfected in Italian). I am a mother and I have a son. I have to keep reminding myself. It took me years to feel comfortable using the term husband. Now my husband and I have a family. The Gennaro's.

6 Countries, 2 Islands, 12 Months

The United States, Canada, Italy, Germany, France, Spain; Sardegna, Maddelena

One year ago I was in labor. Three days of breathing, burying my face in Lorenzo's shirt, and pushing; resulted in the birth of a healthy, sweet, fun, happy baby boy. And now, my not so little boy is eating solid foods, pooping like an adult, speaking (albeit in a language all his own) and one step away from walking unassisted. His baby passport is already worn out. Six countries, two islands, three road trips, six flights, countless buses, trams, subways, and two ferries in twelve months.

My first year as a parent. The twelve months that most people use to get accustomed to the biggest change of their lives. The year during which most mothers allow their bodies to recover from the trauma that is childbirth by doing very little. The time with which you build a network of mommy friends with which you can organize playmates and share stories of diaper explosions and midnight awakenings. Instead? For better or worse we piled the fairly large additional stress of moving to a new country on top of new parenthood after five months. Strangely, Luca has lived in Italy longer than he lived in America.

As we decide our next move, the better or worse question continually comes up. Did we do the right thing? Are we f-ing crazy? My answers: yes and yes. We had to do it. We had to test ourselves, our relationship, our ability to manage with very little money. We had to remember how to shed the need for things and how to enjoy the moment. We had to learn some lessons. I like to think of the time we've spent here as an extended maternity leave. We have had the opportunity to spend time with Luca that we never would have been able to had we stayed in Portland. I have no regrets. As much as I complain about the bureaucracy, Italians definitely know how to take it easy. After years in a fairly stressful job which consumed a lot of my personal time, it's been good to see that it's possible for work to be second to life.

Luca is a little splendor. We revel in watching him discover new things everyday. We love all of the attention he draws to himself with his constant smiling at strangers and his fake 'look at me' laugh. I am proud of his table manners. The crossing of his little hands while his mouth awaits the next spoonful, wide open. I am enamored with him and with the man Lorenzo has become as a father. It's beautiful to watch them together, laughing, playing, hugging.

Yes, parenting is hard. Relationships take a beating as two people with separate upbringings try to come together to make decisions about raising a new little person. And all of the decisions have to be made between feedings and diaper changes as the time you used to have to discuss the future has all but faded. Any concept of free time is lost, unless your lucky to have a good napper. I never had more than 30 minutes to myself, twice a day for the first 7 months. You forget what it's like to sleep through the night. After 12 months, Luca still wakes up around 1 or 2 for no reason. And I lose patience.

But then Luca walks over to me holding onto the coffee table and puts his head on my thigh and the lost patience is a distant memory. He opens the door, sits down, sees me and says, "Mamma". When he's in Lorenzo's arms and I walk up behind him he smiles big and leans over so that I'll hold him. He stands at the couch and when I reach out my arms he tries his hardest to walk over to me before falling over; then once he reaches me he starts laughing.

Tonight, after his bath, I was reaching for his diaper while he flipped himself onto his stomach and started lowering himself off the side of the bed. He made it to the floor and started peeing. I could have gotten a little irritated, but when he started laughing I started laughing too. Then he tried to walk in his puddle of pee and slipped. He held himself up so he didn't fall but he started laughing even harder. Once he heard me laughing, he could barely stand anymore. Tears were rolling down my face, watching my naked little baby, pee still streaming out of his little peter, trying to walk, while laughing so hard it made him wobble.

It was top ten favorite moments. Until I had to clean up the mess. Honestly, I really love this little kid. And not just because I'm his mom. He's funny. He's actually a pleasure to hang out with. Yes, it gets boring sometimes, watching him put things in a box and take them back out. But if you saw him do it, you'd see how smart he is, how quick and developmentally advanced. Yes that's his mom talking. And I really love being his mom.