Changing, but not becoming a butterfly

Do you ever have one of those moments when you kind of have a reality check about yourself? Like the lightbulb goes turns on and you almost can see yourself, sitting there, and you actually take the time to inspect yourself.

I was driving home. The same road I drive multiple times a week. the kids were especially cantankerous. In an attempt to stop the whining, the hubs tried to draw their attention to the castle.

The Castle. Up close, in person, it isn’t the most glamorous. But it sits on top of a mountain, overlooking the land around it for miles (or kilometers, if you will). I was in love with this thing when we first came here.  It is truly breath-taking when you come around the curve and there’s this massive foreboding structure looming in the sky. And every time we drove by it, it always gave me that same feeling. Being me, I made jokes. That was my castle. I was going to buy it and live there like the princess I was meant to be. But over the years, the jokes died. The dreaming died. The optimism died.

I saw myself, no longer the sunny, ever-helpful ray of sunshine I once was. I would compare myself now more to a cloud. Graying the world around me. How did this happen? It must have been a slow decline into the pessimism I seem to wallow in. I don’t remember an abrupt change of disposition. Like the slow process of the sun bleaching the color of the wooden fence in the yard, somehow my joyfulness had been blanched over time.

Now I’m left to wonder, is it possible to get back to who I was? Does that person even exist anymore? Or is this the new me? My new normal?

Keeping an eye on the horizon

I haven’t updated in a while. Honestly, it just felt wrong. How can the adaptablemamma tell you anything about her life when she wasn’t adapting. On the very best days I was just rolling along. But in truth, I was struggling. We all have phases where we struggle. We aren’t growing and adapting to our ever-changing environment.

I often felt like I was out in the ocean. I was treading water, but never going anywhere. I don’t even think I was waiting for the coast guard. I was just kind of there. Every once and a while a big wave would come along and slap me in the face. I’d get knocked below the surface, but I would always come sputtering up eventually. I knew I couldn’t go on like this, but I didn’t really know how to change my situation.

But I’m donning some gear now. I’m ready to swim. To go somewhere. I can’t hold up against the massive waves and the blazing sun, so I’m going under. I once loved scuba diving. So I’m comparing this next phase to a dive. I’ve got to strap on a lot of heavy things, but they wont sink me. Instead they’ll help me to glide below the surface. To block out the extraneous noise of the day to day. Once I’ve adapted to the new environment I’ll feel that weightlessness and peace that I always loved about diving.

I’m ready to adapt, to grow, to change. I can’t stay in this stagnation anymore.

My only problem now is to find my path. Navigation hasn’t always been my strongest talent. And navigating my way through life seems to be more difficult. But I’ve enlisted help. And I still have hope. And that is always the most important part when growing: hope for the future.

A post to commemorate 4 years

Facebook informed me today that I have been an expat for 4 years.

Somedays it seems like it couldn’t possibly have been FOUR whole years.

Other days… hmm… Other days, it feels as if I’ve been here four and forty whole years. I feel as if I’ve lived a lifetime here. As if the lifetime I lived in the States belonged to another. That girl who worked all the time, who read books, who went to the salon, who laughed and loved and cried, squeezing out every drop of every moment of the day. That girl was me. Wasn’t she? Maybe just another version of me? Or just a preview of who I am to become later after this time of motherhood-up-to-my-eyeballs passes?

When O was born I was too busy to really enter into this season of my life. Then we moved here, and I had no choice. I’ve been submerged into this season of marriage and motherhood. Half-drowned in it you could almost say. At the same time I’ve been pummeled by a myriad of new experiences. Enough to fill another lifetime. I’ve learned a new language, I’ve been to Crete and Paris and Turkey. I’ve let go of old dreams and started to form new ones. I’ve met amazing people and people that I wish would spontaneously combust (or at least just go away and never come back). We bought a house. My name is attached to a piece of land. I don’t even really think of it as home yet. But we got the official documents in the mail this week. Our names are officially attached to this plot and the house on it. I carried and birthed another child and suffered from the physical and mental scars. I’ve gone home for holidays and weddings. And I’ve missed funerals because I was stuck over here.

Some days, the monotony of daily life with kids just gets depressing. The hours drag on as I wait for bedtime, willing it to be tomorrow already. But then I think of all the little things in between. The excitement of new places, new experiences. Then I remember the endless Mondays spent slinging pizza in college, and that feeling that life was going on all around me and I was missing out. I guess the everyday is like that. Boring us out of our minds. Maybe that’s why some people get dementia, they stop having these experiences to look forward to and the droll of everyday just gets to their brains.

So here’s to the next four years and the excitements they shall bring.

Happy New Year!

So, they say you should make New Year’s resolutions that are attainable. Break them down, make them reasonable. yada yada…

So my goal this year is to give birth. At 40 weeks and 6 days pregnant, I am confident that I can reach that goal. And won’t I feel accomplished when I do!

Gah. Seriously, I enjoyed a few extra days of just being O’s mom. Especially because he came down with a little virus and was all sick-y and needed mommy to take care of his fever. But I am ready for this baby to come on out already. I’ve had contractions for about a week now. They get real steady and then they’ll quit. And let’s not get started on the excruciating pain in my back from all the contractions. I’ve tried everything on my end: praying, eating pineapple, long walks, rich food, spicy food, cleaning the house, visualizing, seducing my husband, short walks, relaxing, eating more spicy food. So far all I have accomplished is heartburn….

But here in Germany it’s typical to make a woman wait it out. The lady near us at the clinic today was 9 days overdue, she was also late with her first 2 children as well. (Although, she looked very comfortable and relaxed, I must say, lacking that weary wild-eyed look I’m starting to permanently wear.) Pretty much doctors wait until there’s some sort of medical reason, or the woman goes crazy and demands and induction. But the doctor today offered a glimmer of hope. Maybe an induction tomorrow, if I want it.

I have never been so excited to drink castor oil in all my life y’all. We’ll see how it goes…

Granola, granola everywhere

So I would say that in comparison to US moms, Germany moms are much more “crunchy”. They breastfeed, they wear their babies in slings wrapped around them, etc. I’m not saying that one way is necessarily better than the other. But I do think that each family should work out a routine that best fits their personalities/lifestyle.

At the last birth preparation class, one of the mother’s turned to me and asked “How long did you breastfeed?” I proudly answered, “Nine months!” Her reply, “So short? I breastfed my son for almost 3 years.” Granted, this woman was not not actually German (Italian) but as you can see, most Europeans are generally a bit crunchier than Americans. Doesn’t matter, I’m still proud of my 9 month stint as personal milk supplier. In Germany, there are free breastfeeding classes and insurance covers for midwives and lactation consultants to help you. And there are plenty available to come to you when you need them. In the US, I had a phone number I could call with questions. And when a friend of mine got a pump, I was the one who helped her figure it out. My mother really couldn’t help me, because she breastfed one of her kids and only for a short stint. I now know that she probably didn’t produce enough milk because no one had ever really taught her what to do. Her own mother was told formula was actually better for babies.

So, I thought going into tonight’s informational meeting at the local hospital, that it’s Baby Friendly certification from the WHO would make it a really great place to give birth. Hmmm….

Granola Hospital Midwife: “We recommend a relaxing bath to relieve labor pains. Oh, but we only have one bathtub, so if you are in that room, and another woman wants to use it, then we will ask you to go to another room.”
Husband looks skeptically at the bathtub.
Me: “Well, that’s not so convenient…”

Granola Hospital Nurse: “We are Baby Friendly, that means we have no pacifiers. If you would like one for your child, you’ll have to bring your own from home.”
Husband looks slightly alarmed.
Me: “Great, one more thing to remember to take to and from the hospital.”

Granola Hospital Midwife: “We no longer have a nursery. It is best for the baby to be with the mother 24/7. Just as they were for the last nine months.”
Husband: “Aww, that’s nice.”
Me: “Ummm, what? The only sleep I got in the 6 weeks after O was born was on the one night the nurse convinced me to send him to the nursery for a few hours. They changed his diaper and rocked him and held out as long as they could before bringing him back to feed. How am I going to survive without my one night with 4 solid hours of sleep?”

 

Yeah, that last bit was the deciding factor. Unless the baby is crowning or my water comes gushing out like in the movies, then I’m going to squeeze my legs together and just deal with it for the 45 minute drive to the Women’s Clinic in the city. I’m not saying that if you want your baby with you 24/7, then you are bad/crazy/whatever. I’m just saying that I need that option. It helped me to be my best mom self to have one night when other people looked after O and I could let my body recover. And Lord knows, that child needs me to be my best mom self, because even at my best, I am far from perfect.

Things Change

So, most mothers of 2 or more kids will tell you that each kid is different. That each pregnancy is different. Well, I’m not here today to tell you otherwise. Some of it is just the natural progression from over-zealous first-time-around motherhood to been-there-done-that-who-cares-if-the-baby-eats-some-dog-food-it’s-not-toxic second child syndrome. Some of it is more situational.

For example, in my first pregnancy I laughed at the idea of sewing my own hospital gown. Why would you waste money on fabric that’s just going to get all stained with lord-only-knows? Of course this time around, I feel compelled to tackle this sewing project. Mostly because in my sterile visions of childbirth, there’s always a lot of medical interventions involved and I’m always in a hospital gown. In Germany, they tell you to just wear a comfy shirt, when you come in labor. Now, if I own a comfy shirt, chances are, I like to wear it. So why in the world would I want to trash it by giving birth in it? If the hospital won’t issue me a disinfected, hospital grade material gown, then I guess I will be making my own.

Another case in point: not choosing my hospital based on my doctor. So in Baton Rouge, I had the most wonderful OB/Gyn. His office was in the tower at Woman’s Hospital. So, of course, it was planned out that we would drive 45 minutes to his hospital so he could oversee everything and take care of me. In Germany, the doctors aren’t so much involved. In fact, legally, you have to have a midwife with you for the birth in a hospital, but the doctor is totally optional. You might not even actually see a doctor during your labor and delivery. I’m still planning to drive the 45 minutes to Tübingen, but not because my doctor will be there. In fact, I don’t even know if someone has to call him to tell him I’m in labor, maybe they just send him a letter all official and German like from the hospital. Something with a signature and a stamp. Germans like to stamp important things. The hospital in our town actually has a WHO “Baby Friendly Certification, but I don’t really want to go there… I’ve heard that they tend to not send critical patients to the specialty hospitals as soon as they should. My nursing education makes me all too aware of every rare and life-threatening thing that could happen. I don’t want to stroke out from an embolism and be a vegetable because the doctors here were too proud to admit they couldn’t handle it themselves. I don’t think my husband or my in-laws fully understand this. But I really don’t care. In the words of every 13 year old that’s ever been on Maury Povich, “It’s my body, I do what I want.”

Also situational: In the last pregnancy, it was a question of “when” and not “if” I wanted an epidural. In Tübingen, there’s a variety of choices for pain relief. I’m still leery of all of the breathing and relaxation techniques people recommend. But I’m keeping an open mind. Also up for grabs are laughing gas and some kind of opiate. I may turn this birth into my own little science experiment. Of course, I never actually felt contractions during my first labor, so I may be screaming for my “Rückenspritz!” before I make it through all of the different options. (Also- I am not a super human- I didn’t feel the contractions despite my Pitocin drip due to an overwhelming and excruciating backache that I’d had from about 32 weeks into the pregnancy. Kind of like you wouldn’t notice if you busted your lip falling if you also broke your arm at the same time.)

Now that I am officially on Maternity Leave (another situational difference. Yay, socialism!) I hope to update a bit more on these differences. Maybe on the next post I’ll go into detail of some of the all natural recommendations for inducing labor. 🙂 But really, it’s been interesting so far. And I’m learning to not be too neurotic. Maybe.

Please don’t call child services…

Do you ever have one of those moments as a parent when you realize that you have ROYALLY screwed something up? Not like you threw Billy up in the air one too many times and he puked on you, more like you threw Billy into the air and he hit his head on the ceiling fan and now he leans a little when he walks?

O fell asleep on the way home from a long day of playing with the cousins. NBD. A carried him up the 2 flights of stairs to our apartment, because he’s just a bit too heavy for me to safely and comfortably carry that far. O wasn’t sleeping very deeply, so I just left him in the bed in his clothes, hoping to sneak in later and change him or at the very least wrestle a pull up onto him. At about 10:30, he woke up, calling for me. I went in and decided that since he was half-awake now was as good a time as any to get that pull-up on him. First went the pants, then I started to pull his underwear off. I heard a quiet *snap* and then O started screaming. Huh? What the hell just happened??

Since he was crying the “I’m hurt” cry, I picked him up immediately. And then I saw it- a 2 inch long strip of elastic laying in the bed. It must have been sticking out of his underwear and got caught under his butt when I pulled them off. The snap was it breaking! -and popping him in God-only-knows-where

So…. here I sit. Wondering if I have scarred my child for life. What if he develops a kinky fetish? Or worse? What if he develops a phobia? What if he ends up being that weird guy that never lets a girl take his pants off?

Oh my word, what have I done???

A post in which I actually DON’T complain about Germany

I complain about things here. A lot. I know.

But it really isn’t all bad news bears here in the land of beer and pretzels. I mean, this is the home of the Biergarten. Where in July you can enjoy a refreshing beverage of your choice outside on a bench with your friends and not sweat to death.

So, I’d like to take a moment to brag a bit on one of the lovelier things here in Germany: the affordability of healthcare in this country. I don’t often get too political here on my blog, but I do have to commend Germany’s government and the healthcare system in general. The healthcare system in the US was, and sadly, still is broken. I think it’s only going to get more broken until some sort of French Revolution style revolt occurs with CEOs of insurance firms being guillotined in Times Square. I won’t lie, or hide my views. I am much more liberal than most of my friends and family. That’s ok, we all get along. I don’t stand up on my soapbox all the time. But I would like to highlight some of the positive things in Germany, so here’s my story:

My first pregnancy, I was unmarried and on a tight budget- I had just quit my job to go to nursing school. Now you an cast all sorts of judgement on me for having an unplanned, out-of-wedlock baby. All I can say about that, is that I really don’t care what your opinion of it is. It was what it was. And like a lot of things in my life, I figured I’d just struggle through it and somehow make it work. My first doctor’s appointment I was given pamphlets and lots of information. I was also given a sheet that said about how much it was going to cost. It was in the thousands, and that was just the costs from my doctors clinic. That didn’t include the hospital costs or costs for an extra special circumstance type things. It said to contact my insurance company and to find out exactly what was covered and to set up a payment plan. It was like a warning, they didn’t want you to freak out at the last minute with a huge scary bill.

A week later, I got a letter from my insurance company informing me that my COBRA payments would be upwards of $500 a month. Yeah, that was going to happen. So I did something that was painful to my pride: I signed up for Medicaid. I justified it by telling myself that I had paid into the system in the years prior when I was working, but still I felt a bit sick in my stomach.I wasn’t alone, people in all sorts of health predicaments face this same struggle and anxiety. The person with the chronic illness who got laid off, couldn’t get coverage for treatment with their new insurance because of their “pre-existing condition”. Or people reaching “lifetime” limits because a for profit corporation put a price tag on a person’s worth. Or hospitals charging $10 for 1 Tylenol. I just think it’s all a bit ridiculous.

I was actually very lucky. Louisiana was set up that all pregnant women without insurance could get on Medicaid if they needed to. And I could do it online without anyone seeing or judging me. I just thank God that I had an excellent doctor who truly cared about me and didn’t care that I was (temporarily) on Medicaid. He made sure that I got great care and never skimped on anything.

Flash forward 4 years and a different continent. I now have very good private insurance. But we only have a private policy because Armin is a government employee. Since they pay their employees well, employees are expected to contribute out of pocket. Most people in Germany are on one of the public systems. Want to know what we all have in common? We don’t really worry about healthcare costs. Public insurance people pay a flat fee each time they go to the doctor. We get our bill and then pay the doctor ourselves. The we send everything to our insurance company and get reimbursed. So I have an idea of how much things cost.

A few weeks ago, I had a bit of bleeding one Saturday morning. I wasn’t worried, as I know it’s not uncommon in pregnancy, it wasn’t a lot, and I’d had it once or twice with the first pregnancy. But that night I was standing in the kitchen and felt a bit of pain low in my abdomen. I sat down for a bit, the pain stayed. I decided that it was probably nothing, but I should see a doctor, just in case. (Who does that in the US?) So I drove myself to the hospital, told them what was happening and was taken into an exam room. The doctor asked if I had taken anything for the pain. I said no, she left the room and returned with a packet of pills. She gave me 2 and a glass of water. She asked if I had these pills at home. I said no, I didn’t even know what they were. She gave me the rest of the packet and told me I could take them home. They were over-the-counter meds, but her giving me the extras meant I didn’t have to drive to the one open pharmacy that night. She did an ultrasound and assured me that all was well with the little one. She said I probably had the over-exerted myself and I was given directions to go home and rest.

The next week the bill came, and as I opened it Armin grumbled about how much it probably cost for a late night weekend visit to the ER. Who wants to guess how much the total was? Seriously, take a wild guess. ER visit + Ultrasound = 100 € They didn’t even charge for the pills she gave me. Now, if you aren’t familiar, 100 € is about $130. So yeah, the whole ER visit was less than 1 Ultrasound in the US.

 

I won’t say the ACA is great. I see that it has flaws and that it has actually caused more problems for some people. But I think the idea that people can access medical care when they need it and not stay up all night worrying how to pay for it is great. I have a lot of things to worry about- I have a child, an elderly dog, a marriage that requires the normal amount of work and care. But I don’t have to worry about my health or that of my family. We can afford it, and while the culture and customs may be different, I don’t fee that the medical care here is lacking in quality. My sincere hope is that the US can figure out a way to bring this peace of mind to its people.

Bugging Out

I am not adapting well these days.

 

Ugh. Some cultural differences are easy to just get over. Some are not. Where I come from, if there’s a bug or a rodent in the house, you get rid of it. Or you call a guy and he gets rid of it. Or he comes and sprays something that probably will someday kill him, too, but then all the little unwanted things are dead and you forget to worry about the exterminator’s health.

But. Here. Here in this godforsaken hell-hole of a bunch of nature-loving freaks….

Oh mah gawd. GAAAHHHHH!!!!!!! We have spiders in the garage the size of my palm– OK, not that big more like O’s palm- larger than anything I am comfortable with. My husband argues “they aren’t poisonous”. Well, no, technically, they are venomous, not poisonous. And maybe, as he says, they rarely bite people. (I don’t believe that he’s never been bit by one because he doesn’t pay that much attention to what’s going on around him or even on his body and he probably wouldn’t have noticed it was a spider bite just a red itchy spot that went away after some time.) But this guy proves they can bite and it will hurt, even if you won’t die from it. Ick. But Germans still seem to embrace these disgusting things.

 

Now, moving on to to other lawfully protected species. Wasps. Did you know that in Germany you aren’t supposed to kill a wasp’s nest?

Wait, whut?

 

Are you serious? Are you freaking kidding me? They are F—ing WASPS for crying out loud. And they have nested in the rolling shudders on O’s window. Our landlord told us to just roll the shudders up and down a lot and hope they go away on their own. You know what that does? Pisses them off. Like, a lot.

I do not understand Germans. Wasps serve no purpose in life other than to screw things up. They kill bees. Don’t you freaking hippies know that there’s a bee shortage in the world right now???? Kill the wasps. Oh, but no. If you google it in German, you’ll find on every forum where someone needs to get rid of a nest that “wasps are important predators in our ecosystem and it would be a shame to kill them”. Well, guess what. They never ate the damn aphids that killed my cilantro, so they really serve no important purpose in my ecosystem.

 

This is what my life has come to. I am seriously losing my shit over insects. And my husband could care less. Being so intellectually evolved and all, he has no caveman instincts to protect his cave. Grrrr…..

If they weren’t in the bleeping wall of O’s room, I’d go all redneck and fashion a makeshift blowtorch and burn their nest to nothingness. As it is, I’m going to put on something low-cut and flirt with the fire department. Internet rumors say they “might” help you if you can prove that the wasps are a danger or if the nest is too close to where children are. Let’s just hope they don’t tell me to just keep his window shut…

 

Adaptable Mamma is expanding!

No, I’m not going to start doing podcasts. I mean, I am literally expanding. My pants don’t fit anymore. I can only wear the half of my shirts that are flowy and baggy and the slim-fitting ones have been packed away in a box. But its good growth. Because it’s not just me growing, but our whole family!

Coming December 27, 2014! (or really, whenever it’s ready- we know how babies are)

That’s right, folks! I wasn’t crazy enough cooking and cleaning up after my two boys. Cutting the dog’s thyroid and blood pressure pills into quarters and eighths wasn’t time consuming enough. Teaching a course that has no book and making my own curriculum and materials up as I go was getting to be too easy. We’re adding another family member to the family!

I am both excited and terrified. Hmm… much like the last time I was pregnant. I guess all pregnancies are both different and the same. I’ve already been pregnant and given birth in the US with a doctor I adored (I still recommend people to him that say they don’t like their doctor). This time I’m getting the German experience which is a little bit different. Ok, probably a lotta bit different. Let’s just hope my labor lasts long enough for the drive to Tübingen, so I can maybe have doctors who understand some English around…