Category Archives: Parenting

The myth of the Baby Jogger

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Once upon a time, a woman who considered herself a runner became pregnant. She and her husband were excited in all the usual ways a newly-pregnant couple are excited (in other words, they were completely naive and clueless).

And they, like all newly-pregnant couples, began to buy things. Not a ton of things (in their minds anyway), but things that were considered “necessary.” A car seat, for example, which you cannot even leave the hospital without having installed (this was not a bus-going kind of couple). Top of the list, like all newly-pregnant couples, was The Perfect Stroller.

The runner/newly-pregnant woman was already envisioning long, leisurely jogs around Songsvann lake with her blessed child peacefully asleep in his or her jogging stroller. She researched and read reports and talked to other runners online, until finally – to the great relief of her husband and Albeebaby.com – a decision was made.

Fast forward 18 months later, and you’ll find this same woman sweating and cursing at this originally-beloved jogging stroller as they struggle up a ginormous hill in Gran Canaria. It’s not because of the stroller, which is lightweight and manageable and blah, blah, blah all things a good jogging stroller should be. It’s because jogging strollers – although brilliant in concept – are a load of BS in reality.

Here’s why:

1. You can’t use your jogging stroller for actual jogging until your baby can sit upright and hold it’s head steady. Makes sense, of course, but by that time your miniature companion is most likely a 20-pound weight in the saddle. Get the most lightweight model on the market, you’re still pushing around a pretty hefty meatloaf. It makes running on even the slightest incline very difficult.

2. By the time you can run again after the delivery of said meatloaf, you’re going to really, really miss the old days. Your body will jiggle like it never did before, and in places you never really imagined. I’m not talking about just a pair of saggy boobs, either – those can be held in place with some magnetic force fields and a good running bra. I’m talking about those nether-lands that began to drip, drip, drip… ever since you got pregnant and still haven’t stopped. Nature’s laughing at you, my post-partum friend, and the baby jogger ain’t gonna make that one bit easier to bear.

3. The best part of running, in my mind, was always to get away from it all. Not to bring it with me, for heaven’s sake! So imagine you’re finally back in your running game and finding your stride again. This is the perfect opportunity to leave the baby at home with pappa, and go out on your own. It took me four months after Per Christian was born to actually take a few minutes to myself for a run around the neighborhood (which, let’s face it, was more a walk/jog at that point). I was so happy, I honestly cried mid-stride. No joke.

So forget about finding the perfect baby jogger to take them with you on your runs – instead, force your partner to get fat and out of shape for the next nine months while you enjoy some time off (quid pro quo, my friend…).

Don’t get me wrong, I do love my jogging stroller as a stroller in general – it has a great canopy for the Canary sunshine, it reclines back when Per Christian wants to nap (ha! as if…), and it has an ample basket underneath for when mommy & pappa take their Prosecco to the park. But there isn’t a jogging stroller in the world that makes it better than going out and running on my own.

So, for the meantime, pappa gets to put on a bit of weight while mommy gets out for her runs. The way I see it, he can complain about it only after his nether-lands start dripping…

Big barnehagen decisions…

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The “barnehagen” in Norway is like daycare or nursery school in the US, except that it’s free for everyone (via our enormous tax dollars). But although you’re technically guaranteed a barnehagen placement by law, I’ve heard too many woeful tales to believe it. For example, you might get your place as promised, but it’s in a school across town from where you work, or you have two siblings in two separate schools at opposite ends of the city. Or you can have your place, but only beginning in August whereas your maternity period ends in February, thereby leaving you stranded for six months. The theory is great, but it sometimes falls apart in practice.

On the other hand, I love the concept because of the below photos – this is what you see around Oslo on a daily basis in good weather (and sometimes in rain… remember that there’s no bad weather in Norway, only bad clothing and lots of skoposer).

The Norwegian barnehagen lifestyle is unique because the kids are always out and about. No worries about liability or other nonsense you would have at home, they’re all dressed in florescent vests and out they go. I’ve seen them in the parks, walking down the sidewalk and overtaking the public trams and metros. Loud, rambunctious and lively without anyone complaining – how good it is to be a kid in Norway!

Now that Per Christian is reaching his first birthday, we’re looking for a similar environment down here in southern Canaria. There is a Norwegian barnehagen practically opposite Per’s hotel, which is a great option. It’s filled with Norwegian children and teachers, so I’m sure he’d feel right at home. It seems normal enough – toys around the room and someone keeping a close eye on the kids. It’s clean, convenient, has space available and is in our price range. Simple decision, right?

Not so much.

Yesterday I visited another option, one that I described to Per as the “Cadillac of barnehagens.” It’s a 20 minute drive from our house to the town of Maspalomas, and wow – it was impressive. A big open space with children as young as three months and as old as three years from all over Europe, including Norway, UK, Finland, Germany and Spain. The working language is Spanish, but they do teach some English and German songs when they’re in the oldest 3-year group.

Per Christian was taken to the “La Luna” playroom for children under one year while I had my tour of the school. When we came back 20 minutes later, he was staggering across the floor in one of those baby walkers (which we don’t have at home), sharing a toy with another boy in the group and looking at me with the hugest smile. In typical Marguerite fashion, I did a very poor job of hiding my tears. (I can’t even blame this on post-pregnancy hormones anymore, I’m truthfully just a bucket of emotions wherever my son in concerned.)

So this option is also nice, they have space available, it’s in our price range, but it is not convenient. I know my mind is already made up though, I noticed it as soon as Per started questioning the school last night and I kept defending it even though I’d only spent one hour there during the day. My gut says this is the best place for Per Christian, but it really makes no logical sense since our perfectly good Norwegian option is right around the corner.

It’s kind of like the car decision we made last year – we ended up going for what we wanted even though it wasn’t necessarily the smartest choice. For better or for worse, this is a typical Svendsen family decision.making trait. I guess we haven’t suffered too badly from it in the past, but should we allow it to guide our big barnehagen decision as well?

Baby travel tips

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Per Christian just passed nine months. During my usual routine of overly-emotional reflection, I realized that this kid has traveled more in his first nine months than I did my entire life before college.

Wow. The times, they are a-changin’!

That’s a lot of airline miles and a lot of lessons learned the hard way. I decided that – finally! – perhaps I do actually have a bit of baby-related wisdom to share.

So I started a new page of this blog to document some advice, entitled “Baby travel: Tips for Survival.” My hope is that other tried & true parents more experienced than myself can add to the list with your own insights. Maybe it’ll be helpful to someone in the blogosphere world or maybe not – either way it’s public information now.

With that, I leave you with the latest milestone achieved here in the Svendsen household (please ignore the trash bags in the background, it was New Year’s day so mommy & pappa had a lazy prosecco morning….):

Ta da!!!! He’s so proud of himself….

 

Cleaning out the cobwebs

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I suppose everyone disappears over the holidays, and this blog was no exception. My apologies to those readers sitting on the edge of their chairs, eagerly anticipating blog updates. If you do indeed exist, please forgive my absence.

I was traveling with our meatloaf from December 3 until the 28th, a trip that included Ireland, South Carolina and finally Disney World. (… admit it – you’re all picturing a crazy bag lady at the airport, holding up security lines with a stale meatloaf wrapped in saran wrap and mumbling incoherently…)

It was a great holiday in many ways, most of all because our little Per Christian got to meet and play with his cousins for the first time. He spent intense hours examining the inner workings of the laundry room with his cousin Thomas, and he finally discovered someone that spoke his own language with my niece, Emily. (Mommy of course stood on the sidelines with overly-emotional tears in her eyes, which is about normal these days.)

We then returned to the Island and had a quiet New Year’s Eve with multiple bottles of bubbly. Too many bottles actually, but that’s about normal these days as well.

We did our usual year-end reflection as the fireworks went off, recalling all the good times in the year that brought us our son. And I realized – selfishly, of course – that I am so happy that 2011 is over. This was a hard year, folks, the hardest of my life. I won’t lie to you, there were days (and looooong nights) when I wished I could jump ship and run away. I am self-admittedly NOT a baby person; I do much better with someone I can boss around and who does what I want. I love my son beyond belief, but I do not miss those early baby days for one second. And I’m leaving them all in the past with the turning of the clock.

2012 will be the year I get myself back. This will be the year that Per Christian takes his first steps, spends his first day in the kindergarten and celebrates his first birthday. I’ve paid my dues and gotten him this far, now I get to sit back (relatively speaking, of course) and watch him grow. This is the year I get to figure out what the f#$@ to do with myself here in Gran Canaria, the year I get my body back into pre-baby shape, and the year I can put myself first for the first time in over 18 months (relatively speaking, of course…).

So good riddance 2011! You brought me the best of times and the worst of times. Now I’m ready to re-even the score.

Enjoy the photos below from our holiday travels. I wish everyone a happy 2012!

The maybe game

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Are you still looking for the perfect holiday gift for new parents? Or are you a new parent yourself and looking for ways to entertain you and your partner over the holiday season? (Because – let’s face it – your childless friends will be out on the town, but you will absolutely be home alone with a baby and multiple bottles of bubbly…)

Then I recommend this year’s hottest new item – The Maybe Game (designed exclusively for P&P fans worldwide). This exciting mystery puzzle takes a modern spin on the age-old activity of trying to guess what the f* is wrong with your kid.

To play this game, simply gather a group of parents around the table and select a card from one of the decks labeled “Sleepless Nights,” Mysterious Crying,” or “Parental Karma.” Read the situation on the back of the card and discuss. At length. And repeatedly.

Example #1:

You select a card from the Mysterious Crying deck that reads:

“Your baby is crying.
Maybe it is gas.
Maybe it is hunger.
Maybe it is tiredness.
What do you do?”

At this point, you and your partner sit on opposite sides of the table and discuss possible solutions ad naseum.

Winners do not exist because there are in fact no correct answers. (What – you thought you had the answers?! HA! You over-confident schmuck, you must go directly to the Jailhouse of Dirty Diapers for the next three turns. Do not pass Go and definitely do not look at your partner for assistance.)

Example #2:

You select a card from the Parental Karma deck that reads:

Your baby slept like an angel on your cross-country flight to grandmother’s house.
You should therefore expect either:
A. Continued angelic behavior
B. Total meltdown

(Hint – the answer is not A.)

The Maybe Game never ends. Repeat the same cards in another 20 minutes and enjoy all the fun you have trying to figure them out the second time. The possibilities are endless!

Recommended Players: 2 or more (partial ownership of at least child is required in order to participate)

Time Required: 30+ years

Goal: Survival

Give the perfect gift to all the dazed and confused parents on your list this year!

While the cat’s away

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Per is out of town.

Mommy is home alone, drinking a local Rioja and typing.

A potentially lethal combination.

This is my most recent life in the paradise isle of Gran Canaria – put the Golden Child to bed at 18.00 and face the night alone. You’re in paradise, but you’re still a Single Parent for the evening. So you can’t actually go out anywhere. All you can do is open up the wine, heat up the frozen Ristorante pizza and entertain yourself.

Oh – and a bit later, after I’ve procured myself a fabulous little red wine buzz, I’m going to make this fabulous little minty peas recipe for Per Christian…. Seriously, this child doesn’t even know how blessed he is.

If this all sounds a bit pathetic and boring, then you don’t have a baby and you’re just plain wrong.

I just finished reading Thor Heyerdahl’s In the Footsteps of Adam. If you don’t know about good ol’ Thor, imagine a 20th-century reincarnated Viking, sailing on a wooden raft for 101 days from Peru to Polynesia. A modern-day Science Fair experiment to prove that his theory of migration was right and others were wrong. It’s all depicted in his book and also in the Kon-Tiki museum in Oslo (which is one of only three museums I visited in the entire two years I lived there, all of which were under the duress of visiting friends & relatives).

(As a cultural disclaimer, I did actually go to the National Gallery the first week we moved to Oslo, so I’m not a total schmuck. I’m just a bad tourist, preferring coffee shops and boutiques to museums and walking tours.)

So in his book, Mr. Heyerdahl writes about his many adventures over the years and totally boring life experiences like comparing the quality of local goat’s milk with Fidel Castro in Cuba. Amid all of that, there’s a great quote that I highlighted and dog-eared, specifically because it applied to my life at the moment:

“Those who have found paradise have found it within themselves. Everything I had seen and read had taught me that paradise and hell do not have separate locations on this planet. They are always in the same place, and one cannot simply avoid one by moving away. The two turn up like inseparable companions, no matter how far you have traveled.”

Being an Oxford-MBA graduate and semi-skilled mother has been a bit of a rough blend these past seven months. Now we’ve moved to Gran Canaria for Per’s work, and everyone expects it to be paradise for the entire family. But the truth is, it doesn’t matter where the map places you at one particular moment in time. A new move and new town don’t change the fact that I’m still floundering, still unsure, and still semi-skilled.

And yet, in the midst of that floundering, there are some small snatches of Thor’s paradise in my daily life. I feel them intensely; I breathe them in and hope they are imprinted upon my brain for when I lose my short-term memory in 30 years and only have these moments to remember.

My son is struggling so intensely to get up on his feet, and I’m so moved by his independent effort that I simultaneously cheer him on and shed a tear.

He is unbearably cranky by the time his bath and bottle are finished every day, but then he nestles his head into my shoulder for just that second, and it’s glorious.

He’s been waking at 6am recently for whatever unknown reason, but my grumpiness fades into the background when I go into his room and he literally bounces in his bed from excitement at seeing mommy in the morning.

These are my mini-snatches of paradise each day, and I treasure them. The rest of the time, I’m just a semi-skilled mommy and Single Parent trying to do her best.

So yes, I’m drinking red wine and making minty peas for my sleeping baby upstairs.

It’s my own modern-day version of paradise on Gran Canaria.

Thanks Thor.

CFM

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I have a certain personality trait that everyone around me has always known. Everyone except myself, that is, until recently.

I’m a 100% type-A outta-control Control Freak.

That’s me. And, as I repeat daily to my husband, you have to love ALL of me…

So all you punks out there reading this and thinking “duh…..,” I have to admit that this really is a recent revelation for me. Maybe part of me still imagined myself barefoot in the rain at yoga camp. Or maybe since I’ve lived in six countries over the last 12 years I still imaged myself as some peaceful vagabond hippie-type. Or maybe since my hair is curly I thought my personality naturally followed suit.

But then I became a mommy, and all those assumptions came smack up against reality. Because the truth is, when it comes right down to it, I much rather prefer order, precision and cleanliness to spontaneity and clutter.

This is not necessarily a desirable trait for a mother of a seven-month-old baby boy.

I really do wish I were one of those ultra-cool, ultra-relaxed Earth mommies I see everywhere, sipping coffee calmly in the café while their little angels sleep soundly in their strollers. But that’s just not been my experience thus far. For better or for worse, I’m the mommy giving her little one his bottles at precisely 08.00, 12.00 and 18.00, plus feeding him puréed fruit/veg/porridge mush at precisely 09.00, 13.00 and 16.00.

If we’re late, I get nervous. If Per Christian is still sleeping, I start pacing the floors. If we’re out and about and there’s no suitable feeding area nearby, I start to panic. I literally start to crawl out of my skin when a feeding time approaches and something gets in the way.

Per Christian probably couldn’t care less – I’ve never once heard this kid cry out of hunger, even when he was a newborn. I always jumped up and popped him onto my boob before we got to an actual cry. In fact, I don’t even know what his “hunger cry” sounds like.

So now – picture this Control Freak Mommy in a foreign country on her first major pantry-stocking shopping trip. This is an always an important event in any country you move to, both as an interesting adventure to see what new goodies might be available and, at the same time, as a potential nightmare if you are a CFM like me.

Imagine this scenario…. I’ve been advised to start PC on chicken and fish at 7 months of age. That’s in two days. Not before, not after (see how the CFM already rears her ugly head???).

So we’re at the ginormous Carrefour in Canary and I’m looking for boneless chicken breasts for his first real meat-lovers meal. It’s getting close to 16.00 (see timetable above), we still have 17 aisles of grocery store madness to cover, and I can’t find the f*cking chicken breasts.

I start to panic.

I’m thinking: “My son needs to start eating chicken in exactly two days and I can’t find the right stuff. I’m a horrible mother!!! I can’t feed my son properly!!! He will remember pangs of hunger caused by lack of chicken in his diet, and he’ll have to cope with his mother’s negligence during his therapy sessions in 20 years!”

Of course, I couldn’t actually vocalize all of that intelligently in the middle of Carrefour. So what I did instead was give my husband the shock of his life when he turned around in the deli section and confronted a CFM rocking back and forth with a tear-stained and utterly distressed look on her face.

I’m not kidding, folks. I cried over chicken breasts.

I’m so lucky to have the husband I have because he immediately hugged me, discovered the trigger point of my CFM madness, and made me see the humor in the entire situation.

And then we both laughed, and we did actually find the chicken breasts.

On the way home, I realized I might potentially be a 100% type-A outta-control Control Freak. Or maybe I’m just a a mother of a seven-month-old baby boy.

You decide.

Punks.

Taking stock

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There’s something about the process of moving that makes me a bit reflective – it’s excitement with a side order of nostalgia. We always put together inventory lists for the movers, and that forces you to take stock of what you have and what you’ve gathered/accumulated/produced since the last move. Our upcoming move to Gran Canaria is no different.

I’ve been moving every 2-3 years ever since my first journey to Russia back in 1999. If I had actually kept all those inventory lists over the years, they would probably look something like this:

We have yet to finalize our inventory list this time around, but here’s what I’ve put together so far:

What do you think – am I missing anything?

Mission impossible

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Mission for the day:
1. Leave house
2. Buy new jeans
3. Buy sugar

Plan of attack:
12.00     Wake, feed and dress PC
12.15     Depart home
14.00     Return home

 What happened in reality:

11.30     Baby starts stirring in bed. Mommy gets herself dressed and food packed so everyone’s ready to leave.

11.40     Baby wakes, is dressed for the day and hangs out a bit with Mommy.

11.45     Baby spits up apple-avocado breakfast on his clothes.

Oh s***… Maybe damage isn’t too bad. I think we can get away without another costume change.

12.00     Baby gets his bottle (see here for why we’re not breastfeeding anymore).
Baby doesn’t burp, decides instead to vomit all over Mommy.

Oh s***. Can’t go out like this. Mommy rushes to change clothes while PC chills in the crib.

12.05     Mommy is dressed and ready to go again. 
Baby is dressed in hat and coat (amid piercing screams on his part).
Unmistakable smell of dirty diaper-ness reaches Mommy’s nose.

Oh s***. Can’t take him out like this. Might as well change his apple-avocado pants while we’re at it.

12.10     Diaper off but trashcan out of liners. 
Mommy replaces liners while Baby chills on the changing table (diaper-less)
Mommy feels drops of liquid on her head, looks up, receives well-placed shot of baby urine in the eyeball.

Oh s***. Are you kidding me?!?!

12.15     Mommy dries off face, hair and changing table, takes a deep breath and wishes Pappa weren’t out of town.

12.20     Diaper pail re-lined, Baby re-diapered and re-dressed in non-apple-avocado-covered pants.

12.30     Assorted keys, phones, wallets, food containers, bottles, burp cloths and other baby paraphernalia gathered. We’re out the door.

Oh s***. It’s raining. How did I not know that?!

12.32     Family returns inside for stroller’s rain cover. Cover attached and we’re out the door again.

Final result:
Comedy of errors continued throughout the day, leaving mother and son to return home at 14.00 without either the jeans or the sugar in hand.

Six months and counting!

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Okay great big world, today’s my half-birthday and it’s time for another status check. If you missed my first update at one month old, check it out here. So much has happened since then!

  • Eating – check!… I’ve rapidly expanded my repertoire to include apples, bananas, apricots, avocados, carrots, sweet potatoes, butternut squash, beets and – 
    my most favorite of all – pears!     (Editor’s note – he’s not kidding folks, pears really are his favorite and he screams bloody murder if mommy gets distracted and doesn’t shovel them in fast enough.)
  • Pooping – check!… I continue to set records in the Dirty Diaper category of baby-hood. What goes in must come out, much to mommy’s nasal dismay.
  • Sleeping – check!… Mommy keeps thanking someone named Jesus for my sleeping from 6pm-7am every night. I’m not sure what he’s got to do with it since I’m doing all the work. 
  • Playing – check!… I’m discovering some new friends in the neighborhood and have a not-so-secret crush on this little brown-eyed girl named Nina. What a hottie!
  • Ut på tur – check!… I love my trips in the great outdoors with mommy. I hear we’re moving to a warmer climate soon, just in time to get rid of these annoying hats and put my baby swimming skills to the test!
  • Entertaining – check!… I am a Svendsen after all, and just like my parents I love me a glass of prosecco. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, so they say…. 
  • Being adorable – double check!… I’ve inherited mommy’s giggle and love to put it on display for everyone’s amusement.

Coming attractions include sitting up, continued exploration of my toes, stage two foods and higher degrees of baby babbling.

Happy half-birthday to me!