Sunday 31 January 2010

Suck and Awe - by Theo

I'm utterly in awe of Kate.

Despite still being in pain from the cesarian and having a daughter too small to properly breastfeed, Kate's determination and perseverance has just left me stunned and even more amazed than ever by this wonderful woman I've married. She's never given up, despite the frustrations and emotionally draining moments as she's tried to get Rosie to breastfeed. Being under-weight it's been even more important than normal for Rosie to feed well and we're on a strict regimen of feeds every 2.5 hours round the clock - breastfeeding supplemented by a bottle feed. As Rosie is such a slow drinker the whole process takes nearly an hour, leaving Kate barely anytime in between to rest, even if I do the bottle-feed and inevitable nappy change that follows. As if that wasn't enough, Kate has been determined that as many as the bottlefeeds as possible should be with breastmilk, in order to give Rosie the best possible diet and to stimulate her own milk supply. Thus Kate has been diligently expressing with a hand-pump in the little time she has to herself.

I'm making myself frantic with housework in an effort to over-compensate, but really nothing I can do can come close to the love and dedication of my wife towards our daughter.

Saturday 30 January 2010

a comic idea

No, not a funny one, just an idea for a comic, possibly along the lines of the "Bunny Suicides" strip. "One handed Dad" it could be called. It would feature a 'super' Dad, able to do all manner of things one-handed, while with the other hand he fed, cradled or changed his baby. We'd start with relatively straightforward things - changing a tyre or cooking a meal for six - to more ridiculous things - bringing peace to the middle east or saving a penalty.

This all came about when Kate remarked on my ability to tidy away after changing Rosie's nappy after a particularly epic poo - it was like she'd emptied an entire jar of marmite in there - while cradling her in one arm. I'd got pretty good at nappy changing while we were at the hospital, but I'm going to have to rehone my skills now we're home as we're switching to washable nappies, which are comically huge on Rosie's tiny frame.

Friday 29 January 2010

thank heaven for little girls...

... and slings.

The sling my parents kindly bought us for Christmas has been our salvation so far, as Rosie isn't usually happy sleeping in her cot (especially not at night) but will sleep in a sling, which allows whoever is wearing her (we're doing it in shifts overnight) to get some kind of, well, not sleep exactly, but something approaching rest. Rosie starts, moves and chirrups a lot during sleep, which is very endearing, but having her tugging on my chest hair while burbling doesn't help me get much rest!

The other advantage of the sling is that Kate is able to breastfeed her while wearing it. Rosie has been a bit slow to take to the boob - she tends to give a couple of sucks then fall asleep! - so perseverance has been called for and I'm just in awe of Kate's patience and determination. Things are looking brighter on that front and she had a really good feed this morning. If she carries on putting on weight then hopefully the nurses will let Kate and Rosie come home on Sunday or Monday. Meanwhile I'm shuttling between home, hospital and various offices trying to get the requisite paperwork sorted, and resenting the time I'm having to spend away from my girls. Though I do need it. Despite the fact that there is a spare bed in the room at the Hospital I'm not allowed to use it, so for the past two nights I've been "sleeping" in a reclining chair. I'm also not allowed to use the bathroom there, so I've definitely needed to come home to shower , shave and siesta - a tired and smelly husband/father is no good to anyone!

Tuesday 26 January 2010

Rosie's first day

I woke up at 7.30 this morning. I hadn't really slept, I'd been so shocked and nervous and I felt faintly sick as a dragged myself into the shower. I hastily ate breakfast and then phoned around immediate family before jumping on a packed Metro up to Hospital La Paz.

After last night's experience of being told I couldn't go in at every turn I was fully psyched up for a good row with some nurses but I was hardly opposed - the receptionist told me the room number and I went straight in to find a happy, if slightly sore Kate cuddling our daughter Rosie.



Like me Kate hadn't really slept but she seemed happy enough. I was amazed at her resilience considering what she'd been through, and indeed she was up and moving about a bit by the end of the day. It felt so good for all three of us to be together, and we spent most of the day just sitting, talking quietly and taking it turns to hold her. She's such a miracle and I can't explain how I feel. This blog post is horrendously inadequate in that sense!


As she was over 3 weeks early she's quite small - just 2.3kgs - and has spent most of the day sleeping and making small snuffling noises. She was wheeled off to be checked over by pediatricians a couple of times, but they seem satisfied with her. Breastfeeding, however, has not been straightforward, though she seemed to be starting to get the hang of it and is being incredibly patient and persevering. I'm just in awe.

Kate and Rosie are sharing a room with a Spanish woman and her son, Martin, born by Caesarian on Sunday. She and her various visitors have been very helpful, explaining things to us and so on. We have been inundated with phone and messages from well-wishers, plus Rosie's first visitor - Cesar, bearing flowers, which was a very welcome surprise. So may people have phoned to offer any help we need, which has actually just added to my general feeling of "I don't know what I need! what should I be doing?" I'm off work for the week - what a great boss we have - but I don't really know what I should be doing apart from trying to anticipate Kate's comforts (hence tomorrow's shopping mission - big, comfy knickers a la Bridget Jones). Folks, as soon as we work out what we need, we'll let you know!!

Kate's sent me home - I did offer to stay and sleep in the chair, but she said I needed to sleep. She's right - god knows we won't be doing much of that in the months to come!

Our daughter - by Theo

Our daughter is here. I can't believe it. I'm utterly shocked. Yo no creo. She's about a month early - we'd been expecting here on Feb 21st, but yet here she is. It's all so sudden. She's beautiful, and I feel angry and hurt that I can't be with her and Kate - the hospital has ordered me home.

Kate was out when I got back from work at 9.30pm, so I started to do some marking. She got back about 15 minutes later and by the wheezing sounds she was making it was clear something was wrong. She'd been having contractions, though she thought they might be Braxton Hicks contractions and not the beginning of actual labour. She went to the loo and I went to make her some tea, which she never got to drink. There was some blood. We did what we always do when we're in a situation in Madrid and we don't know what to do - we called Cesar. He ordered us to go to the hospital. We'd known that was the case but it helped us to have somebody say it out loud. I hastily packed bags, trying to anticipate everything - false alarm, long wait, tests or indeed long labour - and then helped Kate to the car.

We made it to La Paz just about - tricky trying to find the right exit off the M-30 - and into the Urgencias Maternales entrance of the Hospital. After a quick chat with a doctor I was sent to register Kate at the reception only to discover I wasn't then allowed back to where they were examining Kate, as it was women-only. I had an anxious wait in a drafty reception area for about 30 minutes before somebody came out to say they would be keeping Kate in the Hospital but I could ride up with her in the lift. I was then ushered through to see her, she seemed calm and relaxed, and that was when one of the doctors told me they were going to do a Caesarian as the baby was the wrong way round. I assumed at this point that they'd told Kate, but if they had they hadn't made it clear as she didn't seem aware of why I was told to give her a kiss and wait once we'd gone up a couple of floors. Once again I had another anxious wait in a non-descript hallway, laden down with bags and thoroughly uninformed.

Thankfully another expectant father, Fernando, arrived - his wife was being wheeled in for a Caesarian as well - at 40 weeks and after induction his son still was budging. I guess Kate and I should be glad that she didn't have to go through any of that. We chatted a bit and he helped explain things a bit to me.

We heard a cry and then later, a second. After what seemed an age a little baby girl - just over 2kgs - was wheeled out, all tightly bundled up. Little Rosie Ines. She was to be taken up to the nursery while Kate is being kept in Intensive Care overnight - a standard precaution. Kate was conscious - somewhat miraculously - and I got to talk to her; she seemed understandably dazed, but OK. Us fathers - clearly extraneous in the eyes of the medical staff - where told in no uncertain terms to go home, sleep and on no account return before 10am.

On the bloody dot you can bet.

Thursday 21 January 2010

Of matrons and matronas By Kate

Our midwife rocks - and believe me, after hearing a few stories about some of the other matronas in Madrid, it's a lottery and we're quids in. Or at least, euros in.

This morning we decided to drop in on Maite to seek advice about our, erm, little episode yesterday. I was still pretty certain there was nothing to worry about, but Theo wanted to be sure. Accordingly, we toddled off to the Centro de Salud in Ciudad Lineal to catch Maite at the end of her Thursday morning posparto session. When we arrived, the room where we have our pre-natal classes was a veritable buggy park of new babies, surrounded by attendant mums, dads and grandmas. We decided to wait outside until there was a bit more parking space.

While we waited, a senior senora spotted my bump and came over to ask us all about it. She nodded approvingly when we told her we were having a girl and said girls were "blessed". She then asked if we were going to raise our daughter with "beliefs". After puzzling over the translation of that for a moment, we realised she was talking about religion. Rather than answer her directly and get into an argument which our Spanish probably wasn't up to, I told her my grandparents and mother are all Catholics. But what about me, she wanted to know? I told her I had been baptised into the Church of England. Protestant, she inquired? I affirmed that this was so. It's just as good, she replied, clearly relieved that our daughter was in with at least a chance of a Christian upbringing.

One slightly unexpected side-effect of our wait in earshot of the new baby club was my reaction to the sound of the infants crying. In the past, the main emotions I've felt when hearing a baby bawling were sympathy for the parent and (it has to be said) a certain amount of irritation at the disturbance of my peace. This time, on hearing one newborn crying in serious distress, I started feeling twitchy, as if I should get up and offer comfort, then felt helpless and upset, then became teary. A tissue was needed to mop me up and if the baby hadn't mercifully calmed down, I think I would have been in a worse state than it was. That's pregnancy hormones for you, I guess. I think it's highly likely that I will react emotionally to our own ones cries at times, especially early on - but I sure hope I get to grips with it sooner rather than later, for everyone's sake.

Eventually, the room emptied of all but two babies and their mums and (in one case) gran so we went in to wait for Maite. We chatted with the assembly about our forthcoming happy event and how they were getting on with their own newborn nippers etc., until finally Maite made her appearance. To assess who she needed to see first she asked us and the two mums what we needed from her. Theo plunged straight in and mentioned that I had been bleeding. Maite looked startled and concerned until Theo described the circumstances (I'm not ashamed to say I blushed at this point) at which, her expression relaxed and she hooted with laughter and the other mothers broke into grins.
"It's normal, nothing to worry about!" she said, while I felt my cheeks start to cool down.

But to set our minds at rest, Maite ushered us into her consulting room, bade me to bare my bump and ran the fetal cardiomonitor over it. Fosbella's heartbeat rang out loud and clear, going like the proverbial clappers - just as it should be.

"All fine, no sign of fetal distress, relax", said Maite and smiled reassuringly. Phew, then. But I resolved to go out and buy nappies later in any case - there may be a month to go, but who knows what may happen? Time to get the nest ready, methinks.

Wednesday 20 January 2010

Another bunch of pricks by Kate

And so the ante-natal medical merry-go-round continues. On Monday morning I was back at the health centre in San Blas, sans breakfast (I'm beginning to associate that place with pangs of hunger) and clutching the number 129 as the patient counter beeped its way from number 40 upwards.

Mind you, this conveyor-belt type system they operate for blood tests may be a tad impersonal, but I've got to admit it's efficient. Patients were called to the testing room in batches of five, hobbling, shuffling and waddling their way to the door of the testing room, clutching their requisite medical forms to their chests. Because I didn't have to do a glucose test (thankfully) I waited with the general melee, rather than the other embarazadas and with the help of PG Wodehouse, the time passed fairly quickly.

By now, I knew the drill, so when 129 came up I took my place in the queue and handed my form to the white-coated staff at the desk who, much to my relief, only labelled six test-tubes for blood collection - half the amount of my previous visit. Buffy The Vampire Slayer must have been in town or something.

It was all over mercifully fast and I was soon back out the door with Theo, who'd collected more appointment forms for me - fortnightly checks with the Tocologia and one to go up to Hospital La Paz for some kind of fetal heart monitoring.

Next day was pre natal class - a "gym" session this time, so Theo was left at home. Despite my lack of detailed understanding of what was said, the time passed fairly pleasantly with me and my fellow embarazadas dutifully deep-breathing our way through the various birth-helping and pregnancy-relieving exercises. As we were re-donning shoes and coats, a woman I recognised from the previous cycle of pre-natal classes came in - with her newborn twins. The thought of having one baby is a pretty huge deal - but two?! We all gazed at her in admiration - not unmixed with a little sympathy. Exciting, yes - but blimey, hard work too.

Theo and I had a bit of a moment this morning. After a lazy lie-in together (let's enjoy them while we still can!!) and some - ahem - intimate couple time together, I suddenly produced a little blood. Our initial thought was that our exertions had dislodged the mucus plug in the cervix and this was "a show" (which can be an early indicater of the onset of labour). Then Theo did a bit of internet research (not always a good idea in these situations!) and worried that it might be a sign of something more serious and bade me to make an appointment with the ever-helpful (!) Dr P. I did some further research and, given my lack of any other worrying symptoms plus the colour and amount of the discharge in question, decided it was most likely to be some harmless spotting from the cervix, whose lining becomes thinner in later pregnancy. A very common thing after you-know-what, apparently. We'll double check with our midwife tomorrow.

Anyway, one result of that mini-drama was to galvanise us into action when it came to getting some pre-baby organisation done. The baby clothes which had been shoved in a bag in the corner waiting to be washed and aired are now clean, dry and have their own dedicated drawer with another shelf set aside for nappies and other items. We've re-arranged our bedside storage (and changed sides) in readiness for the baby's "cot" (which will either be improvised from a stack of tough PVC boxes lined with sheet and blankets or will take the form of our multi-purpose baby transport system, depending on which arrangement she and we prefer). Next thing will be laying in a stock of washable nappies, sorting out a few more bits of bedding, purchasing items like breast-pads and getting the hospital bag packed.

Okay, we've still got just over a month to go before the due date, but today's little episode reminded us that it doesn't do any harm to Be Prepared. My time as a girl guide has not been wasted.

Sunday 17 January 2010

2 years - a blog top ten

It suddenly struck us that it's been more than two years now since we started this blog - the first post was on January 1st 2008 - to document the preparations for our wedding for friends and family. A lot has changed; back then we were living in Bristol, working for the BBC (Kate) and REMIX (Theo). Now, 20 countries and 2 years later here we are, married, living in Madrid, working as English teachers and expecting our first child in a matter of weeks. Wow!

Anyway, we thought we'd be ridiculously self-indulgent and mark our blog's second anniversary with that evergreen journalistic conceit, a list. A top ten of our favourite blog posts, ideal for new and occasional readers, allowing them to skip the filler and get to the standouts. So, in no particular order, here are our top ten blog posts...

1. The Wedding report
- pretty self-explanatory. Nothing written could ever really do justice to the emotions we felt and the amount of love our friends and family put in to making our day so special, but Kate's effort comes close.

2. Kate's CELTA blog - summing up our feelings about our CELTA course in Barcelona as we commenced our career as English teachers.

3. Grape-picking
- what better way to celebrate your 27th birthday the day after a 12 hour road-trip than to get up at 7 and go grape-picking?

4. Berlin - we had an amazing few days, filled with culture, history, cheap wine, old friends and a DIY near-castration.

5. Arriving in Madrid - 36 hours on the road, tired, cold, grouchy and nervous about having nowhere to stay in a city where we didn't speak the language. Then a guardian angel called Cesar called...

6. Were we romantic or what!? - the first day of our honeymoon. Straight out of a Disney movie. Yeah, maybe one scripted by Judd Apatow...

7. San Isidro celebrations - going native in our new city.

8. The first of many - Kate begins getting to grips with Spanish pre-natal care. Or perhaps it's the other way around...

9. Sunday, Slovakian style
- the beautiful villages of rural Slovakia and the... er.... colourful folk who live there...

and finally...

10. The random meetings - any self-respecting end-of-year/best-of list has to have the cop-out entry that includes references to items that didn't quite make it and thus manages to get more than 10 things on the list. This is it. If anything really made out travels special - and this blog worth reading - it was the random people we met. In Seville, Porto, Florence, Rocket, Estepona, Switzerland, Trieste, Nancy and so many other places, often leading us to stumble upon local celebrations and festivities we had no idea were taking place - Bianco Notti, graduation parades, flamenco, free opera and so on. Our trip, and our blog, wouldn't have been half as interesting without them, so this entry is for them.

Saturday 16 January 2010

Happy Birthday AnneTerese

About a month before Kate and I set off on our epic 8-month, 21-country honeymoon, we discovered Global Freeloaders. The concept of the site is simple - to put travelers in touch with like-minded people who might possibly host them in their house/flat for free thus accumulating good karma, hopefully to be repaid when the hosts themselves go traveling at a later date. It was through this website that a lovely French couple let us use their flat for two days in Nantes, while a Basque couple let us park Sheena in their drive and use their bathroom. Sadly, what with living in a campervan and then flat sharing with three others, we haven't really been in a position to host people ourselves and restore the Karmic balance. Until now...



Today is AnneTerese's Birthday and she's 23. Feliz cumpleaños! AnneTerese is from a small town in Oregon, in the USA, and this is her first trip to Spain, somewhere she has wanted to live for a while. After many plane delays she finally arrived on Tuesday night and was initially somewhat dismayed to discover that without a work permit she wouldn't be able to find an official English teaching job here - she had been misled by the TEFL course she did - and that getting a work permit would take about 2 years. However, she was not to be denied and with admirable determination AT started trawling newspapers and websites for au pair and governess work, thinking that if she could get accommodation sorted for free, then she could probably do a few private lessons on the side, to keep her hand in. She's also signed up for Vaughan Town next week to try and broaden her contacts here, as well as getting to see a bit more of Spain for free. Hers is a wonderful example of that "never-give-up" attitude we've so often come across in Americans and she's clearly a hit with the friends we've introduced her to so far. We're pretty sure she's going to fall on her feet!

Wednesday 13 January 2010

Money for nothing By Kate

Beware, all pregnant teachers - your work could damage you and your unborn child. I know this because I have been plucked from the jaws of peril by a team of Spanish bureaucrats and at times it was a close-run thing.

After acquiring the risk assessment survey, which uncovered the treacherous nature of language teaching, then the recommendation of my doctor that I should be signed off work due to the inherent dangers to myself and my developing offspring, the next step was to convince the Social Security.

The faithful Marina and I accordingly took a taxi to the Asapeyo office, the organisation set up to protect workers in Spain and prevent avoidable accidents and illness during employment. We had an impressively fat wad of bumf to take with us - my boss, already acquainted with the Spanish way of doing things was taking no chances. He'd made two copies of everything official related to me - my passport, Certificado de Registro, doctor's notes, work contract, etc. etc.

Marina and I carted all the paperwork to the office (which turned out to be at a different address to the one we'd been given, but no matter - it was only across the road) and after one redirection, made it to the desk of a young woman, who expertly sifted through all the data and separated out the stuff she needed to manage our claim.

We were both slightly taken aback to be scolded for neglecting to apply for the baja por emarazada del riesgo earlier - it seemed a bit harsh, given our combined efforts before Christmas and the third-time-lucky routine with the tough talking Dr P. The young woman told us that to ensure the baja was granted quickly, we would have to go to another office to see a further official and be assessed by the Asapeyo doctor. This, we were told, should be little more than a formality, but we must get on with it straight away.

Ignoring our grumbling stomachs (it was lunchtime, after all), we flagged another taxi to take us across town and found ourselves sitting at the desk of another official, this time a man named Jorge. He went through the sifting routine again, made a few notes and tapped something into his computer, then sent us back out to the floor receptionist.

She went through what appeared to be almost the same process, then bade us sit down for a moment. This we did until we were summoned back and told to go down two floors and wait to see the doctor on duty there.

It was a good thing Theo had slipped an emergency clementine in my bag, because I'm not sure Marina and I would have made it otherwise. We shared it and entered the lift with our strength slightly revived.

Another floor, another waiting area. After about five minutes, the doctor called us into her office and smiled kindly. What repetitive actions did I have to do in the course of my job, she wanted to know? I stood up and did a little mime of writing on the white board, feeling like I'd stumbled into a rerun of What's My Line. The doctor seemed satisfied with my performance and I was allowed to sit down again. She then asked what hours I had to work. I said around seven per day, including lesson preparation. That, apparently was enough. She told Marina and I that the fact I was often on my feet for several hours at a time was enough to categorise my situation as risky. She said she would recommend that I be signed off on that basis and that we would have the definitive answer from the Asapeyo in the next few days. She gave us the impression that this was likely to be little more than a rubber-stamping exercise. She told me she would ring me to let me know the outcome, at which I admitted I might have trouble understanding her, as my level of Spanish wasn't very high.
"That's all right, nor is my English", she said (in Spanish) - which was supposed to be reassuring, I think.

So, all being well, in the next day or two I should be officially entitled to receive 100% of my salary from the state until the day our baby is born and I start my four months maternity leave. And my boss will get a bit of help paying for my replacement, which I think he more than deserves after all his (and his wife's) efforts navigating through the swamp of Spanish bureaucracy. Possibly, they should be awarded some sort of medal as well.

In celebration of our achievement, Marina and I headed gratefully to a nearby cafe and shared a mixed salad (which we requested to have without tuna, given that I'm a vegetarian - they obliged and brought one sprinkled with cubes of ham instead) followed by French omelette and chips. I was so hungry I had practically wolfed the lot before I realised the omelette was still very runny in the middle - pregnant women are supposed to avoid undercooked eggs at all costs because of the risk of listeria. Out of the fire and into the frying pan.

Tuesday 12 January 2010

snow gone


Unlike in the UK, Sunday's snow-fall that turned Madrid into a fairytale urban landscape has gone almost as quickly as it arrived. This gave us just enough time to build a snowman (on a car bonnet so Kate didn't have to bend over!) and throw some snowballs, but like a good party guest it left before we got bored of its company and it cleaned up after itself!

Monday 11 January 2010

Maternity Leave begins - it's official - by Kate

Of course, I'm going to finish my novel, write an album's-worth of new songs, plan some English lessons, spend time with friends, prepare myself for birth and parenthood (as best I can) and nest like crazy.

So what have I done in the first few hours since Theo went off to work, leaving me alone at our flat?

Obsessively surfed social networking websites and watched the snow melt from the surrounding rooftops.

Bliss.

In the name of taking some exercise, my next mission is to heave the bump up to Calle Alcala to browse the rebajas (sales) and possibly do something vaguely useful like buy some vegetable stock cubes.

This is the life

Sunday 10 January 2010

Knives out - by Theo

Every week or so, this strange whistle rings out around the streets. It's a simple scale, descending and ascending, with a metallic tone. The other week we witnessed both the source and the rationale - a man on moped with a knife-sharpening wheels fixed on the back, the whistle intended to summon, Pied Piper-like, wives with their knives from the surrounding buildings.


It's a wonderfully idiosyncratic niche that he fills in the barrio's social and economic life and, while we've got a perfectly good knife-sharpener in our kitchen, it always brings a smile to our faces to know little trades and traditions still continue in this otherwise ultra-modern capital.

Saturday 9 January 2010

Dangerous Peacetime Jobs - by Kate

I always thought fishing was the most dangerous peace-time job you could do, with construction, operation of heavy machinery and work on oil-rigs all in the top ten. Turns out teaching in a small language school in central Madrid is up there too - or at least if you happen to be pregnant.

I mentioned in an earlier post that my boss and I had been quite amazed by just how hazardous my teaching activities are judged to be by Spain's health and safety people. A report he commissioned ran into several pages and basically left us with the impression that danger lurks in every corner, from toxic chemicals (photocopier), radiation (computers), biological contamination (my students) to exhaustion and acute skeletal stress (from standing up for too long). Basically, the place is a death-trap and the sooner I get out of there, the better for me and my bump.

As previously stated, our family Dr, the genial (!) Dr Paniagua had pooh-poohed our request that I be signed off work because of risk and had demanded a second opinion on that. Because we can't see an obstetrician until Jan 19th at the earliest, that second opinion is proving hard to provide. But my boss needs me to stop work now (apart from stepping in to help cover classes because of snow-bound teachers on Thursday - three classes with a total of three students. Not too risky.) so at the very least I need a baja del medico so I can receive some money while we await the outcome of the embarazada del riesgo business.

So off we toddle to see dear Dr P again, this time without Marina, but with the health and safety report and its recommendations that I give the school a wide berth and presumably be wrapped in cotton wool somewhere out of harm's way until my contractions start. Seeing all this in black and white had the desired effect on Dr P, where no amount of impassioned pleading by Marina had produced results. She read the result of the assessment, asked us if therefore we needed a baja por embarazada del riesgo and at our assent, marched off to get the correct forms, signed, dated and stamped them, before giving us three copies with the instructions to take them to a special social security office to complete the process.

We were slightly thrown by how easily our goal had been achieved. I am now officially at risk and considering the dangerous nature of my employment, I reckon I've had a narrow escape. Phew.

Friday 8 January 2010

One student...

... and they weren't even one of mine!!

Yesterday was our first day back at work, but thanks to a combination of blizzard conditions in Madrid and the fact that it was the day after Los Reyes and many people were still other of town in their family Pueblos, my four scheduled classes yielded just one student! To add to the irony, she wasn't even my student! Thanks to even worse blizzard conditions in the UK, two teachers didn't make it back in time for the start of term, so the one student I taught was in a class I was covering for a colleague stranded in England!

Oh well, I've now got lessons planned up until next Wednesday, so it wasn't a complete waste.

Thursday 7 January 2010

Yes, She's Sitting Comfortably by Kate

In the UK, the NHS allocates you two routine ultrasound scans during pregnancy, here in Spain you get three full scans plus a quick once over every time you have an appointment with your obstetrician. Seeing as we got sent to the specialist radiology department at one of Madrid's biggest hospitals for our twenty-week looksee, we didn't realise that our appointment at our usual obstetrics clinic was for the complete scan minus an obstetrician. That's why my boss' lovely wife came too as part of our ongoing quest to get officialdom to decide my bump is at risk if I continue my teaching job too long.

Our next mistake was to join the queue at the wrong room and wait there until our obstetrician's assistant kindly pointed out that we weren't on her list and maybe we should check downstairs. Having taken the details for the appointment over the phone, doubt was immediately cast on my imperfect understanding of Spanish - we hadn't received the usual follow up confirmation by post. But a quick scouting mission by Theo and Marina established that I had got the date and time right, but the wrong room. It turned out we should have been waiting another five doors down.

We amended this and presented ourselves to the assistant who was brusquely herding various other bumpees towards their scans. She was less than overjoyed to see us and only grudgingly accepted that we formed part of her morning's work after we pointed at my name on her appointment list. Marina, having also experienced our doctor at her least helpful (during our abortive attempt to secure the baja), was shocked by her unhelpful attitude.
"They don't need to be so rude!! What's the matter with them?" Theo and I, having by now spent a lot of time among the white-coated acolytes of the Spanish medical system, were more philosophical. I just hope we don't get a bum deal on the staff front during the actual birth.

So, in we went at last and Marina once again launched into her preamble to try and encourage a recommendation for the baja por emarazada del riesgo, only to be briskly headed off at the pass by the information that we would need to consult the obstetrician, not the radiologist for that sort of thing. Another wasted trip for Marina. Although by compensation, she did get to join Theo and I in viewing our rapidly growing offspring looking sprightly inside the womb.

By now, she's pretty much finished developing her main organs, so a quick check of brain, heart and fetal movement was the main order of the day. Everything appeared to be present, beating and twitching as it should be, so the radiologist was quite satisfied and even gave a us a quick tour of our daughter's main body parts in English. The one problem at this stage is that Fosbella is neatly wedged in an upright sitting position - as I already suspected from numerous proddings at my belly's topography and by noting the position of her kicks and hand taps. To use the official term, she's breech, which is not ideal for a natural birth.

Of course, we still have more than six weeks to go and the statistics are reassuring - most breech babies do turn round before labour begins, (some leaving it to the very last minute). I'm very much hoping young Fos will duly oblige as I'd rather not have a C Section if I can avoid it. In the meantime, the advice is to spend time on hands and knees, waggle your pelvis around while it's higher than your head (this is not very easy with a large bump, believe me), sit up straight, do yoga and tell your foetus to please get off its arse and do a headstand. It's all got to be worth a try.

Wednesday 6 January 2010

Los Reyes by Theo

Today is a holiday in Spain - Los Reyes - a day that celebrates the arrival of the 3 Kings in Bethlehem and is traditionally when the giving of gifts takes place in Spain, which makes a lot of sense. We're having a nice lazy time of it, enjoying the last day of the holidays, as I start work tomorrow.

One of the key features of Los Reyes, is the Calbagata, a huge parade, which takes place the night before. Many barrios have their own, smaller parade, but we decided to go and watch the main one along the Paseo de Castellana. We arrived a good 45 minutes early, but that wasn't anywhere near early enough. There were loads of people there already and, as this is an event mainly aimed at children, some thoughtful parents had brought step-ladders.

It was our bucket-at-a-festival trick taken to its logical conclusion, but obviously meant that unless the floats were very high we weren't going to see much. We shouldn't have worried as, after a mounted band, the first 'float' was very high indeed, being an aerialist suspended beneath several dozen helium balloons and followed by massive giraffe puppets.




A huge, mechanical elephant puppet was also in the parade, possibly the highlight of the spectacle although the floats - all sponsored by services and companies such as the fire-brigade, post office and TV stations - were also pretty impressive.


As each float passed, the crowd was showered with hard, edible, projectiles flung from those on the floats or following on foot. Trying to catch one was pretty hard, though I did manage it, especially given that the natural Spanish tendency to cheat had led some people to exploit the height of their position on step ladders by opening up their umbrellas upside-down to catch the sweets. Kate and I were taking note of tactics for future reference!

It was a fun afternoon out - we'd been browsing in Sol beforehand - and on the way back we picked up our traditional Los Reyes Roscon, a large doughnut-style cake. Ours is just a tiny one - the family-sized ones are huge - and we opted for a non-cream filled one. Whichever of us gets the bit with the favour in has to pay for it!

Tuesday 5 January 2010

2010 by Theo

Kate said I should write my own New Year piece - my reflections on the past decade and the coming year - but I find that on reflection, I don't really have any reflections. Which is odd. I mean 10 years ago, 2000, was a landmark year in my life. It was the first year I began as an adult I went traveling independently for the first time, moved to Bristol, started University. The rest of the decade was pretty amazing too - two degrees, several jobs, my first published articles, radio shows, (girl)friends, traveling, loads of different homes, Kate, getting married, and moving to Spain. Yet, despite all that I feel little emotional attachment to the passing of the decade. I'm not sure why this is, but I have my suspicions. For while all of the above (and many events not listed) were amazing and life-changing experiences, I suspect at least one event in 2010 is going to make all that look insignificant, merely the preparation for this one event - parenthood.

We've been reading parenting books - thanks Hermione - we've got the stroller/car seat - thanks Cathy - the sling - thanks Mum & Dad - and lots of clothes - thanks Bex and Jilly. In a sense we're prepared. In so many other ways we're really not. I spend half my time imagining what it will be like, what she'll be like, how it's going to change things for Kate and I, but I'm sure the reality will be very different from anything I've mentally prepared myself for. I'm excited. I can't wait. So I can't really get excited about the birth of 2010, this ending and beginning of decades, as there's another beginning, and indeed an ending, that is so much more important to me on the horizon.

Friday 1 January 2010

Thoughts At The Beginning Of A New Decade by Kate

The good bit about being a decade baby is it makes it much easier to remember how old you are. So 2010 will take me neatly into the end of my fourth decade. It will also - all being well - see my daughter begin her first. Yep, 2010 is going to be an extraordinary year, capping a series of extraordinary years. It's probably a good thing in some ways that I've been getting in some practice of how to adapt to dramatic life-changes, but I am in no doubt that the arrival of a baby will be the biggest one of all.

Quick summary:
In 2009 I moved to a different country speaking a different language and began a new career as a teacher. It's been quite a year.
In 2008 I got married, quit a job I had been in for over ten years, left the city I'd lived in for the same amount of time and spent seven months or so dwelling in a van in various parts of Europe. Oh, and I retrained for a new profession. That was quite a year too.
In 2007 I left my partner of eleven years as well as the first home I'd been involved in buying for myself. It looks easy when contained in one sentence, but it was one of the most difficult and upsetting decisions I have ever had to make. On the upside, I fell in love with and got engaged to the man who is now my husband, my soulmate and father-to-be of my first child. Another incredible year.

Looking back, the tail-end of the noughties have been amazing (and that's not to undermine the importance of the years that stretch back before them) and yes, there have been sad and painful times, but thankfully, not too many. It's difficult not to sound smug, but I count myself as incredibly lucky to have had such an enjoyable and fulfilling life so far and despite the disbelieving "am I really about to turn forty??!" feeling, I'm hugely looking forward to what 2010 will bring. With just a little trepidation mixed in.