What am I doing here? There is certainly part of me that is in shock/awe that, not only am I pregnant with my second child - something I had never predicted in my wildest dreams…but that I now seem to be living in the countryside in Piemonte, Italy. I step out on the balcony or gaze out from the patio and I am in awe. It’s absolutely gorgeous here. I have always (well, since after college) been drawn to countryside and wild places. But I can’t believe I am actually living here. I am a city girl – born in NYC, bred in SF. Sure I went to summer camp as a kid (and hated all the social cattiness of it). I grew up skiing, water skiing and doing similar “outdoor leisure sports” but I was never an outdoorsy kid. My folks didn’t take us backpacking or hiking. Of course we did the odd weekend campout when I was in preschool – the excitement of sleeping in a tent, roasting marshmallows. But I have always lived somewhere where I stepped out my front door onto concrete. Now I step outside and watch out that wild hogs aren’t on the loose. In hunting season, we have to be careful not to get shot on our own property.
It’s so quiet here. Quiet in a non-city noise way. Other than that, there are birds chirping, owls hooting, the donkey up on the road moaning, wild boars calling out to mates, and cows mooing in the distance. Thankfully, there are no roosters within earshot.
In my current state of pregnancy – well into my third trimester, I am not sure how much my overwhelm is due to normal anxiety about having a baby, having a second, taking care of the first while trying not to neglect the second and vice versa and how much is just “oh my god what the f- am I doing in the countryside of Italy about to have a baby?”
I’m going to have this baby in an ITALIAN hospital for gods sake. I can barely order pizza in Italian and I’m going to, not only have a baby, but have a c-section. Which means it will not be the typical in and out drive through process of the USA. I’m going to be there for DAYS. And, unlike the birth of Isabelle, Clay will not be with me round the clock. For one thing, public hospitals here don’t allow partners to sleep over. For another, Hubbie has to take care of Bebe and really, she is my first concern. Which leaves me pretty much fending for myself in a foreign hospital in a foreign country, speaking a foreign language…not that my first hospital experience was so grand (with Isabelle) – in a posh, private highly acclaimed hospital in Washington DC. I felt like the entire experience from admission to check out was a comedy of errors. Although it wasn’t so comic at the time. It certainly felt like none of the staff had a clue about what they were doing (which isn’t rocket science. Delivering babies IS what one does on a maternity ward for goodness sake). So, honestly, I can’t imagine this experience being much worse.
Yet, my anxiety mounts. How will I ask for pain meds? I don’t even remember knowing I needed them last time, I was so out of it. I will be sharing a room. I can barely manage small talk at the café, how am I going to chat with my “roommate” when I’m in the worst shape of my life? Last time I wasn’t able to sit up or roll over or pick up the baby and I relied completely on my husband to bring her to me for nursing. How will I manage? Will I have to ring the nurses constantly to bring her to me? What if they give her sugar water or a bottle in the nursery, against my wishes? How will I even know?
And once I am out of the hospital…oy the recovery. I don’t relish another c-section recovery. The first was less than enjoyable and now I know what’s coming. I’m worried my daughter (2.9) will feel neglected by me when I can’t pick her up or hold her the same way because of the surgery. I’m worried she will feel put out by the baby. I’m worried about being on our own in a foreign country. Hubbie hurt is knee yesterday and I almost flew into a panic. I’ve never felt so vulnerable before. I feel like I rely on him completely here (for language and now for everything physical, including picking up our daughter). I used to feel so independent. I led wilderness trips in Yosemite, chased bears out of campsites, climbed high altitude mountains! I never felt invincible, but I certainly felt in control. Now I feel…vulnerable.
Sunday 3 May 2009
Saturday 18 April 2009
Paris-Italia
What an insane week. I’m sitting on the sofa, praying that Isabelle sleeps a little longer. Naptime is always such a struggle for her. We arrived at our house in Italy 3 days ago after a three day shlep from Paris and haven’t stopped unpacking, cleaning, organizing, not to mention entertaining a high energy 2.5 year old.
After three and a half years of buying and renovating our house in Piemonte, Italy, while living in Paris, France, we have finally (and somewhat unexpectedly) come to live in Bonvicino full time.
We tried to get our rental van Sunday night so that we could load up while Bebe (toddler daughter) was asleep and take off easily on Monday. Hubbie had a shoot scheduled in the Ardeche and was due to photograph in the early afternoon. Given that it is a five hour drive from Paris, we knew a timely arrival would be optimistic. He hoped to load the van Sunday night and take off early Monday morning. Bebe and I would take the rest of our stuff in our car, clean the apartment and leave during her naptime (how unrealistically optimistic was I to think that I would be able to clean our entire apartment, dump all the garbage and finish loading things into the car with Bunny in tow?)
Despite pleading and begging, the unhelpful Avis attendants in Paris asserted that there was no way we could have a van before Monday. Even if we were due to pick one up Monday morning, we would not be able to get it Sunday night.
So, Monday morning, Hubbie took the bus to Orly airport, procured a large minivan and drove it back to our apartment, He loaded our entire 53 sq meter apt into the van while I tried to entertain Bebewho was clearly disconcerted, bordering on tantrumming, about the upheaval. Since I have been pregnant, she has gravitated towards Hubbie and that day was no different. She wanted to be on top of him the entire time, wanted him to carry and hold her. Impossible since he was unloading the contents of our 2nd floor apartment into the van.
She did become interested in “driving” the van and was entertained for a bit in the driver’s seat. However, unlike many of my friends who can chat with friends on the mobile while their two year old happily plays in the car, Bebe becomes frustrated after about five minutes. “I want to drive! With the keys! I want to go!” “This key doesn’t work!” she exclaims after trying to fit her toy keys into the ignition, “Where is the key for the car? Give it to me so I can drive. Mama, you sit here. Close the door.” No chance for me to engage in a chat with a friend or even offer to help Hubbie (as if I could carry anything in third trimester pregnancy). Bebe demands a fully engaged passenger.
“Papa, let’s go! Let’s go to Italy! Let’s go!” She hollered from the driver’s seat. Now that we have explained we are going to Italy (she’s been back and forth from Italy to Paris her entire life so this is nothing new), she was ready to go NOW. I wonder about the child psychologist who encouraged us to explain to her weeks ahead of time that we would be moving. We waited until the last week to really explain to Bebe. Since then she had been “ready to go” every day and wondering when we were going to leave already, since we said we are going.
By the time Hubbie loaded up, Bebe had buckled herself into her carseat (usually she acts like we are torturing her when we put her into her carseat) and is yelping “let’s go Papa! I’m ready! Let’s go!”
Change of plans. Hubbie took off with Bebe yelping directions and asking to use the GPS and map to navigate. Her new phrase is “I need that. Please give it to me.” This is after an attempted negotiation to drive. “I drive Papa. You sit in my seat in the back.”
Hubbie, sweating and exhausted from squeezing the entire contents of our apartment into a minivan, was doing a fabulous job of maintaining his patience. Before driving five hours and pulling off a photo shoot, he had to explain to a two year old why she can’t drive. Where to start? She’s too short, can’t read, can’t reach the pedals, can’t see over the windshield. Of, and of course she doesn’t have a license.
They finally took off and I set about cleaning the apartment and loading the remains of our belongings into a car. Amazing how exhausting everything is when you are carrying a baby around inside you. It’s definitely easier when they are out. Except when they are crying, demanding and want to drive.
90 minutes later I hit the road to follow Hubbie. I hate driving manual, our car’s gear shifts stick and I was nervous about getting lost. I realized I didn’t even know where I was going. Hubbie had programmed the destination into the GPS and that was all I had to go on. I knew he was photographing the chef of a 3 star restaurant somewhere in the south of France. That should narrow it down.
By 7pm that night I reached the hotel we would stay in. Since I was too far behind to catch up to them (plus having to indulge in pee stops due to pregnancy), Hubbie had to drive to the shoot in the loaded minivan with Isabelle. We had planned for me to meet them first at the hotel and switch cars. Bebe and I would hang out and play and Hubbie would drive to the shoot nearby in the car. Instead, after maneuvering a topsy turvy van down the autoroute, while entertaining an awake toddler (he said he went through every song he could think of and even made some up), eventually shared a chocolate bar with her in an attempt to distract her, which she proceeded to then vomit up on the windy road to the shoot, he showed up at the restaurant shoot with a puked on, unhappy toddler who was probably wondering where the hell they were and why they weren’t at our house in Italy yet.
After he changed her clothes, in true Bebe Jekyll and Hyde fashion she perked up, became her angelic self, charmed the chef and happily played while Hubbie took photos of the chef and restaurant. When I met them at the hotel, Bebe greeted me in a tshirt (naked from the waist down – I’m guessing there was a pee incident), Hubbie had opened a bottle of wine which he was heroically trying not to drink in one fell swoop. After this day, anyone would hit the bottle.
The next day, we loaded ourselves back into van and car and drove 4 hours to the Cote d’Azur. This may sound romantic but if you have spent any time in the car with an unhappy two year old, you have some idea of what this drive was like. As miserable for us as for her. Guiltily I was so relieved to be driving our car by myself (despite not being able to shift into fifth gear) while Hubbie drove Bebe in the van. Dora The Explorer videos only last for so long. A nap can take up an hour or two but after that it’s all to hell.
With numerous stops (some of us had to pee, some of us just scream our heads off to get out of the car), we arrived in Juan les Pins. Our memory of Juan les Pins was far better than the reality. We had stayed there 16 years ago (yeegads that dates me!) when we traveled around Europe together after college. Of course we hadn’t booked a hotel, as we hadn’t decided until today where we would stop for the night, which meant a bit of shlepping Bebe around to find a hotel that was 1. affordable 2. had parking.
Luckily the 2 star hotel we chose was run by a charming man who was enchanted with Isabelle (sometimes she can really charm them). Instead of explaining how to maneuver our cars into the parking area, he took Hubbie on the back of his motorbike to go pick up our van where we had left it in the center of town, and led him back to the parking area.
We were now only 2.5 hours from our house in Italy. We could have driven all the way home, and would have under normal circumstances. The problem was that the van needed to be returned to the rental agency in France. If we continued onto the house, the next day we would have to all drive the 2.5 hours back to France, drop off the rental car, turn around and drive the return 2.5 hours home. A shlep but not horrible for Hubbie and me but for Bebe, this would be torturous. Since the ten minute drive to town is barely tolerable for her, an added five hour round trip drive would be unmanageable. Unfortunately our babysitter has a new job and wouldn’t be available till the weekend. So Bebe would have to come with us.
Instead, Hubbie left at 5am and drove the van to our house. We had heard stories from friends about being stopped at the border and having their vans inspected and then taxed for “importing” goods. Hubbie spent the night before being incredibly anxious and dreaming up all sorts of scenarios involving being arrested at the border.
Since having a child, I now get anxious about something happening to one of us, especially living in a foreign country. I think that if I was home, I wouldn’t be as worried, but now, when Hubbie leaves, I suddenly worry about one of us being stranded in a foreign country, some horrible accident or calamity having happened to the other one, not knowing whom to call or what to do and being alone and responsible for a baby. It’s one thing to have nightmares about being left alone with a child on your home turf. It’s another to think what the hell would one of us do here, where we can barely speak the language, don’t know anyone and have nowhere to turn.
By 1pm Hubbie had reached our house, single handedly unloaded the van (while greeting the vacationers who are renting our property this week), turned around and headed back to meet us at the rental return agency.
Since we have bought, renovated and rented the property, I have longed for a time when we drive up to the house and could greet visitors in a calm and collected manner. The reality is that we show up after 9 hours in a packed car with a screaming baby, having driven from Paris. One of all of us is covered in a medley of croissant crumbs and apple juice. We have a tired, irritable and grumpy baby to attend to, a fully packed car to unload and a group of paying guests that we must greet with smiles and open arms, when all we want to do is run inside, hide and dunk ourselves in a quiet bubble bath.
By 2pm we met Hubbie at the the Avis rental agency (true to form the attendants were unwelcoming and inhospitable as usual, refusing to let me pull into the large and empty parking lot so that I could take Isabelle out of the car for a pee). By 2:15 we were on the road for Hubbie’s third trip that day down the Via Aurelia to our house.
Bebe was having no part of napping so we stopped along the coast for a run around (hoping to tire her out) and a gelato (ok, sugar kick is not usually the way to tire a kid out but I have seen Isabelle fall asleep practically with the gelato cone still in her hand and at this point, it was all about keeping the baby happy).
By 6pm Wednesday, after three days of major shlepping, we arrived at the house. Thank goodness the renters weren’t here to greet us (though Hubbie assured me they were an easy going, low maintenance couple). Instead of being irriatable and unsettled, Isabelle was pleased as punch to have arrived “at her villa,” hopping around and exploring every inch. Hubbie unloaded the car, we fed and bathed Isabelle and got her to bed around 10pm.
The last three days have been a whirl of unpacking, cleaning, starting on outdoor maintenance (weeding, gardening, not to mention needing to put up a fence, construct some more sitting spaces and do some landscaping). We have to somehow organize all of our stuff into our apartment (which is much bigger than Paris, but still only two bedrooms of the 6 room house) for the next three months, then move our personals out by July (right after arrival of Baby #2) because we have the house rented out beginning mid-July. Before then we have to find another apartment to rent for July and August since we have our house rented out, because we thought we would be in Paris, having a baby!
When all that is done, we have to somehow coordinate several weddings that are taking place here this fall, managing a range of requests and concerns from various brides and grooms, find a house cleaner (ours just quit) and arrange for some babysitting for the fall (since we are now committed to running several events and leading a number of programs), not to mention the fact that we have borrowed beds from one of the guest rooms to use in Isabelle’s bedroom, since she has outgrown her crib, so we at least need to get some more beds.
With all the craziness, the odd moment of staring out at the view and waking up to birds chirping (who am I kidding? I wake up to “Mama! Papa! Come in! Come get me!” ) is a welcome respite. It’s quite a change. We’ll see what it brings.
After three and a half years of buying and renovating our house in Piemonte, Italy, while living in Paris, France, we have finally (and somewhat unexpectedly) come to live in Bonvicino full time.
We tried to get our rental van Sunday night so that we could load up while Bebe (toddler daughter) was asleep and take off easily on Monday. Hubbie had a shoot scheduled in the Ardeche and was due to photograph in the early afternoon. Given that it is a five hour drive from Paris, we knew a timely arrival would be optimistic. He hoped to load the van Sunday night and take off early Monday morning. Bebe and I would take the rest of our stuff in our car, clean the apartment and leave during her naptime (how unrealistically optimistic was I to think that I would be able to clean our entire apartment, dump all the garbage and finish loading things into the car with Bunny in tow?)
Despite pleading and begging, the unhelpful Avis attendants in Paris asserted that there was no way we could have a van before Monday. Even if we were due to pick one up Monday morning, we would not be able to get it Sunday night.
So, Monday morning, Hubbie took the bus to Orly airport, procured a large minivan and drove it back to our apartment, He loaded our entire 53 sq meter apt into the van while I tried to entertain Bebewho was clearly disconcerted, bordering on tantrumming, about the upheaval. Since I have been pregnant, she has gravitated towards Hubbie and that day was no different. She wanted to be on top of him the entire time, wanted him to carry and hold her. Impossible since he was unloading the contents of our 2nd floor apartment into the van.
She did become interested in “driving” the van and was entertained for a bit in the driver’s seat. However, unlike many of my friends who can chat with friends on the mobile while their two year old happily plays in the car, Bebe becomes frustrated after about five minutes. “I want to drive! With the keys! I want to go!” “This key doesn’t work!” she exclaims after trying to fit her toy keys into the ignition, “Where is the key for the car? Give it to me so I can drive. Mama, you sit here. Close the door.” No chance for me to engage in a chat with a friend or even offer to help Hubbie (as if I could carry anything in third trimester pregnancy). Bebe demands a fully engaged passenger.
“Papa, let’s go! Let’s go to Italy! Let’s go!” She hollered from the driver’s seat. Now that we have explained we are going to Italy (she’s been back and forth from Italy to Paris her entire life so this is nothing new), she was ready to go NOW. I wonder about the child psychologist who encouraged us to explain to her weeks ahead of time that we would be moving. We waited until the last week to really explain to Bebe. Since then she had been “ready to go” every day and wondering when we were going to leave already, since we said we are going.
By the time Hubbie loaded up, Bebe had buckled herself into her carseat (usually she acts like we are torturing her when we put her into her carseat) and is yelping “let’s go Papa! I’m ready! Let’s go!”
Change of plans. Hubbie took off with Bebe yelping directions and asking to use the GPS and map to navigate. Her new phrase is “I need that. Please give it to me.” This is after an attempted negotiation to drive. “I drive Papa. You sit in my seat in the back.”
Hubbie, sweating and exhausted from squeezing the entire contents of our apartment into a minivan, was doing a fabulous job of maintaining his patience. Before driving five hours and pulling off a photo shoot, he had to explain to a two year old why she can’t drive. Where to start? She’s too short, can’t read, can’t reach the pedals, can’t see over the windshield. Of, and of course she doesn’t have a license.
They finally took off and I set about cleaning the apartment and loading the remains of our belongings into a car. Amazing how exhausting everything is when you are carrying a baby around inside you. It’s definitely easier when they are out. Except when they are crying, demanding and want to drive.
90 minutes later I hit the road to follow Hubbie. I hate driving manual, our car’s gear shifts stick and I was nervous about getting lost. I realized I didn’t even know where I was going. Hubbie had programmed the destination into the GPS and that was all I had to go on. I knew he was photographing the chef of a 3 star restaurant somewhere in the south of France. That should narrow it down.
By 7pm that night I reached the hotel we would stay in. Since I was too far behind to catch up to them (plus having to indulge in pee stops due to pregnancy), Hubbie had to drive to the shoot in the loaded minivan with Isabelle. We had planned for me to meet them first at the hotel and switch cars. Bebe and I would hang out and play and Hubbie would drive to the shoot nearby in the car. Instead, after maneuvering a topsy turvy van down the autoroute, while entertaining an awake toddler (he said he went through every song he could think of and even made some up), eventually shared a chocolate bar with her in an attempt to distract her, which she proceeded to then vomit up on the windy road to the shoot, he showed up at the restaurant shoot with a puked on, unhappy toddler who was probably wondering where the hell they were and why they weren’t at our house in Italy yet.
After he changed her clothes, in true Bebe Jekyll and Hyde fashion she perked up, became her angelic self, charmed the chef and happily played while Hubbie took photos of the chef and restaurant. When I met them at the hotel, Bebe greeted me in a tshirt (naked from the waist down – I’m guessing there was a pee incident), Hubbie had opened a bottle of wine which he was heroically trying not to drink in one fell swoop. After this day, anyone would hit the bottle.
The next day, we loaded ourselves back into van and car and drove 4 hours to the Cote d’Azur. This may sound romantic but if you have spent any time in the car with an unhappy two year old, you have some idea of what this drive was like. As miserable for us as for her. Guiltily I was so relieved to be driving our car by myself (despite not being able to shift into fifth gear) while Hubbie drove Bebe in the van. Dora The Explorer videos only last for so long. A nap can take up an hour or two but after that it’s all to hell.
With numerous stops (some of us had to pee, some of us just scream our heads off to get out of the car), we arrived in Juan les Pins. Our memory of Juan les Pins was far better than the reality. We had stayed there 16 years ago (yeegads that dates me!) when we traveled around Europe together after college. Of course we hadn’t booked a hotel, as we hadn’t decided until today where we would stop for the night, which meant a bit of shlepping Bebe around to find a hotel that was 1. affordable 2. had parking.
Luckily the 2 star hotel we chose was run by a charming man who was enchanted with Isabelle (sometimes she can really charm them). Instead of explaining how to maneuver our cars into the parking area, he took Hubbie on the back of his motorbike to go pick up our van where we had left it in the center of town, and led him back to the parking area.
We were now only 2.5 hours from our house in Italy. We could have driven all the way home, and would have under normal circumstances. The problem was that the van needed to be returned to the rental agency in France. If we continued onto the house, the next day we would have to all drive the 2.5 hours back to France, drop off the rental car, turn around and drive the return 2.5 hours home. A shlep but not horrible for Hubbie and me but for Bebe, this would be torturous. Since the ten minute drive to town is barely tolerable for her, an added five hour round trip drive would be unmanageable. Unfortunately our babysitter has a new job and wouldn’t be available till the weekend. So Bebe would have to come with us.
Instead, Hubbie left at 5am and drove the van to our house. We had heard stories from friends about being stopped at the border and having their vans inspected and then taxed for “importing” goods. Hubbie spent the night before being incredibly anxious and dreaming up all sorts of scenarios involving being arrested at the border.
Since having a child, I now get anxious about something happening to one of us, especially living in a foreign country. I think that if I was home, I wouldn’t be as worried, but now, when Hubbie leaves, I suddenly worry about one of us being stranded in a foreign country, some horrible accident or calamity having happened to the other one, not knowing whom to call or what to do and being alone and responsible for a baby. It’s one thing to have nightmares about being left alone with a child on your home turf. It’s another to think what the hell would one of us do here, where we can barely speak the language, don’t know anyone and have nowhere to turn.
By 1pm Hubbie had reached our house, single handedly unloaded the van (while greeting the vacationers who are renting our property this week), turned around and headed back to meet us at the rental return agency.
Since we have bought, renovated and rented the property, I have longed for a time when we drive up to the house and could greet visitors in a calm and collected manner. The reality is that we show up after 9 hours in a packed car with a screaming baby, having driven from Paris. One of all of us is covered in a medley of croissant crumbs and apple juice. We have a tired, irritable and grumpy baby to attend to, a fully packed car to unload and a group of paying guests that we must greet with smiles and open arms, when all we want to do is run inside, hide and dunk ourselves in a quiet bubble bath.
By 2pm we met Hubbie at the the Avis rental agency (true to form the attendants were unwelcoming and inhospitable as usual, refusing to let me pull into the large and empty parking lot so that I could take Isabelle out of the car for a pee). By 2:15 we were on the road for Hubbie’s third trip that day down the Via Aurelia to our house.
Bebe was having no part of napping so we stopped along the coast for a run around (hoping to tire her out) and a gelato (ok, sugar kick is not usually the way to tire a kid out but I have seen Isabelle fall asleep practically with the gelato cone still in her hand and at this point, it was all about keeping the baby happy).
By 6pm Wednesday, after three days of major shlepping, we arrived at the house. Thank goodness the renters weren’t here to greet us (though Hubbie assured me they were an easy going, low maintenance couple). Instead of being irriatable and unsettled, Isabelle was pleased as punch to have arrived “at her villa,” hopping around and exploring every inch. Hubbie unloaded the car, we fed and bathed Isabelle and got her to bed around 10pm.
The last three days have been a whirl of unpacking, cleaning, starting on outdoor maintenance (weeding, gardening, not to mention needing to put up a fence, construct some more sitting spaces and do some landscaping). We have to somehow organize all of our stuff into our apartment (which is much bigger than Paris, but still only two bedrooms of the 6 room house) for the next three months, then move our personals out by July (right after arrival of Baby #2) because we have the house rented out beginning mid-July. Before then we have to find another apartment to rent for July and August since we have our house rented out, because we thought we would be in Paris, having a baby!
When all that is done, we have to somehow coordinate several weddings that are taking place here this fall, managing a range of requests and concerns from various brides and grooms, find a house cleaner (ours just quit) and arrange for some babysitting for the fall (since we are now committed to running several events and leading a number of programs), not to mention the fact that we have borrowed beds from one of the guest rooms to use in Isabelle’s bedroom, since she has outgrown her crib, so we at least need to get some more beds.
With all the craziness, the odd moment of staring out at the view and waking up to birds chirping (who am I kidding? I wake up to “Mama! Papa! Come in! Come get me!” ) is a welcome respite. It’s quite a change. We’ll see what it brings.
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