Plus one

It's been reported today that New Zealand's population grew by 51,900 people in the year ending June 30th. That brings us up to 4.37 million. That's the whole country. For comparison, the Phoenix Metropolitan Area has an estimated 4.28 million people (wiki source). The story is in Stuff.

Quinn was one of those 51,900. :)

Mouse in the house

One of the joys of having a new baby in the house is getting up at all hours to feed him. I haven't seen 2 a.m. this often since I was in college. But if it hadn't been for these night time feeds, we would not have discovered our nonpaying tenant. We have a mouse in our house.

I first saw it about 4 weeks ago. I switched on the kitchen light in the middle of the night and saw a small shadow race across the floor. I thought it must have just been a shadow.

A few days later, the same thing happened again, only this time, the shadow had a tail and ran under the dishwasher. A mouse!

I told Gareth he would need to take care of this. Mouse removal is clearly a husband/father duty. But he did not immediately take care of it - I suppose because he's been busy doing everything for the household short of breastfeeding the baby. The mouse must have heard that we were going to come after it though, because he laid low for awhile there.

And then he reappeared this week. He's back, and he's bolder. I saw him race across the living room floor while we were watching tv the other night. And then when I was up at 2:30 last night, I saw him run from the living room, around the dining table, and into the kitchen. He ran around the dining chairs like he had done it a thousand times, like it was a well-travelled route back to home base. This mouse has gotten too comfortable. He must be dealt with.

I said to Gareth this morning that, while not happy to have pests of any kind living in our house, the mouse is heaps better than the cockroaches we had in Arizona. There are enormous, flying cockroaches in Arizona. We would be woken at night by the cat meowing at them (a good cat would have killed the roach; ours just alerted us to its presence and waited for us to smack it with a shoe.) There are few things more gruesome than a giant roach whizzing by your head, or the loud crunch of its body when you smash it dead. (Shudder.) I had no urge to retch when I saw the little mouse. I did not want to scream, or jump up on a chair, or wake up Gareth to save me. I just thought, "A mouse. huh."

Gareth pointed out, though, that the cuteness of mice will make it harder to kill them. True, I said, that will probably make it harder for you... When it's time to kill the mouse, I will probably be busy nursing the boy.

(Incidentally, World Breastfeeding Week just ended, and August is National Breastfeeding Month in the U.S. "Breastfeeding: it's what your bazongas are for." Thanks to Cara for the link.)

Maori language week

It's Maori language week again (just finished actually, I think). I tried to participate by tuning in for Te Karere on channel 1 a few times this week. This is the Maori news show. I suspect "Te Karere" means "our news" but that's just an educated guess...

I listened carefully to the news presenter, but pretty much all I understood was "kia ora" (hello) and then the place names. So it was, "Kia ora. Blah blah blah Hokitika blah blah Rotorua." English subtitles would really be helpful here guys, but I guess I'm not really the target audience. Apparently, you can get subtitles if you watch it online. Even though I can't understand, it's interesting to just hear the sounds of the language and watch the images. You can get an idea of what is important to Maori by what they're reporting.

I was able to gather that there was some sort of haka competition going on this week. There was a lot of footage of kids performing hakas on stage. I did a google search and discovered that indeed there was a competition - the National Secondary Schools Kapa Haka Championships 2010, in Rotorua. The performances are amazing to watch, especially the facial expressions. Start with bad-ass facial tattoos (or, in a pinch, apply black make-up to look like tattoos). Then open the eyes real wide and bug them out a bit, for a sort of "I'm insane!" look. Then stick the tongue out - waaaay out, Gene Simmons style, for a "I'm dangerously insane!!" look. The result: pure intimidation.



The men have tattoos on their faces and thighs. The women paint their lips black and have tattoos on their chins.

Te Karere showed lots of videos from the competition, and you can watch them on its website but you have to watch adverts first. I couldn't find much of it on You Tube, but did find this one:



The video is not very easy to see, but if you go to this website you can see some great photos from an earlier competition.

Peace and trustworthiness

I read today that New Zealand ranked #1 on the Global Peace Index. That's first out of 149 countries. First is good. We got points for respecting human rights, political stability, and the low potential of a terrorist attack, among many other factors. Hooray New Zealand.

For comparison, the United States ranked #85 and the United Kingdom ranked #31. Iraq came in last place. Go here to read more about it.

We also learned this week that people with full beards are very trustworthy. This chart says so:

Gareth was pleased.

One year in

We've been in New Zealand a year (and some)! Thought we'd share our thoughts about this important anniversary. A bit late, yes, but, well, we've been sorta busy...

Me: I'm blogging about our one-year anniversary in New Zealand. Your thoughts on living here after a year?

Gareth: [two thumbs up]

Gareth is a man of few words. I'll fill in the details.

One year in and we are still very happy with our decision to immigrate. It feels both like we've always been here and like this year has flown by. Where has the time gone?

The fact that I was pregnant for most of our first year really limited our ability to explore our new home. We took a couple small trips during the early months, but have barely been outside Christchurch for ages now (it seems). I for one am getting really antsy to get out and see more of the South Island. Strictly from an exploration perspective, it does feel sometimes that this year has kind of been wasted, but of course, growing a little man and giving birth to him is not wasted time...

One year in, I'm annoyed that books are so expensive. We recently spent $40 for a paperback book. This is insanity. No paperback book should cost $40. Clearly, we need to find a good second hand book store. At this point though, we are still just re-reading our old books rather than buy new ones (the $40 one was a gift), but eventually, one day, we will want to buy a new book. With the arrival of the baby, that day will probably be a long ways off though. Who has time to read? I barely have time to shower.

Although we have adopted some Kiwi sayings and pronunciations, people ask us all the time where we are from. I get asked if I'm American or if I'm Canadian, or like today, simply "You have an accent there...?" Gareth has probably jumped countries one too many times, as people can't tell if he's Welsh, English, Canadian, or American. This is a constant reminder that we don't totally fit in because we talk funny. We don't mind though.

We've now had a chance to experience the healthcare system, and we give it good marks. Although we had a couple complaints with our hospital experience during Quinn's birth (see last post), we are really impressed by the easy access to all the post-natal care we need. For instance, I've had some trouble with breastfeeding. Our midwife continued to visit us at home after Quinn's birth and helped with the breastfeeding by watching and giving tips. When things were still not going great, she referred us to a community lactation consultant, who came to the house to help us with our technique. Both the midwife and the lactation consultant followed up with phone calls. All this was free. I am so grateful for all this support - I never had to struggle alone.

The breastfeeding problems led to problems with Quinn gaining weight so we were referred to a paediatrician. We had an appointment just a couple days after the midwife made the referral, and we saw him for free. We love free stuff. (ok, it's not free; our taxes pay for it. But we're not paying any more in taxes than we did in the States, so it seems free...)

Now that Quinn is 6 weeks old, the midwife care is over, but we'll continue to have visits from a Plunket nurse. She will come to the house to check on us every few months or more often as needed. Healthcare workers coming to us: brilliant.

So anyway, the point is that we're happy with the healthcare system. Hooray for national health care!

We have met some great people who we now call friends. Some are kiwis, some are fellow immigrants. Strangely, we seem to know more people after a year in Christchurch than we knew after 6 years in Phoenix. Maybe because we arrived in town knowing no one we've made more of an effort to make friends than we ever did in Phoenix.

We said this at 6 months and say it again: our work-life balance is way better here. This is still true. And Gareth will be a stay-at-home dad soon. So you could say his life is about to be all work, but the good kind. :-)

One thing we really do not miss from America is the political divide between the Red Staters and Blue Staters. It's crazy to think back now at how things were over there - and still are as far as we know. I'm a little too sleep deprived at the moment to adequately explain why this is a big deal. All I can say is that life is better when politics don't rile people up so much. As time goes on, we're reading news from America less and less. For one, it's just too depressing (the BP oil spill? Don't get us started.) But also, we just don't care anymore. It's so far away. If anything important happens over there, they'll report on it here. And they'll report on it without any left or right bias.

In short, our thoughts one year in: we're staying.

Birth story

My due date came and went on 18th May. We waited.

On Wednesday the 26th, my midwife Sheena “swept” my membranes to try and get labour started. She did that again on Thursday.

On Thursday night I woke up at 12:30 with a contraction. And another one 10 minutes later. And another one 10 minutes after that. They say try to go back to sleep if labour starts at night, but who can sleep at a time like this? The boy is coming!

The timing was good, we thought – he was going to arrive on Friday the 28th. This happens to be the 1 year anniversary of our arrival in New Zealand. Perfect.

Contractions continued through the night. I managed to sleep for 5 or 6 minutes between each contraction. But at about 9 am, they suddenly stopped. We were gutted. Sheena said this was normal and not to fret, but we had waited so long already! She advised walking – the very last thing I felt like doing. But needs must. So we went to the mall on Friday afternoon and did a few laps, me waddling along, Gareth asking every few minutes if I was feeling anything.

We’d been told that labour often happens at night when women feel safer, and sure enough, this was the case for us. Almost as soon as the sun went down on Friday, my contractions started up again. We were back in business.

I don’t remember a lot of Friday night. I remember Gareth made pizza, because we took a photo of it.

Contractions were painful but manageable. We were just so excited that he was on his way. I really can’t remember if I slept at all on Friday night. I remember rolling off the bed and having contractions on the floor next to the bed, and then climbing back in, and repeating this process over and over again for several hours.

It became useless trying to sleep so we got up real early on Saturday morning/Friday night.
Gareth busied himself getting things ready – he hauled supplies out of the garage and turned our living room into a first class birthing suite. Birthing pool, tarps, blankets, hot water urns set up on a camping table. We were so ready.

I got into the pool really early Saturday morning. It felt fantastic! But it also made the contractions slow down. Out of the pool.

Later Saturday morning, I discovered that whenever I used the toilet, I’d have a contraction. But sitting on the toilet is no way to labour comfortably! We moved blankets into the bathroom and started a new routine – sit on toilet until contraction starts, fall onto knees on floor to get through it, get back on toilet. Not glamorous, but it got things going again. It got us closer to meeting the boy.

Contractions were getting closer together and more regular. And more painful. We called Sheena to let her know that I was having at least 3 contractions in each 10 minute period. She offered to come over, but we told her we were doing alright still and would call her later.

I got back into the pool about 2pm Saturday. The water didn’t make the contractions any less painful, but it did help me relax in between. That part – the in-between-contractions part – was really nice. The contraction part was less nice.

About 3pm we called Sheena to request her presence and she and Kate (support midwife) came over about 4pm. Sheena did an internal exam to see how I was getting on – I was 5 or 6 cm dilated.

The next 6 to 8 hours are kind of a blur. Contractions were coming faster and often came two at a time. I remember hot towels on my back. Water in the pool getting murky. Out of the pool. Shivering on the floor. Warm and dry again. Hot water bottle on my back. Horrible pain. Darkness. Grogginess. Gareth, Sheena, and Kate watching me quietly.

Every half hour, Sheena or Kate would check the baby’s heart rate, sometimes in between contractions, sometimes during. Baby was doing fine.

Around 7pm Sheena said the baby had moved into a position that was not optimal. She told me to lie in bed on my side, leaning forward a bit to encourage him back into a better position. Staying in this position during contractions was damn near impossible. My morale was crumbling quickly at this point. I did some crying and moaning. It was just getting too hard. I was getting tired.

I carried on. We had a new routine now – contraction starts, fall to knees in front of exercise ball, Gareth applies heat and pressure to back, grip pillows on top of ball until pain subsides, climb into chair to recover, repeat. We did this over and over and over. I think I passed out in between some of the contractions. I remember that any noise or light was incredibly irritating. I needed quiet and darkness.

At about 11pm Sheena said it seemed I was in ‘transition’ (nearly fully dilated) based on the strength and frequency of my contractions. She said I’d probably feel an urge to push any time now. She asked if I’d like her to do an exam to check this out. I said no, I’ll wait for the urge to push.

Another hour went by. No urge to push.

Another hour went by. No urge to push.

At 1am, Sheena said she’d like to check me. It was bad news – I was only 7 cm dilated. I was absolutely crushed. From this point, contractions became completely unbearable. Pain leading to a baby was one thing, but pain that was not producing results was another entirely. I could not cope with this unproductive pain. I remember wailing on the floor during the next contraction. It was just too much now.

Sheena explained the baby had moved into a bad position again – his head was not making even contact with my cervix. She said it might be time to go to hospital.

This was the hardest part. We needed to make a decision, but I was in no shape to be making decisions. Should I carry on toward our goal of a home birth, or should I give up and go to the hospital? I was leaning toward hospital and the sweet allure of pain-relieving drugs, but could not know if this decision was based simply on the pain and exhaustion or if it really was a good decision. I started to dream of an epidural. Gareth said it was up to me.

We decided to go to the hospital. Gareth quickly packed a bag, we packed us into the car, and we were off. We got to Christchurch Women’s at 2am.

Here begins a whole different birth experience. No more dark, peaceful living room. Suddenly I was in a sterile hospital room. Bright lights. Hospital gown. IV drip in my left hand, blood pressure cuff on my right arm. Fetal heart rate monitor and contraction monitor strapped to my belly. A catheter up my urethra. Machines clicking and blinking all around. Lots of people.

Dr Dan came in to administer the epidural. Dr Dan had 3 days of stubble on his face and a funky coloured hair cover that said, “I’m a professional but I like to have fun too.” I wasn’t sure I trusted him. Dr Dan casually explained how he was going to poke a hole in my back and make my legs numb. I was scared shitless. I got into position and he gave me the most important instruction: “If you start to have a contraction, say ‘I AM HAVING A CONTRACTION.’ When you are done having a contraction, say ‘I AM DONE HAVING A CONTRACTION.’” Easy enough. I was shivering with fear but managed to hold still while Dr Dan put a hole in my back.

The epidural took effect pretty quickly. Oh my god, the relief. The sweet relief.

It’s amazing to me now that what I was doing at home, and what I was doing in hospital, are both called “labour”. They are nowhere near the same thing and should possibly be given different names. A few hours earlier, I had been actively giving birth (or working toward it). Now, I was passively waiting for the baby to be delivered. They said I was having contractions, but I felt nothing. It was like I wasn’t even participating in the birth of my child anymore.

For the next few hours I met a lot of people. Katherine the midwife was the only one who stayed in the room the whole time. Others came, assessed me, left again.

At one point, 10 people rushed into the room at one time. All of them were touching me and talking in concerned tones. I had no idea what was happening. Dr Chris, the obstetrician, said he needed to put an electronic heart rate monitor into the baby’s head. I said no. I did not want this. Dr Chris gave me a look, like, “good god, woman, let me do my job!” Everyone else looked at me like I was crazy. What was going on? I looked over to Gareth who nodded ‘yes’, we needed to do this. I didn’t understand why, but said fine. Do it. Put a hole in my baby’s head if you must. Bloody doctors.

It wasn’t until later that I learned what had happened. Apparently, my blood pressure dropped suddenly and the baby’s heart rate dropped dangerously low. They pumped a bag of saline into me but the heart rate monitor strapped to my belly was not giving them a consistent reading. They needed a better read. Gareth saw it all happening but I somehow had no idea.

Once the electronic monitor was attached to the baby’s head, his heart rate was broadcast into the room, like in surround sound. Da-dunk, da-dunk, da-dunk. We all listened. It came back to normal. All was fine. Everyone left again.

Katherine the midwife explained that they had been giving me syntocinon (called pitocin in the States) to get my contractions going. She said it was very normal for contractions to stop when the woman has an epidural. She had been slowly increasing the dosage, and it seemed maybe the baby did not like the higher dosage and the harsh contractions it caused. When they stopped the drip, his heart rate had returned to normal. Dr Chris came back to check and said to go ahead and slowly start increasing the “synto” again.

A couple hours later the baby’s heart rate dropped again. Ten people rushed into the room again. I was told that I was being taken in for an emergency c-section. Dr Dan came back and put stronger drugs in my back. A nurse took Gareth out and returned a couple minutes later with him in scrubs. There was some discussion about stopping the synto. They were about to wheel me out. Suddenly, the baby’s heart rate started climbing back up. Everyone stopped, listened, waited. We were ok.

This was just getting insane. Gareth and I were not going to be able to sustain this kind of birthing for much longer.

It was around 8:30am when Dr Chris did an internal exam and reported the bad news – I hadn’t dilated any further. Things were not going all that well, really. Dr Chris told me his shift was over now, and introduced me to Dr Jana and her team. Dr Jana explained what had become obvious - things were not looking so great for us. Even if the baby could withstand more synto, and even if I dilated more, I might not be able to push him out. I should maybe have a c-section, she said.

Gareth and I discussed this and immediately agreed – YES. Get The Baby Out. NOW.

Things happened pretty fast from here on out. Dr Jana gave me consent forms to sign and I was wheeled away for surgery. It would seem that the operating theatre at Christchurch Women’s doubles as a meat freezer. It was ridiculously cold in there. I was shivering a lot. I was moved to a table where bright lights shined down on my belly. I was splayed out like on a cross – my arms straight out from my sides with needles and a blood pressure cuff. Dr Daniel – the day shift anaesthetist – introduced himself and explained the serious pain-blocking drugs he’d be injecting. Someone turned on the radio and asked if there was any station in particular we’d like to listen to (are you kidding me?) A young woman introduced herself as a student doctor and asked if I minded if she assisted with the surgery. Whatever, I thought. What's one more stranger in the room? All that mattered now was that we were going to meet our baby soon. Finally.

Dr Daniel and Gareth discussed the A-Team movie coming out soon while Dr Jana prepared to cut into me. It was all pretty surreal. I felt the pressure of the knife cutting across my belly, and someone moving their hands around my insides. Dr Daniel said it would feel like someone was “rummaging in a handbag” and that was pretty spot on.

It only took a couple minutes. Then, at 10:04 a.m., we heard his first cry. Quinn Diego was finally here.

He's here!

As you can see, he's thrilled to be here.



We're so in love, our hearts have exploded.

Normal programming will resume when mummy has sufficiently recovered.