So long and thanks for all the fish*

Criminal Minds is on right now. 

Again.

It's on every night here, one of the only shows in English so we seem to watch it a lot. The wife of one of Peter's co-workers used to work homicide with the RCMP in Vancouver. I once asked her if she ever watches shows like the CSI and Criminal Minds type shows. She said that she COULDN'T STAND all the CSIs, but that Criminal Minds and Cold Case were both pretty accurate. 

I'm going to miss it, I think... along with a certain Dr. Reid.

* * * * * * * * * * * * 

Although I've written all year about our time here and the things we've done, I haven't spent much time describing some of what makes it such a special place. I've left out a lot of details.

Like the smells.

While I definitely won't miss the smell of the Septima with its thousands of unruly taxis and almost equal numbers of obnoxious smoke-belching buses, there are many smells here that will always make me think of Colombia... the scent of rain in the air (which happened probably 80% of our days here!), corn grilling on street corners and meat grilling on parillas, smoke from cedar and eucalyptus wood fires, and the sweet scent of jasmine flowers (now one of my all time favourite smells).

And the sounds.

The ringing bells of the church next to our apartment building, the buzz of the gate letting cars and people into our complex, the somewhat-out-of-place-yet-completely-normal sound of horses' hooves on the pavement below, the bells of the propane trucks, the vendors in the market, the "buenos dias'" and "buenos tardes'", the "permissos" and "gracias'", the buzz of the phone in the kitchen when the portero would call up, the sound of our doorbell early on Tuesdays and Fridays signalling the arrival of our maid...

Ah, Rosalba, our maid.

At first I was completely against the idea of having a maid. I didn't need help. I didn't like the idea of some stranger being in my house, doing my laundry, touching my stuff. Someone I couldn't even communicate with. Then I got pregnant and so sick I could barely drag myself out of bed before noon. A person gets used to not cleaning bathrooms or the kitchen, or changing beds, or vacuuming, or doing laundry pretty darn quick, letmetellyou. Having some help around here (even if it was only two days a week compared to most people's five) has been nothing short of phenomenal.

But Rosalba is definitely not the only person I'll miss. 

There are other people... great, lovely, amazing people.

The friends we've made here have been really wonderful. The Canadian Embassy is not huge, and there are definitely some, uh, "colourful" personalities within its walls, but in general it's a really nice group. Even though our post was only a year long, most everyone embraced us -and our growing family- with open arms. Many (both Embassy staff and others from the expat community) went above and beyond to make us feel welcome and at home and cared for and loved.

* * * * * * * * * * 

As I sit here, it's after 1am and I'm sure I'm going to be tired in the morning. That will, however, hopefully make the nap I have planned for the afternoon even more effective.

You see, we have this wee overnight flight with four kids that leaves Bogota just before midnight tomorrow night.

(Or more than likely after midnight since the flights from here are rarely on time.)

DOESN'T THAT SOUND LIKE FUN??

Even though we haven't left yet, I'm already feeling a bit nostalgic about this place. This country. This city. These people and the year we've spent among them. I honestly don't know if I'll ever be back here...

There is much I'll miss.

*10 points** to the first person to correctly identify the origin of my post title and tell me who said it.

**In this case, the 10 points will actually be a tagua (also known as "palm ivory") ring that I picked up at the market today. You'll have to agree to send me your full name and address, or we'll arrange to meet if you're local.

ETA: I published this post at 1:12am, and although Kelly commented at 3:01am (so says google reader), Sara aka @squirrellykoala responded to me via twitter (since she couldn't get the comments to work) at 2:21am. I am impressed that you both knew the answer AND THAT YOU WERE BOTH UP SO LATE. The correct answer is, OF COURSE, that "So long and thanks for all the fish" is a parting message from the dolphins before they leave earth prior to its destruction in the fourth book "in the increasingly inaccurately name Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy Trilogy" and is also and also the title of said book. Congrats Sara! We'll touch base when I'm back and unpacked.

loose ends

Have I really only posted once since July 15th? Hard to believe that much time has gone by, yet when I think about all that's happened it seems incredible that we fit it all in!

Little Eloise (or Lolo, as Andrew calls her) is now eight weeks old. Holy smoke! She's still as sweet as can be and is far more amazing than any parent of a newborn has the right to hope or dream. She cries only when desperately hungry (which rarely happens as she's on her own schedule and I feed her whenever she seems to want it), when she's having trouble burping (which she does seem to struggle with a bit), or when she's tired of having the hiccups for the sixth time that day. She rarely ever spits up... even when I'm too lazy to burp her in the middle of the night. She often has a 6-7 hours stretch of sleep each night... she wakes up less than Andrew! She's smiling more and more each day, and has even treated us to some little giggles. The boys eat it up and I'm sure it will be no time before they're constantly competing to see who can make her laugh (with Andrew having a wee melt down when it's not him).

Also during this time, Peter and I left the boys here in Bogota with my mom (bless her!) while we travelled back to Canada to shop for a new house. While Colombian women traditionally don't take their babies out of the house until after 40 days, Eloise travelled internationally, stayed in a hotel, visited several new restaurants and pubs, went to her first tweetup, went shopping, met almost all our amazing friends for the first time, and travelled home. 

We saw twenty-two (22!) different houses in two (2!) days before finally deciding on one. It came down to a choice between two very different homes... My choice had a loft, finished basement, MASSIVE although super empty yard that backed onto the highway, but walking distance to a school. Peter's pick had bigger rooms, a garage, a smaller yet more mature yard, nicer finishes, partially finished basement (that we can finish to suit our needs), but will mean a bus ride to school for the boys (should we send them). I was almost in tears the night we had to decide from the stress of it all. In the end, I convinced myself to like Peter's choice and he decided he'd be much happier in a place where I was happy. Aren't we cute? Truthfully, we would've been happy in either place, but we put an offer in on the one Peter liked. In all honesty, come winter -and snow and ice and freezing cold weather!- I'm sure I'll be plenty glad for the garage (which the other house didn't have) and will happily declare it was MY IDEA ALL ALONG.

On the way home our flight from Ottawa to Toronto was cancelled, putting our connecting flight to Bogota in great jeopardy, making me freak out a bit since the boys had been promised they'd see us that night and prompting me to snap at the Air Canada ticket agent. After sitting around for an hour waiting to find out if they could route us through Chicago, New York or Miami, it turned out that the flight to Bogota was actually going to be delayed enough that we could get on the next flight to Toronto and still make our connection. And while waiting, we met a Colombian lady travelling to Bogota alone with her two small kids who not only all speak French and a bit of English and Spanish, but the mom also babywears and they live a few blocks from our new house! Not sure what the odds of that happening are.

During our trip, I joked with Peter that we should be taking different planes. We're like the President and Vice President, and shouldn't be travelling together. What if the plane went down??

But it didn't. The boys were thrilled to have us home, as was my mom. They all survived the 10 days (ten!) without us... and I survived the time without them! Having never left them alone for even a night (with the exception of some sleepovers at my sister's house and Liam spending one night at a friend's), this trip did afford me with a fair bit of anxiety. But I held it together. Three cheers for me!

And to be honest, the trip was good. Really good. Peter and I got to do some shopping, see almost all our friends, visit our much-missed church, eat out LEISURELY... and we bought a house that we're all excited about. Seeing so many houses with four kids in tow would've been nothing short of a nightmare... can you imagine!

* * * * * * * * * * * *

As I sit here typing, all our household goods have been packed and it feels like we're once again living in a (very bare) hotel. As soon as we got home from our trip, we started in on the task of deciding what to pack up in our shipment of goods and what to keep aside to carry back to Canada in our luggage. Clothes are a given, but we needed both cool weather clothes for here in Bogota and warm weather clothes for back in Canada. We also needed to keep out bed and bathroom linens, all the necessary new baby accessories, and enough cooking basics (ie, spices) to keep us going for a couple weeks before we get our house keys.

The boys are going a bit crazy with so little to do... read: they've been playing an obscene amount of wii. They've even badgered me into playing, shattering the carefully and deliberately crafted illusion that I know nothing about that confounded machine. We have been out to the park and the market a few times, and also drove out to Chia (a nearby town) and spent a super fun afternoon with some friends from the Embassy.

Hopefully we'll be able to take full advantage of our last few days here before saying goodbye to Bogota and Colombia.

how to spot a Canadian in Bogota

While not all of these characteristics are specific only to Canadians, they certainly help to identify us as foreigners.

- When walking down the street, we yell at our kids to stop at the corner in English instead of Spanish.

- We go to the park with our kids as opposed to having sent them with the nanny.

- We have "blue plates". Colombians have yellow license plates with black writing, while our diplomatic plates are blue with white writing. This doesn't necessarily set us apart as Canadians, but it definitely screams "diplomat". "Blue plates, baby" will be a running joke in this house for a LONG time.

- Even after almost a year here, our kids still take off their shoes as soon as they enter someone's home. No one in Colombia takes of their shoes inside. The line of little Crocs with maple leaf jibbitz? Sure since there are Canadians in the house.

- Speaking of those ubiquitous rubber shoes, here in Bogota, Crocs are akin to slippers! I didn't know this UNTIL A FEW WEEKS AGO! Simon's teacher mentioned that it was "so cute to see Simon running around outside in Crocs". I asked what was cute about that and she went on to explain that no one really wears Crocs outside here. They're worn inside as slippers... or as work shoes for maids! Sans jibbitz of course.

- Most Colombians carry their kids. Everywhere. Rarely, rarely do you see a stroller, and those you do see are generally European brands and likely being used by foreigners. It's commonplace to see a parent cradling a tiny newborn wrapped in thick blankets while walking along (or running across!) one of the busiest streets in the city. But it's also not unusual to see someone carrying a sleeping -and obviously very heavy- toddler in their arms. Strollers are really rare. And if you've been around this blog long enough, you'll have seen pictures of our stroller... a Chariot Carrier. It's big and bold AND BRIGHT YELLOW. This thing STOPS PEOPLE IN THEIR TRACKS down here. Seriously. People stop and stare.

- For women, the "tourista uniform", ie. capris or sandals. Extra "foreigner" points for wearing both at the same time. Colombian women are typically VERY well-dressed. They favour perfectly coifed, long hair and skinny jeans tucked into tall, tall boots. Eighty percent of women seem to wear this outfit at. all. times.

So if the jibbitz-accessoried, Croc-wearing, English-speaking, blond-haired, blue-eyed kids aren't obvious enough... and if the giant school-bus-yellow stroller doesn't give it away... seeing me at the park in my yoga pant capris, Croc sandals (Twitter confirmed these are allowable when pregnant, so I'm going to claim clemency when two weeks post-partum as well), AND BED HEAD might also help tip one off to us not being from around here.

Oh, I was also wearing Eloise in a wrap.

If only you all knew how funny this description is in comparison to the typical Colombian woman in this neighbourhood!

Trust me. It's funny.

no more school, no more books...

... no more getting up at 5:45am to get the boys up and ready for school!

Wednesday, June 22nd, was the boys' "graduation" ceremonies for school. Each year group (grade) had their own awards ceremony, speeches, etc. It was a bit tedious, but also fun to see the boys with all their friends.

Eloise was only a week old, so was quite the attraction.* Simon couldn't even manage to stay in his seat. He kept coming over to my mom and I, and asking when he could show Eloise to Miss Denise or telling me in a not-so-quiet whisper that so-and-so wanted to see the baby. It was sweet, but also a bit nerve wracking since I knew he was supposed to be getting an award... but didn't know which one.

Turns out he got the Music Award. He adores singing. He has an amazing memory and does a surprising job carrying a tune, whether the song is in English or Spanish. I did get a kick out of his music teacher's notes on his report card though... something about having a "strong voice" but needing to "learn to control it". 

That's teacher-speak for "your son is LOUD".

Anyone surprised? 

Liam's time slot was after lunch, so we spent some time at the school letting Andrew run around and showing Eloise to some of the staff and students. 

For Liam's year group, there was only one award in each category per year. So only about 7-8 awards for about 40 kids. Liam was a bit disappointed to have not been chosen, but we talked about how it really wouldn't have been fair for him to be given one when he was there for less than half the year while all the other kids had been there working hard for the whole year.

Besides, we made it clear how proud WE were of him. 

Friday, June 26th, was the boys' last day of school. Official. 

Woohoo! 

And huge sigh of relief! I can't tell you how much Peter and I were looking forward to this day. 

My mom, Andrew, Eloise and I arrived at the school laden with snacks (strawberry lemonade bars) and gifts (pounded flower bookmarks) for the boys' teachers. We found Liam finishing up break time and lined up to head back to his class. What I didn't get a picture of was Andrew running up to throw his arms around his big brother. Andrew's displays of affection always draw huge reactions from the other kids. 

And the girls dig it.

At Simon's class party, they had a special time for the kids who are moving and won't be at the school next year. His teacher, Miss Denise, gave each of the four kids a special book with pictures of them throughout the year, and little messages and drawings from their classmates.

Simon was so thrilled with his book. He had both his teacher and the class assistant, Miss Natalia, read it to him in succession. That night he insisted on having it read to him a half dozen times by Peter AND me AND my mom. It's now been put someplace up high to keep it away from little fingers who started to pick at the decorations, but I can see how much Simon would love a special photo book (or ten) for his birthday or other special occasions. 

Simon with Miss Natalia

Simon and Andrew with Miss Denise

After Simon's party, we headed up to Liam's classroom. We were there about an hour early, which allowed time for an impromptu health and science lesson about reproduction, gestation, birth, babies, etc. Liam's teacher did an incredible job covering an amazing array of topics in a short time. The kids asked questions and had the chance to hold Eloise.

Then the party started.

Liam dancing with Andrew and John

playing a who-can-stay-still-and-quiet-the-longest game.
genius.

School was a bigger adjustment for Liam than for Simon. There were a few bumps -socially more than academically- but he really did a great job. He ended the year strong... and with some really great friends. I'm not going to fool myself into thinking that these elementary school friends -of only five months, really- will be life long friends. But you never know. With the nature of the foreign service and embassy life... you just never know where we'll all end up.

* * * * * * * * * * * 

After school, Liam headed to the house of a friend for one last playdate.

My mom and I came home with Eloise and the younger two boys... who got into the markers.

Simon emerged from the bathroom looking like this...

he declared he was a ninja

this is his "ninja face"

clearly being a ninja is serious business

mostly

We followed this up with a flying-jump-kicks-off-the-couch photo session, but I'll save you seeing those hundred pictures.

Until later.

*In Colombia, women don't leave the house with their babies until after the 40 day mark, so seeing a teeny, tiny newborn out and about drew quite the crowd! I don't know what all those ladies do for forty days (leave their baby with the nanny, perhaps?), but the reaction to Eloise has been a tone of fun to witness. Walking through the crowded Sunday market draws audible gasps from all sides... everyone from the lady selling high end leather goods to the scruffy youth selling gum and cigarettes on the corner. So funny.

finally... the birth story.

Around 1am, I woke up (once again) with wicked heartburn. It was so bad that I couldn't even be laying down. After a trip to the bathroom for my fifth and sixth Tums of the night, I decided to head out to the recliner in our living room so I could sleep a bit more upright. It worked and -after quickly checking Facebook and the comments on my blog, of course- I fell asleep and didn't wake up until right around 5am. Almost four hours! Quite the feat considering the capacity of my bladder at 41+ weeks pregnant.

But before I go any further, lets have a recap of the few days prior... courtesy of my Twitter stream.

Saturday, June 11th,

Sunday, June 12th,


Monday, June 13th,




Monday, June 14th,


Carrying on...

5:00 am - Wake up. Feel a contraction not long after... that actually kinda hurts. Get up, grab the laptop so I can listen to my hypnobabies scripts. Head back to bed.

5:10 am - Back in bed, listening to the "First Stages" script. A few more contractions. Have to concentrate a bit during them, more to try to figure out if they were real or not. Have to use the bathroom after each "wave" (more on that later). 

6:00 am - Not really able to sleep. Get up to wake the boys for school. Simon and Andrew are already awake. Attempt to rouse Liam. Have a contraction. 

6:05 am - Another contraction. Tell Liam that maybe the baby will be here when he gets home from school. Get no response (but I do get a nice hug before he heads for breakfast).

6:10 am - Sit in the dark of the boys' room contemplating the possibility that this might actually be the birth day. Feel yet another contraction. Go back to bed to listen to my script and try to relax. Not able to get comfortable at all while lying down.

6:30 am - Peter comes back up from getting the boys on the bus. I tell him that maybe he should stay home from work, but "would he be mad if it doesn't happen today?". He says he'll stay. I have him move the chair from the boys' room into ours so I can be sitting up, then move the crib and dresser out of the way so there'll be room for the birth pool.

6:45 am - Not timing contractions, but think about calling the doctor.

6:50 am - Okay. Enough waiting. Call the doctor AND GET HIS VOICEMAIL. Leave a message saying I think this might be the real thing. He calls back and says he'll be here in an hour. I hang up on him because I can't talk through the contraction.

With all my other labours, my contractions followed a predictable pattern. They very distinctly started low and the tightening worked its way up my belly in a wave, peaked, and then worked its way back down. These are so, so different. While I still feel the tightening, there is almost no pain whatsoever in my abdomen itself. It's ALL in my cervix. Deep inside and so, so strong. When I lean forward even the tiniest bit, the pain is unbearable. Way too intense.

I labour mostly sitting up in an armchair, listening to my hypnobabies script. Peter brings in his coffee and newspaper, but Andrew follows him in and keeps trying to climb on me (only during contractions of course). I try a few times to lay down -since I really want to lay down!- but the pain quadruples and I lay there whimpering. I can't relax or concentrate on anything other than just surviving til the wave ends and I can get back in the chair. I try sitting on the exercise ball. I try kneeling on the ground, leaning on the ball. But anything other than sitting slightly reclined in the chair just doesn't work. I feel very nauseous during each contraction.

I sit in the chair with my legs crossed, feet on the exercise ball, and head propped up on a pillow against the wall (Peter has to both lift my legs onto the ball AND reach the pillow that's sitting mere inches away). I concentrate on consciously relaxing all the muscles in my abdomen and uterus, and say to myself "open, open, open" with each wave of pain. I can hear Peter playing with Andrew somewhere in the house. Between contractions I silently curse the woman on the disc and her claims that all I feel is "pressure". This is far, far, FAR more than pressure. FAR. MORE.

Peter comes in often to check on me. I can hear him come in, but he leaves me to my chair and scripts. A few times I sit up to talk to him or attempt to change positions, but whenever I'm not concentrating on relaxing I want to climb out of my skin. Even though listening to the scrips and practicing what I've learned do not make things painless, I feel completely out of control when I break my concentration.

7:50 am - It's one hour after the doctor said he would be here in one hour.  He's not here. I have Peter call him. He says he's 10 minutes away. I'm super nauseous with each surge.

8:00 am - Me: CALL. HIM. AGAIN. Even with deep, deliberate, conscious concentration I'm having a hard time keeping calm and relaxed. Although I still feel in control, I begin to wonder if the doctor will make it in time. He definitely won't have time to inflate and fill the birth pool. Peter fills the tub and puts some water on to boil (since our hot water tank hardly fills the tub 8" before running out).

8:05 am - Peter calls down to the portero (guard) to let him know to expect the doctor and let him up right away. I'm whimpering and starting to feel frantic. I can tell baby is coming, BUT I'M STILL FULLY DRESSED SITTING IN THE ARMCHAIR.

8:10 am - The doctor finally arrives. He and Peter make several trips bringing equipment into our bedroom. I'm on my hands and knees, barely able to speak, and starting to seriously panic THAT THEY KEEP LEAVING THE ROOM. I somehow manage to blurt out that the baby is coming and THEY NEED TO STOP LEAVING. I'm still wearing my pyjamas and at serious risk of delivering baby girl fully dressed. The imminency of the situation now clear, the doctor helps me out of my pjs while Peter runs around the house frantically gathering every towel we own. The doctor tries to check me and I none too calmly tell him to get away from me. I ask Peter to change the track playing on the laptop to the "pushing" script.

8:15 am - I ask Peter what time it is. He tells me 8:15. I start pushing and can tell she's coming fast. About three minutes after asking Peter to turn the hypnobabies pushing script up, I tell him abruptly to turn it off. I'm not listening anymore... or maybe just not hearing. At this point it's all about getting it done. I vocalize loudly, but am not screaming like with Andrew. Pushing is painful (way more than pressure!), but is also a relief. I feel intense pain as she descends through the birth canal and crowns, but am not worried I'll die before she's born like I did during transition and pushing with Andrew.

8:22 am - As her head is born, the doctor asks me to stop pushing. Ha. As the rest of her body emerges, there's such a wave of relief. The bag of waters breaks as she's born -or the doctor broke it once her head was born- as it hadn't broken prior to labour. Still on my hands and knees and shaking from the effort, I don't even pick her up immediately. Either Peter or the doctor wraps her in a hand towel and I get my first good look at her as she lets out her first little cries. I again ask Peter what time it is and am amazed to hear it's only been seven minutes. After a few more minutes, I manage to turn over so I can sit and get a better look at her... and her red hair!

8:30 am - The nurse arrives as we're waiting for the placenta to be born. The look on her face when she sees the baby already here is priceless. After sitting for a few minutes more, I decide to get up and head to the pre-filled-but-now-barely-warm tub with the baby. Even with all the boiling water from the stove, it's not comfortable for long. It does give me the chance to clean us both up a bit and to nurse the baby.



After changing into a clean (and non-pyjama) shirt (that I managed to put on backwards), I headed to the bed and we finally called my mom and Andrew into the room... to meet Eloise Amora Kaye Bundy. Andrew climbed right up onto the bed and was quick to give hugs and kisses to both me and Eloise, although he was more focused on me than the baby.

about 75 minutes after birth

She didn't have even a hint of a cone-head, no bruising whatsoever. She came out so quickly, there was just no time.

After a few pictures, Peter took Eloise out to try calling his family on Skype, and my mom was able to get ahold of my younger sister. Since I was still laying on the bed covered by a towel, I finally asked the nurses to get the doctor to come assess the damage. As he started with the freezing, I had to ask one of the nurses if they'd mind getting me some toast or a muffin or something to eat. I was feeling light-headed and realized that -at 10:30 am- I hadn't eaten a thing that day!

Stitching completed, they brought Eloise back in to weight and measure her. As you can see, she wasn't a fan of the process.

After another shower, I headed out to grab another snack and pretty much parked myself on the couch for the rest of the day. The doctor and nurses mentioned several times "how strong Canadian women are". They couldn't believe how quickly and "easily" I laboured, that I was up taking a bath 10 minutes after the birth, and walking around getting myself something to eat a few hours later (they had, however, just come from a 21 hour labour where the mom pushed for four hours). They left about four hours after Eloise was born.

I'll end here even though I haven't written about Liam and Simon's first reactions (Simon said some hilarious and blog-worthy things), since it's taken me this long to make it this far... and she'll be 15 days old tomorrow!

Eloise birth was not quite what I'd envisioned... It was not the calm waterbirth I'd wanted. There was no birth pool. No cute bathing suit I'd bought specially for the occasion. There was no peaceful easing, no gentle waves of pressure, no letting my body bring the baby out. It was intense and powerful and overwhelming and fierce AND FAST.

BUT... even amidst the pain of contractions (although some women have painless births with hypnobabies, mine WAS NOT!), I felt so... in control. There was no fear. I welcomed the pain of the contractions, rather than tense up and fight it like my prior births. I don't even have the words to explain it... other than I felt so confident and, yay, in control. Only when it became clear that baby was crowning and the doctor still hadn't arrived, did I start to panic and feel overwhelmed by the pain. I do wish that he'd arrived sooner and I'd been able to stay relaxed throughout, but it was just too fast!

So fast that there are no pictures! *sob*

I'd gotten the camera all charged and ready to go, brought it into the room and set it on the shelf... where it remained untouched throughout the entire labour and birth. Being a photographer, I'd really hoped for wonderful images to remember this, my last, birth.

But what I do have are wonderful memories of a quick, intense and empowering birth welcoming this amazingly sweet little soul into the world. Our sweet little Eloise who we've spent the last two weeks getting to know and love.

Next up, a post about the placenta in our freezer. Not to be missed.

an update on my earlier emotionally-fragile, too-pregnant rant

I know my post from earlier today didn't portray me as the ray of sunshine I'm sure you've come to expect when you visit this blog.

Um...

Well I did want to update a couple things.

Not long after writing that post and hitting publish, I spoke to my doctor. Being over 41 weeks, he wanted me to go in for both an ultrasound and an NST (non stress test). Although I wasn't thrilled about a bunch of testing that would have the potential to lead to even more intervention, I understood our doctor's position. He's currently the only doctor in the city (this city of 9 million people) who does homebirths and he generally caters to the upper class... including diplomats. I'm sure it would be an absolute nightmare for him should there be some tragedy involving the wife or newborn of some diplomat or high profile ex-pat.

Our doctor made the appointment and I went to pick Peter up from the Embassy. I was so thankful he was able to leave work on such short notice to come with me... and thankful that we could get in so quickly (once we found the place!). 

We ended up having to sit through TWO twenty minute scans since baby girl slept soundly through the first. Because they weren't able to track any movement, the tech sent us to "eat something sweet" and come back. Two Snickers bars and a bottle of Coke later and she was hopping all over the place! The second scan went great and baby girl passed with flying colours.

The ultrasound was quick and painless. The tech measured fluid levels -which were perfect- and then went on to take measurements of head, torso and long bones. Each time, she made some comment about HOW BIG the baby is... even saying, "You have a FAT BABY." This made me pretty nervous... until we saw the actual gestational age the measurements corresponded to, most of which were in the 37-38 week range.

I'm 41+ weeks!

Then we reminded ourselves how small Colombians make em. She probably just wasn't used to seeing measurements of those sizes... even though baby is only estimated around 7lbs!

Either way, it all went well and baby girl scored 10/10. 

We're total over achievers.

* * * * * * * * * * * 

While Peter and I were sitting around during the NSTs he informed me that he learned that, while we might end up being short on time to apply for the baby's diplomatic passport, there is the option of getting a temporary passport printed for urgent travel. So regardless when baby decides to make her grand entrance, a temporary passport only takes three days to obtain. 

*big sigh of relief*

More importantly, he also informed me that the consultations in Ottawa that would require us to leave Bogota July 3rd (in 2 1/2ish weeks) have been rescheduled for two weeks later. We still haven't narrowed down when our house hunting trip will be, but we now have more time. A bigger cushion. Less stress.

*bigger sigh*

So, yes, I feel a bit silly for my emotional fragility of earlier, but it was probably a good thing to get some of it out. 

Not a complete waste.

But more than a bit humbling to see how things have worked themselves out so quickly.

* * * * * * * * * * 

Now I'll return to surfing Pinterest and killing time on Twitter while I time "contractions"... hopefully some of these ones are real.

one week left... or hopefully less

I'm happy to report that I have not crashed into anything this week.

Of course, I also haven't driven a car since the accident last week, but that's just a coincidence I'm sure.

Today marks week 39 of this pregnancy and baby girl continues to cook. Although I'm on high alert for any sign of impending labour, none have yet to present themselves. None. I do get Braxton Hicks contractions often, but nothing consistent and they never increase in either frequency or intensity.

*sigh*

Our plan is for this to be our last baby. My last pregnancy. I do honestly want to enjoy every minute of it and not try to be too anxious for it all to end. I know there will be times in the coming years where I'll get the itch and wish I could once again feel a baby move inside me. I want to cherish these last days. And other than this persistent, month-long cough that I'm dealing with, I generally feel pretty good... other than waking up several times a night to pee and the supreme effort it takes to roll over in bed (which I'm pretty sure is the closest I'll ever get to attempting a u-turn with a semi truck trailer!).

Complicating matters, however, is our trip back to Canada for our house hunting trip. We still don't have our departure date from Bogota, but we do know that our trip back home to look for a new place will be sometime in July. We'd like to be able to combine that trip with some meetings in Ottawa that the Embassy would like Peter to attend, but that will mean flying out of Bogota just four weeks after my due date. Should baby girl decide to make a late appearance, I run the risk of possibly being only three weeks postpartum when we fly. 

If we could somehow convince her to join us sometime this week, it would not only give us a larger cushion between birth and our trip home, but it will also give us more time to arrange for baby's ID, passport, etc. 

So, if you have any tried and true methods to coax babies earth side, please share!

the one in which she took on a bus and lost

I posted the Coles Notes version of this story on Facebook and Twitter, but in case you missed it -or were curious for more details- here's the full deal...

Tuesday morning I left the house around 9:30am, headed to one of my last (!) doctor's appointments. Peter and I just talked last night about cancelling, but I had a few questions about the process for when labour actually starts, the set up for the homebirth, etc. I was also hoping he could look at my throat... I'd been up since about 2am with a wicked bad sore throat and was hoping I hadn't caught Peter's strep from a couple weeks ago.

Pretty much as soon as I got down to the main road (the Septima, for anyone familiar with Bogota) the traffic seemed crazy. My appointments are ALWAYS either 10am or 10:30am, Tues or Wed morning. By that time, there's usually very little traffic (comparatively), but that day it was busy right from the get go. I took the Circumvalar (a windy road that goes up around the Parque National) and by the time I actually got downtown, it was INSANE.

The problem is that I know EXACTLY ONE ROUTE to get to the doctor's office. One. I know the way there and DO NOT DEVIATE from said route. Downtown is just too crazy and there are too many one-ways and too many people/cars/taxis/buses/motorbikes/vendors, etc. And the office is on a one way, so I know if I go past it, it'll be a nightmare to get back.

Well, when I got through the park and was about to take my usual left hand turn towards the doctor's office, there was an old guy standing on the corner, shaking his head and waving his arms... clearly telling me not to go that way. That's also when I noticed people walking around with signs. Seems I'd made my way into the middle of a protest of some sort. 

Awesome. 

Generally the security head at the Embassy sends out email notifications of protests and rallies and what areas to avoid on what days. But since I'd slept so terribly, I'd fallen asleep on the couch for about half an hour that morning and didn't have time to check my email before leaving. Also, since the protests are meant to make a scene and disrupt traffic and life in general, there's usually not much advanced notice if any. I tried calling Peter's office and cell, but didn't get an answer. So I tried a friend (the wife of the head of security) to see if she'd gotten an email. She said no and that her husband was in meetings all morning, so he wouldn't have even gotten any bulletins.

At that point, I did think about turning around, but knew I was only about 7-8 blocks from the office. I had a pretty good idea where to go and how to get there, so keep on. At one point, I did end up in the Transmilenio lane (rapid, dedicated bus/emergency lane) by mistake, but only for about a block before I got back where I should've been. This was an honest mistake as the lanes are kind of tricky to figure out... until you realize you're in the wrong one!

A couple blocks later, I recognized the street I wanted to turn on, and could see other cars turning left there, so figure it'd be fine... 

...until it was my turn and I somehow managed to turn right into the path of one of the Transmilenio buses.

One of the big, red, double-length, accordion style, massive busses like this:

photo via colombia_magica on Flickr

In our little Kia.

I pulled right over to the median... and immediately started crying. There were police there immediately (since they were all around for the protests) , but none of them spoke English. I was crying and scared and shaken up and couldn't even communicate with anyone. And had just gotten into an accident WITH A BUS.

I tried calling Peter several times, but again couldn't get ahold of him. I knew the security guy was in meetings, so I called his wife back and told her what happened. She was able to get ahold of him and he went to find Peter... who was in a meeting with the ambassador. I guess they asked if it was an emergency and he was, like, "Um, yeah, it is." So Peter called me and I was able to pass the phone to one of the police officers who was standing at my window. In the time that it took for me to get Peter on the phone, however, somehow between my hysterics and pretty-much-complete-lack-of-Spanish, the police office got the impression that I was, in fact, the Canadian Ambassador's wife. Which explains why, within about 20 minutes, there were two ambulances, over a dozen police, several Transmilenio staff/guards AND A TV CREW there.

It was super.

They took Andrew and I into one of the ambulances to check my blood pressure, pulse, and check on the baby. All were fine. Then they made us get on a gurney and be wheeled to the other ambulance. What a scene. They whole time they were insisting that we be taken to the hospital, only Peter'd told me repeatedly NOT TO GO ANYWHERE. I wasn't even supposed to have gotten out of the car (!), but couldn't argue with two dozen well-meaning, non-English-speaking Colombian men.

In the end, Peter and one of the Embassy drivers came and stayed with the car while I took a taxi to the hospital that's right near our place. I was pretty sure any damage was just muscular (ie, no broken bones), but Peter wanted me to get checked out. Thankfully, the Embassy sent a guy to meet me at the ER and stay with me and Andrew the whole time, so that made things easier. By the time I was through at the ER (diagnosis: whiplash), Peter'd realized that he had the car/house keys and he was still downtown. I called a friend and ended up spending the afternoon at her place with Andrew, where she fed both our tummies and our souls... not much that chai tea and a warm bowl of soup can't soothe!

During the time I was at the hospital, Peter'd received calls from friends, co-workers, the ambassador AND someone from the office of the Colombian Foreign Affairs Minister. Not only that, but our ambassador down here had gotten a call from Ottawa from Colombia's ambassador to Canada.

Good news travels fast! 

Oh, and after Peter picked me up from my friend's and we were driving back to our place, he bumped into the car in front of us while stopped at a light.

I wish I was kidding.

Luckily he was hardly moving, so it did absolutely nothing... but I'm not going to lie... a few choice words might've been uttered at that point.

Suffice to say, the accident could've been much, much worse. Those buses are HUGE. And with me being (just over) 38 weeks pregnant and having Andrew in the car, etc, etc... I think a few guardian angels sacrificed themselves to keep us safe!

For those who read/understand Spanish, here's the protest I was trying to avoid, and here's a short article about the accident.  I have no idea what the comments are saying, but my guess is that they're along the lines of "Stupid foreign lady! Driving in the bus lane to avoid the traffic because she thinks she can do whatever she wants being a diplomat!" which totally wasn't the case.

So, yeah, there's the long and not-so-short of it.

Either way, if being HIT BY A BUS isn't enough to shake this baby loose, she's clearly not quite ready to come. It would've been a great excuse!

Our car will need a bit of work over the course of the next week (but looks remarkably good for having tried to take on a bus!), but other than a bit of whiplash, I'm fine. Andrew is fine. And baby girl is still cooking.

The amount of stress this cause Peter and the money this is likely to cost us in the end make me feel sick, but I have to remind myself that it's just money. If pressed to pick a winner between a double-length, accordion Transmilenio bus and a little Kia Soul, pretty sure most people would put their money on the bus, eh?

Villa de Leyva, the grand finale

If you've missed the initial six-post-long photo bomb of our trip north of Bogota, here are the previous posts from our trip to Villa de Leyva over Easter/Spring break:

swimming

part I (Villa de Leyva at night and our hotel)

part II (the Ostrich Farm) 

part III (Dinosaur Park, more swimming and one of the best pizza joints in Colombia)

part IV (Villa de Leyva Plaza Mayor, family pictures)

part V (lemonades and lattes on the plaza)

Since I recognize the very real chance that you're all bored beyond words of all the pictures from this trip, I'll keep this post low on narration. These are mostly pictures of the colonial architecture that Villa de Leyva is known for -notably the church- along with a few shots of some of the people.

* * * * * * * * * *

By the time we were done our little coffee break at the plaza while waiting for the shops to open, the sun was out and blazing, the square was filling up... and the boys were cranky and in no mood to shop. So Peter took the three of them up to the car while I head a few blocks over to the yarn shop I'd been anxious to peak into.

The wool and other fibre in that store were incredible! All hand carded, spun and dyed. Amazing stuff. They sold many hand-knitted items (some drool-worth sweaters, bags and rugs) as well as the yarn itself. I'd chosen several balls of yarn to buy, with dreams of sweet baby girl knitted things swirling away in my head. The  problem was that none of the skeins were priced. All were weighed on a somewhat sketchy and not-so-accurate looking hanging scale. 

I also have GRINGO practically stamped across my forehead.

Luckily (it turns out), my credit card wouldn't work when I went to pay... good thing, since the total was around $400! Yikes. I'm thinking providence saved me from getting more than a wee bit ripped off there as I hadn't chosen that much wool, but would've had no way to "argue" the price with them. I still thinking longingly back to that amazing wool, but am thankful to have not gotten fleeced (*snort*).

* * * * * * * * * * * * 

I met up with Peter and the boys, we said goodbye to Villa de Leyva and hit the road in search of the pottery town of Raquira. 

We had a map. 

We had a GPS. 

We still got lost.

And we got stuck behind these guys...

After a 40 minute detour of sorts, we did manage to get on the proper highway, headed in the proper direction, and eventually made it to Raquira. By this time, the boys were tired, hungry, even crankier, and not at all interested in getting out a poking around shops. Even amazing shops like the ones lining the streets of this neat little town.

So I got all of 20 minutes to race around with my camera and snap some shots while half-heartedly looking for a sandwich shop or something similar. In the end, I did get some interesting pictures, but only got to buy a Pepsi and a lemonade.

People, I could've spent a whole day wandering around this place. *sigh* But the boys had all come down with bad colds while we were in Villa de Leyva and they just really needed to get home. Their needs came first.

I'm such a good mom.

Cause seriously, check out this place!

This concludes our trip to Villa de Leyva. I'll return you to your regularly scheduled blog full of stories of my kids supreme silliness, complaints about this awful cold (that threatens to be with me until the end of this pregnancy... or the end of time), belly pics and anxiety over name choice.

Thanks for coming along for the ride.