Little Kids, Big City: Tales from a Real House in New York City (With Lessons on Life and Love for Your Own Concrete Jungle) (4 page)
Authors: Alex McCord,Simon van Kempen
BOOK: Little Kids, Big City: Tales from a Real House in New York City (With Lessons on Life and Love for Your Own Concrete Jungle)
13.27Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
Simon
After the pizza, we were allowed to stay in the birthing room for another couple of hours, but eventually we had to move to a regular hospital ward (ugh!) where at least I was able to stay and spend the night with Alex and François, albeit by sleeping in a chair as opposed to sharing Alex’s bed. The vast difference from the relative calm of the birthing suite (despite the violent animal shrieks from Alex during labor) and the ward was the hospital nurse who entered and wanted to take François to be circumcised. No way, we said, and yet despite our refusal we would be asked again and again before we escaped from the hospital at 10 the following morning.
Although my father was Dutch and born in a country where practically no babies are circumcised, I happened to be born in Australia in 1964 when the circumcision rate was 95 percent. Once we’d discovered that our first child was a boy, I remember asking Alex her views on this practice and stating my own before I gave her a chance to answer. I was relieved that she was also anti-circumcision and another potentially contentious issue between us was as usual a nonevent.
Alex
When I became pregnant with François, we immediately started planning for a second child and decided to try for baby number two ASAP after his birth. It took a bit longer than we expected for me to become pregnant again, but on Simon’s birthday in 2005 we were thrilled to see a double line once again. After a quick calculation, we realized that the age difference would be almost exactly two years. We called the midwife who attended François’ birth, and were happy to hear that she’d started her own private practice in Brooklyn. Since we’d learned François’ gender before the birth we couldn’t contain our curiosity, and decided to go ahead and find out whether we’d be buying a whole new wardrobe, dressing our daughter as a tomboy or passing down brand new things François never wore to a new little brother. We had two names ready to go, and soon learned we were expecting Johan William, not Lola Augusta. While I would have enjoyed honoring Granny Lola and Great-Grandmother Anna Augusta Alexander, I was already eagerly anticipating two boys growing up together, fighting, plotting and sticking up for one another.
With Johan there was no morning sickness at all, though I still avoided taxis just in case. By the time he was on the way, I’d completely eliminated fast food and soda from my diet, and got plenty of exercise lugging 18-month-old François up and down the stairs of our co-op building, where our triplex apartment started on the fourth floor. Before he was born we bought the townhouse we live in now, and my workout routine consisted of going up and down the stoop, and carrying François any time he asked. I remember one day he had a meltdown about sitting in the stroller, and I put him on my shoulders. People looked strangely at an eight-months-pregnant woman pushing an empty stroller with an almost two-year-old on my shoulders, but I didn’t care.
There were a couple of medical issues with Johan—at the beginning it seemed the placenta was dangerously close to my cervix, which could have completely ruled out vaginal delivery. As he and the uterus grew, though, it moved up and out of the way. Then there was the time we tested my blood sugar after eating cake, not exactly a smart idea. All in all, a pretty drama-free pregnancy once again. Simon’s mum, Elaine, arrived from Australia to help out—my mom had come for François’ birth and planned to arrive to meet Johan shortly after Elaine left so as to minimize traffic in the house and maximize time spent with the boys. As our midwives Stacey and Abby were in private practice with a smallish client list, most of Johan’s prenatal appointments took place in our home, which could not have been better. The curious toddler was able to see what was going on with Mommy’s belly, and didn’t have to stay still in a doctor’s office or examination room once he’d had a look and was bored.
We were determined not to flip out and head to the hospital too early with Johan, as that had been boring and anxiety producing the first time around. Arriving 25 minutes prior to birth, however, was cutting it a little bit fine!
By November 6, 2005 Johan was three days late and we were both getting antsy. After the due date hiccup with François, we were both worried that something similar might have happened with Johan’s due date and sure enough we found ourselves at the three days overdue mark with no birth in sight. We tried walking home from Simon’s office in Midtown, down Broadway and across the Brooklyn Bridge, despite the fact that we were both in business attire and shoes. Johan responded by falling asleep. The next evening our midwife, Stacey, came to the house and did some stretching and Rolfing of my ever-swelling delicate bits. By the next morning, Tuesday, November 8, I was certain the day had come, and made a tactical error by not heading to the polls and voting first thing in the morning. At least it wasn’t a presidential election! I felt twinges at 11 a.m. and we gave Stacey a call after lunch, who recommended a bath and a touch base at 2 p.m. At 1:15 I somehow got myself out of the tub, got dressed and grabbed a towel for the water that broke on the way out the door. We hollered to Simon’s mum that we were off, hopping in the car service rather than walking the 10 blocks as we’d planned. We arrived at the hospital at 1:50, and at 2:15 Johan flew out, landing in Stacey’s capable hands. Simon was a logistical star throughout: simultaneously filling the tub, hooking up the iPod, spinning Björk and setting up the video camera. He got every moment of Johan’s emergence on tape.
When we arrived at Long Island College Hospital in Brooklyn Heights, Stacey hadn’t arrived yet as it was so last minute. We were shuffled through maternity triage and told I had to stay on a fetal monitor for at least 20 minutes before I could be “qualified” to be released to the birthing center. As Simon puffed up his chest and prepared for battle, we were incredibly lucky to see a familiar face. Elissa, a midwife from Elizabeth Seton, was taking on extra work as a labor and delivery nurse, and happened to be on duty. Although it had been over two years since we’d seen each other, she jumped in and ran interference for us, and after giving me a once over, disconnected the monitor and announced to the triage staff that she was taking me upstairs before I gave birth right there on the floor.
Newborn Johan with Elaine (Simon’s mum)
The one thing not to love about a short labor was the aftershock. Having had such an amazing experience the first time, my expectations were pretty high for the adrenaline rush and glowing moments of bonding. Instead, I continued to have heavy contractions for several minutes afterward. Johan was fussy, too, and didn’t immediately latch on to nurse as François had; we both sort of had whiplash. After about 15 minutes we both calmed down and were able to begin enjoying each other. Simon brought in Tex-Mex, a Champagne split for me and a pitcher of gin and tonic in a plastic bottle for him. His mum, Elaine, arrived shortly thereafter and we all sat down to relax.
I’ve always been stubborn about wanting to do things my way, and was intent on proving (to myself, I guess) that I could have a newborn and a toddler and still hang on to my identity. Part of that includes not lying low—so the first thing I did as a mom of two was walk home from the hospital. We were only a few blocks away from the house, and we proudly walked home with newborn Johan in the infant seat and François riding on the buggy board behind him.
Simon
The thing I learned from one birth to the next was that I wanted to avoid having our sons scream in pain if it was unnecessary. Since the 1960s all babies born in the U.S.A. are tested for phenylketonuria (PKU), a genetic illness that can lead to mental disabilities, and in New York State this test must be given in the hospital prior to discharge, irrespective of what time the parents and baby leave. No one bothered to point out that if we left the hospital before 24 hours passed, the test results wouldn’t count. We learned this the hard way much to François’ pain and were determined not to repeat our mistake with Johan. François was born in the early evening and by noon the following day we were hurtling across the Brooklyn Bridge in a Yellow Taxi on our way to our then home, Park Slope. Prior to leaving the hospital François was taken to have his heel pricked so blood could be drawn for the PKU test, but as this was conducted within 24 hours of birth we were told we’d have to have him tested again. This we did at our pediatrician’s and in fact it took a total of three tests—three goes by different nurses squeezing his heel for enough blood to fill the blotter paper before a valid test was performed. So when Johan came along at 2:15 p.m. we knew we’d not only stay the night, but this time we’d stay in the hospital so that at 2:16 the following day he could have just one PKU test and not rack up his older brother’s record of three.
10 THINGS WE’LL REMEMBER THAT HAPPENED DURING PREGNANCIES:10. Threw up while crossing Eighth Avenue before I was showing. People around me thought I was hungover.9. At the airport in St Martin Simon whispered that a guy was checking me out from behind I turned around to face him and he was shocked to see my belly “I didn’t know you were preg nant” he exclaimed8. A rolling pin is great for massaging your lower back during contractions.7. Walking up 14 flights of stairs in August 2003 during the big citywide blackout. Although I was seven months pregnant, I wanted to go to the roof of the hotel to see something I’d never seen in the middle of a big city before: a sky full of stars. It was spectacular and worth the climb.6. Don’t let anyone tell you what to do. Women have been having babies for thousands of years5. Diane von Furstenberg wrap dresses are a practically perfect design for pregnant women4. In order to keep François occupied during prenatal appointments we got him involved by letting him help take my blood pressure etc3. Best advice I heard: men’s genitals grow and change shape regularly then go back to the way they were before Don’t worry about your female delicate bits being able to retract2. Pregnant women are neither aliens nor invalids. However, far be it from me to suggest that women should not use that incorrect assumption to their advantage when trying to get a seat on a crowded subway train1. Number one thing to bring to your hospital birth: a third party advocate during labor who is willing to burn down the hospital to get your needs met—someone who isn’t the medical provider and who isn’t you Some people hire a doula—for me that was Simon
Chapter 2
No Sleep ‘Til Brooklyn, What’s My Name Again? and Who is This Alien?
The First Six Months
Simon
One of the great advantages I found by having my first child reasonably later in life (I was 39 when François was born) was that my career was relatively secure. As the general manager of a well-run hotel operation, I could largely drop out and stay home. And so with the support of the owner and my great staff behind me, I did just that for the first two weeks of his life. The only hiccup to this was my executive assistant had just resigned and in the midst of the birth I hired a new assistant fairly blindly who, while I was being thrown in at the deep end of fatherhood, was being thrown in the deep end to manage my office as I worked from home. At this time PDAs with e-mail capability were still not in common use, but I was never more than a phone call away. After we brought François home, not only did we have to get used to a new being in our existence, but our two cats also had to as well.
Alex
When François was 16 days old, we were in London midway through our first trip away from home since the birth. We were both determined to get out of town and travel as soon after the birth as possible, partly as a getaway and partly just to prove to ourselves that becoming parents didn’t mean staying at home all the time. I’d read so much advice for new moms that to me seemed condescending and presumptive, such as, “You won’t want to do anything for a few weeks, you won’t feel like going anywhere” and my reaction was, “Well, that’s NOT ME.” I didn’t plan to climb Mount Kilimanjaro or anything too crazy, but a trip to London? Easy! I wanted to prove to myself that I was still me and that Simon and I could simultaneously be good first-time parents obsessed with our new baby, and normal city dwellers who did normal things, like go out for late meals and travel. We continued to do so, just with a peacefully sleeping baby tucked into his stroller or car seat.
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