HUGE-o!

Happy Birthday Hugo! You're seven weeks old today. The sages called this the age of reason (OK, so maybe that's seven years, but clearly you have no concept of time or you wouldn't pick 3:26 a.m. to serenade us with La Boobeme) so let me try to reason with you: Mommy is so much nicer, and prettier, with more than sixty-seven minutes of sleep per night. If you woke up every three or four hours, instead of every hour and a half, Mommy would get more sleep and be sooo much prettier and nicer to everyone (sorry Josie). She might have time to, I don't know, brush her hair or cobble together an ensemble that doesn't involve stretch pants. She might have the brainpower to update this blog more than twice a year.

That's right, at the ripe old age of seven weeks, or three minutes for the dogs in my readership, Hugo is still up every 1.5-2 hours to feed, as they say here (which makes him sounds like a vampire, but this is the land of Bram Stoker, after all... and I really don't mind the comparison, actually). I need to catch up on my Dr. Phil, because I suspect he's some kind of emotional binge eater who needs to find other outlets for his insecurities. But clearly he knows what he's doing, because his six-week weigh-in last week showed he gained more than TWO POUNDS in three weeks! He's a real boy. The wrinkly red legs have been replaced with chubby(esque) little thighs. His ruby, furrowed little face has transformed into rosy cheeks and a double chin. He's not a Reubens cherub yet, but at 8 lbs, 10 oz. he's on his way! My goal is to fatten him up to the point where he can't crawl for a few months – in other words, something like this:


When the health visitor weighed Hugo, she said "right, so he's hanging right in there at the ninth percentile." I plucked the dust from my ear and said "exsqueeze me? Did you say ninetieth (Josie's rank at 5 weeks) or ninth?" "Ninth." "Meaning, 89, no, 90... well, whatever percentage of babies..." "are BIGGER than Hugo." Got it. Well, that's why he's up all night. He's hungry, little Niney Ninerson. We have quite a way to go.

Help! Cowabunga! Tidal wave of blue cotton!

In addition to being skeeny, he's still crabby, too. 48% of the time Hugo looks like this:


49% of the time he looks like this:


But as of last week, .0362% of the time he looks like this, and that makes it alllll worthwhile:

How you doin'?

Yes, we love our little man, but let's not forget our little lady. Josie is doing her best to stay in the spotlight, and her little brain is still forming and spinning at a dizzying speed. First, there's her puzzling syntax; she frequently serves up Sarah Palinesque word salads like, "I can't wear this shirt, it's too perchance." "I fell and hurt my arm, and now it's quite sensible." Then there's her critical thinking skills. Our doula Helen, the best wife I'll ever have, who comes several times a week to help with whichever child is in danger that day of being left on a bench in Henrietta Park with a sign that reads "Fox Food" (shout-out to Miami Spice for that great joke), told me when she was taking Josie to holiday club last week, the kid, whilst toting her lunch, a hummus and cucumber sandwich, said "well, if I eat a peanut butter sandwich for lunch, I'll never get married!"

That had me scratching my head for a few minutes. Then I put together the jagged little pieces of Josie's marital puzzle: after the 1,438th reading of Sleeping Beauty, Josie declared she'd really like to be betrothed to her besty E, who sadly has myriad allergies including egg, shellfish, and sesame. Then, last weekend, when she announced that her new favorite food is sesame bagels with cucumber and cream cheese, we informed her that should she marry E, she would have to give them up, along with shrimp spread and French toast. THEN, when I was packing her lunch for holiday club (the sane parent's antidote to the dreaded and oft-aforementioned half-term) Jeff asked why I was making her a cucumber sandwich and I told him how we were asked to send nut-free lunches because one of the children had a nut allergy. So, Josie, always hovering in the background listening and computing, puts one and one together and gets... one, the loneliest spinster number. Thus matrimony is in, and America's classic lunchtime delight is out. What kind of budding feminist am I raising here?

Ohhh, right... that kind.

To make sure Josie didn't feel like we devote every hour of every day to her little brother, we hopped in the car last weekend and headed for the brand new Peppa Pig World near Southampton. For our money, it was better than Disney! Closer, cheaper, lower-key, and we never once had to hear "It's a Small World." It was quite crowded, being a Bank Holiday weekend, so we didn't get to go on everything, but Jeff did take Josie on several vomitous rides, including a spinning "Castle in a Cloud" number, while Josie and I rode Mr. Dinosaur around the track, a bouncy trip that induced uproarious laughter in us both.

Dinosaur...rrowrr!

Cute and Clean and No Caffeine

If you haven't yet become acquainted with Peppa, George, Daddy and Mummy Pig and the rest of the gang – and especially if you have young children – I highly recommend you add Peppa to your DVD collection. It's so well-written, usually teaches a nice lesson, and ends with the whole Pig Family falling on their backs in collective laughter. It's really good stuff.

Well, on that note, I hear the Meatball growling for his pre-dinner snack. I have yet to reap the rumored weight-loss benefits of breastfeeding (hence the preponderance of stretch pants in my clothing repertoire), but the weight-gain benefits for Hugo are undeniable. Eyes on the prize, baby:

ohhhhhhh yeah.

Booooorn in the UK!

What so many hapless, hopeless, parents of two (or three, or four) have told us for years is absolutely true: the only thing more world-upending than having a baby? Having a second baby.

My memories of my maternity leave and early days with Josie are probably a bit rose-colored, but I remember floating around in a cloud, drinking milkshakes, gazing into each Josie's eyes for hours, popping in and out of Nyack's shops with my cute stroller and her cute outfits... the sheer bliss of first-time motherhood.

After that, BOY has the second (and, for that matter, a BOY) been a shock to the system. But I guess the shock really started with his birth – oh, if you are squeamish about amniotic fluid, profanity, or socialized medicine, you may want to skip ahead – just 5 hours after finishing a really shagging spicy curry with my mates at local Indian joint Rajpoot, I woke up to my water breaking. I called the hospital and they said to take my time (I wasn't having any contractions) and try to get there within the hour, at which time they would evaluate whether it was in fact amniotic fluid or "just wee" (right, because gallons of brackish greenish fluid and "wee" are easily confused) and decide whether to keep me or send me home.

What does a type-A person do with that hour? Let's see... I burned my "Labor: Uptempo" and "Labor:Downtempo" mixes onto CDs. I e-mailed the aforementioned mates (two of whom are pregnant, one at the time a week overdue) and my family, calmly selected some DVDs to take to the hospital, downloaded "Morning Joe" and Rachel Maddow to my iPhone in case I craved political news during early labor, ate some granola (all the pregnancy guides say to eat early!) and packed nutritious snacks. Jeff (who had the good fortune/gall to go back to bed) finally wandered upstairs, sleepy-eyed, wondering "uh... shouldn't we be leaving?" My request to blow-dry my hair so I would look good in the birth photos DENIED, we woke up my mother, told her we were going to the hospital (her foggy response: "uh, do I have to get up?"), and hopped in the car. Of course as usual we had zero cash, so we had to stop by an ATM, at which point my contractions did start.

Upon arrival at the hospital around 5am we were ushered to an "evaluation" room, where I presented my birth plan: epidural, massage, epidural, no-forceps delivery, and – oh yeah –epidural. The midwife examined me – using the jumbo-Jim flashlight your dad keeps in the garage to look for blown fuses and lost hamsters – and assured me that I was only two centimeters, so the epidural was hours off. Also, there were already three epidurals being administered, the maximum for the floor (WHAT?). Oh, and also, there was a shift change at 8 a.m. (three hours away), after which would be the ideal time to get the epidural. Oh, and also, the floor was SO busy there wouldn't be a delivery room ready for me for a couple of hours. But, she assured me, she could bring me some "gas and air" (nitrous oxide) to tide me over until then.

That first hour or so was actually fine. The contractions weren't TOO bad, though this gas and air business was sheer nonsense: it does nothing for the pain, rather makes you feel just dizzy/drunk/high enough to immediately forget how much the contraction ^%$#ing hurt, and believe that you can absolutely do it again in 4-5 minutes. But then 4-5 minutes turned into 3-4 minutes, and then it sure seemed like 3-4 minutes was turning into 2-3 minutes. After Jeff finished giving my mom directions on working the cable and DVD player for Josie (now awake; I'll never forget grabbing the phone and telling her "The Meatball is coming today!" and her yelling "I'm watching Barbie Rapunzel!!") we both wondered, uh, where is that delivery room?

Finally, yes, we were moved into our own room (about 7:45 a.m.) and I was assured that only two epidurals were now running (is this the fakest story you've ever heard or what?) and the anesthetist would be by shortly. My midwife was also rolling off her shift, and cheerfully introduced her replacement, whom we'll call Ellie (that may actually be her name; I couldn't tell you my own name at that point). The anesthetist came in, explained the epidural (yeah, yeah, had one before, move it along), and inserted the shunt into my hand. Meanwhile, forgetting every laboring maneuver I'd learned in six months of prenatal yoga and five weeks of prenatal-couples classes, I'd decided to cope with the pain by sucking on the gas and air inhaler while using a side to side-duck-and-sway move strangely reminiscent of "It Figures" with Charlene Prickett, the Lifetime workout show my mom and I used to do together when I was in high school. In between panting "four more, three more, two more, now kick it side-to-side", I yelled, "WOW I REALLY FEEL LIKE I HAVE TO PUSH!"

Ellie, the midwife-slash-wing-man to my blackberrying husband (o.k., to be fair, I only had to say "I'm going to need you to put away the blackberry" once) chirped, "ooh, perhaps we should examine you before we start the epidural," to which I replied *&^% yeah, and perhaps that's a really %$**&ing great idea, and lots more best communicated with symbols.

Surely no one will be surprised to hear Ellie's amazing discovery –that I was already fully dilated and "by the time we get the epidural going, this baby will be out!" Frantically, I clutched at the anesthetist, sobbing "Please don't leave me," while he struggled equally frantically to free himself. Before I could absorb the idea that this would indeed be one of those drug-free "natural births" I'd done everything in life to avoid, I was surrounded by a chorus of midwives, cheering "you can do it, you can totally do it!" I then fixed my big, pleading blue eyes on Jeff, sure that he could save me, but he only joined in the chant.

Now, what can I say about natural childbirth? Well, firstly, I know now where those quaint English chestnuts like "stiff upper lip," "keep calm, carry on," and "don't shoot until you see the whites of their eyes" originated. Secondly, if I ever, ever again hear a man say that passing a kidney stone is "just like childbirth," I will punch him in the face. Thirdly, well... it actually was pretty empowering. Yes, there were f-bombs, bone-chilling screeches, even a couple of "I can't do this!"-es, but BBR was apparently really freakin' eager to see the world, because in 4-5 pushes, there he was! 8:44 a.m., Greenwich Mean Time. Now, if you've seen my "bump shots" on Facebook or the blog, you know how – oh, how to put this delicately – mucha giganta I was. So when the midwife plopped BBR on the scale and announced, "2850 grams" I felt completely vindicated. No WONDER I was so huge! Then Jeff just had to ask for the English conversion: "Six pounds, five ounces." What??!? Wait, why was I so huge? I'm ashamed to admit that my immediate reaction wasn't concern about my baby's weight but embarrassment about my fat-to-baby ratio. To all my lovely and loyal friends who insisted throughout the last four months that I was "all baby," sorry but you were wrong! Clearly I was mostly salt and vinegar crisps, largely rocky road brownies, partly cookie dough ice cream, and just a smidgen baby.

Of course, the rest is already urban legend, but yes – we named our delicious baby Hugo Walter, after Jeff's grandfather Herman and my grandfathers (though "Hugo Raj," as a tribute to that magic curry, was tempting!), filled out some paperwork, I took a shower, and then we did indeed go home after three hours. Lest you jump all over the English system, that was our choice – lots o'babies had decided to be born before the 4-day Easter holiday weekend, so the ward was apparently hopping, and we felt like I would be more comfortable and better looked after at home. Plus, I couldn't wait to see Josie... so home we came, just six and a half hours after we arrived! Efficient, right?

And Lordy, I almost forgot the best part of the story! After I arrived safely home, I saw an e-mail from Kiwi Mom, my poor friend who was already a week overdue with her second. The message said something to the effect of, "I thought my waters broke so I went to the hospital, but it turns out it was just a little leak, and they sent me home. Not my proudest hour, but given the screams I heard in the delivery suite, I was just as happy to go, thank you!" What time, I typed back, was that? Oh, around 8:30 a.m., she replied. That's right, my bloodcurdling shrieks scared her baby right back up into her abdomen.

ADDITION/CORRECTION: You know, I shouldn't just leave all these angry complaints about pain relief, or lack thereof, floating in cyberspace as the main takeaway from my birth experience. I was actually incredibly impressed by the level and quality of care I received from the community midwives. After the birth, a midwife came to see me every other day (they will come every day if you prefer), to check on me, check the baby/weigh the baby, make sure I was getting along emotionally, help with breastfeeding, really anything I needed. And when I did need some post-delivery medical attention, I was slotted into the schedule, seen, evaluated, and sent home with my (free) prescription within 3 hours. I really did feel, as a friend described, "well looked after." An epidural would have been nice, but that kind of follow-through is priceless.

ANYWAY – of course, next in the busy life of a days-old Jewish boy, is ... the bris! NJ grandparents Papahannah flew in for the event, and we trucked a mohel/GP over from Surrey. Nom, Pee-Pa (thanks to the wonders of Skype technology!), and Papa all delivered remarks about the three grandfathers after whom Hugo is named: Jeff's grandfather Herman and my grandfathers Wilbur and Woodrow. We gave him the Hebrew name of Haviv (beloved, dear one) and welcomed him to the Jewish people. While the procedure is not for the faint of heart, I was lucky in that Hugo screams every time his diaper is taken off, so honestly I couldn't even discern when the actual procedure was taking place. Papa held Hugo, Hannah read a lovely Grandmother's Blessing, and we celebrated with a very nice bottle of red wine.

The Whole Mishbukah

In the middle of all these exciting Hugo-related activities, Britain staged an impressive celebration of its own: The Royal Wedding of William and Catherine. Never one to miss an opportunity for a themed party (does anyone remember the Madonna Birth Party, watching Desperately Seeking Susan and drinking gin and tonics to celebrate Lola's arrival?), I invited fellow American Mum R, her son E, and her lovely mother to join in an indoor picnic and watch party. R brought very English finger sandwiches which we enjoyed with cake and champagne. As one of her "Big Sis" presents I had given Josie a Royal Wedding play set, which she brought out to play along with the real event.


While Royal-lovers all, we definitely had some strong opinions about the affair: Kate's dress (thumbs up!), Pippa's dress (split decision: Jeff declared it "hot," but I thought it was a bit slinky for 11am) William's red uniform (accentuated baldness: thumbs down), SamCam's absent hat (thumbs down), Sarah Ferguson's present spirit (in Beatrice's fascinator and Eugenie's Mrs. Roper-esque peacock blue ensemble: every thumb down), guest list (Gordon Brown and Tony Blair snubbed, but Mr. Bean included? Thumbs up!), HRHQE2's outfit (ZOW! Here comes the sun!), and of course William and Kate's ride to Clarence House (driving themselves in an Aston Martin: thumbs up!). Josie loved it all.

During Hugo's exciting first month, we've managed to keep busy; during our Papahannah week Jeff and Josie took them to the fabulous Longleat Park, Victoria Park and Parade Gardens, even the Marlborough Tavern. Nom stayed a month in total and we took her to the Zoo and the Court Gardens, walked to The George, a lovely canalside pub, for Easter Brunch, toured the Jane Austen Center and celebrated a lovely Mother's Day with our now-traditional boat ride down the Avon followed by a terrific lunch at the Bathwick Boatman.

Mother's Day Cruise

Now the Americans have all departed and it's time for us to figure out life as a family of four! It's a bit crazy and exhausting, but also completely joyous. Hugo is a funny, delicious baby who's already growing fast and showing a bit of personality. Josie is a wonderful big sister; she loves holding Hugo, playing him music, singing to him and showing him off to all of her friends. She's also very excited about her new pink room (Hugo will eventually move into her old room) and just blossoming before our eyes, with new vocab and stories and talents (like tennis!).

Big Sis and Li'l Bro

Daddy's Boy

A (Pink) Room of her Own

All in all, we round out our first year in England feeling very, very blessed. As one of our French friends wrote us, "Vive Hugo!"

Victor-Y Hugo!

I'm fairly sure that everyone who looks at our blog has heard via either email or Facebook of Hugo Walter Rothman's safe and speedy arrival on April 21, but in case you haven't, I'll share the details again here!

Born: 8:44 a.m. at the Royal United Hospital, Bath, UK

Labor time: Approx. 5.5 hrs

Drugs: NONE (see shattered reference below)

Weight: 2850 grams (that's 6 lbs, 5 oz)

Length: 19 inches

Apgar Scores: 9, 10

Hair: Black, lots, not quite as much as big sister

Named for: Grandfathers Herman Rothman, Wilbur Davidson, Woodrow Wilson

Cuteness factor: Off the charts!

I've lots to share about the birth, about Hugo, about his welcome to the Jewish people yesterday, but honestly I'm still just too shattered, as they say here in the UK (exhausted, to those of us who speak reg'lar Anglais) to type more than about 50 words. So I'll sign off here with some pics and a promise to post more deets soon.

Thanks to everyone for all the love and good wishes.

Beth, Jeff, Josie, and HUGO

Wow, I really, really, really can't believe I did that without drugs.

Hey, that wasn't so hard!

Nom to the Rescue

Josie is a natural Big Sis

Daddy and Josie at Longleat with PopaHanna

10 days out!

Ah, England... I luvs ya. Just overheard, walking down the street to lunch with my girlfriends:

Woman: Hiya! You all right?
Man: Yeah, smashing, thanks. You?
Woman: All right, yeah, nice Easter?
Man: Sorry, again?
Woman: Did you have a nice Easter?
Man: Well, it hasn't happened yet, has it?
Woman: Right, of course not! Well, cheers then!
Man: Cheers!

Sigh... yes, sometimes I just find myself transmogrified into a scene from Notting Hill. Easter, Pesach, they're all approaching, spring continues to... well, spring here in Bath, and guess who's bloomin' large!? That's right, we're about 10 days out from Baby Boy Rothman's due date. I had my (perhaps) last midwife appointment on Monday and girlfriend told me that the baby's head is 3/5 engaged (just like Jeff and I were for about a year, right?) so to pack my bags and make a contingency plan for Josie!

Luckily, Nom arrives on Sunday, so the plan is just to walk around with my knees locked until then. Truthfully, I am feeling pretty well-cooked at this point. Not that it hasn't been beautiful and enlightening in many ways. With this pregnancy I've discovered all sorts of fun new secrets. For instance, hormone surges combined with constant rain makes for super-lustrous hair. Morning sickness is best alleviated by bacon, avocado, and cheddar-onion potato chip sandwiches. Best of all: when your calves are puffed to twice their natural size, you no longer need to shave your legs!

With my fellow Bathian Preg-Os

Jeff and I just completed our Antenatal Class (what birth classes are called here) where we learned about fantastic pain relief options like massage techniques, acupressure, and hynobirthing – all of which I plan to ponder in my heart while screaming for my epidural. You can take the girl out of New York, but... But seriously, it was fun watching these first-time parents ask at which point in the first phase of labor having your partner press his thumbs into your sacrum would be most effective. I couldn't bring myself to tell them that the only things getting thumb-pressed at that point would be a recalcitrant anaesthesiologist's gonads.

Meanwhile, the Gleesome Threesome have been out at every opportunity enjoying the gorgeous weather. We returned last weekend to Bowood, one of our favorite nearby nature spots, where Josie spent approximately 4.5 hours bouncing on the "champerline."

Everyone's up and Jumpin', Josie!

Where, you might ask, does Miss Thing get such grace and agility? We too wondered – certainly not from either the St. Mary's Knights JV Basketball's Most Improved Player OR the Guy Who Broke His Wrist Doing the Caterpillar at Jody Weinstein's Bat Mitzvah – until we trotted up to the Royal High School for Girls last week for "Ballet Watch." For those of you who don't know, Josie dons pink a tutu and slippers every Thursday to learn the regal art of classic dance – we had no clue just how artful until we battled two dozen other parents for front seats in Miss Debby's Dance Studio. All I can say is: Martha Graham, when we get back to New York, we'll be tracking you down!

And of course, the other event all of England is anticipating, the Royal Wedding of William and Waity Katie, is going down next week! I'm still taking orders for tea towels and commemorative tins, so please shout (or just post) if you'd like one! And pleeeease cross every finger and toe you've got that BBR doesn't decide to bide his time and arrive on April 29. How cruel and injust would that be to the most loyallest royalist born and bred in Port Huron, MI? I have to say, at times I can't decide which I'm more excited to do: birth BBR or give Josie her Royal Wedding Happyland Playset with which to play along during the wedding!

Of course, the bloke who sold it to me said, "Right, I think this is the one you've want, it's Wills, and Kate, the queen and what's-his-name." Indignant, I stammered "it's Prince Philip, the Duke of Edinburgh! You...you don't even deserve to be British!" He gave me the old "Americans...and their silly Royal obsession" eye-roll, then told me the set was half-off, which I was absolutely delighted to hear!

Well, by the time you next hear from me Waity Katie will be Princess Catherine, our intestinal tracts will be lined with matzoh meal, Nom will have bought out every antique store in Bath, and – hopefully – Baby Boy Rothman will have made his own royal entrance!

Happy Easter, Happy Pesach, and Happy Royal Wedding to all!