Creating a nordmann
Been a while. I just read my last post to see where I got to the last time I wrote on here and it seems like a lifetime ago.
So here is my life in words, from September 2018 to the day our lives changed forever.
September 2018
Stine was still off work with pelvic girdle pain, which meant her hips hurt so much that sitting down, standing up and laying down were all painful. Very helpful side effect to pregnancy. This wasn't going to stop us from getting to Bournemouth to see my brother in law, Frode, and now sister in law, Emma, get married. Most of the trip was a bit of a blur due to the excessive travel time to and from but the actual wedding day was pure class. Chilled out ceremony at the impressive town hall, lunch by the water and then the reception in the New Forest which included artisan pizza and bowling. Now, as people who know me will be familiar with, I am the least competitive person in the northern hemisphere (still awaiting results from the south). So, when people started counting the number of pins they were knocking down, I naturally had no inclination at all to try and beat them. It turns out that Emma's dad, Mick, IS competitive and had crowned himself King of the Alley. Naturally, I was happy for him and had a bowl (just for fun) and BEAT HIM AND EVERYONE ELSE to become King James of the New Forest. A life size statue has been commissioned. All in all, a wonderful day seeing an awesome couple tie the knot and extend our little family that little further.
The following week, back in Ålesund, we had my brother Matt visiting - as Stine and I entered Nina's apartment for a little dinner, we were greeted with a surprise baby shower in which gifts rained down on us and food shoved in our mouths. Was a lovely little evening with the crew and helped us prepare for D-day that was fast approaching. Everyone wrote down guesses for the date of birth, weight, height and all that. It doesn't really matter who came closest. Not a competition. Matt and Nina had assembled an owl out of nappies, cloths and socks as seen below.
Went and had another scan to see the little man. The 4D thing made him look strange and as if he had a gammy hand. The midwife assured us it was the fluid causing the picture to look like this and according to the measurements she took, all was good. With this in mind, we started to look for a car to replace our 1999 vintage VW Golf. Sure, riding around with the passenger window taped shut, no parcel shelf or central locking looks good when you're not parents, but with a child you need to show that your life isn't a huge train wreck. Oh, also it's much safer to have the new style child seat mechanisms. The idea was to get a newer Golf from the VW garage as they sell used cars - went to go see one and got lured in by a GTE, the hybrid version. Within an hour we'd signed up and put the deposit down. Love the car. Plus it means I can look down on people who drive full petrol or diesel cars now, seeing as we use sliiiightly less petrol on my 7 minute commute to work every day. Save the planet, yeh?
Started my PGCE in international education. Finally getting myself qualified to do the job I've done for the last 5 or so years. It means that once I've finished, I am qualified to teach pretty much anywhere in the world (apart from England which is where the degree is from). To be honest, it doesn't look like I'll be teaching there any time soon anyway - plus, the International School I work in has such an awesome way of doing things that I don't think I'd manage to teach in a mainstream school again anyway. It also means that I need to spend many evenings and weekends writing essays and doing research on top of my regular work stuff. With a a baby due, I probably chose literally the worst time to do this. On the other hand, once it's done we have the ability to move pretty much anywhere.
October 2018
October saw me move ever closer to becoming a nordmann. I swapped my UK drivers license to a Norwegian one (avoiding any Brexit bullshit) and got a new passport, both donning my new half Norwegian name, Myklebust-Hampshire. Shortly after, we bought out our old Three mobile contracts and switched to Telia, receiving a spanking new Norwegian phone number. Excellent progress.
Our poor little cat Kompany got her lady-balls snipped off. She spent a weekend wobbling around the place losing weight but she got over it and now doesn't have a monthly horn where she rubs herself on every surface for 6 days.
November 2018
We had another visit to the midwife - this time it was a birth prep session. In absence of any pre-natal classes, we thought we should know what was about to happen. We left feeling prepared and all knowledgeable about contractions and the rest of it. We had a plan to give birth on 30th November (due date: 14th December). This would mean that he wouldn't be considered premature and he'd be guaranteed a spot at nursery the following year.
As the month continued, we began trying to get the little man out. I was continually pressing parts of Stine's shins and feet that according to the interweb can help with inducing labour.
Father's day came along and my little boy somehow arranged for a leather key-ring with "Pappa" written on it to be sent in the post. Clever guy.
The 30th came. The 30th went.
December 2018
So now it was a race against Christmas to get this baby out. Spicy food and bang-bangs (in no particular order). A new sushi restaurant opened at Moa which has a buffet - all you can eat sushi and sticks. I don't think sushi is linked to labour but we stuffed our faces regularly anyway.
My first semester at uni finished - managed to get some good grades in my essays and passed the first teaching block. Just had a beasty piece of masters level research to write up over the Christmas holidays.
The 14th came. The 14th went. So did the 15th, 16th, 17th, 18th, 19th, 20th and 21st. Every day being asked if there was any news. People at work kept saying "Oh, you're still here. No baby yet?"..."Yes, we had the baby yesterday, I just thought I'd wave my right to two weeks paternity leave and abandon my wife and child so I could teach maths."
The morning of the 22nd was a Saturday and we planned to meet Frode and Emma for something to eat and do a little last minute Christmas shopping as they were visiting the grandparents (we had also planned on bringing our little man to the island for Christmas as he was definitely going to be born on November 30th). That morning, during our Saturday baggy (baguette) breakfast, Stine started getting pains. They came and went every ten minutes or so.
"Are these contractions?" I asked.
"Naaaah"
"They seem like contractions"
"Neida, det går bra. Let's get going"
So as we get ready to leave, the pains become more regular and more intense. We get the old app for timing contractions going and it is clear that we are getting closer. I have to convince Stine that going to a busy shopping centre and sitting in a busy cafe is not the place to be having more than one contraction every ten minutes. So, we go to the hospital just to check. The "birthing bag" had been packed for over a month so we whipped that in the car next to the car seat that was installed 2 months ago and got ourselves to the hospital. After a check, Stine was admitted. While Stine was being prepared, I went out to the car to fetch the baby-bag. Gave my Dad a quick call to let him know what was happening and also get a few words of encouragement from the man who was in this exact position when I was about to enter the world. It helped a lot - he sounded even more excited than I was, soppy git. The original birth plan was to give birth in a bath but open to whatever needs to happen. The midwife ran a nice warm bath for Stine and she got in. Within two or three contractions it was clear that the bath wasn't right - she needed to walk around and breathe through the contractions. The day continued with hourly cervical checks (10cm = go time), painful contractions every couple of minutes and me trying to be useful in some way. Stine was never against having an epidural and when it was offered, she accepted - I was well on board (although the thought of huge needle going directly into the spinal chord makes me feel physically sick) as anything to help the pain is worth it. The doctor came in straight from a massive surgery to do the epidural and I tried to watch and be supportive - at one point, something happened to the needle or syringe or whatever and a load of fluid exploded over the doctors face. For a moment, I thought that Stine's spinal fluid had just coated the walls and that she'd be paralysed forever. After a while, the painkiller started to take effect... On only one side. This meant that Stine had crippling pain down one side and absolutely nothing on the other. Every little helps. The contractions were still coming strong and the opening was creeping along too, just not quite as fast at the usual 1cm per hour. This soon picked up and before we knew it 8 hours had passed, Stine was 10cm and it was time to push this little boy out of the vagina. The epidural was turned off and it was show time. Now, we've seen endless episodes of One Born Every Minute so I felt reasonably prepared for what was about to happen:
Every contraction = deep breath, hold breath, chin down, push push push push push, quick breath, hold breath, chin back down, push push push push push, quick breath, hold breath, chin down, push push push.
In between contractions = rest, breathe.
Obviously, I didn't need to do any of these things besides breathe (that's important) so I desperately tried to find the balance between being encouraging and supportive, and not being an over-the-top annoying douche-bag that gets sent out by his wife and misses his child's birth. In reality, there's not much more I could do other than hold Stine's hand, tell her I love her and say "push" and "come on" without descending into football chant territory. To be honest, I didn't feel like Stine needed too much support: throughout the whole day, and in fact the whole pregnancy, she had been incredible. Nothing had been easy of course, but she'd met everything with an open mind and love for our unborn child. The contractions were not quite long enough for the third big push, so progress was slow. A strategy the midwives (who numbered 1 or 2 at the beginning and had grown to 4 by this point) came up with was for me to get involved. They tied a knot in a bed sheet and gave that end to Stine, told me to get down the business end and pull the other end of the sheet. I was pleased with this: although I hadn't planned on seeing the whole...experience...from that angle, I finally had something to do and felt part of the team. So then, I pulled while Stine pulled and pushed and our little miracle was getting closer and closer to entering the world. I could see his head edge closer on every push but then retreat as the contraction ended. By this point, there were over six medical people in the room all talking to each other in Norwegian about what to do. I couldn't understand what they were saying so I was staring intently at each of them, looking for any micro-expression of fear or anxiety. All of them seemed calm and Stine was chilled about the whole thing. I later learned that one of them wanted to get the Dyson out and try sucking him out, but the original midwife shot her down and cranked up the oxytocin (basically the "love" chemical that also increases contractions). This does the trick and the contractions become long enough for Stine to really push. Then it's full football match mode - shouting, cheering, chanting (not really). He still wasn't quite getting there so the midwives decide they would need to cut Stine to prevent any tearing. The first pair of scissors didn't work. Neither did the second. I'm not sure why they tried using those green and yellow plastic scissors for left-handed school children but the third pair did the business. A few pushes later and "his head's out, baby!" I yelled when I saw his purple little head bobbing about wondering what the fuck was going on in his life. One more push. Stine closes her eyes, takes a huge breath, tucks her chin down and gives everything. There he is, a beautiful purple human being placed onto Stine's chest. This point is one of those when time completely freezes. You hear no sound, feel nothing. Everything hangs in suspense for just a moment while you wait for that sign of life. At 19:29, Hunter James lifts his head, looks straight at his mother and smiles. Time continues and every emotion that's been back-benched by action explodes - I instantly cry (as I am while writing this) and we just stare at our little boy, not quite grasping that this is our son.
I was, and still am, in complete awe of Stine. It is hard to write about without sinking deep into a cliche cave but to see the love of your life do everything she can to nurture a tiny cluster of cells into a birth-ready foetus while experiencing the never-ending changes to her body and mind, ruthlessly plan and learn in order to give him the best possible start in life, waddle, lose sleep and then, when all that hard work is done, push a 3.5kg child out of her vagina and instantly ready herself to continue to give him her all - it can only amaze you. The love this lady has to give is powerful and endless and I am one lucky little shit to be one of its recipients.
It's been 4 months since that life-changing day and the little man is growing fast. He can now hold his head up and loves doing the old Superman. Naturally, he has charmed all the family and friends with his mischievous smile and he has two very thankful parents for his chilled attitude and ability to sleep through the night. He has also sicked on my face. For now, though, there is simply too much to write - especially on top of this beast of a post. I will have to try and describe Hunter's first 6 months/ year in a later post. For now, here are some pics of the little man, Hunter James Myklebust-Hampshire.
Much love,
Papa James.
So here is my life in words, from September 2018 to the day our lives changed forever.
September 2018
Stine was still off work with pelvic girdle pain, which meant her hips hurt so much that sitting down, standing up and laying down were all painful. Very helpful side effect to pregnancy. This wasn't going to stop us from getting to Bournemouth to see my brother in law, Frode, and now sister in law, Emma, get married. Most of the trip was a bit of a blur due to the excessive travel time to and from but the actual wedding day was pure class. Chilled out ceremony at the impressive town hall, lunch by the water and then the reception in the New Forest which included artisan pizza and bowling. Now, as people who know me will be familiar with, I am the least competitive person in the northern hemisphere (still awaiting results from the south). So, when people started counting the number of pins they were knocking down, I naturally had no inclination at all to try and beat them. It turns out that Emma's dad, Mick, IS competitive and had crowned himself King of the Alley. Naturally, I was happy for him and had a bowl (just for fun) and BEAT HIM AND EVERYONE ELSE to become King James of the New Forest. A life size statue has been commissioned. All in all, a wonderful day seeing an awesome couple tie the knot and extend our little family that little further.
Went and had another scan to see the little man. The 4D thing made him look strange and as if he had a gammy hand. The midwife assured us it was the fluid causing the picture to look like this and according to the measurements she took, all was good. With this in mind, we started to look for a car to replace our 1999 vintage VW Golf. Sure, riding around with the passenger window taped shut, no parcel shelf or central locking looks good when you're not parents, but with a child you need to show that your life isn't a huge train wreck. Oh, also it's much safer to have the new style child seat mechanisms. The idea was to get a newer Golf from the VW garage as they sell used cars - went to go see one and got lured in by a GTE, the hybrid version. Within an hour we'd signed up and put the deposit down. Love the car. Plus it means I can look down on people who drive full petrol or diesel cars now, seeing as we use sliiiightly less petrol on my 7 minute commute to work every day. Save the planet, yeh?
Started my PGCE in international education. Finally getting myself qualified to do the job I've done for the last 5 or so years. It means that once I've finished, I am qualified to teach pretty much anywhere in the world (apart from England which is where the degree is from). To be honest, it doesn't look like I'll be teaching there any time soon anyway - plus, the International School I work in has such an awesome way of doing things that I don't think I'd manage to teach in a mainstream school again anyway. It also means that I need to spend many evenings and weekends writing essays and doing research on top of my regular work stuff. With a a baby due, I probably chose literally the worst time to do this. On the other hand, once it's done we have the ability to move pretty much anywhere.
October 2018
October saw me move ever closer to becoming a nordmann. I swapped my UK drivers license to a Norwegian one (avoiding any Brexit bullshit) and got a new passport, both donning my new half Norwegian name, Myklebust-Hampshire. Shortly after, we bought out our old Three mobile contracts and switched to Telia, receiving a spanking new Norwegian phone number. Excellent progress.
Our poor little cat Kompany got her lady-balls snipped off. She spent a weekend wobbling around the place losing weight but she got over it and now doesn't have a monthly horn where she rubs herself on every surface for 6 days.
November 2018
We had another visit to the midwife - this time it was a birth prep session. In absence of any pre-natal classes, we thought we should know what was about to happen. We left feeling prepared and all knowledgeable about contractions and the rest of it. We had a plan to give birth on 30th November (due date: 14th December). This would mean that he wouldn't be considered premature and he'd be guaranteed a spot at nursery the following year.
As the month continued, we began trying to get the little man out. I was continually pressing parts of Stine's shins and feet that according to the interweb can help with inducing labour.
Father's day came along and my little boy somehow arranged for a leather key-ring with "Pappa" written on it to be sent in the post. Clever guy.
The 30th came. The 30th went.
December 2018
So now it was a race against Christmas to get this baby out. Spicy food and bang-bangs (in no particular order). A new sushi restaurant opened at Moa which has a buffet - all you can eat sushi and sticks. I don't think sushi is linked to labour but we stuffed our faces regularly anyway.
My first semester at uni finished - managed to get some good grades in my essays and passed the first teaching block. Just had a beasty piece of masters level research to write up over the Christmas holidays.
The 14th came. The 14th went. So did the 15th, 16th, 17th, 18th, 19th, 20th and 21st. Every day being asked if there was any news. People at work kept saying "Oh, you're still here. No baby yet?"..."Yes, we had the baby yesterday, I just thought I'd wave my right to two weeks paternity leave and abandon my wife and child so I could teach maths."
 |
| Last date night for a while |
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| A toy for Hunter (definitely for me) |
The morning of the 22nd was a Saturday and we planned to meet Frode and Emma for something to eat and do a little last minute Christmas shopping as they were visiting the grandparents (we had also planned on bringing our little man to the island for Christmas as he was definitely going to be born on November 30th). That morning, during our Saturday baggy (baguette) breakfast, Stine started getting pains. They came and went every ten minutes or so.
"Are these contractions?" I asked.
"Naaaah"
"They seem like contractions"
"Neida, det går bra. Let's get going"
So as we get ready to leave, the pains become more regular and more intense. We get the old app for timing contractions going and it is clear that we are getting closer. I have to convince Stine that going to a busy shopping centre and sitting in a busy cafe is not the place to be having more than one contraction every ten minutes. So, we go to the hospital just to check. The "birthing bag" had been packed for over a month so we whipped that in the car next to the car seat that was installed 2 months ago and got ourselves to the hospital. After a check, Stine was admitted. While Stine was being prepared, I went out to the car to fetch the baby-bag. Gave my Dad a quick call to let him know what was happening and also get a few words of encouragement from the man who was in this exact position when I was about to enter the world. It helped a lot - he sounded even more excited than I was, soppy git. The original birth plan was to give birth in a bath but open to whatever needs to happen. The midwife ran a nice warm bath for Stine and she got in. Within two or three contractions it was clear that the bath wasn't right - she needed to walk around and breathe through the contractions. The day continued with hourly cervical checks (10cm = go time), painful contractions every couple of minutes and me trying to be useful in some way. Stine was never against having an epidural and when it was offered, she accepted - I was well on board (although the thought of huge needle going directly into the spinal chord makes me feel physically sick) as anything to help the pain is worth it. The doctor came in straight from a massive surgery to do the epidural and I tried to watch and be supportive - at one point, something happened to the needle or syringe or whatever and a load of fluid exploded over the doctors face. For a moment, I thought that Stine's spinal fluid had just coated the walls and that she'd be paralysed forever. After a while, the painkiller started to take effect... On only one side. This meant that Stine had crippling pain down one side and absolutely nothing on the other. Every little helps. The contractions were still coming strong and the opening was creeping along too, just not quite as fast at the usual 1cm per hour. This soon picked up and before we knew it 8 hours had passed, Stine was 10cm and it was time to push this little boy out of the vagina. The epidural was turned off and it was show time. Now, we've seen endless episodes of One Born Every Minute so I felt reasonably prepared for what was about to happen:
Every contraction = deep breath, hold breath, chin down, push push push push push, quick breath, hold breath, chin back down, push push push push push, quick breath, hold breath, chin down, push push push.
In between contractions = rest, breathe.
Obviously, I didn't need to do any of these things besides breathe (that's important) so I desperately tried to find the balance between being encouraging and supportive, and not being an over-the-top annoying douche-bag that gets sent out by his wife and misses his child's birth. In reality, there's not much more I could do other than hold Stine's hand, tell her I love her and say "push" and "come on" without descending into football chant territory. To be honest, I didn't feel like Stine needed too much support: throughout the whole day, and in fact the whole pregnancy, she had been incredible. Nothing had been easy of course, but she'd met everything with an open mind and love for our unborn child. The contractions were not quite long enough for the third big push, so progress was slow. A strategy the midwives (who numbered 1 or 2 at the beginning and had grown to 4 by this point) came up with was for me to get involved. They tied a knot in a bed sheet and gave that end to Stine, told me to get down the business end and pull the other end of the sheet. I was pleased with this: although I hadn't planned on seeing the whole...experience...from that angle, I finally had something to do and felt part of the team. So then, I pulled while Stine pulled and pushed and our little miracle was getting closer and closer to entering the world. I could see his head edge closer on every push but then retreat as the contraction ended. By this point, there were over six medical people in the room all talking to each other in Norwegian about what to do. I couldn't understand what they were saying so I was staring intently at each of them, looking for any micro-expression of fear or anxiety. All of them seemed calm and Stine was chilled about the whole thing. I later learned that one of them wanted to get the Dyson out and try sucking him out, but the original midwife shot her down and cranked up the oxytocin (basically the "love" chemical that also increases contractions). This does the trick and the contractions become long enough for Stine to really push. Then it's full football match mode - shouting, cheering, chanting (not really). He still wasn't quite getting there so the midwives decide they would need to cut Stine to prevent any tearing. The first pair of scissors didn't work. Neither did the second. I'm not sure why they tried using those green and yellow plastic scissors for left-handed school children but the third pair did the business. A few pushes later and "his head's out, baby!" I yelled when I saw his purple little head bobbing about wondering what the fuck was going on in his life. One more push. Stine closes her eyes, takes a huge breath, tucks her chin down and gives everything. There he is, a beautiful purple human being placed onto Stine's chest. This point is one of those when time completely freezes. You hear no sound, feel nothing. Everything hangs in suspense for just a moment while you wait for that sign of life. At 19:29, Hunter James lifts his head, looks straight at his mother and smiles. Time continues and every emotion that's been back-benched by action explodes - I instantly cry (as I am while writing this) and we just stare at our little boy, not quite grasping that this is our son.
I was, and still am, in complete awe of Stine. It is hard to write about without sinking deep into a cliche cave but to see the love of your life do everything she can to nurture a tiny cluster of cells into a birth-ready foetus while experiencing the never-ending changes to her body and mind, ruthlessly plan and learn in order to give him the best possible start in life, waddle, lose sleep and then, when all that hard work is done, push a 3.5kg child out of her vagina and instantly ready herself to continue to give him her all - it can only amaze you. The love this lady has to give is powerful and endless and I am one lucky little shit to be one of its recipients.
It's been 4 months since that life-changing day and the little man is growing fast. He can now hold his head up and loves doing the old Superman. Naturally, he has charmed all the family and friends with his mischievous smile and he has two very thankful parents for his chilled attitude and ability to sleep through the night. He has also sicked on my face. For now, though, there is simply too much to write - especially on top of this beast of a post. I will have to try and describe Hunter's first 6 months/ year in a later post. For now, here are some pics of the little man, Hunter James Myklebust-Hampshire.
Much love,
Papa James.
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| Celebrating his 4 month birthday |
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