I can’t seem to shake it...

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...and honestly I feel as if I’ve taken two steps into the shallow end of the pool of problemas mundial. 

I’m exhausted.  We’ve had a very long day and it’s only the first day of an adventure that seems quite infinite.  I hear a longer, more mature rhythmic sound of air passing from the environment, through the nose, filling lungs and back out into the environment mixed with a quite similar rhythm although it’s much more quickly occurring.  It’s pristine.  The tiny nose and lungs easily fill and empty that same air.  My back aches and I wish this sterilized room had a more Lazy-boy like recliner, but who can complain with sounds like that taking priority.  Perspective man, perspective. 

Amazingly kind, energetic economist – “So how does it feel?”

English teacher – “It’s beyond what I can explain, it’s just so good.  Me falta harto sleep, but it’s beyond worth it.”

Amazingly kind, energetic economist – “I know!  Isn’t it amazing.  The mere idea of new life is beautiful.”

English teacher – “And you, how many kids would you like to have”

Amazingly kind, energetic economist – “Remember, English Teacher, I had cancer when I was 19 and they had to take out everything.”

English teacher – “Lo siento.  I’m so sorry, I know, I remember you telling me that, I just didn’t realize, that.

Amazingly kind, energetic economist – “But I want to adopt so badly.  Think about how many little guaguitas are born everyday without someone who desires them, holds them and gives them cariño.”

English teacher – “That’s awesome.  Really that’s incredible.  Me and my wife hope to adopt some day as well”

Amazingly kind energetic economist – “I know, I can’t wait.”

English teacher – [Internally] “Perspectiva”

There’s a weight on his chest that is more valuable than gold as he turns westward onto Calle Hugo Bravo.  He’s proud, he’s chocho. 

“Hey, you’ve got a guagua in there don’t you?” 

“Yep, the kangaroo pouch is awesome.  He passes out the moment he slides in.” 

“How many semanas does he have?” 

“He’s 2 weeks old.” 

“Wow, can I see him…awwww.  He’s so cute.  You must be so chocho, so proud.” 

“It’s amazing to be a dad.  ¿Do you have any kids?”

“No, my wife never could get pregnant although we tried.  We really love the relationship    we’ve got with our nephews.  By the way, you’re not from around here are you?” 

“Nope, we’re gringos, we live up that away.” 

“Oh well it’s nice to meet you and welcome to our country.”

The little guy’s asleep and I feel that soft non-mature rhythm on my neck again.  He’s comfortable.  He’s warm.  His long frame has shrunken into that “before the non-mature rhythm making even started” stage.  He’s in his milk coma and I’m mildly relieved to know that there will be a few hours of tranquilidad.  When I take a glance to make sure those brown eyes aren’t still fighting back the heavy lids, it hits me.  The Sr. of the Jr. from which he got his second name (since none of his teacher’s will be able to pronounce it until second semester) never had his counterpart to pat Sr.’s back until the chanchitos were all out and could rest in his arms.  Why did the weight of little guy increase fifteen-fold and I feel as if my eyes were drowned in salty wetness?

I feel as if I could continue this list not only with this branch of thought, but in numerous others.

Life is beautiful and yet gut wrenching.  We must celebrate and yet we must mourn.

I’ve learned to resist the classic pregunta, “Where is God in all of this?” and start to question, “Where am I in this?”  Not an essay worthy nor complete and comprehensive answer, but it’s where I’m at, it’s how I deal with the anger and the joy.

If I’m purely intoxicated with my own state of being; my happy, my sad, my down, my satisfied, my thrilled or my gray, what good am I truly but to myself?  It’s this blessing and curse of community that leaves me a bit more balanced and hopeful.  Most importantly, it’s a necesidad, it’s what calls my attention when I so easily fall into the focus of my world, my situation, my status.

But like I said, this isn’t compete or comprehensive.  It’s a working paper.  

Having Babies in a Foreign Land: A Birth Story

Part 1

Of course you can’t predict or plan how exactly your labor and delivery experience will be.  Well, I take that back.  You can plan all you want, but you can’t expect those plans to work out.  In our case with Lil’ Man Coen, our birth story was everything we didn’t plan for and a whole lot more :)  

Chile has one of the highest C-section rates in the world.  I was thankful to find a doctor that was “pro-parto” (all for natural deliveries) and respected my strong desire to avoid a caesarean at all costs, unless medically necessary of course (duh).  The conversation we failed to have before my 40^th week of pregnancy, however, was the time frame that was acceptable for waiting.  Apparently in Chile, delivery is expected between 38-40 weeks.  But for this Gringa, (and a lot of other people and countries outside of Chile) I didn’t want to take any actions before Lil’ Man did until 42 weeks.  Whiiiiich can lead to some cultural tension, for SURE.

So we went in for a check-up at 40 weeks, 3 days.  No signs of labor any time soon.  Lil’ Man was quite comfortable it seemed, as we were with waiting.  But my doctor was concerned with the risks that come with waiting too long (loss of amniotic fluid, decrease in quality of the placenta, etc.) and wanted to try an induction. 

We should have stopped there, but we didn’t.

We decided to try it, and if it didn’t motivate Lil’ Man to start moving on down, we would stop and wait some more on our own.  We asked the doctor and midwife (and even the hospital admission lady who checked us in) various times to make sure that was ok, that we could stop the induction at any point.  They all said, of course.  

So Wednesday morning, at 40 weeks, 5 days, we get to the hospital to try the induction.  I thought it would be more like a doctor’s office visit, and was convinced it would most likely end with us going back home to wait and walk some more.  But when we got there, we checked in like we were staying for a few days.  They took all our information, took us to our room, explained visiting hours and how to work the TV.  I changed into my hospital paperish gown that was clearly not made for tall Gringas.  We waited in our room until a man with a wheelchair came to escort us down to the “’pre-delivery room.”  We took Lil’ Man’s first change of clothes in a little bag, even though I knew deep down we wouldn’t be meeting him that day.

We went down to the pre-delivery room.  It’s basically a large room with about 10 beds separated by curtains.  This is where you go from the time you’re admitted into the hospital in active labor until you are ready to deliver, when they take you to a separate room.  Then after delivery you go to your room, a typical hospital room, where you stay for the few days after.  It’s definitely not the nice private room with pretty wallpaper where you get to stay throughout you’re entire labor process and after, but you gotta work with what you got I guess.

Our midwife met us there and as she was hooking me up to the fetal monitor explained that we would try the induction for 2-3 hours and then do a C-section if my labor wasn’t progressing.  Again, should have gone with my gut feeling that day and stopped right there.  2-3 hours?  That seemed a little crazy.  And a C-section at 40weeks and 4days?  I don’t think so.

So as she’s literally telling me that I have no other options, and I’m trying to (nicely) explain that yes, there is another option called waiting longer, we both realize there has been a lack of communication somewhere.  And not even with the Spanish – When we asked about stopping the induction, we meant to go home and wait longer.  They meant to stop and just do a C-section.  I told her I needed to talk to Tracey “al tiro” - right now.  (For some odd reason they kept asking Tracey to leave…)  When she said “let me just start the IV with pitocin and then I’ll get Tracey to come in,” I used my best crazy-hormonal-pregnant-lady mean face to tell her that I didn’t know if we’d be staying and I needed to talk to him before we did anything at all. 

So as Tracey and I sat there in our not-so-private curtained bed area, we honestly had no idea what to do.  They told us if we left the hospital that day that we’d have to find a new doctor and a new hospital.  We knew what we wanted (not to rush into a C-section) but when you have multiple doctors telling you it’s a risk to wait any longer, you start to doubt yourself.  Not to mention the fact that I didn’t know how or if we could find a doctor in this scalpal-happy country willing to wait another week with us.

Somehow we were able to make the right decision in the midst of so much chaos, confusion, and pressure.  After another doctor came and explained the risks to us (again), we signed papers releasing the hospital from any liability, got wheeled back up to our room, packed our bags, and retraced our steps from that morning.

Still pregnant.        

House of Hope Video

Here is the new House of Hope video I was talking about in the last update!  Enjoy :)



House of Hope - Santiago, Chile from Christine Keitt on Vimeo.

Keitt Update - April 2013

Hey everyone! Here's our April video.  As you can see we have a special little guest who I know you'll enjoy hearing from...words, mumbles and gurgles.

Remembering... again...

Today will always be a day for remembering.

As I'm sitting here looking at my one-month-and-one-day-old son, I think about how much Bets would love to have met him and been so excited about this new phase of life with us.  It also makes me wonder why life is so unfair.  

The whole "Why do bad things happen to good people?" question nags at my heart every time I remember Bets.  What happened 7 years ago today will never make sense to me.  It's hard and it's ok - I don't ever expect, or really even want, to understand it.  Now, in the light of having this new life in front of me, I also think about how I got to be so blessed with the gift of a healthy son when so many around me are struck by tragedy.  With Coen gazing back at me from the pillow on my lap, I can't help but remember dear friends who have tried for years to have a child of their own and haven't been able to.  Other friends who have experienced the joy of pregnancy only to lose their child before being able to meet him.  Others who are waiting right now to know if their 20 week old daughter will miraculously beat her odds to survive a full-term pregnancy.    

If there's one thing this so-far-short career of parenting has taught me at this point, it's that ultimately we don't have control.  Every precious gift given can be taken away, or changed in a way we didn't expect or prefer.  

For Christ-followers, there is a peace in knowing that God claims us all as his own and loves us far beyond the capabilities of any other human love.  But can I be honest and say, it's also a little terrifying... Because what if that means sacrifice?  Tracey is God's child before he's my husband, Coen was God's child long before he became mine, and I pray to live those truths out every day in the way I see our relationships.  But what if he asks me to give something, or someone, that I don't want to give up?  This is where the continual battle to embrace trust and relinquish fear comes in.

Do I live my life in a way that shows, to me and to others, that it's not my own?  Do I value God's relationships with my loved ones more than my relationship with them?  Would I be voluntarily willing to sacrifice whatever He would ask of me?  Not always.  Thank God for grace...

Bets will forever remain an encouragement for me in this area - In her words, but more importantly in the way she lived her life.  That girl loved like no other.  She was the essence of a poured-out offering.  So much that we would actually have to have "interventions" with her about watching out for herself more instead of being overly-available for others.  But that just wasn't who she was.  She knew her life wasn't her own.  And she actually acted as if it wasn't.

In the midst of sadness, I am grateful.  I am grateful for my friend.  I am grateful for the life she led and the ways she continues to challenge and inspire us.  I am grateful for the opportunity to live a life with a higher calling than merely living it for myself.  And I am grateful for my God, even when he gives and takes away.  
  

Coen Tracey Keitt

Or, as they say in Chile, "Coen Tracey Keitt Keitt..."

was born on March 28, 2013, at 2:04pm.  All 8lbs, 9oz. and 20 inches of him arrived safely, and we could not be more thankful.

We will definitely write about the birth story someday, because that was quite the fiasco.  Let's just say it included earning the reputation as the "crazy Gringos" who checked themselves out of the hospital against medical advice.

But what's important for right now is to celebrate what we have...

                                        and finally share some pictures :)  

My mom was also able to visit us for 3 weeks which was obviously a huge gift!  Besides doing everything humanly possible to induce labor for 2 weeks, we got to get some sight-seeing done, share our world here with her, have quality time over coffee on the couch, and finally get to snuggle with her grandson.  

We are thankful.

We are blessed.  

We are incredibly sleep deprived, but absolutely in love.

To see some moments from these last few weeks, check out our 2 new albums by clicking on our lego camera under "Photo Gallery" on the right.

We really appreciate all of the thoughts, prayers, and words of encouragement that came throughout this crazy process of becoming parents! 

2 tips for your everyday life

Christine's doing well, the youngin' is doing well (on the inside still of course) and I've got 2 tips for your every day life

1 - if you step in dog dung, don't just stomp it out or scrape it off, dip those bad boys in bleach why don't cha'.
2 - if you disregard tip one, and let's say you may accidentally ingest a bit of that crap as you're waiting for you lil' boy to arrive in this world (with your "seasoned" shoe propped up on your knee), there will be consequences, non fun consequences.  Just take a few shots of tequila and you'll be A OK for another round of fun times at the hospital.

Just thought I'd throw that out there.  :)

Christine está bien, el cabrochico está bien (adentro de la barriga por su puesto) y tengo 2 sugerencias para tu día cotidiana

1 - Si pisas en caca de perros (porque siempre hay caleta), no trates de sacarlo simplemente con pisotear más fuerte o raspar contra la vereda, mételos en cloro
2 - Si no pescas a sugerencia 1, y digamos que lo ingieres un poco mientras que esperas para la llegada de tu hijo a este mundo (con tu zapato aliñado apoyado en tu rodilla), serán consecuencias, consecuencias "de pato" digamos, solo toma un par de tragos de tequila y anday viento en popa.

Pensé que debería compartir esas nada más :)