Shaking the Invisible Air Baby

Tomorrow is Annaïs' 2nd birthday. Or as we call it, "The First Anniversary of Regaining our Sanity." You see, she was one of those babies. Cried all night. Never happy. Always bounce-nursing. It was bad. And I had almost forgotten until I read this amazing article, Before I Forget: What Nobody Remembers About New Motherhood.

Our firstborn Charlotte was the perfect baby. Of course, we attributed her behavior to our expert parenting. We rolled our eyes at all those parents whose kids were up all night and never happy. Those fools obviously had no idea what they were doing.

We took perfect Charlotte back to Congo when she was 3-weeks-old. Soon after, our half saint, half sage neighbor with grown children of her own, sat me down and said if I ever felt overwhelmed and "well, you know..." I could bring Charlotte over to her house any time of day no questions asked. I thought she was crazy. I could never be overwhelmed by a baby. So needless to say, I never took her up on her baby amnesty offer.

(Coincidentally, this neighbor is also the source of my favorite parenting tip ever: If you're worried you might roll over on your sleeping baby in your bed, just put an upside down laundry basket over them. Genius. )

Then precious Annaïs came along. And when I say "precious" I mean horrendous. That child was just never happy. But I wouldn't put her in the colicky category. She didn't scream and cry. She was just perpetually pissed off and fussy.

Perfect baby v. Crazy baby

In fact, I fantasized about having a colicky baby. Then I could go to work and tell co-workers, "Yep, up all night with that colicky baby again." And then they would say, "Oh no! Colic is the worst. I'm so sorry. It will end." There's no real way to garner sympathy by saying your baby is just undiagnosably always pissed off.

Sleep deprivation is not kind to marriages. I distinctly remember telling Adam he was lucky our house was surrounded by a 10-foot wall topped with razor wire or I would have been outta there. In the mornings we argued over who got less sleep. Adam claimed his sleep didn't count because it was "guilty sleep."

As I bounced the nights away and she fussed I wondered if the guys at Gitmo knew about this very effective form of torture. I could feel myself going crazy. My sweet amnesty neighbor was gone and in her place useless non-parent neighbors. I imagined taking Ani over there and saying, "You see, the people who lived here before you had this amnesty deal with me if I was ever feeling 'you know'...so here's my baby."

It's the type of crazy only people who have been there can understand. You never stop loving your baby, you just start hating your life. Sometimes when it got particularly bad I would kiss my sweet crying baby on her forehead, put her down (which she hated more than anything) and shake an invisible air baby until I felt like I could safely pick my real baby up again. This is the fine line between moms who by some miracle have presence of mind to put their baby down, and moms who spend the rest of their lives in prison. It's a very fine, but important line. And a technique that should be taught in parenting classes if no one would judge.

This was when I finally understood what my neighbor had meant when she said if I was ever feeling "you know." She meant if I was ever feeling like shaking an invisible air baby.

So on awful Ani's (I mean the baby we loved more than anything, including sleep) 1st birthday we decided the jig was up. She was no longer a baby and could scream her head off, but she would need to learn how to deal.

Happy 1st Birthday Ani. Good luck with the night you're about to have.

I swear it was only one night (Adam says two), but that child cried and cried and we counted the seconds between the screams until she was done. And then she sighed and laid down. And I swear in that sigh she said, "Oh, I thought you wanted me to be up all night to keep you company. No? Okay, I'll go to sleep."

And just like that it was over. Exactly one year of no sleep, midnight divorce papers and invisible air babies were over.

Happy Birthday sweet Annaïs. The best/worst baby we've ever had. 

Photo credit: Jill.

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Friday List!

Sarah's List:

Feeling a little offended, Obama Family, that you waited until we left to take your Africa trip. Here's a good photographic round-up of their tour. Below is my favorite shot that gives some perspective of the size of that fascinating/controversial/tallest statue in Africa. Read more about it here.

Image from TIME Swampand.

And even more importantly, a Michelle Obama outfit round-up.

In orange in South Africa.

Elsewhere on the continent, The Origins of War in the DRC.

By Armin Rosen, from here.

Truth and Lies, in clever posters.

By Justin Barber. So true...and false from here.

It's been months, but we're still trying to get over this place. Are you in Brussels this summer? Don't miss the best pizza of your life at Mamma Roma.

From thePetitFour.com.

Apparently Parisians are having a hard time dealing with us. Us tourists, that is. So they've come up with a guide, Do you speak Touriste? in which they're instructed that Americans like to eat dinner early and be reassured on prices. That sounds about right.

From doyouspeaktouriste.fr.

In Harrisonburg this summer? A great baby store and a great friend are combining forces in the art opening of Pups. We're so there.

It's hard to believe I bummed around Tahrir every day during my grad school years. Look at it now! Salam, Egypt.

Jill's List:

I almost forgot it was the 4th of July until someone complimented me on my children's patriotic outfits.  Which were totally intentional.  We're hanging out on Ocracoke Island in North Carolina this week, so we have the choice to celebrate with a "lighthouse tour with locals Chuck and Sammy" followed by "famous fishcake sandwiches" and "traditional square dance."  (The children's scalps will be coated in glitter until they are teenagers thanks to those hats.)

My stylish-with-a-sassy-sense-of-humor friend sent me a link to this similarly stylish-with-a-sassy-sense-of-humor Pinter-blog called "My Imaginary Well-Dressed Toddler Daughter."  Example:

One time Quinoa thought she had accidentally squashed a bug, but what she had really squashed was all the predictable style rules society has tried to place on her.

Visiting Chapel Hill next week.  Every time I say "Chapel Hill" - some stranger's ears perk up and they run over to voluntarily wax eloquent on how incredible this place is.  My expectations are high.

Image from here.

Loving this link from Joanna - especially since Congo is the world center for blood diamonds.  Check out these stunning rings...  I never had (or really wanted) a diamond ring, but this site has me drooling.

Image from Bario Neal Tumblr.

Elias is at that weird time as a new reader where he can read chapter-ish books, but they are just a little too hard to be totally enjoyable independently.  So - I bought a couple of kid graphic novels.  Like this one.  What summer reading strategies work for you and your kids?

Image from Tiny Bop, Inc.  Where I get the best App, Book, Website, and Music ideas.

For Loulou, I've been geeking out in joy over those bins of books at Goodwill.  Our luggage is going to be ridiculous going back to Congo.  But, a family must have priorities.  Currently, I'm hoping to find this book.  Hey, the 80's are hardly (never) ever celebrated as a prime time for graphic design, but this 1983 picture book calls that idea into question.

Image from the book, "Gorilla" - discovered at the always brilliant blog Vintage Books My Kid Loves.

Following Egypt news closely.  Unbelievable and confusing.  Is it time for celebration or fear?  Both?

Image from BBC.com

And.  In case you haven't already read this article, read it now.  Birth in America = a pretty penny.

We think a lot about souvenirs.  It's not easy when the exotic place you live has little to offer in the way of a traditional tourist industry.  So, you have to get creative.  (Hmmm...I'm feeling a future post coming on.)  Check out these amazing ideas from the French grocery store.  Mais oui!

Image from Design Mom.

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We're on Every Mother Counts!

Go check out the Every Mother Counts homepage today!

Why?

1.) EMC is an organization working to make pregnancy and childbirth safer around the globe.

Do you need another reason?

Well, okay.

2.) Mama Congo is making an appearance today in order to tell the story of Mupwa & N'Landu's twins. Remember that?

Figuring out how I wanted talk about "motherhood in Kinshasa" in 800 words was a struggle to say the least.  So, I decided to start with a father.  Namely, Mupwa, who generously gave me permission to tell his family's story and share their photos all over the internet...for the third time.

So, head on over.

While you're there, take some time and look around at their website.  The quality of information on the issue of safe motherhood is amazing - including the film trailer for "No Woman, No Cry" directed by EMC's founder, Christy Turlington Burns.

(Many thanks to Alice & Jessica.)

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How To Have Your Baby Abroad...and still get the tax break.

Yesterday our foreign-born baby completed the last step in becoming an official American. Or really, in becoming our official American tax break. Charlotte finally got her Social Security number. And it only took 3 1/2 years.

Happy Retirement, dear Charlotte.

Someone really should write a manual on how to navigate the logistics of having a baby abroad, and then transporting said baby across foreign borders in less than 3 weeks.

The moment I went into labor in South Africa, Adam started the paperwork. In order to take our newborn back to Congo we needed a South African birth certificate, American Consular Report of Birth Abroad, passport, plane ticket and visa. In that order. The one thing you're not given and do not need is a Social Security number. So we skipped it.

The day after Charlotte was born, Adam headed to a Cape Town administrative office, which he still refers to as the "DMV on steroids." There he smooth talked some poor lady into giving him a hand-written South African birth certificate instead of waiting weeks for a proper one.  Meanwhile back at the hospital, I was having an equally bizarre experience and getting my laser boob treatments. Remember that one? 

The next day instead of taking our newborn home, we took her straight to the American embassy where I kid you not, they had a velvet rope around a red-carpeted section just for Americans. They obviously knew we were coming.

The diplomats here were the first folks to gush over our baby and we swore with our right hands that we were her parents. And then spent the next hour writing down every country we'd ever visited, listing all entry and exit dates, and trying to prove we're good American citizens. A new mother's dream.

Hospital to Embassy. Otherwise known as shakily driving your first-born in a foreign country on the "wrong" side of the road.

A little while later we were given her Consular Report of Birth Abroad with which we could apply for her passport.  Now. Talk to anyone who's ever tried to take a passport photo of a baby that is essentially still a fetus, and they'll tell you it's nearly impossible. And so we begged the kind man at the camera store to break federal law and Photoshop our newborn's passport pic until it met all the regulations. (Eyes looking directly at the camera, head unsupported, solid white background, no shadows, etc.)

He still told us it might not pass the passport photo test because "American officials are the worst."

There are about 50 more attempts where these came from.

Fortunately when applying for a passport outside the US, the State Department gets it back to you toute de suite. They probably assume you're a study abroad student, lost your passport at a bar, and it's an extreme emergency. Never mind you're only 3 days old.

So exactly one week after Charlotte was born, we had a quickie passport from the United States. (We would find out 17 months later, this is not the case when applying for a newborn's passport after they're born within the United States. Thanks Annaïs.)

Interesting fact for cutting red tape: Did you know you don't need a Social Security number to get a passport? Just enter all zeros, 000-00-0000. 

Even though we technically had 18 years to apply for Charlotte's SSN, we decided it was time for her to pull her own American weight and give us the tax break. So last week we spent the better part of the morning at the Social Security Administration chatting with a kind agent on whom I forced a Mama Congo business card.  

(Hello and thank you if you're reading, to the nice worker who pretended to be interested in this blog.)

Ready to give her passport to the Social Security man in the window.

Voila. Only 3 1/2 years later we have an official American baby. And the tax break to prove it.

Did you have your baby abroad? Is this red tape adventure similar to your experience? 

Update: After going through all this, we learned as Americans abroad, we don't actually get a tax benefit for our children. C'est la expat vie.

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Congo Fruit at the Brooklyn Market

Sometimes, Sarah and I like to talk about how expensive it is to live in Kinshasa.  How a box of cereal and a pint of strawberries both cost around $27 each.  It is sort of shocking. 

So, I went to a fancy neighborhood market in Brooklyn and reminded myself of the flip side.  Such as:

See that tiny sack of sad, hard mangosteens?  We have a whole crisper full on any given day.  For pennies.  Elias loves them because the fruit is pretty much like eyeballs. 

And starfruit? We can pick them off of trees in our backyard.  (Remember when I found Mama Vida up a starfruit tree?) Those little spiky balls in the picture above - those are rambutans, and we have them as well.  For free!

The passion fruit!  So much passion fruit.  I confess that we had so many of these little suckers that I had to throw some out just before we left because they were moldy.  Forget "two for $5".

So as I indulge this summer in strawberries, blueberries, and nectarines as if they are precious exotic fruit, I'll comfort myself with the knowledge that my current "exotic" is much less expensive than everyone else's.

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NY List!

Jill's List (NY Edition):

I think I creeped out the folks at Fox & Fawn today when I confessed at the register that I had been "dreaming of you all year."  So, then, realizing that I sounded freakish, I had to throw in the magic "I-live-in-the-Congo" phrase to turn the situation around.  But I do literally dream of their amazingly edited clothes for 10 months of the year...

Preparing to indulge in something along the lines of these tomorrow.  Thank you, Alice.

Found a bag.  Not what I thought I wanted, but I did.  Especially at that discount.

Johan took a picture of me and my funky (their word, not mine) wine at Marlow & Sons.  It's so incredibly enjoyable to eat really good food.

Found some amazing photos of Haitian solidarity in 1970's Brooklyn stuffed into a basket in this shop.  While I was leafing through, I realized that many of the snapshots in the pile also featured a person who I'm pretty sure is Morgan Tsvangirai.  Haven't figured that one out yet.

However, after seeing one too many adorable parent/kid groupings today...I'm officially really missing my two babies, who are having some quality grandparent time this week while we hang out with family in Brooklyn.  Email from my mom today:

So, E & L are playing house, with Elias as the father and Lou as the daughter. Do you guys call E & L "honey" and "sweetie pie"? 

So cute and funny….

(We actually call them "Bubba" and "Lucy girl" or..."chicken" - which sounds so much sweeter as the French "ma poule".  I really need to add some culture to my baby nicknames.)

Photo that accompanied the email.  I think they are surviving.  Sniff.

And.  Johan and I on a pier with Manhattan in the background.  Lovely.

Finally, I'm thrilled that Sarah is driving up to the city for an extra-special Thursday morning brunch...

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The Lesser-Known Culture Shock

Lots has been said about culture shock. Everyone gets it. It's hard learning how to deal without water, electricity or Target. But a lesser known shock also deserves a mention. It's called returning home. Or "reverse culture shock" or having a "re-entry experience." But I don't think a term exists for what we do. We live abroad indefinitely, come home for a short period of time, but never really "re-enter" permanently. And then we up and go just as we get comfortable having Target around the corner.

I think the feeling is best described by the emotions of our children who spend most of the day in tears, tantrums or clinging to our legs for dear life. If it was socially acceptable for me to act out this way, I would. It can be tough. For example, here are some signs you're having a rough "re-entry experience."

#1. Your First World Fantasy is easily crushed.

For ten months out of the year we know the option of using a public restroom is non-existent. Only in extreme emergencies will you find me in an African "restroom" if they can be called that. More realistically, you will not find me anywhere near a public hole in the ground, if I can avoid it.

Comme Ça. Except this one looks pretty fancy with those extra accessories beside it. Obviously, this one is in Paris. Check it out here.

If we're going to be out and about, there's no consumption of liquids beforehand to avoid any bathroom-ing experience. No coffee on Sunday morning because there's literally no bathroom at our church. Unless you want to go behind the building, but I've never been back there because I plan accordingly. But that's okay because we live in the Congo and we know to expect it. When we visit the States there will be amazing public restrooms. This is what I look forward to. This is my first world fantasy.

Until this year when the public restroom association decided to ban paper towels. Seriously, what's going on? Everywhere we go paper towels have been replaced by those crazy dryers that invite me to "Feel the Power" and blow (no...jet propel) air at your hands until you think your skin is going to come off. All year-long I've been looking forward to pleasant public bathroom experiences and now I just have to beg my children to put their hands under the weird machine with the electric blue light beaming out of it, and promise them their skin won't come off. I really love saving the planet, but this is not what I had in mind.

Ordinarily this is not something to freak out about. But if you are having a rough "re-entry experience," hand dryers are a first world struggle.   

"Feel the Power" and dry your hands the All-American way.

#2. Second hand sweaters make you cry.

A few days after we got back Adam stopped short in a consignment shop when he found the perfect red sweater. "Would you just feel this sweater? It's the most beautiful sweater I've ever seen. It's the perfect J.Crew sweater. It gets cold sometimes in Kinshasa, right? I should get it." Adam, we live in the tropics. You cannot get that sweater.

Then right there in the middle of the store he started into a very sad and dramatic monologue about how at no time in the near future would he be in cold weather. And almost started crying over the dearth of "snuggly" clothes in his wardrobe.

Then the next day as we were riding in the car he broke the silence with, "Hey, do you remember that sweater from yesterday? That was really bittersweet." 

J. Crew red sweater photo from here.

#3. You're just one wrong number away from a meth lab.

A few years ago after gorging ourselves on The Wire, we realized when we were back in the States we could buy disposable phones, drug dealer-style. Thankfully, the US has somewhat caught on to SIM cards and now we just get "disposable" phone numbers. But then we got this gem of a text message:

Bonus Post: Here's how we were dealing with reverse culture shock this time last year. It seems the Costco samples were a lot more fun before our children were old enough to notice the difference between Congo and the States. And thus hadn't learned to take their stress out in the form of extreme stranger fear or epic tantrums. Those were the days...

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Hot Pink Business Card Swoon

Just a quick post to rave about our new business cards.  They are marvelous in every sense of the word.  With these hot pink edged babies in our pockets, we will quickly become annoying - pressing them into the palms of anyone who might care.  Consider yourselves warned.

The folks at The Mandate Press were brilliant to work with and their $95 deal was well-suited to our no-profit blogger status.

See?

This just in! The Mandate Press has offered Mama Congo readers a discount on all your card purchases. Use the code: MAMACONGO and get 10% off your purchase!

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Friday List!

Jill's List:

The Look3 Festival of the Photograph is happening right down the road.  I'm itching to get to Charlottesville ASAP.

Image from here.

Still following the Turkish news with interest...and checking my children for signs of PTSD following our dinner with a side of tear gas in Istanbul this week.  Sounds dramatic, and it is.  We were awed at the energy emanating from absolutely everyone we talked to about the protests. (Special thanks to Yasmin, who will be featured in a later Mama Congo post.)  Even the mamas have gotten in on the action.  Check out their human chain:

This image from Facebook.

Also from Istanbul: My new shoes.  Stepped into the tiny Old Sandal shop near our hotel and fell in love with the blue leather oxfords.  Highly recommended.

Bourdain on Congo.  (I still need to watch the episode!)

And 60 Seconds of Congo.

 

60 SECONDS IN CONGO from Vision Film Co on Vimeo.

I teach a lesson in a digital citizenship unit that has my middle schoolers explore what to do about the fact that "Happy Birthday" is totally copyrighted.  Not for much longer?  Check this out.

Image from the NYTimes.

"The Art of Being a Goal-Getter" from Oh Joy!

Image from Oh Joy!

Using this to study for the GREs.  Anyone tried it?  One month plan, here I go...

Two editions of Kinfolk were waiting for me upon arrival to the U.S.  Sigh.  They will be my reward between study sessions.

Image from here.

Sarah's List:

If only the view from our seats looked like this. Pilot Documents His Journeys from 35,000 Feet. Yowzers! (Thanks Joanna.) The one and only time I have been in the cockpit was to force an introduction between the school group I was traveling with and the two female Kenyan pilots flying our plane. A truly special moment. 

Find more amazing images at Karim Nafatni's photo website.

If you're still in Kinshasa, check out the Jazz Festival. Many great memories have been made here. And many Bralima glasses may/may not have been stolen...

You said it right, New York Times: In Brussels, Frites are More than Just Fries. And to prove our daughter has been thoroughly Belgianized via Congo frites, when we're served fries Stateside she screams, "But where's the mayonnaise?!"

 

A very good recipe for Pommes Frites with Mayonnaise.

Are you getting married this summer? Here's something to read regarding your guests and photography. Nothing sends me into deep breathing exercises faster than sitting behind someone at an event who's using their iPad or other oversized i-Thingy to record it. Put the screens down people, and watch the moment as it happens. And if you can't, please stand to the side so I don't have to watch the event via the large screen you're holding in the air. Okay, deep breaths...

From Corey Ann photography and here.

 
 Bill Clinton on Chelsea's birth story. Father of the Year indeed. 

Chelsea and Bill. From here.

 Expat Culture Shock. It's a thing people. Here's my favorite tip:

You’ll need to prepare a three-sentence answer to the question:

"Oh, you lived in [fill in the blank]. What was that like?” or “How did you like it?" Your answer to this question should take no more than three minutes. 
Most people lose interest after that amount of time.

 ...unless you live in the Congo. In that case, it's best to stick to 30 seconds or not mention it at all.

This year I've been dealing with expat culture shock by spending way too many hours -okay, days- searching online for the perfect leather bag. Won't you help my readjustment and tell me where to find one? Suggestions welcome.

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