other smooty pictures of our man. i mean seriously!

that face!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I love how he smiles so hard his whole face gets all squished and his eyes disappear. Oh love!!

the weises meet ben!

Love at first sight! :)

I love everyone peering down at this little person :)

Toni punting, looking good :)

The weather was absurdly beautiful. Those clouds! And that's Ben shaded under that blanket on Elizabeth :)

Sometimes I got to hold him too :) p.s. this is my life: rocking and nursing Ben on our bed. So excited to live somewhere with a couch! Heavens!

Serious face :)

Yay for family! So fun to show him off. So glad he is so loved.

5 weeks old

super ben to the rescue!!!

he feels extra big and chunky this week.....

...especially when compared to this sweet 2-week old picture of him! dear, lovely dude.

This week, Ben has begun to smile more and more, and responds so much to us - he especially loves singing and rocking, and sucking on Toni's pinkie finger to calm down and go to sleep. Toni and I tend to sing to him mostly in French - what is it about French lullabies that are so lovely? My favourite is 'Souviens-toi,' a hymn from the LDS French hymnbook. Sadly, it's only in the French version, and was written by this lovely Parisian couple in the branch I attended back in 2005. I copied the words below - they are so, so lovely, and represent a conversation a parent has with their child ("do you remember, my child?") about heaven, where the child was not too long ago, and if they remember it, and if they can tell us all about it here... 

Souviens-toi, mon enfant: Tes parents divins

Te serraient dans leurs bras, ce temps n’est pas loin.

Aujourd’hui, tu es là, présent merveilleux,

Ton regard brille encore du reflet des cieux.

Parle-moi, mon enfant, de ces lieux bénis

Car pour toi est léger le voile d’oubli.

Souviens-toi, mon enfant des bois, des cités.

Pouvons-nous ici bas les imaginer?

Et le ciel jusqu’au soir, est-il rose ou gris?

Le soleil attend-il la neige ou la pluie?

Conte-moi, mon enfant, la couleur des prés

Et le chant des oiseaux d’un monde oublié.

Souviens-toi, mon enfant: A l’aube des temps,

Nous étions des amis jouant dans le vent.

Puis un jour, dans la joie nous avons choisi

D’accepter du Seigneur le grand plan de vie.

Ce soir là, mon enfant, nous avons promis

Par l’amour, par la foi, d’être réunis.

The last lines are also lovely - "One day, we chose to accept God's eternal plan. On that evening, my child, we promised that through love, through faith, we would be reunited."

Gosh it makes me cry. But truly! These babes are direct from heaven. They are perfect, and so wonderful. I remember a conversation with Leslie I had when we came back from Mozambique ten years ago, where we worked with a lot of abused children at the Colegio Infantil. Their stories were excruciating, and Leslie said that these dear children must return to heaven every night in their sleep - they must have that grace to get through the terrible circumstances they are forced into on earth. I loved that - it's so beautiful, and I think it must be true. Anyone watching a newborn baby sleep would believe it :) Seeing how they talk and smile and dream and laugh while dozing off :) Precious little ones! I still can't believe we have one of our own. How did we get so lucky? What could we ever do to deserve such a blessing?

4 weeks old today!

dear baby

It's incredible how quickly this first month of Ben has passed. He slotted himself into our lives so naturally, immediately bringing us such indescribable joy that has only increased as each day has gone on. He's utterly spoiled us with his sweet, calm manner. He's made our transition to parenthood so easy and beautiful, we just couldn't be more amazed or grateful at his perfect presence! This last week he has really started to respond to us, which is even more lovely. If he's woken up or startled or upset, he calms immediately when picked up by us, and returns to his mellow contentment, resting his head on our shoulders and gazing round at the world. 

Is there anything better in the world than that? Than picking up your dear baby and feeling them melt in comfort? Ah! Ben, we love you so.

Out and about with Benjamin

Springtime in Oxford is superb - wildflowers! Blossoming trees! Ducklings, goslings, lamb-lings all over! Green green green! It's fantastic, and we've been trying to show it off to Ben as much as possible. We live just opposite from Christ Church Meadow, a glorious field surrounded by the Isis tributary of the Thames, and studded with the dreaming spires in the distance. Popping Ben into one of our various baby-wearing devices and strutting out into the fields for walks is something we dreamed of the last 9 months - and we take daily advantage of the beauty, now that our man is officially here!

Sometimes pastries are involved too. (p.s. the patissier of this establishment guessed that Ben was 2 months old! Ah! 2 weeks, not months! :)

(I have the most handsome husband ever.)

This is basically the driveway to our block of flats - we're home in 45 seconds from this photo. GAH! Let's not talk about the fact that we're moving away in just 2 months, k?

....And a last solo shot of Ben, because: seriously. Seriously, this dude is perfection. Everyday we love him more and more. (I didn't know that was possible?)

More Ben! (note: he is swaddled most all of the day, but we like to seize the non-swaddled moments for full-body shots :)

First week with Benjamin

You guys, we so lucked out with this baby. He is perfection and we love him to pieces. I would write more, but I would just gush. Every night before we go to bed I cry a little out of joy and gratitude. I've never had so many happy tears! ah, Ben. How happy you have made Toni and me....

there are good people in the world

Toni is back in Ethiopia as of today. He has a month more of work ahead of him to finish up the data collection phase of his PhD, and has also taken advantage of being in Addis to check up on some of the things we left behind when we moved back to the UK in August...

The main thing: a pilot fund we created with the help of Dr. Aynalem, an oncologist at the Black Lion Hospital. (Featured in that film above that we made about cancer care in Ethiopia.) I've said this to many of you before, but cancer care in Ethiopia, and most of the developing world, essentially does not exist. While there are thousands of campaigns and organisations to help treat communicable diseases - HIV, malaria, TB etc - cancer seems too big and scary and expensive an issue, for either governments or aid agencies, so the services just aren't there. Black Lion Hospital has the only cancer centre in Ethiopia - for a population of over 80 million. There are 3 oncologists. You can imagine the demand!

It's grossly unfair to assume that if you live in a developing country and get cancer, you are just going to have to die a slow and painful death. (This is exactly what happens in most every case.) Recognising the immensity of the problem, and mine + Toni's teeny tiny smallness, we chatted with Aynalem to see what initial steps could be made to improve the situation. He said it outright - a discretionary fund that could be used for poor patients who could not afford treatment or medications, or who had traveled to the city for treatment and had to sleep on the street because they couldn't afford basic accommodation. We set it up, left in August, and Toni went back today - today! - to see what happened.

Let me tell you: Dr. Aynalem is one of the best men I have ever met. His honesty and commitment to his patients is seriously unparalleled. You don't understand - there are more Ethiopian doctors in the city of Chicago than the entire country of Ethiopia. You are paid $300/month to be a doctor in Ethiopia. That's it. It is an immense personal sacrifice to stay in the country, and I do not blame anyone for seeking better offers elsewhere. And I know Aynalem has had them - but instead, he sticks it out with the extremely limited resources he is given. RAD.

And on meeting Toni today, he handed him a letter carefully listing every patient who benefited from the fund so far - with individual receipts signed by him + the patient detailing what the funds went to. One woman was able to get an MRI. Another medical student was able to get an early cancerous growth in his anus removed successfully, and can now continue his studies. It goes on and on. Two dozen people were able to get life-saving treatment that they would have had no access to otherwise. Think of it!

This is such a basic form of assistance - no middle man, no umbrella organisation, just immediate and very critical needs that can now be filled when otherwise they would have been left to simply fester and get worse, completely ruining these peoples' lives. I could write a whole other post about the processes of development, or charity and giving, and what I feel I've learned these last 10 years since that first trip to Beira, Mozambique... but suffice it to say: just giving cash to impoverished communities to do with it what THEY need, not what you THINK they need, will 100%, always be more effective. (It's kind of what my whole PhD thesis is about too.)

But this couldn't have happened without Aynalem - without having him there to manage the fund, to provide the treatment AND the care for his patients to know who needs what. He's a champion. I cannot say enough how much I admire this man, and how happy I am to have worked with him.

As I said, this was sort of a pilot - to see how things would go if we started this kind of fund. And we really want to keep it going, but also make it as strategic and effective as possible. Toni's having lunch with Aynalem in a couple days to discuss more. And we will really need more help moving forward, in case you're keen... (honestly, please do get in touch if able.)

But I have to say: sitting in my comfortable flat in beautiful Oxford, it's been easy to feel very removed from Ethiopia and the people we met there. It's ironic that day in, day out I write my thesis about these people - about their lives and struggles, in a setting that is so resource-full it's shocking. I wrote about that below - being pregnant here, and having every kind of care at my fingertips - ah! I will never ever forget what a privilege that is. I'm so happy Toni is back in Addis this month, and able to reconnect in person with that grand world we love so dearly. This day is one of the happiest I've ever known (in a very, VERY happy time at that). And I can't wait to see how all the weeks and months coming forward unfold.

Até mais!!
jooj.

JOY!

I know I don't write on this blog much anymore, but I feel I should record (for my own posterity and memory), my feelings at being pregnant for the first time, given I'm now halfway through... a monumental thing indeed!

Thoughts, the first. 

As the title of the post suggests, to me it's joy - joy, joy joy ! ! ! - that I have felt most these last 20 weeks. (Or rather, 14, considering I didn't find out til I was 6 weeks in :). And while I'm writing this and not Toni, I'd have to put him in that category too. As my belly has grown, our joy seems to exponentially increase. I never thought I could love someone as much as I love dear Toni these days, not only because he has done a million and one things daily for me to make sure I'm comfortable and healthy, but just to know that we have this whole, new and exciting life together that we cannot predict or really imagine as of now. Seeing the way he constantly cares for me, without being asked, and without complaint, I know how wonderful he'll be as a dad, and it makes me that much more grateful to be a co-parent with him to this darling little one (and then some, insha'Allah!).

When she heard I was expecting, a good friend of ours said 'until now, you've known only two dimensions of love, and now you're going to know a third.' So beautiful! I already feel such a growth in love even with the baby inside, both for this dear child and for Toni too, I can't fathom what that birthday will feel like.

Before you all write me off as a whacked out, idealistic pregnant woman, I know I know it will be hard. I know we won't sleep, I know parenthood turns your lives upside down and you're never the same. But that's what we want. That's why we're having kids. We've lived three decades for ourselves, our own interests and pursuits, it's time we turn our lives over to raising a child and building something larger than just our own lives. I get it, I get that I'll be tired and frustrated and at a loss - you don't need to remind me! (But people love to all the time.) I know the greatest joys I've known have been in times of struggle, when I'm doing hard things, and this hard thing will put the rest to shame. So wouldn't the joy, too? We're ready and prepared for the downs as well as the ups, even if we don't yet know how far down those downs will be. (So stop reminding me, random strangers I don't really know that well and the million begrudging parenting articles out there that say 'you have no idea'. Sheesh.)

Thoughts, the second.

It's no secret I've been working on maternal health for several years now, and when I discovered I was pregnant, just three weeks later I was supposed to fly to the DR Congo to conduct a survey of a pre-conception and ante-natal care project run by Handicap International in the environs of Kinshasa. I would have been 10 weeks pregnant, was already frightfully nauseated, and my GP wouldn't prescribe me with anti-malarials. My boss pulled the plug and sent someone else instead.

I was a bit devastated. I had really wanted to see DR Congo, and the project was fascinating. But I knew I would've been awful at the job, given how sick and tired I was, and ultimately, like my boss said: there's no use me, a maternal health patient, going to remote areas of the Congo to evaluate the very paucity of maternal health services.

It only reinforced to me again how important maternal care and support are, and how grossly unfair it is that I can arbitrarily choose to NOT be in a situation where I would be at risk, just because of my privileged birth in the US, and privileged home in the UK.

This connects with the thoughts above, that ultimately, this pregnancy is only reinforcing to me how very very critical it is that reproduction is chosen, not forced, and that the woman who must undergo the debilitating state of pregnancy, labour, postpartum, is adequately supported. Not just with medical care for any impending crisis (considering they remain the exception, not the rule), but also emotionally, socially, domestically... Toni is the ultimate house-husband these days, and I think of the women I work with who have no relief after conception. Their roles in domestic labour are as arduous as they were before, and the injustice of this is criminal.

At the same time, most African countries (Ethiopia included), allow women to rest 40 days post-birth, to recover her strength, to do NOTHING but learn to nurse that baby, while neighbours, relatives, husbands, take over her own care and all other domestic duties. How alone most women in Europe, in North America, feel post-birth! With a screaming baby, forced to 'snap back' to your old life, your old body. So just to say, we can all learn from the caring and support systems we've developed cross-nations. Can I have both? (With a husband like Toni, methinks yes. I AM SO DANG LUCKY I KNOW IT.)

Thoughts, the conclusion.

We're really, ridiculously happy. We have another ultrasound this week to check on babe's progress, and to see if we're having a boy or girl. I've been feeling those flutters, and 'quickening' of early baby movements for the last two weeks, and I can't wait to see our babe on that screen again! Whatever the outcome, whatever happens with this baby in the next 20 weeks and thereafter, I have been privileged to nurture him/her for these last five months, and my depth of love and feeling has increased. I've been cared and supported by a solid medical system + a solid group of friends, family and husband from day one, and gosh darn it if I will.not.stop working (in whatever capacity that may be, back at the UN? at an NGO? in academia?) on issues of maternal health globally to ensure that level of care is the norm, not a privileged exception.


The end.