After having our first child, our family felt perfect, complete.
And I wasn’t alone in thinking that.
Before I left for our flight to NYC and on to Frankfurt, Germany, my Dad, in no uncertain terms, told me that if I had another baby while my husband was still in the Service, my parents would disown me. Hmmm, he was such a softie, that seemed totally out of character for him. Totally. But then I think my parents had genuine fears about them having to take care of us if things got out of hand.
Stunned, but I had no plans to do any such thing.
My 15 year old sister, Dianne, was enlisted to accompany us on the flight to NYC. Nice! And then we were on our own over the Atlantic. Dad picked up a very tired traveller in Frankfurt and then drove us 3 hours south to Vohringen, a small town not far from the military base in Neu Ulm.
There weren’t single family houses so much then, so our apartment was one of two on the third floor of the building. Next door was a family of Turks. They were imported labor, like Mexicans in the USA.
Second floor was the two prostitutes in one apartment, Eva and Frederika. They were nice, I liked them. Heidi, a towering German with other kids (by other men) in social care, and Cleve, her Black GI husband, and their baby had the other second floor apartment.
First floor was a teenage discotheque. Turns out every single night we got to enjoy loud popular German music, so singing lullabies was strictly a daytime affair. Pretty wild!
D.Wayne had assured me several times before I got there that we would absolutely be living like KINGS because the German mark was almost 3.5 to 1 American dollar.
And he was right, apparently long ago Kings used to live winters without heat. Because there was no heat. Yes, there was a coal fired stove, but no coal. We eventually did manage to get some coal from Frederika. I figured she wanted us to drink, because it sounded like she was asking if we wanted “Ale” instead of “Oil” but soon enough we were on the same page. Every time you would start the stove, the oil would explode and there would be black soot all over the living room wall. Cleaning walls became my new calling. One of them.
I have never had a drink. But that would have been a good time for some Ale.
Somehow that day I missed finding the special supplemental formula the Dr had put Afton on, and that I had repeatedly insisted he needed to get. But there was a cake in the room, and that was all of the supplies there were. Celebrate! I cried and cried and begged to be taken back to Frankfurt to catch a plane home.
Weary, we all fell asleep.
Only to be awakened a few hours later by yelling and screaming. “I’m going to kill you.” “Help, help, he’s throwing me down the stairs.” More, I couldn’t understand. But we were alarmed. My husband didn’t think it was time to intervene, but of course I did. I went down the stairway and they both were off the charts. Apparently they were arguing over their 2 month old baby, so I asked where she was and went into the apartment to grab her.
Soon enough the local German Cops showed up as well as the Army Military Police. At least that was a good step forward. But they somehow could not figure out which of them had jurisdiction with a German citizen and an American GI. So in a Solomon like decision, they gave custody of Santa Maria to me. Uh huh. It was Saturday night, and they said to keep her until Monday, and not let either parent near her. Was the baby a hostage? Was I?
I took her upstairs, and then came back down to retrieve what I could to take care of her. But neither parent would budge and give me any formula or diapers from their separate stashes. Everything in Germany then was closed on Sundays, so no other options tomorrow.
Well that felt good, I was nursing both babies all weekend. With zero supplements. It was all I could do. And hope that neither of those wonderful parents broke in the glass door to our apartment.
Sunday was Afton’s two month birthday. It was a tad anticlimactic.
On Monday I wanted to go into base and see about getting the special formula for my baby, and no Police or MPs showed up that morning, so I went downstairs and gave Heidi back her daughter.
But we remained on close terms with the MPs who often had to come out to deal with Heidi and Cleve. So much so that they came and spent New Year’s Eve with us 3 weeks later.
Of course, I ended up with Santa Maria. Often. After a few months of this, one Saturday we went into base to go to the PX, with both babies in our car. Happened to drive by the little movie theater there and notice Heidi and Cleve standing in line. Together!
And so the free babysitting spree was over. Apparently Heidi felt guilty and tried to pay me $25, which in that day would be almost $250 now. No thanks, I was just done. We figured we’d move out when 6 months were done. Wouldn’t miss those two.
In the meantime, I would spend the days going on long walks with the baby in the stroller. We lived only a block from the famous river, the Blue Danube. On one exceptionally mild day that winter, I was excited enough to go for a walk without a coat, twelve miles to base. It started snowing. People started staring, pointing. Crazy Americans!
We had a tiny kitchen so had to go shop at the market often. But I could boil water in a pan to wash the cloth diapers (no Pampers around yet), and use the tub to do so. That was fun.
Once a week, I would get dropped off at the little laundromat on base to do the laundry. We would spend the day there until it was time he could get off to pick us up and take us home. The floor in our old beat up VW Bug was missing, so we got lots of fresh air on trips.
And within 2 months, I had lost all the baby weight! My mom had been pretty apprehensive I wouldn’t when I left for Europe. I had been up to 133… and was down to 95 the end of February. My secret? Don’t eat. If you can’t afford to. We both had college loans that had to be paid off, and there was no grace given, even if you had been drafted. So we had mac & cheese every other night, frozen peas too the first half of the month, Hamburger helper once in a while, not much else.
Fortunately he could eat lunch on base every day, so there was that.
One night I had learned to take the bus into the base, and it was my first time going to a RS Homemaking meeting in our little Branch. It was so good to be out on my own! Six of us women in the Branch. After it was over, I went to wait for the bus directly across from the guard post at the front of the base. I waited and waited, paced and paced. January, and it was cold.
Finally I crossed the street back to the guard house and asked if they could please call Captain Cox, our Branch President. They were not moved, to say the least. He was the Commander of that base, and they had decided I was a lady of the night, trying to pick up clients. After all, it was Fasching all winter, and people celebrated with lots of liberties they normally wouldn't get away with. Like Mardi Gras for months, only not many parades until just before Lent.
Anyway, they refused to call him, and I was crying by the time I got them to call someone in base housing that was in D.’s clerk group. I was sobbing when I woke this kid up I didn’t even know, but he came and got me and drove me home. Not all heroes wear capes, right?
And soon I was dead set on getting my European Driver’s license ASAP. Aced it too!
And soon I was pregnant! What? Afton was barely 3 months old. WHAT?
I had mixed feelings. But one feeling was strong. Don’t tell anyone. Especially my parents.
So I didn’t. Until six weeks before the due date when I wrote them a letter. To be sure, long distance phone calls were ridiculously expensive. So I wrote and got many letters. I don’t know how my parents took the news. But soon enough I got a package from home with my maternity clothes, so I could stop wearing my husband’s pants and shirts that last month or so. And they were nothing but supportive.
Our backyard was a sloped hill and we came to find out, behind us on the other side of the chain link was the former house and grounds of the iconic Desert Fox, Erwin Rommel. Hands down he was the most well known general on any side in WWII. Among so many victories in several countries, he commanded the German forces on D Day in June, 1944 as the Allies executed the invasion of Normandy.
Clearly that would be something I can’t defend, as my own Father then came over to fight against Germany. Yet, Rommel had a reputation of not being a diabolical blood thirsty operative. In fact, later in 1944, he became a protagonist in the Valkyrie Project, wherein some leaders had faced the evil Hitler was, and they were planning to assassinate him.
They were found out, and because Rommel was by far the most important military figure, Hitler realized killing him would cause extreme negative reactions. So he was given the option of taking a cyanide pill when they came to the house I saw every day. He told his wife and son goodbye and got in the car to go to the outskirts of town and suicide himself. He was given a full military funeral, and was buried in the Herrlingen cemetery. On my stroller walks with my little one, I went and visited his grave every day. And pondered war, and choices. No one else was ever there whenever we were. So serene.
So the rest of this pregnancy was uneventful and pretty good. Except for that one time that a visiting Dr. from Iran on exchange somehow with our military had me summoned to an examination room. What could possibly go wrong? Well just about everything.
I disrobed and got myself up on the examination table and waited for a nurse. None ever came. Only the Dr. So I’ll spare you the specifics, this was well before #me too. I can answer questions, but I know not everyone can handle details.
And I had no idea how to handle what just happened. When I got out to the front desk to schedule my next appointment, I told the receptionist that I refused to come back to see that Dr. Several times she asked me why not. “I just refuse,” I said. Embarrassed and confused, now I wish I had been more forthcoming. But back in the day, virtually no one spoke up. Even in the next generation or two, it was common for girls and women who were actual victims to be blamed.
When I got home and told my husband about this egregious experience, he laughed. Maybe he didn’t believe me. Maybe both men and women back then had no idea how to go about holding perpetrators accountable. More so if you had only a low rank. Who knows? I buried it.
We travelled a lot, to castles and cathedrals and countries. We often weekended in Switzerland. One night we spent high in an obscure campground high in the mountains, and woke to cowbell melodies in the early morning. The best morning ever!
Another time we borrowed a two man pup tent and spent the night in a busy Swiss campground. The edge of your tent ended where someone else’s ended. I was very pregnant by that time and we had a baby sleeping between us, so when I rolled over in the night and started inhaling tent fabric, in a nightmare, I thought I was being choked and started screaming bloody murder!
What a brilliant way to make new friends! So many different languages all at once. Crescendo!
Then there was the time a friend of D’s from High School came to visit with his wife. We took them to Neuschwanstein Castle, the one Disneyland copied to create Sleeping Beauty’s castle.
Such a gorgeous area. We went in to take the tour. A large group assembled in the huge first room. We were the first in and so ended up at the open entrance to the hallway.
As the room filled, I started feeling dizzy and weak, and ended up passing out. D. had Afton in a carrier on his back so although he caught me, he couldn’t release me to the floor without bending over and putting the baby in jeopardy. Kent and Sharon laid me down.
Then the tour guide at the opposite end of the room began urging everyone to move through the room to continue. She became exasperated at people not moving, as no one wanted to step over my prone body (which she couldn’t see) blocking the doorway.
Somehow eventually I was carried out to a portico and laid on a bench. Tourists from all over came to console me and share ideas about getting better. At least, I assume. I only speak two languages. So no, I never really got to see Neuschwanstein. But I found out ways to get attention!
All and all, a fairy tale pregnancy.
Soon enough October came. And travelling was sidelined. At some point we realized we needed to make plans for someone to watch Afton when the time came. So we asked Hans Fried to ask his parents if they could babysit. Babysit? They had never heard of such a concept. Grandparents and Aunts and Uncles lived close to each other back then, if not in the same house. Grandparents were often the ones who raised the children while the parents worked. But fortunately they were willing.
So nine months pregnant is full of ups and downs for anyone. One of my personal downs this time was just before Adam was born. For some reason I was downtown Ulm by myself when I tripped and fell on the curb of a sidewalk. With my generous belly, I just couldn’t get centered enough to rise on my own, and so there I was, moving around but helpless. A fish out of water.
It was crowded. People stared and shook their heads as they walked by. No one stopped to help. Not one. And it was scary. It seemed like it took forever, in slo mo for me to somehow maneuver my way to standing up. I was so embarrassed. For me. For the Germans there.
But hard lessons can be valuable. And I have been in situations later in life where I literally have lifted the fallen. So thank you for that opportunity. And thank you that my baby was safe.
Then the inevitable. Labor began, we gave Afton to the Landlords, time to go. And race we did, there was the train coming down the track in town, and Dad drove up on the sidewalk to avoid being stopped by the crossing gate which was coming down to halt traffic. We sped to the little clinic in Neu Ulm, and the Dr. was incredulous that I opted to drive with Dad in the beat up VW, rather than be shepherded in the military ambulance, but I didn't want to give birth without him again, so we got on the Autobahn and sped to Augsburg.
It was evening, and the Chief of OB was at a Halloween party. He didn't take kindly to being interrupted, but he showed up sans costume, except his Dr. one. The nurse, however, was from central casting. Old, grizzled, and in combat boots in the delivery room! Perfect.
The Dr. was further annoyed when I crawled off the table as he began to examine me. "Never mind," he said as he called for anesthesia. "NO!" I pleaded. "I want to have this baby totally naturally."
The Dr. was disgusted with me. "Look," he said, "you're no officer's wife, I don't have to stay here with you. I can just leave." He stood up and started for the door.
"It's important to me," I said. We were not off to a good start. He left me with Colonel Combat Boots, and I was wheeled into L & D (Labor & Delivery Room), inhumanely strapped into stirrups, and again, we were off to the races. Guess he had a change of heart, cause he stayed in his Dr. costume and played the part like it was scripted.
I so wanted to prove I could do this and not deserve any further ire, that we spent the 20 minutes or so until the baby was born telling jokes, and the 5 of us (Dr, Nurses, Dad & Mom) were pretty much hysterically laughing at the time of birth. Because the Dr. for whatever reason wanted to speed things up a bit (was he hoping to get back to the party?), he used forceps to pull on the little head. Not a friendly gesture for any of us. When the baby's shoulders emerged, I did become acutely aware of the process, but just winked at the Dr. and asked, "Do you mind if I say 'Ouch' right about now?" Permission granted, but it felt a little anticlimactic, a bit silly to say it out loud, so it was more of a loud whisper-"ouch".
And then the telling moment. "IT’S A BOY!!"
I was so surprised, I blurted out, "What do I do now??" (I grew up as one of 4 girls, this was a foreign life form to me.)
"Change him faster," said the Doc.
Then I saw the perfect little round face, the huge eyes, the crown of dark hair. And I melted. How could life ever be better than this moment?
Beaming. Dad had a real life son now. Perfect!
I became the Dr.'s star patient; he came in the Recovery room and spent nearly half an hour massaging my leg, which wouldn't stop shaking after it was all said and done. Adrenaline, I guess. We became best friends and he would tell our story to the others he brought by on rounds the next couple of days, and brag how it was his funnest birth ever. (The Hospital Pediatrician assured me the scar the forceps had left on his face would be a lifetime mark, but there was nothing that could be done. It disappeared in less than 6 months.)
Daddy left. The night was young. There was relentless screaming all night long. I was told there was a teenage girl having her first. Old Combat Boots was so annoyed, had little sympathy.
The next day, out in the hallway, I encountered a young couple from our base, maybe D.Wayne worked with him? With a smug grin on her face, the wife told me they had heard me screaming all night.
“That’s funny,” I said. We got here early in the evening and our baby was born half an hour later. “Didn’t you hear us laughing?”
Can you forgive me for enjoying the look of shock on her face?
The next day D. went and sent telegrams to our parents. Long distance phone calls were beyond expensive.
Life was good! Our family felt truly perfect! Complete!
Within a couple weeks, D. had been promoted to E5 and finally we were given on base housing. The third floor of the building. It had been the (German) maid’s quarters during WWII. 8 bedrooms, a large living room and kitchen! Even with only a few months left to go till his 2 years was up, he could rest easy knowing in case something happened, that the babies and I wouldn’t be stuck out on the economy with no one to help us evacuate. The Cold War was very real. Fear was its power.
And Adam grew up to be handsome, inside and out.
EPILOGUE (Nothing to do with pregnancy, just a “fun” sidenote)
Leaving Germany was more than I expected. Dad told me he couldn’t come on the same plane with us and so had us on a flight two weeks before his was scheduled. Of course, he somehow forgot to mention to me that he had planned a skiing trip with the guys to Austria for that interlude. No wonder he couldn’t be on board.
But I guess that worked out. Only women and children on that flight. Well, actually women and babies. Everyone had ONE. Except for me.TWO!! And then this one woman who had NONE. Took her no time to come up to me and volunteer to help me with you both. What a sweet gesture!
The only catch was that meant she took our extra seat.I had known I would have to manage with baby Adam on my lap for how many endless hours, but I'd planned on Afton sitting next to me. And paid for that. But this Good Samaritan had a better plan. So there went our seat.
Before the engines started, unfortunately, this paragon of charity began vomiting. And vomiting. And vomiting. What an ugly word. So I got to spend the entire flight (no, I am NOT exaggerating!) attending to basically 3 babies, rather than 2.
The stewardesses (no flight attendants back then) were out of their minds with all the crying babies, they had run out of milk early on, and paid a dear price acoustically; so no help for the hapless hurling angel wannabe. I alone was managing barf bag after barf bag. Not a happy camper, to say the least, but I guess it did keep me from focusing on who to save first if the plane went down. And from sleeping.
When we eventually miraculously arrived at Kennedy International Airport in New York, I was more than grateful the nightmare was over.
Ha, what did I know?
Right after getting through customs, one of our suitcases broke, and everything inside spilled all over the floor (no wheeled luggage in those days, so I was carrying Adam and two suitcases, while Afton walked at my side, less than a year and a half old.) Not much sympathy in New York, so just me on the floor with two babes, trying to stuff our possessions back into the disintegrating luggage and find a way to tie it shut while not being trampled in the meantime. No one stopped to help. Not one.
Got on a shuttle to the Stateside terminal, irritating all the disgruntled and ungentlemanly businessmen who just sat and frowned while I loaded everyone and everything in. No one stopped to help. Not one.
But we made it, in spite of myself, and in spite of everyone else, and soon were at the Stateside Terminal.
We somehow managed to get to the Gate, and waited to board our flight to Chicago. Well, I waited. Afton wandered off. I have no idea how many minutes it took me to notice she was gone. Being a calm and composed adult, I TOTALLY FREAKED OUT! Started running around, calling her name. People started to pay attention, and search. Ran this way and that in the long hall and finally, finally after who knows how many agonizing minutes, I found the little runaway, just sashaying along, oblivious to all the commotion.
I don't know when I have ever been more exhausted, more drained emotionally and physically when we boarded the plane to O'Hare Airport in Chicago. The last leg of our trip. I could do this. A few hours later my babies would be in Grandma and Grandpa's arms. Sweet. Almost home!
A few hours later we landed, and I was so relieved as we were taxiing to our gate to disembark.
"Welcome to Minneapolis," the voice of the stewardess announced.
Are you kidding? You HAVE to be kidding me!!
So they obligingly put us on a flight to Chicago.
After all 682 hours of travel, I remember Grandma Mudgie saying how she'll never forget seeing baby Adam's eyes, how they were dilated and staring, like someone who had suffered an irreversible trauma. I think I was catatonic. Still am.
And then life got better. And worse. And better. And worse. And….
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