Wakeman - Smith- Vandenberg - Family

Hallo!

Mein Name ist Charlotte ,
zur Welt gekommen am 13.08.2009 um 04:22 Uhr. Bei meiner Geburt wog ich 3150 g bei einer Grösse von 49 cm und einem Kopfumfang von 30 cm.

Born August 13, 2009

For Immediate Distribution

Germany - August 19, 2009

B-Day: at approximately 04:22 hours on 08.13.2009, Charlotte Louise van den Berg established a beachhead in Lich, Hessen, Germany (Europe, Earth, Sol System) and began pushing forward into enemy territory.  We’ll start from the start.  The birth, itself, was a fairly easygoing process – as much so as is possible given, you know, what actually happens when babies are born.  Possible objections aside, I am a man, and therefore entitled to put things in such cavalier terms: Charlotte came into the world as if delivered from the great waterslide of creation.  Five hours – done and done.  All systems go in terms of health (Anna’s as well), and her appearance is slightly less reminiscent of space aliens and over-fleshy Chinese dogs than the average newborn.  For those of you keeping score: 3150 grams, 49 centimeters.  Yeah, I know – the metric system is Greek to me, too.

B-Day + 1: my memory is a little hazy, already, but I recall that this day involved a lot of sleeping (by myself, Anna and Charlotte) and an assortment of well-wishers coming and going.  These people were presumably friends and family, but you could have slipped in a couple of fire jugglers or leprechauns that day and we probably wouldn’t have noticed.  Rather like the wedding in that regard.  Speaking of weddings…I went to one.  Two of our best friends had their wedding on the 14^th, and Anna, quite nobly, insisted that I go.  For those of you who have never experienced it, sobriety at a wedding is a hateful state of being, but the agreement was for me to drive home that night rather than passing out cradling a bottle of Jägermeister.  I am good to my word, and make it home sometime after 01:00 hours to a couple of girls who are wide awake.  No slinking in late through the backdoor with a newborn in the mix.  Apropos nothing: nursing is not yet a smooth process…there is wailing and the gnashing of toothless gums. 

B-Day + 2: here we learn about the dangers of milk.  Apparently, the organs through which milk is distributed do not have an infinite holding capacity.  Never before have I seen such swollen planets of infant nutrition.  Emergency situation – the milk must come out, but the pressure is too great, causing a warping of the spigot, which will not function through the normal method.  Charlotte has not yet learned much in the way of patience, and appears intimidated by the death star hovering before her.  Discomfort is the word of the day.  First diaper change, as I recall, taken by myself (presumably there had been others previously).  Rather like riding a bike, it is.  My hands work automatically in a surprisingly well-organized frenzy, and suddenly a clean diaper is on the baby and the shrieking has abated.  Anna is well impressed; I credit this shocking competence to my experience with Maxwell, the original van den Berg baby of this generation, whose little butt I tidied up frequently long, long ago.  Speaking of things that are long (wait for it…), on the list of presents a husband can give his wife, a well-changed diaper must be somewhere near the top.  Alas, my early success in crap handling would be fleeting.

First Week (cont)

B-Day + 3: we leave the hospital and come home to a god-forsaken chaos.  The kitchen floor in our apartment is as yet unfinished, and so we are to live in exile for the first week or so of Charlotte’s life.  Like gypsies, we stuff the wagon full of gadgets, colorful bits of fabric and broken, useless things, and set off for Green Hill (also known as Grünberg), Anna’s mythical homeland.  The Werth girls - Anna, Lissy, Ingrid and now Charlotte – are united in a made for TV spectacle, one part Gilmour Girls, one part that “Wasssssssup!” Budweiser commercial and one part Voltron, only all four of them are the pink tiger.  I renew my friendship with German beer.

B-Day + 4: the dairy moons came fully online yesterday and immediately commenced fire, decimating the rebel fleet.  Babies are interesting animals.  Apparently, the more they drink, the more they poop.  This was quite unexpected, and several operational directives have been compromised in the last 24 hours as a result of this new development.  At approximately 11:00 hours yesterday, Charlotte Louise deployed a new weapon of terror: the shit missile.  Specific details of the incident remain classified, but essentially I was engaged at point-blank range by projectile crap whilst involved in diaper-changing operations.  Ten years ago, Special Agent Max was known to occasionally employ his ding-a-ling in similar assaults, but I had assumed that such tactics were impossible for daughters.  Thus lulled into a false sense of security, I neglected the ranged capabilities of the more odious of the two organs, and nearly paid for it with my life.  I wash my hands like a surgeon.

B-Day + 5: after the shit missile setback, welcome news is received from the morning watch: the day’s first wailing is heard at 05:30 hours.  Official estimates place nocturnal sleeping time at somewhere between 6.5 and 7 hours, an extremely encouraging development.  An e-mail is written to friends and family, who should be warned not to expect such historical precision or narrative consistency in future correspondence.  Photographic evidence will be turned over shortly.  Nothing follows.