A Sissy

The arrival of my daughter was almost identical to that of my son in that I was sequestered away in Helsinki for at least a month and living back at the Mission House. The difference was that it was summer instead of early spring, my friend Lindsey and her family no longer lived in Helsinki, and I had my three year old guy with me. It was a neat adventure for him so much so that he barely missed his dad who was again working back at home. We spent a lot of time playing the park outside the Mission House, climbing up the big hill to the shops, taking the ferry to the Helsinki Zoo, and there was a lot of fun to be had with the old gate mechanical elevator.


My little boy took it upon his little three year old self to “take care of Mamma.” The truth is that I was nervous about being alone with him with no help so late in my pregnancy, and we rehearsed the what ifs if I went into labor before Daddy could come. He is a patient and compliant soul to begin with, but he was especially easy on me that month as we waited for his sister to be born. Jameson charmed the pants off of everyone as usual with his huge blue eyes and sweet closed-mouth grin, and it was exciting for me to see him not only adapt well to this unusual change of pace, but really rise to the occasion.

A few weeks into our stay in Helsinki, my good friend Lisa (aka Latvia Lisa or Kiki’s Aunt Lisa for those of you who know my friends) came to stay with us for a few days. She was also expecting her second baby in October--we had the same doctor and she had an appointment. This was a HUGE relief to me! Lisa got me out and moving, kept my spirits up, calmed my nerves, provided familiar comfort to my son, and was over all a great distraction. It’s extremely tedious to be pulled away from your home, city and normal routine to sit somewhere to do nothing but wait for your body to push out another body.

By the time Lisa had prolonged her stay as far as possible, we were pretty sure I was going into early labor. We happened to be at Ikea at the time (remember Lis?). She hated leaving us, but had to, and in the end arranged it so that Jims and I would only be alone for about a day before my husband arrived (another panicked phone call, but this time he drove to Tallinn and did not fly). Part of the urgency to time departures and arrivals just right was not only because of the baby, but also because of the mid-summer holiday and festivities going on throughout the Baltics and Finland. Life comes to a complete standstill for the longest day of the year.

Midsummer’s Eve, 1998 did turn out to be the longest day of the year for me especially. At midnight, Jims was fast asleep, my husband who had just arrived a few hours before was about to sleep, and I started rocking furiously in a rocking chair. It was time to go to the hospital. I woke my three year old child and told him that we had to go. He jumped up from his little bed and exclaimed, “Don’t worry Mamma! The nurses and I will take care of you!” And on went his little shoes. My husband had to call three cab companies before he could get one to pick up the phone, and when we did finally pile into a cab which reeked of vodka, the clearly inebriated driver drove like a bat out of hell to get us to the hospital. There wasn’t that big of a rush, but he was clearly nervous.

Seven hours later on Midsummer’s Day, Caroline was born. A nurse came to take Big Brother away to the cafeteria during the exact moments of her birth, and once he was brought back in, he kissed her little brown head and sweetly asked, “Is that my Sissy?” That’s your Sissy. He always knew she was a sister—never any doubt, and as we know, the nickname’s stuck.