Tenemos piojos y mas

Yes, we finally got them, those itching wake you up in the middle of the night critters that seem to have the ferocity of a cockroach, piojos (lice). Who knows how we got them, we escaped ¨piojos free¨ from the orphanage with such confidence that we even donated our lightweight industrial comb to the clinic, now we´re groaning over our gracious philanthrophy. But, hey, you can buy anthing at the farmacias here and so every few days Matthew is lathering himself in a toxic foam of the Guatemalan RID equivalent. We´re boiling up our bedsheets over the stove and drying them in the sun. Ahh, the pleasures.

In the midst of all the itch, we have been taking Spanish classes in Chajhaneb, an isolated farming community high up in the twirling hills, splat in the middle of Guatemala. It takes an hour to walk to the closest town of any importance or you can trot about 20 minutes on a bumpy rock path and grab a jalon (lift) from a bus or traveling truck bed. The hills are saturated in green, coffee is everywhere along with blueberry bushes, maize, bananas, red peppers, wildflowers in firered and purple-blue. The air is fresca (fresh) and you can breathe it all in without a stinch of firesmoke or exhaust. The rivers run a Caribean blue green hue and almost every afternoon around siesta time you can count on a rainstorm on an old farmhouse tinroof to lull you to sweet slumber. Finally, we have found peace in Guatemala. It is absolutely sublime here, (of course, I´m ignorning the piojos situation).

We´ve been staying with Libby our gracious, motherly host (who speaks English and spent over 20 years in the US), Laura another student, tono (the parrot), coneja (pregnant perra) who just had new pups Monday, and Osama (yes like, bin laden) the other perro. Some days after class we just wander up into the hills (where the children run out from their homes giggling out of control at us, rubbing their bellies, falling to the ground in sheer delight, and yelling out ¨adios¨ or some Q´iche words till we´re totally out of site), other days we plant seeds in the greenhouse, pick wildflowers, harvest veggies, kick around a soccer ball, or just laze in a hammock and read. If we could, we´d grab this farmhouse up and wish it into the hills of Carolina.

But for now, the farmhouse is ours, for the next 2 weeks. The school is closed, the owners are on holiday, and we have rented the place all to ourselves to relax, wait things out and try to figure out what happens next. Like most of our experience in Guatemala, we´ve been given a surprise, a gift and a struggle, hand in hand. I don´t know what it was, my body breathing in the 200 kids loving me up at the orphanage, the multiple women, crushed up tight next to me in the buses nursing their little ones, or my fingers digging deep into the fertile soil. I don´t know, just like we don´t know why it has taken us close to 2 years, but I´m pregnant. Two pregnancy tests, and an ultrasound confirm it´s real, but we both still sit in a shadow of disbelief and a bit of fear. There is a baby, in a good place, holding strong in my womb, but there´s also a sac of blood, spotting, cramping pain, and a risk of miscarriage. For the most part though, we both are happy, shocked to know that my body can actually get pregnant. Whether I can stay pregant is another story, but I´m used to not being able to control the wills of my body, and so for the last week I´ve followed the doc´s orders and laid around the house. The cramping and bleeding have greatly subsided, and today in over a week I made my first trek into town. I feel great, yet tinged with a want for sleep, I feel strong with a sense of shifting in my body and peaceful floatyness with my husband in my mind and whole being. Whatever happens next, I know we both will be ok and even more hopeful. Next week will be 8 weeks, and we´ll get another ultrasound to see if the blood is gone and if there´s a heartbeat. In the meantime, we´ll bake bread, munch on blueberries, practice our Spanish and read the farmhouse clear of books. All is good.