Like Swiss cheese, my life as a foreigner living in Switzerland is also, at times, full of holes. The language, cultural differences—and some days, grocery shopping—keep me guessing. Usually, I am up for the challenges and can laugh at my adventures and misadventures. Other days, I’m not so lucky. Being a mom of two (one human baby and one four-legged baby, affectionately called our “fur born”) ensures that I have daily interaction with the “locals.”
After a two-year stint in Germany and a three-year experience in graduate school, I find myself described as “Jen the American” again and living near Geneva, Switzerland in a town called Nyon. Why, you might ask? The answer is simple: my husband Brad. While living in Germany, Brad developed an insatiable curiosity about living in what I affectionately call “the land of cheese.” He is convinced that this is the place for us—the fresh clean air, a better quality of life, traveling, and learning French are all “pros” to him. I would list cheese in the “pro” column, but my beloved doesn’t like the stuff. The irony!
Not one to turn down an adventure, I said “sure” when we discussed the very real possibility of living abroad again. The only glitch was I was six months pregnant at the time. Looking back, we probably should have spaced out the birth of our first child and an international move. Live and learn. A new baby is a lot of work and an international move is a lot of work, but put them together and it’s pure insanity. The sleep deprivation alone will knock you off your feet. But, we made the commitment. Brad set his start date for six weeks after my due date and we started making plans. As it turns out, Addison had her own schedule and arrived ten days late. We scrambled to get her birth certificate so we could expedite a passport (Seriously, babies need passports! It’s crazy, as the photo requirements are the same as adults—you need to see both ears, their chin, and have their eyes open! Not an easy task for a two-week old baby.) and receive a social security number so we could leave the country. It was a small miracle, but we were on the plane to Zurich on Addison’s one month birthday.
PREVIOUS PAGE
