The Parent Trip

They were in love with each other, and adventure, and the idea of an expat life in less-trodden territory. So after their 2006 wedding, Sylvie and Umi sold most of their belongings, quit their jobs, and moved to Ecuador with four overstuffed cardboard boxes and a cat.

Each had lived abroad before - Sylvie in Madrid, Umi in Cape Town, South Africa - working with micro-lending organizations and in workforce development. In Ecuador, they built a sustainable-travel business, relished their rural, car-free existence, and lived on sunshine and savings.

Then Sylvie got pregnant, and reality bit. The frequent electrical outages and intermittently dry water tank suddenly seemed less glamorous. And then there was the day when Sylvie, dehydrated from frequent vomiting, was sent home from a local clinic with an IV bag. The couple walked a mile home on a dusty road, Umi holding the bag above her head.

"I started to long for some comfort," Sylvie recalls. "Kids changed the game." The two - who had met at Central High School, then kept in touch and began dating eight years after graduation - had left good friends and family in Philadelphia. "We wanted our parents to be able to see their grandkids," Umi says.

So they returned, in time for Demetrius to be born in a drug-free delivery at the Birth Center in Bryn Mawr. Umi had hoped for a son - "with girls, what do I know?" he says - but both thought a family with one of each would be ideal. They even knew what they would call a daughter: "Imanja," a variation of an African name that means "queen of the ocean."

When Sylvie, pregnant for the second time, found out she was carrying a boy, she initially felt a stab of teary disappointment. Her mother consoled her, saying, "That's great, for a boy to have another boy to play with."

And then, for a while, the couple figured they were done. Occasionally one would ask: On a scale of 0 to 100, what percent are you in favor of having another? On a trip to Greece, when their sons were 3 and 5, the balance began to tip.

"We thought: They're so big; this is so much easier. I miss having a cute little baby. I was starting to have the urge to have one more," Sylvie says. Umi's response: "Let's do it now. We're not getting any younger."

Nine weeks into her pregnancy, Sylvie drove to Abington Hospital for an ultrasound; a friend who was a resident there conducted the test. "There it is!" she said, moving the transducer around on Sylvie's belly. Then: "Hmm . . . what is that? It looks like there are two in there."

Sylvie burst into tears. "I was terrified. This was my third pregnancy; I already had two kids. I thought: How are we going to do this?" Both loved their jobs - Umi as a director at the Wharton Leadership Center, and Sylvie as deputy chief of staff to the deputy mayor for economic development. She wondered, "Am I going to be able to work? How are we going to manage?"

When she called Umi to say, "It's two," he laughed nervously. "Are you serious?" he said, followed quickly by "Are you all right?"

Once again, Sylvie's mother tamed her anxiety. "She said, 'It's going to be great. These are our two peanuts. You guys can do this.' "

Demetrius and Bahari accompanied their parents to a second ultrasound appointment a few weeks later. "We said, 'Guys, look, there's the baby. And there's another baby.' They wanted boys. They called them 'the brothers.' "

This pregnancy was different from the first two - not only because Sylvie felt "huge, like a medicine ball, walking around" - but because of the way people reacted when she told them she was having identical twin boys.

"What freaks you out is that when you're having twins and you already have two kids and you tell people, they say, 'Oh, my God!' Everyone's jaw drops. When I said I was having two more boys, some people said, 'I'm sorry.' "

For this birth, at the Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania, Sylvie was anticipating a scheduled C-section because "Baby A - the one on the bottom" was breech. But when she came in for a final ultrasound, Baby A had somersaulted into head-down position.

Once again, she gave birth without medication. "Pushing two babies out, nine minutes apart, was not fun at all. But I knew, when that was over, that I'd never, ever have to do it again."

For all four boys, the couple chose names for both their sounds and meanings. Demetrius, a Greek name, seemed a strong moniker for their first-born; Bahari, in Swahili, pertains to the ocean. For the twins, they settled on Karim, meaning "generous" in Arabic, and Jai, which means "victory" in Sanskrit.

Both Sylvie and Umi say parenting four is not as difficult as they anticipated; or perhaps they've just become inured to the constant chaos. During a recent trip to the Poconos, they trundled into a diner with the kids and watched customers' heads turn. "We're like a circus. It fazes us less than it fazes other people," Sylvie says.

What helps, they note, is taking the long, reflective view. Umi says parenting - whether of one, two, or four - "exposes your personality. You have that constant reminder of other people watching you that keeps you on your game." Sylvie likes to imagine their clan 10 years into the future, the older boys teenage, the extended family gathered around a brimming Thanksgiving table.

Meanwhile, she has made her peace. When the couple first bought their Germantown house three years ago, Sylvie planned to jackhammer up the cement half of their backyard, pull out the basketball hoop, and turn the whole thing into a garden. "As soon as I had the twins - no, even before that - I realized I'd lost that battle completely."

If you've become a parent - for the first, second or fifth time - within the last six months, e-mail us why we should feature your story: parents@phillynews.com.

(Giving birth, adopting, or becoming a

stepparent or guardian all count.) Unfortunately, we can't respond individually to all submissions If your story is chosen, you will be contacted.EndText