Finding a new focus in their relationship

THE PARENTS: Jenny Osterweil, 34, and Leo Osterweil, 36, of Northeast Philadelphia

THE CHILD: André Santos, born Jan. 15, 2023

HIS NAME: When Jenny was at the hospital, a nurse asked about names. “Max?” they said. “Or Miguel. Or maybe André.” The nurse blurted, “I love André!”

The actual wedding, bumped because of the pandemic from October 2020 to the following year, was a blur. For Leo, the indelible moments came afterward: a ride home, Jenny still in her wedding dress, in the back of an Uber, followed by a Wawa run — they hadn’t really eaten at the reception — for hoagies at 2 in the morning.

He’d been skeptical about all the wedding pageantry — ”we can just go to City Hall,” he protested during the months of planning — but afterward, he understood. “It was a magical day that went by so quickly. I remember the feeling, though.”

Jenny recalls walking in the rain through the parking lot, her arms sore from thrusting them overhead on the dance floor. “We were feeling on cloud nine and saying, ‘Yes, we did this.’ ”

They met on Temple University’s campus in 2009; Leo’s roommate had gone to high school with Jenny. Something flickered between them, enough that Leo added her on Facebook. She messaged first: “You’re a Leo? I’m a Leo!” indicating her astrological sign.

They were opposites: Leo is 6-foot-3 and quiet; Jenny is small-framed and boisterous. She likes to have a five-year plan; he prefers to navigate life day by day. She’s first-generation Portuguese American, and her father initially pushed back against the idea of the pair living together before marriage.

Jenny herself was so nervous that first night in their Bustleton apartment — she’d never even slept over at a cousin’s house, and she wanted everything to be perfect — that she threw up from stress.

In 2018, after a sushi dinner, Leo reached for Jenny’s hand as they walked into the apartment. “I’m going to ask you a question. Will you marry me?”

They’d already talked about children: a definite yes. Early in their courtship, they’d even found an app that morphed their faces into an image of what their hypothetical child would look like.

“I was obsessed with babies,” says Jenny, who is assistant director of a childcare center. “That led me into the career of working with children. I feel very passionate and very confident in what I do.”

When they saw a second line on a pregnancy test last spring, they worried that it might be a false positive prompted by Jenny’s recent COVID-19 vaccine. But after taking two more tests every day for a week, they were convinced.

After a moment of elation, Leo spiraled into self-doubt. “Reality sunk in: Am I good enough? Am I going to be strong enough to raise a kid?” For Jenny, the self-interrogation began when she started to show. She worried about being a good-enough mother, about whether there was enough room in their apartment, about whether it was safe to continue taking medication for anxiety (she stopped the drug, then resumed it after the birth).

A 10-day trip to Portugal — traveling with Jenny’s parents, meeting members of her extended family — helped quell their anxieties and fuse their partnership. “That trip brought us together as a team,” Leo says.

Her labor began six days early, on a Saturday morning, with contractions so fierce that Jenny screamed through each one. Her mother dropped off a traditional meal of pork and potatoes. Leo ran a bath.

“I didn’t want to do the breathing. I didn’t really want to talk. I didn’t want anyone talking to me,” Jenny recalls. She was 4 cm dilated by the time they got to Jefferson Abington Hospital that afternoon. André was born at 10:06 a.m. the following day, weighing 6 pounds, 10 ounces — and though Leo and Jenny aren’t typically people who see kismet in numbers, it was hard to ignore that symmetry.

Leo had been planning not to look. But as Jenny pushed, “I took little peeks, then I watched the whole birth and started crying.” André was purplish, with a head squeezed from the birth canal. “I was thinking: Is this normal? Is his head supposed to be shaped like this?”

Jenny recalls feeling the baby crown, listening for his cry, noting his dimple. “I was so scared of that moment, of giving birth, of going through that. I was proud of myself, proud of Leo. As I was pushing, the sun was rising. It was great.”

She thought she was competent with infants; at work, she could easily toggle among four babies, diapering and feeding and soothing them. But André had a tongue-tie, tight neck muscles that required physical therapy, and severe acid reflux. “He has a milk intolerance. There was blood in his stools. He was screaming when he would drink and when he would burp. Now he’s on a formula that costs $260 for six cans. Those little things just added up. It was very stressful.”

“We love André, but it was tough because he was in so much pain and discomfort,” Leo says.

Sometimes Jenny’s frustration — why won’t André settle? — would erupt in impatience toward Leo. There were nights when no one slept. And they were trying to parent more equitably than the model Jenny had, growing up. “I come from a family where the women do everything [at home], and men are the providers. But Leo is a great learner; he really listens.”

In some ways, the two remain opposites: Jenny’s emotions span the arc from exuberance to despair; Leo’s more even-keeled. “It’s my job to balance her,” he says. “And she helps me be able to express my feelings more.”

André has shifted the focus of their relationship. In lieu of spontaneous kisses or playful touches, they’re now scrubbing bottles, mixing formula, bathing the baby, changing his clothes. “We’re so preoccupied with being parents that sometimes we forget we’re married, that we’re also husband and wife,” Leo says. “It was just the two of us for so long. Sometimes we need to step back and just take care of each other.”