We’ve taken the prenatal courses, set up the change table, the crib, have a drawer full of onesies and newborn diapers at the ready. My husband and I have even arranged for some backup in the form of one very excited amma-to-be who is set to arrive shortly on a plane from Canada.

After years of seeing babies being pushed around in what I still refer to as the SUVs of strollers, we now have one of our own parked downstairs, waiting to be pushed along the ocean-side paths and the downtown streets of Reykjavík.

My plan to buy a cheaper stroller in the US or Canada and hauling it back here to use quickly changed once I realized that in Iceland, you need a stroller with substance. That is, a stroller that can withstand the weather.

A light weight stroller wouldn’t stand a chance in the winds that rip through these parts. There’s a reason the baby carriages here are built like small tanks. All year round, rain or shine, wind or snow, stroller traffic is heavy in Reykjavík.

Where I come from, you wouldn’t think of taking your baby out for a stroll in the -50 degree Celsius (-58°F) winters of the Canadian prairies.

But in Iceland, milder temperatures and heated sidewalks mean a spin around the block in the winter isn’t out of the question. And if the strollers aren’t being pushed, they are parked outside houses, apartments, cafés and stores with the little ones tucked inside for their outdoor nap.

My husband told me that when he was a baby, his mom would park the carriage on the balcony, fastening it with a rope to the balcony railing if it were a particularly windy day, and for hours he would stay outside, as snug as a bug in a rug, breathing in the fresh winter air.

This idea of parking your child outside in the winter may be new to me, but I’ve warmed up to it, so to speak. The al fresco nap is standard practice here and Icelanders clearly have it down to a science.

It’s not like these babies are freezing because, along with the SUV stroller blocking out the wind and rain, the tiny tots are dressed from head to toe in a whole array of mini winter weatherproof clothing specially designed for keeping them warm.

Topping it all off, the baby is nestled into a miniature sleeping bag that fits perfectly into the stroller. With an outfit like that, who wouldn’t want to take a snooze outside?

But despite having an extra stroller parked outside on our balcony waiting to be used for future open-air naps, I have not reached the point where I would go so far as to leave my baby in the stroller outside while I run into the grocery store or pop into a café for coffee. That is one aspect that is still very much a huge cultural divide.

All in all, we are as prepared as any new parents can hope to be. So, what else do we need? Well, aside from the baby, of course, it would seem we need a name. Ah yes, a name.

Naming your child may sound straightforward enough, but as I found out when planning our wedding, what should be simple tends to get complicated when one person is Icelandic and the other is, well, not.

Restrictions, regulations, committees, ceremonies and language barriers have made choosing a name quite the eventful task. So eventful, in fact, I think it warrants an entire column unto itself...

Alana Odegard – odegard_a@hotmail.com