Archives: January 2007
« December 2006 |
Main
| February 2007 »
So many things to say.
FIRST:
I'm (we're) in.
It took us all of Saturday and all of Sunday, and well into the wee hours of Monday morning, but everything has been moved into the new apartment. The Boy was incredible all weekend, lifting and pulling and carrying. He wouldn't let me do anything too straining, and the poor thing ran up and down six flights of stairs at least 20 times per day, carrying our stuff out the door and into the car we rented for the weekend.
On Sunday, Vegas called and asked if he could help out, and he stayed with us until five am on Monday morning, lifting monstrous boxes that I am astounded his little frame can hold up. What an angel. He was so helpful, we never could have done it without him. I was and still am completely overwhelmed by how much physical effort the boys were able to put into the move -- and how I didn't hear a peep of a complaint from either of them besides an occasional yawn once it started getting late. They were both wonderful, and I really don't know how to properly thank them for all they did. And, they maintained a smile throughout, which was probably the most amazing part. I felt so blessed.
The three of us crashed for a few hours at the end of the chaos on Sunday/Monday, and then The Boy had to go to work at 8 am. I can't believe his body was actually physically able to move after the beating it took. Even more, he put in a full work day. And then, last night, he came home and began tinkering with some of the stuff we bought at Ikea. So now I have a new little side table and a new desk. Things are moving along nicely.
However, because we had so few boxes, we did most of the moving in suitcases. That meant that we would fill a bag, come to the new house, dump it out, and then go back to refill it. So now the bedroom is literally just piles and piles of crap, all mixed together. It's about three-feet deep. So I have my work cut out for me this week.
SECOND:
The Boy did something very strange last week. We have been working on repainting and reparing his apartment so that he could move in there permanently. Upset over my choice to keep this baby, he decided he would be there for me financially, he would be there for the birth, he would be available should I need him, but that the two of us would live apart. I've never been happy with his choice, but I have learned to accept it. I figure I wouldn't want to live with someone who didn't want to be living with me, what's the point in fighting it? So I told him I would help with preparing his old apartment into somewhere liveable, and that he would be free to do as he chooses.
Last weekend, we bought carpets together. On Monday, I waited for them to be delivered. On Tuesday, he painted. On Wednesday, the two of us plastered and painted together. And on Thursday -- when we were supposed to put the finishing touches on the paint and then put down the carpets -- he destroyed his kitchen cupbards and opened up all the plumbing while I was still at work. In my absence, he decided he wants to redo the sinks and replace the hot water heater, as well as pull out a few wall fixtures. So of course, we can't make finishing touches or put down carpets until all of that is complete.
He was supposed to move in last weekend, but now I think it will take quite awhile -- at least a month, maybe more.
I think it's sort of odd, and handy, that three days before he was supposed to move into the place, he made it completely uninhabitable.
So he'll be here with me for a little while longer. I am happy about it. We've been getting along well and he's even been semi-participating in baby-related stuff. Last night, while he was working on the new furniture and I was deciding on a kitchen set-up, I felt so happy for the two of us to be in the new space, each of us doing his/her own thing but occasionally lending a hand to the other. A lot of the things that have been complicated or difficult over the last few months seemed to fade away, and it was just a pleasant first night in a new house. We even had a good time at Ikea over the weekend, which is incredible because I feel like if there is somewhere a couple is going to fight, it's Ikea. We got lost on the way but managed to keep our cool, we helped one another pick out stuff once in the store, and we somehow manoevered our way through the delivery process unscathed. I mentioned going back there for baby stuff in a little while and he said, "Ok, we'll see about that in a month or two..." without a moment's hesitation.
Whatever is happening to our couple, I am convinced this move was a good thing for both of us. Even if it means we'll eventually be living apart, it has thus far had nothing but positive results.
THIRD:
On Saturday morning we picked up some croissants for The Boy from the bakery, and my baker asked me if I was pregnant. The first person to do so! I don't even think it's all that visible, but hey. I was so shocked that we had a rather stilted conversation:
Baker: Is that a baby in there?
Me: Um.. oh, yeah! Yes; yes it is. Uh-huh.
B: When is it due.
Me: In June.
B: Will it be a Taurus or a Gemini?
Me: Um... well, doctors bet on Gemini but um... it's really not for sure, as it could come at the end of May and then it might be a Taurus.
B: Ahhh... congrats.
I later showed Kathypath exactly what I looked like with my jacket on - which is how I was at the baker's - and she said, "Wow, I would never have looked at you and just assumed you were pregnant, because that could just be poofing out. I mean, I might wonder, but I wouldn't ask unless I was sure. So that was pretty bold of the baker."
But still. That means people are going to start offering me seats on the bus soon.
FOURTH:
I should be finding out the sex today. Anybody wanna guess?
Tonight I had my informational meeting at my birthing center. It was an exhausting day (oral exam in the am, worked all afternoon, meeting in pm) but I felt I should go, just in case there was anything that I didn't catch by reading the information pamphlet they handed out when I signed up.
There wasn't. But at least I tried.
The main thing I got from the adventure was that:
1. Most women are accompanied. It's very cool to be one of two girls flying solo.
2. The Frenchies seem to know next to nothing about their bodies. Maybe it was all an act, I don't know. But I mean, they were so high-strung and over-practical about things like breastfeeding, and I'm thinking, "Ok, there are only three of us who are actually even showing. Wait until the breastfeeding class to ask your breastfeeding questions." We're going to have a whole series of classes -- at least five in all -- and there is plenty of time to cover these topics. But they were already wondering if they could start mixing formula and breastmilke at two-and-a-half-months. As if they had already pulled out their agendas and marked a day to start mixing. Very weird.
3. I should have been an OB/GYN because apparently I have all the terminology down.
The guy running the session was an old '68-er (he would not let that fact drop) and he used the informal "tu" with everybody in the room. I was sort of uncomfortable with this at the beginning, but then again I realized that if I'm going to go to the hippie birthing center, they probably want to make us feel "at home" from the start. So then I started appreciating him and his ways, and I decided I ended up choosing a pretty good place to have the baby.
One interesting thing was that I was, I'm almost positive, the youngest person in the room. There were two other girls in their early 30's, and then all the others were in their mid-thirties. Two couples looked as if they might have been in their 40's. I'm amazed to see such a shift -- 27 used to be considered old for having kids, now I am apparently on the young side. It's something I had definetly noticed amongst friends and family, but I'm surprised to see that it might be an even greater phenomenon than I had originally thought.
Another factoid that I learned was that most of the births at this particular center are done standing up, sitting on a chair, or on all fours. I had read about how these can all be worthwhile positions, but somebody asked "Why not on the back?" The '68er explained that in much of the rest of the world, and before the 17th century, women rarely gave birth lying down. But with the development of medecine, it was more practical for the DOCTOR to be able to access the baby if the woman were horizontal and he upright. As the '68er said, "I mean, think about it, the woman is lying down, her legs are open, he is between them, standing erect. Can you get any more phallic?"
There was an uncomfortable silence in the room but I thought the point was still an interesting one.
So now I am armed with a variety of things I can do to "get to know" my baby in the womb. The '68er suggested the chanting class (no) and then also mentioned that prenatal yoga is a good idea (sure). I'm going to see what my schedule (and wallet) allows for, but I won't sign up for anything for at least another week or so.
The '68er also mentioned that the average stay at the birthing center is 5-7 days. That seems like a REALLY long time to me. Am I the only one that feels like 3 is enough (barring any physical necessity for a longer stay)?
I've taken enough Arabic to pretty much cruise through this first semester. I got an 18 and a 19 on my first round of exams, which are practically unheard-of scores in the French public education system. After those exams, we had one additional week of classes, and now we are in the middle of our second round of exams.
On Monday, I took the Round 2 exam that corresponded to the exam that I got an 18 on. Keep in mind, we have only had ONE class since our last exam (stupid, disorganized system... what a surprise), so we didn't cover all that much new material between exams. Yet, oddly enough, there were things on that second exam that I had never even seen before. And there were a few other things that I recognized from previous years of Arabic study, but absolutely and without a doubt NOT from this current year.
And I'm thinking: what kind of teacher just throws new vocabularly at students during a translation exam when they aren't authorized the use of a dictionary? She even added in conjunctions and the subjonctive, and we have DEFINETLY not covered those topics yet. I was maybe third or fourth to finish the exam (out of about 100), but I am willing to bet that at least 75% of the people in that room failed. And unfairly, at that.
I just think it's wrong. I know I passed the test just fine because I knew most of the words/terms she asked for, if not all of them. But I knew them because I learned them elsewhere, not because they had been taught to me by my current professor. And not surprisingly, the only people who finished before me were all arabophones and so they clearly have an advantage over the rest of us.
This is why the success rate at my school is under 10%. But that doesn't mean it's right.
Tomorrow I have another exam - an oral - at 9:45 am. I have been having a hard time getting up in the morning, mainly because I have been so active during the days that my body is demanding at least 10 hours of sleep. As I don't usually get to bed until midnight, you can see how this is a dangerous pattern.
At any rate, I am hardly preparing for the exam tomorrow, just keeping my fingers crossed. I'm counting on this professor being more reasonable than the other, which it isn't hard to be.
I consider myself fortunate in that I don't have a lot of habits. I don't smoke, I don't drink excessively (and at the moment, not at all), hell, I even kicked the caffeine.
But lately, I've developed a full-scale addiction. It appears that after seven years sans television, I have discovered the beauty of "24." I might have just watched 19 of the first 24 hours sometime over the last 72 hours. That is way, way too many hours of "24" hours.
Yet every time I swear it's going to be the last episode I watch for a day or two, they stick on that cliffhanger ending. And damn if I don't catch myself watching the next one. I always watch them around 10 at night, when I am too tired to do anything else but not yet tired enough for sleep. But you know, since I watch them on my computer, I have to watch them sitting up, and eventually I get so nervous and wound up that I don't even get in bed until sometime past midnight. That's enough room for 2, possibly 3 (commercial-free) episodes.
So I am sorry for those of you living in 2007, apparently I am still in 2001, season 1. Can I just ask you: Why can't the Serbian brothers just speak in their own language, as opposed to fake-accented English? And also, when are Rick and Kim going to get it on? And finally, is Jack ever going to eat?
I hear the show goes downhill at some point. I really hope it does, because I've got four more seasons stretching out before me like the great beyond. And frankly, that's scary. Somebody tell me I can rest after these first 24 hours are over and done with.
I woke up late today and consequently didn't eat my breakfast until almost 11. It was a complete one: banana, yogurt, muesli, juice, coffee. I went into work at noon, still feeling a little over-full.
Some days, I work better than others, and today I was practically a machine. I took at least 40 photos, managed to get them all to my liking in photoshop, and put them online. Then I created a database for all of the work I have done this past week, and I made records for each piece of artwork we are selling. And then it was 7 o'clock and time to go.
I had felt the slight rumblings of hunger at some point around 5 or 6, but it was never my intention to skip eating altogether. I would regularly skip -- or skimp in a major way (ie just have an orange or something) -- an occasional meal before getting pregnant, but I really haven't done so in the last five months. And I think I know why.
As soon as I shut down my computer and closed the doors to the shop, I realized I was on the brink of starvation. I knew The Boy wouldn't be home for dinner tonight, and on the rare nights he is not around, I like to indulge in some Lebanese goodness. I love Lebanese food, but he is against the particular restaurant I go to because he once puked their veal.**
It occured to me, as I anxiously counted down the stations until my metro stop, that I have been frequenting the Lebanese joint with vigor since November. So maybe, if people ever ask me about cravings, I can offer up Lebanese as a possibility. I always feel weird saying, "Nah... no cravings really."**
While in transit, I started having some issues about the guys at the Lebanese joint wondering why I always come there, or maybe just thinking I'm a weirdo in general. I always get to a point like this with any place I frequent, where I wonder what the they think about me. I was a waitress; I know what we think about people who eat at the same restaurant four nights a week. We either think they're awesome clients or total freaks. I am not sure which crowd I belong in. But screw it, I wanted some damn Lebanese.
When I walked into the restaurant, the guy who is usually the one to help me (who is new as of November, by the way) said, "Hello. Vegetarian platter to go?" and I hesitated between hanging my head in shame and being super excited he did that. It was the first time I had had any open acknowledgement of my assiduity. Only two weeks away from abandoning the neighborhood forever, and I have officially become a regular.
I love the vegetarian platter because I feel it's healthy, and it is pretty much guaranteed to last me two days: a huge serving of hummus, an equal-sized serving of eggplant purée, a generous portion of taboule, one ball of falafel, one spinach thingie and one cheese thingie. And then there is the itty bitty dessert, and I love, love, love Lebanese desserts. Mmmm... honey and pistachio. But it's tiny so you feel ok just having the extra treat.
So it's a lot of food.
You know something? I just ate the entire thing. Two days worth of food. And? I'm only full, not totally overstuffed. I guess that's what happens when you have a (dance-aholic) baby growing in there. So no more accidentally skipping meals for me, if I can help it.
But damn, I feel great now!
*The Boy pulled out the leftover veal dish from the night before and set it on the fridge. For some reason, he thinks you have to let leftovers "sit out" for awhile before eating them. Except that he let it sit out OVERNIGHT and then put it back in the fridge in the morning. And then he ate it the following night. And it made him sick. Do you really think this is the restaurant's fault?
**I also am really into grape juice mixed with Badoit. The grape juice is too sweet to drink plain, but if you put about 1/4 grape juice with 3/4 Badoit, there is a recipe for deliciousness right there.
I love The Other Boleyn Girl thus far and might not sleep tonight until I finish it. I started it last night, read half of it, fell asleep with it in my hands, and woke up with it next to me. Then I read it for 20 indulgent minutes after I woke up, and I really had to force myself to stop. I would like to savor it, but it's just too delicious.
Thank you for the suggestion. I will officially "review" it at some time but it is exactly the type of book I am looking for.
I also read The History of Love a few days ago and didn't have this sort of reaction to it. Some of you may hate me for that.
I made it past the halfway mark sometime last week and didn't even celebrate. I cheated myself out of a good time. 20 weeks come and gone. Sigh.
They say at this point in the pregnancy, I should be feeling full of energy and bursting with activity. I'm starting to burst a little, so to speak, but mainly I've been so on-the-go that I haven't even noticed if I have energy or not. I guess that means I have energy?
Today, however, was a day where I actually could feel the energy in my veins. The sun was out and it was uncharacteristically warm, and I got so many things accomplished. Everything managed to fall into place, or almost everything:
First, I think I have a renter to take over my lease for next month, an issue which was causing me a bit of stress. I'm relieved that this might work out -- I have been showing the apartment to people regularly over the last week, and although most of them were interested in the place, there were several that I wouldn't have felt right about sending along to my landlord. Two of them were just downright rude, and one of them was sort of spooky. But I found a few good contenders, one of whom the landlord has "pre-selected" to meet with tomorrow, so hopefully all is good in that arena. But it's amazing how exhausting it can be to show your apartment to strangers several times over the course of a week.
Second, I have begun the gradual and painful process of breaking up with my books. I recognize that most books serve no purpose other than to sit on my shelves, but it was so sad to take them all to the second-hand shop and bid them farewell. Today's drop-off was only 1/4 of what I am getting rid of, but it was the heftiest chunk and the most emotional one by far. When the two nice men at the shop forked over the measly 90 euros (hey, you take what you can get, but ouch) they gave me for the piles I had placed on their table, I said, "I'm just letting you know this is sort of painful. But it needs to be done. They'll go to a good place, right?" They laughed and then told me the story of a woman who once cried for half an hour at their register when she sold them her collection of modern first editions. So I'm not crazy, in other words. I think.
Third, I finally took care of the monthly blood work/urine sample that was prescribed to me last week. Yes, I have been putting it off and putting it off. Finally, I knew I just had to go and do it today, or it would never get done. In the US, they really give you a mammoth cup to pee in compared to the little rinky-dink vials they provide here. I think I have pretty good aim but this is just ridiculous. Plus, at this point in the pregnancy, as soon as I drink something, I usually have to pee 10 mins later. Without thinking, I peed before leaving the house to go to the lab, and then of course they whisked me off to the ladies' as soon as I got there. So every drop counted in the dribble I managed to convince myself of producing. They could really take that sort of thing into consideration and give me more than a 2-cm circle to work with. Plus, after you finish peeing, you just leave the vial on a shelf in the bathroom, in plain view of anybody coming in to do their business. I mean, the vial has your name on it and everything. It's just a little awkward when the person after you in the bathroom sits next to you in the waiting room, and you can only think, "Yes, that was my pee in the cup. How'd the hue look to you?"
Fourth: as Monday is my only day off, I spent an hour at a cafe with Vegas after he helped me carry all those books to the secondhand shop. He came all the way across the city to help me carry them, and then offered to do it again in the morning so that I could just be done with it. I was so touched, I wish I could show him my gratitude in some way beyond paying for his coffee. Also, while at the cafe, I think the baby might have decided it was time to recreate that scene in "Footloose" where Kevin Bacon gets out his tough-guy anger by doing gymnastics in a random warehouse. I actually jumped at one point because I was so surprised by the commotion going on in there. It happened again a few hours later while I was in line at the grocery store, and I sort of half-yelped and half-giggled, which of course people didn't find weird at all.
Fifth: I bought a scale awhile ago and have been semi-regularly weighing myself as per my doctor's request. My weight has been holding steady whereas my belly has been extending outward. That's kinda neat.
Sixth: I briefly discussed with a friend on the phone the multitudes of shit she is going to pawn off on me come June. She has a 3-month old daughter at home but has said that she has outgrown tons of clothng, and that her bouncy seat and her baby bathtub are both going to be too little for her baby in just a few months. I also briefly did some sales shopping. I am even more inspired to do it in earnest on Wednesday morning before I go to work, because I am all about the onesies for 2 euros. So cute!
The only major fallouts today were: 1. I had two phone calls to make, neither of which happened because I was scatterbrained enough to have left the phone numbers at home. 2. I agreed to meet the carpet people at 8.30 in the morning tomorrow at The Boy's apartment so that they can deliver the goods (stupid! stupid!) and 3. I went to the computer store and allowed myself to be fully and painfully seduced by the Macs. I didn't buy anything, of course, but my heart is hurting. Yeah, I forgot to tell you: I semi-broke my computer. Not the right moment for it, but The Boy and I may work out some sort of deal. We'll see.
I love my boss. We get along great, I have a lot of respect for him, he is incredibly generous. Also, he is a whole head shorter than me.
Today I spent a day "in meetings," working on some "documents" and talking a few things over with Men in Suits. This is very much not my element, but I went with it anyway, pretending that I knew exactly what I was doing. Curiously enough, I think I pulled it off.
When the two financial types came into the office, there was a flurry of activity, I shook their hands, we got straight down to business. At a desk, in chairs. We talked for two hours, discussing a variety of technical details that I actually understood. I asked pertinent questions. I may be on my way to adulthood.
At the end of our meeting, they suggested we go run some things by my boss, and I obliged. I told them to go on ahead, and that I would meet them at the store as soon as I had put away the extra stool we had stolen from a neighboring boutique. They went ahead.
And when I walked in to where two Men in Suits and my boss were, suddenly it occured to me: all three of these men - who were technically my "superiors" - were the exact same height. They all came up to my chin. Literally.
It felt very strange to be a part of such an official, business-like procedure while towering over three men twice my age. Plus, as mentioned, they were in suits. I was wearing a hoodie.
I also only got 3 hours of sleep last night (I had a very unexpected and random burst of insomnia) and it took everything I had not to giggle and giggle and giggle at the awkwardness of it all. Eventually, I just sat down... it was simply too much. They remained standing, probably relieved to physically assert their authority once again.
In the end: yay! I got through The Big Meeting and only have quadrupled my workload for the month. I think it's sort of funny that I have been put in charge of steering this ship. I mean, eventually, I'm going to be doing the occasional 50 000 euro transaction here, people.
This from the girl who quivered a bit when she bought a new cell phone today using her freebie points. I had to pay 19 euros, and I seriously hesitated doing so even though my current phone is broken. On the metro immediately following the purchase, I tried to justify getting the 19-euro phone instead of the 1-euro phone by wondering what the last non-necessity (food, metro tickets, blood tests) I bought myself was. It was the pregnancy book (also 19 euros) that I picked up in November. Besides that, nada. That made me smile, because at that rate, I would have a yearly budget of just under 120 euros for frivolous goods. So I felt better about my 19-euro folly.
This all brings me back to my meeting this afternoon.
The Men in Suits talked for a moment today about online payments, and how certain cards cannot work online. They mentioned that these were cards reserved for people who don't have a lot of money, or whose bank is obligated to moniter their spending for some reason or another. Then they chuckled and said, "I don't think the people with those cards are exactly your sort of clientle," implying that we're clearly all united together in the kind of stratosphere where people have premium cards and more flexible payment options. I didn't have the heart to tell them that I have a restricted card, myself, so I went along and pretended we were stratopheric neighbors. I'm not sure if my co-chuckling was convincing, but maybe my amazonian status was enough to distract them.
Man oh man, my house is such a mess.
I just talked to my landlord and asked her about renting the place out to the next tenant. The deal back in September was: I give her a month's notice, she's ok with it. Of course, now she's not ok with it because she's not around for the rest of this month, so how can she find somebody for next month? Mainly because I want to both avoid paying another month's rent AND I would like to get my security deposit back by January 31st, I suggested I handle the visits and she can deal with signing the papers on February 2nd or 3rd. This deal worked out well -- we will end our contract in good terms and I will also get out of extra rent.
So today I had to prepare some pics to show my apartment, and it's just ridiculous. I've never felt so pathetic. Just doing my very best to even make the place visible was quite a task, as my own stuff crowded throughout the rooms. For the time being, all of my crap is everywhere and in piles and piles on the floor. The Boy's crap hasn't even budged.
I have to start getting on the move in a serious way, but I also have exams next week (again) and have tons of stuff to do for my job. Naturally, this is when my professor schedules a 3-hour make-up session for a missed class. It's also when I opted to go to the three-hour get-to-know-the-hospital meeting at the birthing center.
I had thought I would move little by little into the new place, but now I'm seeing that might not work. How does one carry a 7-foot plant and a stereo system through the metro? In the end, I am most likely going to rent a small van in a week or two in order to make the new homeowner's (or renter's, in my case) pilgrimmage to Ikea. And as long as I'm renting the van for such an outing, I might as well use it for moving. Or for directing other people while they move things for me.
Remember? I'm not supposed to lift more than 20 lbs. ::: bats eyelashes :::
THAT, by the way, is such a joke. I carry that much every time I come back from the grocery store. However, apparently Monoprix (and maybe others) offer free delivery to pregnant women, so as soon as I don't feel like they're eyeing me suspiciously at the delivery services counter, I'm going to start taking advantage of that. I'm also considering getting my groceries online occasionally. This feels weird -- even to me -- but I figure it's a good plan for things like milk and water.
So anyway, yes. It will be complete chaos around here until van rental day. I'm usually a bit of a neatfreak, but I have just completely given up. It's sort of depressing me and I might have to break down and clean. But how?
I am winding down from a whirlwind of a day.
Last night, I had a long conversation with The Boy about the new apartment, what we're doing, why. It turned into a semi-argument, before we both decided it was pointless to fight over anything. The main line was: he's not coming to the new apartment with me. I need to accept this. We need to work on moving out. After said discussion, we went to bed and looked at one another in the eyes and said that this is too hard, that this is so weird, what are we doing? And then we fell asleep. So once again: confusion.
This morning, he came with me for the first time to the new place. The Boy is one of those people who rarely compliments -- if he doesn't think of something negative to say, then I usually consider that a mini-victory. Walking around the neighborhood, he said, "Oh, I thought it would be a little more dead. It's pretty lively around here, yet still pleasant and calm." Point one. As we walked into the building, he commented on the ceilings and walls (they have cracks, like every old building in Paris) and he said it doesn't correspond to the photos he saw of the place. Minus one point. Once inside the apartment, he didn't like where the fridge was placed - subtract another point. However, beyond that, he had nothing negative to say. As a matter of fact, he was very positive, and it felt nice to share that with him. I'd say we walked away with 5 or 6 points, total. He was very happy with the new apartment, and it's the kind of place that makes one want to linger for a moment. So we spent awhile just chilling out there, and then we went to the carpet store to find stuff to fit out his house.
We bought the carpet and organized shipping dates, and then motored over to Beaubourg to buy some paint at Leroy Merlin. Oh so many people! Oh so hard to decide on paints! Oh, just get out of my way, Old Man With the Basked Full of Home Deco Goods! But we found what we needed. Then we hustled back to the crib and dropped off our purchases. Tomorrow we have measuring and guesstimating to do... all of this moving is a monstrous task.
Once we got back to the house we nearly collapsed. There had been so much walking and deciding and pointing and stairs-climbing and the rest, we were just exhausted. We hung out on the bed for awhile and just gabbed -- something we rarely do anymore. It was so nice, and yet so out of place because we had just spent the whole day preparing our seperation, in a way. Relaxing in bed, I thought about what great friends we are, beyond all the crap that is going on in our couple, and how much we make one another laugh. The thought was bittersweet.
Afterwards, I asked him if he would go to my friend's party tonight. It is nearly impossible to convince him to leave the house on the weekends, at it is the only time he gets to work on his own business (during the week he has a paying job to go to). Surprisingly, he agreed. We went to the party, had a lovely time, had a wonderful discussion on the way back, and then we both hung around in the living room thanking one another for such a great, bonecrushing day.
Last night I was feeling really low. I was so upset about the direction of our relationship, the feeling that he was just abandoning me completely. Today, I am much more optimistic. Yes, I believe we will live in our seperate quarters for awhile, or that there will certainly be a huge difference in the amount of time we spend together. But I also know that we are incredibly close, and that he and I are best friends despite all of the troubles we are having right now. Mainly, I am just happy to have spent a great day with him, doing what was technically a series of very painful tasks with a smile.
I am typing this post from my new vantage point on my new couch in my new apartment. I'm still freaking out over my luck. There are a few kinks to work out -- I have to buy myself a cheap desk because this laptop is not mine, and I just straight up need a desk to do any sort of quality work. I am also not totally sure about how to set up the place. Everywhere I want to put furniture, there are windows! That is NOT a complaint. I am so happy to have a bright and sunny house after years of living in a dark dungeon.
Also, I don't like the bed that comes with the place, so I am going to talk to The Boy about bringing our current bed over here. For awhile, we were looking to fork it over to his mom, as she also just got an apartment and needs a bed. But a) it creeps me out to give his mom our bed for some reason and b) I LOVE that bed more than anything else I own. It's a futon mattress made with coconut, nice and hard but absolutely incredible. It's also very pretty. This new apartment has a storage space in the basement, so we'll see.
But here I am! I am so happy to be here. The BBC is on in the background because, hell, I get cable TV with the place. I went through and took inventory of all the details of the aparmtent, mentally noting what I should bring along from my old joint and what I shouldn't (it's semi-furnished). Now that I am here, I just want to get the move over with because this place is so much more pleasant in every way.
In other news, this morning I went to my doctor's appointment, and I have put on a considerable amount of weight in the last 19 weeks. I knew I had gained some, but it's all gone directly to my belly (not normal for me, but then again being pregnant isn't either...) so I hadn't realized exaclty how much I had actually gained. My doctor didn't seem worried, but he said I am two or three kilos over where I should be. He pointed out that each woman gains differently, and that I might be the type to gain at the beginning and then taper off a bit, whereas some women gain almost nothing and then just really pack it on at the end. I just have to be careful not to be the type to gain a little too much at the beginning AND pack it on at the end. Technically, I've gained about half of the weight I'm "allowed" to gain, but you're not supposed to have gained half the weight at the halfway point. So chocolate's out.
Regardless, he says that I shouldn't worry about it, but he doesn't want me to gain any weight between now and our next appointment in early March. Then he told me to buy a scale and just weigh myself every other day or so.
It's just insane because besides the week my family was here, I don't feel I've eaten all that poorly. So I guess it's true that ladies can really puff up over nothing when pregnant. Man. I'm still reeling a bit, honestly.
Oh! And one other thing: my doctor is half-American. How great is that? He speaks fluent English (but we spoke in French) and even made a few jokes in English during my appointment. I don't really care for myself, but I found it reassuring for my parents, as I know they are going to try to be out here to welcome the little bug into the world. Having someone who can understand them when they ask questions is really an added bonus.
Besides the surprising weight gain, the doctor said I am in perfect health and the babe is right on track. My blood pressure - which had been a bit high in previous appointments - has gone down to the desired range. I'm measuring as I should, and I got to hear the heartbeat for the first time. He asked me if I was feeling any movement and I said some, and while we were listening to the heartbeat I could hear him/her jumping around in there. Medical technology is really incredible. Heartbeat is at 150, so do what you will with that. Some people believe it can determine the baby's sex, although I've read that's an old wive's tale. For the non-believers, hopefully I'll be able to tell you for sure at the end of this month.
It's been an exciting day and I am off to go to work now, and possibly buy myself a scale at the cheap random goods land near the book store. And tonight, I am going to bring over the first of many rounds of things. We may have The Little Guy and family staying in Paris over the weekend, and it would be nice to be able to let them stay here. Kinda weird to give over my brand new apartment to a family of five on the first week of occupancy, but they were looking to get a hotel and it just seems silly, given the increased number of available beds/couches in our possession at the moment.
