Archives: April 2007
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Going over paperwork with the accountant at work today, she told me, "Ok, so by law, you have to start your maternity leave at least three weeks before your due date. I also just found out that pregnant women can come to work 15 minutes later and leave 15 minutes earlier every day throughout their pregnancy. I did some calculating and you've worked a lot of extra hours when you consider that every day you worked 30 minutes too many. So you'll officially start your maternity leave on the 18th of May, but given all those extra hours, you'll stop coming to work and we'll keep paying you as of May 4."
So I start my maternity leave in two weeks. IN-SANE.
I also found out that the French social security people don't have me in their computers, which is a big problem because they're supposed to be paying my maternity leave. So I have to go hang out at the social security office and find out what the hell is going on with that. To say that I am a little nervous about it would be an understatement, since they'll be paying my salary for the next 4 months.
Did I mention that Kdogg is arriving tomorrow? She's flying in and then I have to go to the birthing center for an appointment, after which I am going to go to the social security office to fill out hours worth of paperwork. "Hey girl! I'm so glad to see you! Welcome to France! Let's go stand in line!"
Can't get any more authentic then that, right?
If she's lucky, we'll get the bitchiest woman behind the counter.
This morning I woke up against my own will at 6 o'clock. I am not into this early morning trend I have developed, but perhaps it is my body's way of preparing me for months and months of sleep deprivation (years?).
But my energy levels have been all over the place lately, and the last 24 hours, I have been brimming with enthusiasm for life. Saturday, that was absolutely NOT the case, and I watched three back-to-back episodes of "House" to prove it. I simply could not get motivated and I felt downright lazy. Sunday, however, I woke up at 7 and reorganized my closet, did three hours of web design, and then three hours of Arabic. By then, The Boy was up and I could vacuum, so I did so and then mopped the floors. I figured I might as well clean the bathroom, too. Then I went back to web design for a few hours and then turned on the TV to watch the election results while cooking chili. When I looked back on everything I had done during the day, I felt accomplished.
This morning, I caught up on some emailing and then went to listen to the RFI broadcast in Arabic (online). This is something I used to do all the time -- figuring listening to Arabic programming couldn't exactly hurt my Arabic skills, even if its benefit is questionable. Any way you slice it, it's additional exposure to the language.
While eating my breakfast, I sort of half listened to the program, and started being able to pick out a few words here and there. Gathering bits and pieces, I was sort of astounded to realize that I recognized a good portion of the words they were saying, although I couldn't get entire phrases to save my life. But once I started putting the puzzle together, I thought, "Oh my God, they're talking about the Virginia Tech massacre!" I ran over to the computer to check which report I was listening to, and sure enough, that's what it was. Granted, it just took understanding the words "college" and "death" and "kill" and "America" and so forth, but DUDE! I was so proud.
Baby steps.
Anyway, it was a great way to start the day. I'm hoping today will be as productive as yesterday, I'm off to birthing classes again now (I showered this time...)
Tomorrow is the first round of the French elections, and I am really excited about it. Maybe not as excited as I get over American elections, but excited nonetheless. I have been sort of looking forward to this date (April 22) as a milestone of sorts, and it's absolutely insane to me to think that the day has finally arrived.
Round 2 takes place on May 6, and that's just around the corner. I just can't believe how quickly time is flying.
For the last election (2002), I went over to a friend of The Boy's, where he was having a sort of election loto thingie. We all put down our guesses as to what percentage all 16 candidates would receive. At the time, I was studying journalism and knew all of the candidates and their platforms pretty well, so I thought I might do ok. Wow, was I wrong. But then again, so was everybody else at the party. I don't think anybody there saw the Le Pen victory coming. Even worse, the host of the party was a devout socialist (his father is a socialist member of the Assemblée nationale or something) and the mood in the room went quickly from baffled to horrified to depressed, culminating in despair when Jospin announced his withdrawal from politics. I was interested in the outcome but not emotionally involved in any way. That clearly was not the case for many of the people at the party.
While I don't think this year is going to be anywhere half as exciting, I am still anxious to see the outcome. I definetly feel I have a firmer grasp on the range of French-ness out there in a way I maybe didn't in 2002. In the last few weeks, I have surveyed my French friends and ask them who they think The Big Two will be. The responses have been varied. The combinations thus far have been:
Sarko and Bayrou
Sarko and Le Pen
Le Pen and Bayrou
Not a single person I have asked has proposed the much hyped Sarko/Ségo split. I don't know where I stand this time around. What do you think?
UPDATE:
Read more »So here's something weird: yesterday, I got hit on by a guy sitting on his bike. A dirt bike type of bike. He was probably about 25, mixed, tall. Not really all that bad looking, honestly.
But he's maybe also blind, because, wow. Who hits on a woman who's so obviously pregnant?
Besides Seal, I mean.
This morning was my second birthing preparation class. The first one involved a lot of breathing and relaxing, and I felt pretty good about that. I know a bit about breathing, and I've been quite the master at relaxing recently. This second class, however, involved a lot of stretching and positioning, and twisting. That would have been ok had I taken a shower, worn a pair of pants that had been recently washed, or not worn leather shoes with bare feet and opted to walk half of the route to the midwife's office. I just have to say that I am glad most midwives have a hippie streak, because I'm pretty sure I was a little more rank than her normal 9 am patients.
I tried to tell myself to get over it, to just go with the exercises and not think about my personal odor. However, about six minutes after I managed to convince myself that my funk was my funk and she probably wasn't even aware of it, she got up off the practice mat and OPENED THE DOOR FOR AIR.
I would also like to point out, for the record, that stretching is not my forte and never has been. If you share any common genes with me, you are probably aware of the flexibility danger zones: legs, thighs, legs, legs and more thighs. I'm just not bendy. And I'm even less bendy when a basketball is attached to my body. The midwife who teaches me is one of those tall, graceful, yoga types -- judging by her body and movements I'd say she might even have some ballet training in her -- so really nothing makes you feel like an awkward cow more than having Miss Elegance Herself position your smelly feet so as to optimize stretching of the inner thigh. Sure, SHE can do it perfectly because she is bendable and wears a size 2 even though she's at least 5'8. Me? Not so much.
I'm getting to the Just Not Caring point, though. By almost all accounts, I'm in my 8th month, and I think that gives me the right to be smelly and non-stretchy. Hell, I was glad I was able to get up off the mat without difficulty.
And for all the trauma of this morning, I've been feeling great and have even been able to accept my quickly growing figure. Given my strange history in the body image department, I am mainly just relieved by the fact that I am ok with things as they are now, there was a point around month six where I was uber self-concious. I know I'll have some weight to lose post-partum, but I am comfortable with what I have gained. I've got some face fat, which I was hoping to avoid, but it came on quickly and just never left. My discomfort is still at a bearable level, although I feel like Romulus is really high and just sort of chilling in my ribs at this point; I think that's his butt. It makes me feel so full all the time, which just gets old after awhile. But these are minor complaints.
The only One Big Complaint I have is my boobs, as they are just out of control and uncomfortable at all times. I feel constricted, and the huge red welts I have on them by the end of the day seem to validate that feeling. I have searched high and low for a bra that might come close to fitting me around these parts, to no avail. I am convinced that the four French women with "strong chests" (I love that euphemism) all buy their bras in Germany. I refuse to slap down 50 bucks or more for something that will give me comfort for anywhere from two more days to two more months. At the rate they've grown, you can't know how long any stage will last. I know my boobs will only get bigger (and the thought seriously terrifies me) so I don't see the point in investing in a breast-feedable granny bra until I have some idea of just how far into granny-ville I need to go. For now, I just wear what I can while out and about, and as soon as I come home, I get in my most comfortable shelf-bra tank top and let them breathe. It's like I'm living in Victorian times or something, I swear, releasing the corset that has been suffocating me for hours.
Otherwise, here's me at 34 weeks. I like this picture, which is why I am sharing it. It looks like the way I feel about this pregancy, if that makes any sense -- just sort of content and natural and not all that put-together. That outfit, by the way, is my uniform around the house. I wear it all weekend long and every night past 10 pm.
One:
Things in France can take awhile, but six months seemed a long time to wait to get reimbursed by my insurance company. I had been to a few doctor's who gave me a feuille de soins instead of using my carte vitale, and after Thursday's ultrasound, I thought it doubly important to check up on my reimbursements. The ultrasound cost 90 euros (which I realize is cheap by US standards, but it dug quite a hole in my pocket) and I had to pay upfront; the doctor then said, "So this is all on your card, no paperwork for you..." It occured to me that maybe I should check into getting some of that money back.
So I called my insurance company and they said, "Yeah, you have six payments that are queued up to be sent to you."
"Wow! Good news. Do I have to do something special?" I asked, realizing that since I haven't had a carte vitale in the five years I have been using French insurance, I wasn't entirely sure on how it worked.
"No, but we'll need your bank information in order to transfer the money," the insurance lady said.
"You have my bank information, you pull out money every month from my account," I pointed out.
"Yes, but that's in order for you to pay your monthly fees. We need the account info to send money to you."
"It's the same information," I said, surprised at the stupidity of our conversation.
"I know, but you'll need to send it in," she responded.
"But you have it all right there!"
"Yes, but we need you to send it in..." even she realized that this was ridiculous at this point.
"Ok, fine. Where do I send it to?"
"The same address you sent it to before," she said, and sort of chuckled.
"Ok... so I send the same information to the same address and you're going to magically know what it's for?" I asked.
"Put a little note with it: Here is my account information so that you can carry out my reimbursements."
Only in France.
Two:
I signed up for online banking the other day. The web site said, "Sign up online!" with a button. So I clicked it, and that led me to a .pdf that I had to print out and send in by mail.
I found that sort of ironic, "Sign up online" usually means that the whole process is done online. There should be no stamps involved.
But I let it slide, as France is still a few steps behind in the internet revolution.
Two weeks later, I get a letter (IN THE MAIL) that says, "Thank you for signing up for online banking with our bank. To access your account, you are going to need your customer login and your code. Please see your account representative to find out your customer login. Your code is at the bottom of this page."
So now I have to go to my bank (which is literally all the way across town) in order to see my banker, so that I can login to my account.
Signing up online has never been so easy! It just involves printing, signing and sending a form, waiting for a snail mail letter back, and then taking said letter and yourself physically to the bank to talk to somebody about getting an access code.
I'm still looking for the "online" part of that sign up process...
I would like to say, for the record, that I would very much like to stop waking up at 7 am on Saturdays. I feel I only have so much time left where I will be in control of my own sleeping schedule, why does my body not want to cooperate with my brain?
Thank you.
The Tired hit me today at around 17.30, but I am pretty sure that was because of The Hot. Yes, it is spring here. This is awesome because it is warm and sunny, and I noticed for the first time today that the avenue I live off is marvelously tree-lined. Those trees just popped up out of nowhere, and they add a lot of charm to the 'hood. Spring's arrival is not so awesome because I have allergies that apparently are now in full swing, and I have just plum run out of Q-tips (allergies make my ears itch).
And it's stuffy. Is it stuffy in here? Good Lord, it was stuffy at work. And with The Stuffy comes The Swollen. As I have already had an occasional episode of The Swollen (mainly in my hands), I know the key is to drink water. And then some more water. And then a little more.
But guess what? Water makes you pee. And so does having a baby on your bladder. Or at least it gives you the illusion of needing to pee, because I like to climb down two flights of stairs to head to the toilet, only to discover I could have held off another hour until I worked up a decent dose. No matter, of course, because I like to climb back up the stairs unecessarily. I'll be back down in another hour again anyway.
I'm not complaining, because I know I still have it pretty good. But I am simply amazed at how sensitive our bodies can be to these slight changes. I got a good night's sleep, was awake and motivated all day, and then The Stuffy hit, which was quickly followed by The Swollen, and then I needed The Sleep like never before.
One good place to be when you feel like sleeping is in front of a computer in a not-so-busy bookshop in a comfortable chair. There is no better recipe for keeping you alert, I can assure you.
Anyway, the big exciting news around here is that Romulus is a healthy little bugger. I went in for my (most likely) final ultrasound yesterday afternoon and the doctor kept saying, "C'est parfait..." and "C'est très bien..." and so forth. At one point he took a measurement and paused for a VVVEEERRRRY long time, and I wanted to shrill, "Why aren't you saying anything?" but that would make me a crazy mama, wouldn't it? I shouldn't be that girl, because that girl is just bat-shit crazy. Right. So I kept myself in check for what felt like an eternity, until he finished checking out some chart and said, "Excellent..." and I could breathe again.
Romulus is in the 50th percentile for everything -- literally every measurement -- except for his femur (70%) and his waist (30%). So: tall and skinny like his papa, that's my verdict. I know those measurements don't mean jack, but I like to draw conclusions from them anyway.
The most wonderful part of the adventure, however, was when the doctor managed to get a full face shot of Romulus. I didn't even know ultrasounds could do this, because I thought they just measured bones and cavities, but I was able to fully see his face in a similar way to those new 3-d ultrasounds they have. It was an ultra-clear image, and I could make out his facial features so well it was trippy. I got all teary-eyed because, hell, he's got a little face! The baby has a face! And you may think this is crazy talk, but he looks just like his dad. I've seen his baby pictures, and the similarity was freaky. I couldn't see Romulus' eyes very well (they just show up as black holes) but he definetly got papa's nose and lips. While I know he'll inherit other things from me (my charm, for example, or maybe my ultra-veiny feet), I would put money down on how much he's going to look like his dad. Nobody else was in that doctor's office with me, but it was clear as day up on that screen. Just you wait and see.
He's weighing in at about 4.5 lbs and is "locked and loaded" as I like to say: head-down and ready to say hello to everybody. Seeing his face made me so, so impatient to get to know him, to see him in full and not just as a black-and-white TV image. The excitement I felt in that moment was so wonderful, a sort of calming, tender happiness that just feels good all over. And while I am just ecstatic to meet him, so much so it sometimes takes my breath away, I am also pleased to let him cook a little more while he gathers his strength.
Is it weird that I am sort of proud of him already? I mean, he's been so sweet to me this entire pregnancy, not really giving me any trouble or panic moments or anything. He's just chillin' in there, doing his thing, and he even had the decency to turn around for me all extra early. It's just one less thing to worry about. What a sweet baby. I've been saying that I think he might get a lot of his dad's temperament, mainly because The Little Guy has his dad's personality through-and-through -- they are both incredibly smiley and cheerful people at base, but they have very short fuses and are easily put into funks. But now I'm wondering if he might just be a little angel-face like his mama, because, as you all know, I'm a darling at all times. Or maybe he'll get grandpa's quiet side, and he'll be more the observant type like his uncle. Who knows? It's just that, besides stretching his legs or doing an occasional dance-off with himself in there, he just seems so mellow...
I guess you can't tell much about personality through the womb, but I was thinking about how this pregnancy has been such a life-altering experience for me as a person. Not because of the pregnancy itself - although that's quite the life-changer as well - but because I have been so amazed at how I have been able to take things in stride, how much knowing I'm working on bringing this baby into the world has made me focused and content. Lots of people say that I seem strong or that they're impressed by my level-headedness, but it's just weird -- I feel like it's coming from him. I almost feel like I'm the student here, and I'm just being guided. He's taught me so much just by growing, and I am really speechless as to how to describe the changes I have been through. It's not that I don't worry or stress anymore, but, in a really fundamental way, I have lost something about my former self that I can now recognize as harmful and unnecessary. Something related to stress and control and a need to make things BE a certain way. I can't pinpoint what it is exactly -- and I don't even think I want to. I just know that I have been zen in a way I have never felt before, and it has spilled over into every part of my life.
It feels so nice.
So thanks for that, Romulus.
I've been very, very busy today. Not sure where this energy is coming from (sunshine? Sweet, sweet iron supplements that might have just completely turned my life around in one week? Newfound optimism due to said supplements?) but I woke up ultra-early, cleaned the house, went to the Marché Saint Pierre (oh my GOD that was insane), walked to Galeries Lafayette from there, came home, installed some web stuff, fixed up another site, baked some zucchini bread, and am now uploading some more software. The server is taking FOREVER and I keep getting up to eat another slice of zucchini bread (bad! bad! I'll spoil my dinner!) so I opted instead to distract myself by surfing the web. That would explain how I ended up following a random link on dooce.com that took me to this here video. I have watched it four times and I am still laughing.
Good God, go watch it. It's worth it. I love how the camera jiggles as the dad starts laughing.
You know what just started in the last few days? The constant need to pee thing.
I was excited because I thought I might be exempt from this. I normally have quite the manageable bladder. And you know what? Now I don't.
Makes me feel for those of you who always have this problem, pregnant or not. You small-bladder types. What a pain. As long as I am lying down or sitting it's fine, but as soon as I stand or walk around, I'm doomed.
I guess it means Romulus is growing, which is a good thing. Even so, I didn't find it so good when I sneezed in line at Monoprix this afternoon.
Things have been a little difficult around here lately, mostly because The Boy is beginning his slow removal from the apartment. After five years of living with him, I'm a little terrified of his absence. He's still here for now, and in some ways I think the looming da-da-da-dum feeling of his departure is worse than the actual departure itself. Although we'll see how I feel on that first night alone. I can't get into any more details than that, as I am still sorting out my feelings on everything myself. I know there is both some good and some bad in what is going on, and I'm not in any real rush to decide which scale is winning.
Plus, I know whatever feelings I have now will be completely washed out by the wave of emotions I will experience come June, so in a weird way I feel like there's no point in dwelling on sadness, confusion, etc for the moment. Nothing is very clear right now, and these pregnancy hormones are helping keep things extra-fuzzy -- mostly I am experiencing things in a cottony haze and I am ok with that.
One thing my sister and I have mentioned before in the times of complete crisis is Survival Mode. I don' t thinK I am in Survival Mode just yet -- it's usually reserved for die-hard, life-altering experiences or days and days of intense depression, anxiety, or fear. I am more in a slow, steady, keep-it-real mode.
However, on Tuesday I was most certainly in Survival Mode, but for other reasons.
After my midwife visit last week, I was told I had to take a gestational diabetes test. I think they automatically make pregnant women take this test Stateside, but in France, they only require it if there is diabetes in your family. And ok, ok, so my grandpa has diabetes, but he's also 92 (93?) and I feel like it doesn't count, but they sent me on my way anyway.
I had read some awful things about this test, and they pretty much lived up to snuff on Tuesday morning.
First, you have to go to the test on an empty stomach. I spent awhile dilly-dallying at home before heading out for the test, and by the time I got there it was almost 11:30. I was starving. In the States, the test is done using the following method:
1. Draw blood
2. Drink disgusting orange syrup
3. Wait an hour
4. Draw blood again
I thought that seemed bearable, if unpleasant.
But ha! In France, apparently, the test consists of the following:
1. Search for vein
2. Miss vein
3. Search for vein again
4. Miss vein
5. Draw blood from other arm
6. Hand over cup of disgusting orange syrup
7. Watch patient intensely while she drinks disgusting orange syrup
8. Tell her to hurry because she hasn't even finished half the bottle yet
9. More disgusting orange syrup
10. Wait TWO HOURS
11. Miss vein
12. Miss vein again
13. Remark on bruising from previous blood draw
14. Remark on how low patient's blood pressure must be, because it's impossible to find a vein
15. Find vein
16. Remark on how the blood isn't flowing into needle
17. Patient starts to whimper (I have a high pain tolerance, for the record) because the blood draw is so painful
18. Nurse says, "Well, if that's all the blood we're going to get, that's all the blood we're going to get"
19. Three hours later, patient notices that both arms are totally black and blue.
The veins and pains were bad, but honestly those two hours of waiting were far worse. Drinking such a sweet, thick syrup on an empty stomach left me slightly nauseaous, and I had nowhere to sit but on an uncomfortable bench with no back support. I was so hungry and woozy that I couldn't read -- literally unable to follow the sentences -- and my headache got more and more severe as time went on. Instead, I spent two hours spacing out, text messaging, and checking my watch.
The only entertainment I had, however, was fully appreciated. The medical lab is set up in a sort of row: general waiting area, then a hallway with three rooms for patients, then a seperate, more "comfortable" waiting area, followed by another hallway, at the end of which are two more patient rooms. I was sent to the "comfortable" waiting area (which was NOT comfortable) where I could sit alone and have some privacy. Within a minute, I understood why there were two patient rooms further down the hall, a little removed from the rest of the lab.
Sitting in my special waiting area, patients going to the rooms at the end of the hall had to pass by me first. Their (male) nurse would walk by with a cup and say, each time, in a booming voice, "Have you ever done this test before?" The bashful patient would answer and then the nurse would boom "When was your last sexual encounter?" The following explanation of the test was composed primarily of the words "ejaculation" and "masturbation" and "cup", with a few added guidelines about amount and technique. Every time, the nurse finished his explanation by saying, "Don't forget to lock the door."
I sort of loved having my special spot because, with nothing better to do, I started tallying how many men were getting "tested" and what their times were. I was surprised: in the two hours while I was there, at least 15 men came through the lab. The fastest record was 4 minutes, the longest was 17. Although, I am not sure I really want to count that 17-minute guy because he got interrupted halfway through because he left his credit card at reception. The nurse just slid it under the door, but I imagine it sort of complicated the task "at hand" for him.
But mainly, I enjoyed their "walk of shame" back down the long hallway. With only one exception, they refused eye contact and hurried out of that office as fast as possible. And the guy who did make eye contact? I'd go so far as to say that he was actually proud of his handiwork in there. He had quite a strut on him.
I'm sure it sucks to have to go and do that sort of test, and I can't even imagine how badly they wanted to tell that nurse to keep it down so that the pregnant girl in the hall couldn't hear. Curiously, I could never make out any of the patients' answers to the nurses' questions. Poor guys. But, I was grateful for the distraction.
