This is the Boy letting everyone know that Mateo was born at 12 : 12 am on June 13.
Mama is resting up but feeling pretty good, all things considered, and shell give you the full details upon her return.
For now, the basics :
Weight : 3.53 kg
Height : 52 cm
Custeness Factor : Insane
Here is the proof :
Today, June 11, my horoscope reads: "It appears that an ambition is imminently attainable. Tactically speaking, you should endeavor to make your move sooner rather than later - sooner being defined as anytime today and tomorrow."
Fitting, eh?
Romulus is really stubborn, you know?
I went to the maternité and the little guy is not making it seem like he's even thinking of saying hello anytime soon. Goodness. I have been having very mild and mellow contractions for days, my parents and I have covered the entire city on foot, and still -- NADA.
They tested my amniotic fluid and the levels are a little lower than they would like them to be, so if nothing happens between now and Tuesday, I iwll most likely be induced. I know all of the tricks and old wive's tales concerning ways to bring on the labor, some of which I'm willing to test and others not so much. Regardless, I haven't got much time.
Thanks to everybody who has been emailing/calling/whatevering. Hopefully I'll have more exciting news soon!
Oh man, I was such a ditz at my oral exam yesterday. I am not sure why I revert to blond-o-rama when I get flustered, but that's what I do. Not only did I block on the EASIEST verb conjugation of them all, but I also tried to say this sentence:
"The doctor thinks that the Arab world will reunite once again in the future."
and instead said:
"The doctor thinks that the Arab world will reunite once again in the library."
Awesome.
But hey, it's done. I think I passed, and the only downer is that I have to someday have a normal conversation with my professor again -- I'm afraid I've been permanently branded in a not-so-positive light. He's intimidating as it is, so now I'm just uber terrified of him.
Still. It's over and I can forget about it until they post results at the end of the month. On to bigger and better things.
After the exam, I met up with my parents and some of their friends from home who happen to be on vacation in Paris, and the five of us had a great time visiting the city. The weather was beautiful and I was happy because of the end of exams. And we did a LOT of walking, so hopefully gravity will start doing a little somethin'. I can definetly feel the weight of Romulus more now than ever, and last night, after all that walking, I felt like he might just drop right out. If only it were so easy...
So now I'm heading out for one more trip to the Social Security place (grrrr...) and then off to the foot massage. Not a bad idea after all that walking: bring the baby down but keep the feet happy. I like it!
Still no Romulus.
We've got a five-day window here before the medical people are going to start contemplating my options. I've got my last Arabic exam tomorrow, so if he would like to wait to make his debut Thursday, Friday, or Saturday, I would be very, very happy with the timing.
Granted, it would probably mark the last time he'll do anything according to my own schedule, but I would be grateful for the gesture.
My parents arrived today, and they are staying in town for a few weeks. They have rented a wonderful studio apartment near my old stomping grounds, so they spent the day getting settled in, checking out the joint, and trying to keep their eyes open. They did a remarkable job -- it's almost nine and I just left them at the metro downstairs. Hopefully they'll snooze their way through the night and feel like human beings again in the morning.
And I'm still trucking, but ready for things to get moving. It feels funny to not be able to plan anything concrete for the next few days... who knows what will happen and when.
Soon. Soon.
If nothing happens by Thursday, I'm getting an hour-long foot massage that I received as a shower gift. I read somewhere that massaging the big toe -- and maybe the ankle area? -- can release oxytocin which then leads to labor (in an ideal world). I know there are all kinds of methods of inducing labor, but this seems like a particularly delicious one. If I have to tough it out until then, I won't complain.
Beyond Saturday, however, would be a different story...
No baby yet. Just thought I'd clarify, as I have had more than one friend call and say, "Oh my God, you answered!" They just assumed that since I hadn't emailed/phoned back in my usual 24-hour delay, I must be at the hospital. This makes me feel good, as it's proof that I am usually a dependable "resonder" to various forms of communication.
Meanwhile, here is an actual conversation I had with a guy in my class:
Me: Didn't our prof say that if we needed to change around the date of the oral exam, we could talk to him about it?
Him: Yeah, I remember that.
Me: RIght -- you were the one who asked him about it during lab.
Him: Yes. I clearly remember him saying something about contacting him to change exam dates.
Me: So I asked him last week if I could still change around the exam date, and he said, "I don't understand... " and then said he had never suggested we could change dates with him if necessary.
Him: Weird. Do you need to take the exam early or something?
Me: Ideally, yeah. But I'm not sure I need to, but I'd like to get it out of the way.
Him: Why do you want to take it early?
Me: Because I'm thinking I might give birth next week, so it just seems better to take it as soon as possible, you know?
Him: Oh... um... yeeeeaaahhh. I can see how that would be a more practical way to go.
But helas. That exam will be Tuesday or Wednesday, TBD on Monday.
In the meantime, I am going to study my tail off for Monday's test. Our prof virtually told us exactly what we'll be tested on, so it's just a question of memorization, memorization, memorization. I don't have much of an excuse for not rocking it (besides being pregnant, of course), so I'm going to do my best to do so.
And in other news: I have a bit of an unhealthy love for "America's Next Top Model." It's Nigel Barker's fault. Please tell me somebody can relate.
Discovered this morning: four little stretch marks on the underside of my belly. And I was beginning to think I would escape unscathed!
Just an update on the midwife visit.
1) This was the MW I didn't like the last time I went to the birthing center, but she was great today. Maybe it was just my mood? Anyway, I am so glad this visit went WAY better than the last one.
2) She told me my weight is perfect. That was good to hear.
3) She "investigated" and um... why didn't anybody tell me how painful that could be? Righto. At any rate, it looks like Romulus is still head down but not looking to make a move anytime soon -- which was exactly what I wanted to hear.
4) She mentioned other aspects of my anatomy and said that if she had to describe a body best-equipped for doing this birthing business as easily as possible, she might just describe me. Then she said, "I mean, you've even got the big hips to boot!" Awesome! (actually, I appreciated it, but that is probably the only time/place where I would take such a comment well). Then she added, "You've had the ideal pregnancy, haven't you?" And I said, "Yeah. Can't complain." She nodded wisely and said, "I hope the birth goes just as well. From what I can tell, you should coast through it." It was cute.
5) She also asked if The Boy is African, and when I confirmed she said, "Ok, if you don't give birth by the tenth, call the front desk and tell them that it's your due date but nothing's happened. They're going to say, 'That's ok, wait a day or two...' but you should respond by saying, 'No, the father is African.' Then they'll tell you to come in and they'll set up an appointment for you." Apparently, African babies grow a little more "ripe" as she put it, so he really should be here by the tenth.
6) But in her opinion, he's not coming before the 4th, either. So hey! All is good! C'mon June 8!
7) As I was leaving, she said, "Make the most of these last two weeks. Clean the house!" It occured to me that she obviously knows her clients well, as I am sure that's what at least 80% of us do maniacally in our remaining weeks. My house is clean, but I'm cleaning it again next weekend, for sure.
I have always wanted to be a crafty person. Kdogg is psychotically crafty, and I might have mild jealousy attacks because of it from time to time. My sister is also quite the craftswoman - she even has a Craft Corner in her basement that sort of makes me ache inside. Both of these ladies have produced some fine, fine things over the years using their skills, creativity, and a certain degree of elbow grease. And sure, I've picked up knitting and am sort of working on sewing now. I have honed my cooking skills and have on occasion come up with a funky idea or two. But mainly, I am far, far from the craftiness level of my dreams.
I would also like to be the person who knows where to get the bargains, who really searches out the good deals. This person is not so much crafty as he/she is a discount maven, although the two can overlap. In fact, in my fantasy life I hunt out the deal and then make something crafty with whatever goods I have purchased.
With Romulus' arrival, I've become a bit of a bargain hunter and a bit of a crafty type, and I like where this is taking me. So here are a few aspects of both:
The crib is from Ikea but the rest is all hand-me-downs and gifts. Kdogg made me the quilt on the right and I am in love with it -- it's super groovy and the fabric she chose is just awesome. My aunt also made an incredible quilt (not pictured), so I'll be rotating between the two. The snuggly on the end and the one in the middle of the crib (it says, "Little hippo, where are you?" -- and is oh so soft!) were snagged for a euro each, but my favorite thing is by far the bedding I picked up for five. I had been checking out bedding in all the stores and could not get over their 100-euro price tags, so I feel this was a mega steal. Three turtles! So cute!
I threw together a few of the toys I've picked up along the way -- some are gifts and some were bought at the mama sale. Mainly I just wanted to show a close-up of the turtles.
I made this snuggly without any help. It's pretty crappy and is made from remainder bits that were on sale at the fabric store, but for a first sewing project and no guidance, I couldn't be happier with the outcome.
Here's the snuggly I made with Kara. I am claiming that I made it because I technically did all the sewing, whereas she did all of the explaining. I think it turned out great, and I love the little hands.
Other goodies not pictured include a bathtub I am inheriting from a friend and a free changing table I snagged online. I also haven't shown any of the cloth diapers I've picked up, because that's going to be an entire entry in and of itself. But there's been mad scavenging in that department, too. Overall, things have come together nicely...
I just called up the French social security people because I'm starting to freak a little about my paperwork and... surprise, surprise: there's a document missing! They need a photocopy of my birth certificate. Nobody thought to tell me this, and my entire file has been put on hold until I send it in, so GRRRRRR. On hold for three weeks when somebody could have let me know. I'm seriously beginning to wonder if any French administrative body can get something right the first time around. OR, I have another bizarre idea: they could call me to tell me when something is missing, instead of just waiting around for me to call them. I suppose they just want their 0,12 cts/minute.
So I am off to the sécu -- again -- today.
Meanwhile, I have 50 euros left in my bank account because my 200 euros worth of health care reimbursements have, of course, also been put on hold. AWESOME! Why did I have to pay for them in advance, you ask? Because the sécu has my carte vitale, of course. In my blocked file.
I swear, I am taking this all in stride. No bitterness whatsoever.
Otherwise, I have a make-up class for Arabic at school tonight, but I am thinking of skipping it. The class is from 6:30 to 8:30 and I am now officially lifeless 7:00 on. Something about painful wooden seats on this hot, annoying day is just not speaking to my inner student. Plus, I have the same class again at 9 tomorrow morning. I loves me some Arabic but I think I'd rather stay in tonight and do my homework for tomorrow rather than do the 45-minute trek to and fro for a 2-hr class we can't technically be required to go to. This is my favorite class of all my classes, and I get that giddy feeling of inspiration from the professor almost each class, but too much is too much.
I think I woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. I'm a grump. And I'm swelling! It's hot and humid and my body is pissed about it. And last night I got bit by some bug in my house, so I have a huge swollen thing on the top of my foot, making it impossible to wear anything but flip flops. AND! My cute spring/summer maternity dress has a big spot on it I wasn't aware of, or I absolutely would have washed it with the last load of laundry. So no mega comfy clothes for this hot weather just yet.
Right now I would really love to be in my parents' basement with the dog on my lap, a movie in the DVD player, and the remote control in my hand, lime-flavored sparkling water by my side. It's the ultimate in comfort zone in my head. Plus, they have air conditioning.
Maybe I'll go to the movies this afternoon. It's the closest I can get. :)
On a positive note, we are now safely in Gemini territory, by all accounts. This is good, as air signs get along with other air signs, so it looks like baby and I will be friends.
When my parents asked how I was doing over the weekend, I told them, "Good, but I'm slowing down some." A few different outings over the last week have made me aware of my own physical limits -- it's weird to feel like doing things but to have to take into consideration that my body is going to give out at some point. It's like a preview of old age, I suppose.
In the end, I'm still feeling great. I don't have aches and pains, no heartburn, no sleeping troubles. Nothing concrete to complain of, in all honesty. I just notice that I can't hold up as long as usual -- I get a little achy and sore by the end of the day and I start to dream of putting my feet up. This is frustrating for me, but I am learning to enjoy remaining reclined for a good portion of every evening.
Today I completely overdid myself. This morning I had a birthing class, which itself is about a 15 minute walk from the metro. Afterwards, I walked another 20 mins or so to my medical lab to run some tests. By the time I finished, I was starving, but I didn't have enough time to make a trip home worth it -- I had about three hours to kill before my Arabic class, but it takes me an hour to get from my house to class alone. So instead I hopped on the bus to visit Vegas, who works near my classes. That entailed another 15 minute walk or so. He wasn't around, so I walked up to an Asian restaurant and had lunch by myself, and then decided to kill some time in the bookstore. I walked another ten minutes back to Vegas' shop and he still was nowhere to be found, and I had conveniently left my cell phone at home. By this point, I had two hours to kill and I was desperately needing a place to sit. Having already spent money on lunch, I didn't want to splurge for coffee, but I didn't want to spend my remaining time sitting on the stiff benches of the Sorbonne.
Instead, I had a stroke of genius. My back was making me wince by this point, so my main goal was to get somewhere with comfortable chairs. God, if only I could watch a movie right now, I thought. And, almost as a reflex, I turned right and headed towards one of the local theaters where I have an unlimited movie pass.
I showed up about ten minutes late for "Jesus Camp" but I had actually already seen the beginning, so it wasn't too big of a deal. The theater only had three other people in it, so I could stretch out and get reeeaaalllly comfortable. It was the best feeling ever. The movie was interesting -- although freaky -- but mainly I was happy to be sitting in a warm place for 90 minutes.
Afterwards, I had another four hours of classes and then I took the bus back to my neighborhood. I stopped by the grocery store and picked up the fixings for two VERY simple meals. One is for tonight, as I am way too tired to cook much of anything.
The other is for tomorrow, when I am sure to come home in a similar state. I have rented a car to make the second pilgrammage to Ikea -- I need to pick up some very boring things like: plastic boxes, a mat for under the office chair to protect the wood floors, dishtowels. I am also thinking of getting one of those uber cheap but comfy chairs Ikea has made so popular, as nothing in my house has arm rests and I am thinking a good chair is a worthwhile investment. And then I might get a crib.
HA HA HA: Edited to add: I fell asleep while writing this entry last night. So it's getting cut off there. But ha! I actually fell asleep with the laptop on the bed and woke up around midnight thinking I should probably turn it off.
One of my favorite things to do when I am studying Arabic is to turn the radio (via internet) to the Arab music channel. Sure, I can't understand most of what they're saying, but you get a nice sampling of music and some language exposure to boot. Plus, it just corresponds to my subject, and it sets the mood while not distracting me in any way.
Romulus is normally very mellow late afternoon/early evening, which is generally when I study, but he woke up today while while I was listening to my regular program. He threw a little dance-off in there, and I thought to myself, A new meaning to belly dancing! Then I chuckled, repeated it out loud alone in my house ("Heh heh. Belly dancing!!"), and then considered the possibility that I was losing my mind.
Also, this morning I woke up screaming -- literally -- from a Charlie horse (should Charlie be capitalized there?). I know they are common in pregnancy, and I have already had a few, but nothing compared to this whopper. I didn't even care if I freaked out my neighbors. It was seven-thirty and I was straight up howling in pain. It then took me at least half an hour to work my way over to the bathroom -- and I was technically in a rush to get there. I have been hobbling ever since.
The hobbling is particularly amusing because I haven't been so much the pregnant waddler thus far. Today, I got to be her, but for totally different reasons: namely, the uselessness of my left foot. While out and about today, I wanted to put a sign around myself:
"It's not that I'm pregnant, it's just my broken calf muscle!"
At any rate, I did the grocery shopping and decided that was enough activity for the day, as it included walking to the further grocery store several blocks away (and back). It's amazing how severe one little (massive, though, let's be honest) leg cramp can incapacitate you for the day.
Yesterday was my last day of work. I'm going to go in on occasion until the 18th if my boss requests it (we have a handy payment arrangement for that, too) but I'm no longer required to go in regularly. This is just the best setup ever, because I didn't feel like I was officially saying goodbye for a few months, but I technically don't have to work anymore, either. Alright!
I really do love my job and feel blessed to say so. It was weirdly sad cleaning out my desk and handing over a few key responsibilities. But still: yay for maternity leave! I celebrated this morning by sleeping in until 7.45!
I also found out that my Arabic exams are going to be a week earlier than I thought they were. Depending on how things progress, I might be able to make it to my finals after all. That would be awesome... I know that at this point I could pass them with just a bit of studying. If, however, I have to take them in September, the task will be a bit more complicated. Languages have a tendency to leak out of the brain when not in use. I would be so happy if I could successfully finish out the year before Romulus makes his appearance; it would just be one less thing to worry about during his early months. Plus, I think I'd be proud of myself for pulling it all off this year: work, school, pregnancy.
We'll see, as there's not much I can do about it either way. The exams are June 4 -- same day my parents get here -- and maybe I'll feel too crappy by then to sit and write Arabic for three hours. Or maybe I'll already have a baby at the house. But, ideally, I'm hoping for Romulus to wait for Grandma and Grandpa to get here before he shows up, and if I keep feeling as good as I have up til now, I might just be able to handle the exams.
In other unrelated news: I can't stop watching "Six Feet Under." What a kooky show.
A whopper of a day yesterday.
First, The Boy and I got in a big, completely ridiculous fight. This is our first fight in months, as we have been very careful with one another's emotions recently. At first, the fight was upsetting, and then about 20 minutes into it, I found it so comical that I actually started to semi-laugh through the "fighting." Sometimes the things that set off arguments are so absurd! I had one of those moments where I said to myself, "This fight makes no sense. Just let him freak out and then see what happens." So he freaked out and packed another bag that would be part of his long, long process of moving out of this house. A bag full of paperwork and CDs mind you, so I knew he'd be coming back in the evening. I figured we could deal with everything then, when we were both a little more sane, and not screaming at each other because I suggested he use a different pair of scissors to cut his toe bandages (that was what set the whole thing off..).
Meanwhile, I was supposed to be at Rebecca's around 4 pm. The "fight" happened around 3:00, so I sent her a text message letting her know I would be a little late, and I eventually left my house at quarter to four. Walking down my street, I saw my bus pull away from the curb. Great, I thought, I'm already a little late but now I have to wait another 15 minutes for the bus. Just my luck.
But sitting there in the sun at the bus stop, I felt great. The temperature was perfect, and the sunlight on my face was warm and comfortable. I thought a lot about what had just happened with The Boy, and I was weirdly calmed by our argument and his reaction. I was a little out of sorts because of what had happened, but not at all upset. I can't explain it. Rebecca called to make sure everything was ok and I said, "Yeah, yeah... I'll explain when I get there. It was all pretty stupid."
I got there about 4.20 and knocked on the door, which opened to a chorus of "SURPRISE!" from a group of friends. I was totally shocked, I had NO idea they were planning anything for me. Plus, clearly my mood was not ready for a surprise party. But that turned around quickly -- it's amazing what a group of smiling friends can do for your spirits. I was so , so touched -- it really was a great feeling and I am so thankful to my friends for throwing the little party together. I had been saying for awhile that I wouldn't have a shower, and I gathered this was a hastily thrown together deal, but it was just my style. A few friends, some food, and a couple gifts -- nothing fancy but wonderful all the same. I loved it.
They bought me a little assortment of gifts, and one present even showed up at the shower via New York, and then there was the massive and totally appreciated mega-gift of a stroller. Kathypath picked it out, and she did an awesome job -- she chose the exact stroller I would have gotten! I am so happy -- I had said on a few different occasions that I would want to get a stroller but that I didn't want to deal with it yet, that I would just have to wait until after the birth. As I said to Kathy on the way home, "I was just going to wait to deal with the stroller until I had to. But then it took care of itself! If only everything in life were so easy!" I love that every time I use it, I will be able to think about what great friends I have. It made me a little sad that my family couldn't be there, and that some of my closest friends from the US are so far away, but it was wonderful to be surrounded by my Parisian "family" for an afternoon.
We closed up shop quickly because most of us were in a hurry to get home in time for the election results. What a wild day: the fight, the party, the results. I think everybody knew Sarkozy would win, but he just seems like such an improbable face to represent France. I mean, the man doesn't smile so much. He grimaces and we see some teeth, but I am not sure if I would qualify that as a smile. Still, esthetics aside, his presidency will mark a huge difference for France, and we'll see what kind of changes he brings about -- for better or for worse.
When I got home, The Boy wasn't around but he also got back in time for the elections. We discussed everything that had happened in the morning quickly, in the haste before the election results, and we both laughed a bit over it. Really, the whole scene could have been out of a movie, in the end, but it still has some meaning with regards to our relationship. I thought we should clear the air some, which we did and it felt good. Technically, he is still going to have to move out a lot of his stuff to make way for the baby anyway (he moved out his stereo, for example, because we have two in this house) so his little freak-out couldn't have happened at a better time. He also checked out the new stroller and approves, and then we spent the evening chilling together and watching the election coverage, before I passed out around eleven.
A real whirlwind. But good. Wonderful, even.
Here it is: the big milestone. I have no idea why 36 weeks was stuck in my head as the moment I would be Really Pregnant, but it was. And now I'm here. And time is still moving forward. Incredible.
I still feel great, but with the semi-maternity leave starting (I have to go back to work for a few days next week, but I'm ok with that. Eases the transition, I think), I am noticing that I am getting a sort of panicky need to get things set up for Romulus. When I mention this, everybody smiles that annoying oh-the-joys-of-pregnancy smile and says, "Somebody's nesting!" in an obnoxious tone (you know the one). Nesting is, officially, a term I hate, alongside the terms "preggers" and "preggo."
I mean, I GUESS it can be considered "nesting" to feel like your newborn baby should have a place to sleep. But why all that "Oh she's nesting!" goofiness when, seriously, it just makes sense to want to have a few basics? I think I'm just a little more stressed about it than most because I don't have a whole lot of cash, so I am trying to get the most out of what I spend. All I can say is, for all of my bitching about France, they are AWESOME to new mamas. I just got my prime de naissance last week and it is the only thing that is making any sort of purchases even possible. Thank you, CAF! Still, I am going to be very vigilant with my money, as I know I will have many more purchases to come.
Which brings me to my next question: what is the difference between, say, the Ikea crib I saw for 40 euros and the 450-euro crib I saw at Aubert? Wood quality aside, I mean. Am I missing something here? I can clearly see a difference in pricing as applied to strollers, for example, because they can come with all kinds of bells and whistles. But cribs? What makes one crib worth ten times the price of another?
In the end, I guess I am "nesting" as people seem to like to say, because I am hoping to get finish everything that needs to be done as far as getting things set up at the casa in the next two weeks. I have two reasons for this:
First, because as of next week, Romulus could technically decide to appear and it would be a-ok. I would be up shit creek if he did that, as literally all I have for him to date is one bag of disposible diapers, a few cloth diapers, one ROCKIN blanket and a shit ton of onesies. In other words: no bathtub, nowhere to sleep, and no butt cream. He has one drawer in my dresser and that is all. If you came into my house today, you'd have no idea a baby is on the way. That's ok, but since there actually IS a baby on the way, maybe I should start working on that...
Second, I can tell my energy to be out and about is waning, mainly because I have so much pressure on my pelvis at all times. My legs get stiff and it makes it hard for me to make a full stride. This is not super painful, but it does get annoying. Sometimes it is better than others, and overall I am still motoring almost as fast as usual. But when I start stiffening up, it can start to really hurt, and there's no solution other than to sit back and put my feet up for an hour or two. For now, it's not bothering me too much, but I had a terrifying thought today while out shopping: It's only going to get worse from here until D Day. In other words, I should really get stuff done now, just in case I start feeling like crap. I have a hard time seeing myself feeling better at week 39 than week 36, you know? He's only going to pork up in there, and drop lower, and thus disturb my walk even further.
So yeah, I guess I just feel like getting some stuff done. I belong to an online forum with a bunch of other ladies due in June, and they are so ahead of the game. They've already packed their hospital bags (I don't have half the stuff they suggest you bring), taken pictures of their nurseries (yeah, well... I'll just have a corner of my bedroom set up at some point...), bought their travel systems, and some are even starting to prepare frozen foods for the few days immediately after giving birth.
Ha! I'm just working on the first two and will be deeply, deeply satisfied when those are taken care of.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Well, my dawgs have come and gone... it was so, so awesome having them here. However, there is a definite difference between being in your late twenties and hoping to make the most of Paris while on vacation, as opposed to being in your late twenties and seven months pregnant and in the middle of exams. All things considered, I held up very well. But the proof that I couldn't have kept the madness up much longer lies in these two facts:
1. I almost fell asleep while watching "Grey's Anatomy" the day after their departure (crime of all crimes!) and
2. I actually DID fall asleep at eight o'clock the following evening. And woke up at seven am. THAT'S 11 HOURS.
I went through a slight dip in morale after their departure, partially because it is normal to feel the sudden shift in energy levels but also partially because I had been putting off thinking about a lot of things while they were here that I didn't necessarily want to think about. Nothing like hilarious conversation and constant activity to distract you for a solid week. No worries, though: the slump lasted 48 hours -- at least 20 of which I spent sleeping, and now I am back on target.
Two things have helped with this.
The first is that my job has picked up in momentum. My boss managed to procure some Very Fancy Art and has had me calling Very Important People in Important Cities like London and New York to find out about said Fancy Art's worth. This is totally insane to me, as I am not the type to call up and ask about important artworks, but here I am. Doing it. I've conquered a fair amount of I'm-not-good-enough demons this week, basically forcing myself to get over my meekness and just act like I know what I'm doing. (shhh -- I think I fooled them!)
The second is that I went to see the midwife today. At my birthing center, 80% of your prenatal care is done by the midwives, and you sort of meet them on a rotating basis. I didn't have such a good experience with the last one, mainly because she would not let the subject of The Boy and his lack of enthusiasm drop. I know that they're supposed to treat the whole person and not neglect the potential emotional and psychological factors at play. But I also just didn't feel like telling her all about the drama, and overall didn't vibe with her at all. And then when she said, "We should slow down. Am I talking too fast for you?" I actually thought I might get a little huffy with her. I didn't, but still. I didn't want all of my midwife experiences to be like that.
Today's midwife was a whole other story. I just can't explain her energy. She was so calming and soothing, and I felt like I could tell her anything and she would have had just the right response. In fact, I did tell her a fair amount more than the previous midwife, and she was great about it. Clearly, she has chosen the right career. Plus, she gave me the good news that I have only gained half a kilo since my last visit, so my weight gain is now right on target. The irony being, of course, that I had completely stopped watching over what I eat. So it goes to show that your body is going to do whatever it's going to do; might as well relax about it and have an extra helping of granola.
I'm getting put on iron supplements as she thinks I might be slightly anemic (it seems like I ALWAYS am) and then I have to go through the not-so-pleasant gestational diabetes test next week. But otherwise, all is good.
She asked me today, "So, is the father tall?"
"Yes," I answered, "Just a little bit taller than me. But much thinner!"
She laughed and said, "You're going to have such a beautiful baby."
And I don't know why, but it was the first time anybody has said that to me where I really got excited -- almost like she was capable of predicting that sort of thing as a midwife, nevermind the fact that she has never met The Boy. It was something in her tone, and the way she said it as she was searching along my belly to see where he was -- something I couldn't quite place that made me actually believe she knew it already. It made me positively giddy.
I really, really hope she delivers little Romulus. I would love to have someone so calm there with me. According to my friend who also gave birth at this birthing center, the only people in the delivery room are the mama, the papa (or partner/friend/support type), the midwife, and a newborn nurse. She says it's very intimate -- and I can see how it would be more so than in a big hospital with 12 interns staring at your crotch hoping to learn something. So I would love it if I could be working alongside somebody who makes me feel confident and calm; and I believe the midwife from today would do so.
Omar and Fred (not the French version) are on their way here from the old U.S. of A. I am so excited to see them -- and I can't even remember the last time the three of us were in the same room together. Good times ahead.
Unfortunately, I did something, somehow, sometime and absolutely destroyed my back, and I am afraid it will hinder my ability to fully enjoy my time with them. I'm having serious pain, just below my shoulder blade on the right side. There's not a whole lot I can do for it besides sit and lie down a lot, but I'm not doing very well with either solution. If it doesn't get better by the end of the week, I am going to have to see someone.
I took this upcoming Thursday and Friday off of work because your homies are only in town once every 5 years or so. I plan on spending much of my extended weekend at the movies or sitting on my ass -- I will chalk it up to back recovery time. I have a midterm on Monday but otherwise I am going to let my four-day pause serve as a genuine break. I'm getting the feeling that April is going to be a tough month.
My only major project is to head out to the Marché Saint Pierre to buy some fabric. I have projects!
Otherwise, this weekend was a serious doozie emotionally. The Boy and I did some painful but important talking, but it wasn't easy, and I think I am just now recovering from it. I did some crying, which was probably both healthy and necessary, but it sure would be nice to have everything be all hearts and bunnies.
Romulus is now big enough that I can actually see - from the outside - when he moves, sometimes even being able to make out which direction he's going. I always wonder what he could be thinking -- "Much more comfortable over here by the bladder, indeed. Let me just see if I can get my feet juuuuuust right so that every time mama moves, she feels like she could pee her pants." Sometimes he really works up a sweat in there, burrowing around and clearly getting in some good cardio. Yesterday in class, he was moving for a solid half hour, the most yet. I was almost self-concious about it because I could clearly see my stomach rising and falling THROUGH MY SWEATER. Trippy.
Ok, I have to head out and make some last minute preparations before my crew gets here tomorrow in the early am. I realized today that they might want some pillows or something.
Thrice in this pregnancy, I have gotten a terrible, screaming headache within 15-20 minutes of waking up. I've never gotten migraines, but hopefully this is the closest I'll get. When I get these raging pains, I am especially sensitive to light, so I just get in bed for awhile and close my eyes (usually fall asleep) and an hour or so later I am all better. I can't figure out what it's due to, exactly, except perhaps an extreme case of dehydration. I've noticed that I'm usually pretty dehydrated in the mornings, no matter how much water I drink the previous day. My very well researched medical solution is just to chug the water, rest my eyes, and feel better shortly afterwards. At least thus far it has worked.
This morning's episode, however, was unfortunate, as I had class from 9-12 and then the same class again from 12.30 to 4.00. I woke up at 7.20 and was back in bed by 8.00 -- I normally have to leave the house at 8.15. But there was no way I could sit on a hard wooden bench in a bright yellow room in that state. I said, "You know what, kid? You're pregnant. Stay home when you don't feel good." So I did. I have a hard time allowing myself to do this, but it seemed like the right decision at the time.
I woke up at 10.00 a new woman. As I had skipped the first class, I couldn't exactly go to the second, so suddenly I had hours and hours stretched out before me. For a moment, the thought of all that free time terrified me. What am I going to do with six extra hours? And then I started dreaming up ideas (go to the movies? find out about cell phones for my upcoming visitors? web design?) when I remembered that the Salon du bébé was taking place this weekend.
So I went and I am glad I did. First off, there was no speedy way to get there from my house, but I opted for a two-bus combo. Imagine my suprise when I found out the second bus no longer exists. In the weird, completely nonchalant way I feel like I have handled 75% of obstacles that have come my way since getting pregnant, I said to myself, "Well, I'll just ride this bus until the end and then see what I should do," as it was going in the general direction of my destination, anyway. I just trusted it would get me somewhere half-decent, and then I would just figure it out from there.
And in an awesome turn of events, it turns out the bus ends right where the tramway starts, and the tramway took me to the front door of the place where the Salon du bébé was taking place. I had never ridden the tramway before (it's brand new), so the whole thing felt quite adventurous and fun. The sun was shining and I enjoyed the ride -- it's so much more interesting to travel above ground than below. Plus, the trams are really smooth and clean and peaceful, or at least the two trams I took today were. I had one of those blissed-out moments while on the tram, where I thought, "You know, this feels good. All of it." Quite a turnaround from my opinion on things at 7.55 this morning.
The trams only run along the outside edges of Paris, a land which has been rather unfamiliar to me in the over seven years I have lived here. Now that I have moved to one of the portes, I find myself sort of enamoured with the gritty urban-ness of the outside ring surrounding the city. It was interesting to travel through the neighborhoods that define where Paris starts and suburbs begin, and to watch the people as they got on and off the tram.
The Salon itself was just perfect -- not too big, not too small, not too crowded, and only slightly overwhelming. Everybody there either had a baby in a stroller or a sling, and a good percentage of us had a baby in a belly. I was a little shocked when I was pulled aside and asked if I would be interested in getting a 3-D ultrasound. I guess the woman could tell there was something growing in there, which is only the second time that has happened to me to date. And I'm bordering on seven months! Although, all things considered, the weather has kept me covered until recently, so maybe that has something to do with it. But, still.
I bought a few things and managed to remain wise about my purchases, but I am happy I got to compare products and services all in one place. I also attended a worthwhile "class" on baby first aid, where they taught us how to check for breathing, do CPR, and dislodge items that the baby may be choking on. They asked us to stay after and practice on the dolls they had brought along for the demonstration, but after the presentation, I had to pee so badly that I could not even consider hanging around for hands-on practice.
Also, this week has been awesome because I received a sling and other goods from the lovely and talented Riana as well as a whole box full of used stuff I bought off Ebay last week. Receiving both has really made this whole adventure seem more real to me somehow, now that I am arranging space in the house to keep Romulus' stuff. While I checked out the clothes I had gotten, I started talking to him about the different things he would be wearing without even realizing it -- I was alone in the house but I really felt like I was having a conversation with someone. It seems sort of crazy in retrospect, but it was totally natural at the time. I am so pleased with the Ebay purchase because the clothes are all in such great condition -- you never know when you buy used stuff. But I really got a great deal and I couldn't be happier with it. Now I have a decent base of clothes to work with, and I am not going to buy anymore until after he is born, as you never know what you'll get for gifts and so forth. Plus, they grow so fast that I don't know how much of everything I'll need. But it does feel good to have at least a few things ready.
Anyway, it was a tough week -- much of which I didn't get into here -- but it really ended in style. I've taken care of a lot of chores, administrative tasks, etc, as well as come to terms with a whole load of personal things. I've also rested, and given myself a break, and even took some time out to knit the other day. I think it's all a question of balancing, and today it feels as if I finally managed to get it all right for a moment.
I am eyelid-dropping tired, but I can't cave this early (20.30) on a Friday night for a few reasons. One, I am just not that old yet. Two, if I do so, I will wake up at 4 am, ready to start the day -- and that is not a good idea because I am working tomorrow (Saturday) on my feet for eight hours. And three, The Little Guy is here and he and The Boy have gone a-painting, but I suspect they will be back within the hour with voracious appetites brought on by manual labor. And then there's four, which I didn't want to admit, but what the hell? I've only got 20% more of the most recent episode of "Grey's Anatomy" left to download, and I can't wait to watch it. There is a specific reason for this.
As background, I would likeput on the record that pregnancy has been awesome to me and I have not been an emotional wreck. Quite the contrary, actually. Things have not been all hearts and bunnies, a lot more so than I let on around these parts, but I at least haven't had any additional issues brought on by hormonal fluctuation or pregnancy-related depression/sadness. If anything, I think the pregnancy hormones have been what have enabled me to march on reasonably unscathed because they seem to do my body/brain some good. Either that, or I am just too spaced out to think hard enough about anything to let it get to me.
Any way you look at it, one can say I have been very lucky. No terrible emotional outbursts, no panic attacks, no days and days of darkness. I did, however, cry -- nay, BAWL -- at last week's "Grey's Anatomy." And get this: I was crying because Meredith's friends were all so WORRIED about her. I was just touched by how much love there was between the interns, and how aware of it Dr. Bailey was but how she knew exactly how to react. Isn't it just incredible how much love we can have for the people in our lives? I was actually sort of moaning/howling; it was that high-pitched sound that comes out sometimes when the crying is so powerful that it takes over the vocal chords. But did you see Cristina's face, and how the others had to hold her back? So much love. So much support. I don't know what the hell that whole experience was about, but I will say that it was deeply cathartic and I felt great afterwards. So I am ready to cry again tonight.
I mean, they were tears of joy. So no worries.
Anyway, so here's the 26 week update:
1) Nobody has offered me a seat yet. However, none of my jackets fit, not even my spring jacket. I am growing straight out. From the front, if I am wearing a solid-colored shirt, you cannot tell in anyway that there is a baby in there. But if I turn 45°, it looks as if I have stuffed a volleyball under my shirt. So I am at least proving one old wive's tale true here, although Romulus has yet to grow to true basketball-sized proportions. That will come, of course.
2) The kicking and rolling and so forth has gotten way, way more intense in the last week or so. Romulus also chose not to sleep at all today, preferring instead to practice his kung-fu moves from the hours of 9-12 (during my class). He went for a quick jog around the 'hood from 12-13, and then went back to kung-fu as soon as class started again at 13:30. On two seperate occasions he actually made me jump. ME! Jumping from the impact of a not-yet-two-pound creature. I honestly love all the motion and commotion and am just amazed at how much I can feel, but there was a moment today when I said to him, "Hey... buddy. I'm trying to concentrate. Jump around if you like, but just try not to scare me anymore."
Freakily enough, he listened. For the rest of the day, he would just thump around, and now I think he's decided that was enough for today. Well, at least until I finally get to lay down, at any rate, when I am sure he will pull out the trampoline for his midnight jump-a-thon.
3) My doctor asked me to take out my belly ring before the next appointment. I don't know if that is really medically necessary, but once I got online and started reading horror stories about belly piercings getting infected, or - God forbid - "migrating" out of the skin while pregnant, I decided to just take the damn thing out. That was weird, as I've had it for ten years and have not thought a whole lot about it since it healed 9 years and 11 months ago. Now my belly feels sort of tight and stretchy where the hole was -- I would have thought it would be the opposite feeling but whatever. Bottom line: the belly ring is gone. I think I'll be able to pop it back in come, oh, October, but who knows what kind of state my stomach will be in by then. In the meantime, I took one last photo.
4) In an effort to save money, I have been looking at some baby goods on Ebay. I have only bought one thing thus far, but the whole experience is so addictive. I think Ebay makes at least half of its money on people with addictive personalities.
5) Eating is getting more and more difficult. I'm STARVING in the morning, mildly hungry by lunch, and then I have general hunger but nothing serious for the rest of the day. I absolutely cannot eat an entire dinner in one sitting, so I have ended up breaking my evening meals into three. First I eat a little something upon my return from work, then I eat a little portion of the dinner I cook (or reheat, as I am not finishing dinners nowadays so we often have leftovers), and then I have a yogurt or something an hour or two before bedtime. My stomach just feels stretched and tight at night, and I think that what is going on at a superficial level (the skin) makes me feel as if I can't fill my stomach anymore on an interior level. Maybe some of you mamas can relate to this. I know I am still eating plenty (oh yes, no worries there) but it's sort of aggravating not to be able to have a solid meal at day's end. I hear it's only going to get worse.
6) For the past week, I have been overcome by this obnoxious, giggling, spouting sort of joy that is actually starting to make me feel a little kooky. I have also become completely obsessed with keeping the house clean, which is not easy when you have a ten-year-old who loves to draw living at your house. Neither he nor his father are particularly organized types, and I find myself suffocating the urge to rearrange his suitcase or put away his soccer ball (where would it go?). He's only here for four days, I think I can live with a little mess. Right? Hrm. I find the whole thing so funny (namely, my own maniacal cleaning) that I spend most of my time laughing to myself about it. They're not in on the joke, of course (I can't even really drum up an explanation of what the joke is, exactly) so they just watch me nervously as I get progressively more and more giddy.
Last night, I got on The Boy's case because he eats a banana per day. I know this because I find a banana peel NEXT TO the garbage can every day. Never IN the garbage can. Always on the counter RIGHT NEXT to the garbage. Now tell me, what the hell is that? Just, what IS that?
I pointed this out to The Boy and said that it is absolutely unacceptable (the whole time half-giggling and unable to be serious for a second) when he turned to The Little Guy and said, "She's crazy." (in English)
The Little Guy, who speaks pretty good English for a ten-year-old Belgian, laughed. And then I said, "Maybe, but you're lazy!" and I spent the next half hour tee-heeing about my jeu de mots.
See what I mean by obnoxious and giggly? It doesn't make any sense, and it's not really even funny, but I can't stop laughing. Did anybody see the Angelina Jolie interview with Ann Curry? She was in Africa somewhere, and she basically spent the entire interview giggling. And Ann was like, "What's so funny?" and she said, "Brad tells me I've had the giggles since getting pregnant. I just can't stop them!"**
And that's how this week has been. I think Brad's medical diagnosis is spot on: I've got the giggles.
It's pretty fun for me, but I think others are going to have to take me in small doses for awhile.
**Update: Here's the Angeline Jolie interview. They're in Namibia, by the way. I should have remembered that.
UPDATE TWO: That "Grey's Anatomy" episode was weird, but I still managed to cry. It was less cathartic this time, because it got me thinking about the importance of tenderness in life and how everybody needs some, but we are often so stingy with it. So I was sort of saddened by that, even though the overall message was a good one.
I would also like to say, for the record, that I cannot wait for Addison and Alex to get it on. Alex has been my favorite boy on the show for awhile (ever since he saved that baby by doing the sports announcer thing) and Addison has become my favorite chick character in recent weeks. (I also teared up when she was "there" for Derek when he started to breakdown outside of Ellis Grey's hospital room). So this Alex-Addison thing is looking extremely promising. Also: again, Cristina! So much love for Meredith! I cried again, of course.
Things are looking up, thankfully. For one, I've gotten a lot accomplished in the last 48 hours, and that always improves my mood. For two, things are racing along at work... I think that is helpful as they were dragging a bit last week. For three, I got two packages at the post office, and who doesn't love that?
One package was an exchange from a gift my mom had gotten me at Christmas. She had bought me a new bra, but it was too small and I asked her to get a size bigger. Holy moly am I glad I did! Back pain, begone! It has seriously improved my life in so many ways. I swear I have gained at least a kilo in each breast. And I really didn't need expansion in that arena.
The other package was from my best friend in New York. She's my travel buddy -- with whom I adventured throughout Southeast Asia and survived the India 2006 debacle. At the end of our India trip, we agreed that our next destination would be Mexico -- still reasonbly cheap but right-next-door should we need to escape town quickly. Unfortunately, I will not be travelling for awhile, so when she got the opportunity to head south for the winter, she took it.
And sent me this. Because she's hilarious. With a note that said "Buena suerte."
My Dad suggested Romulus as a baby name as a joke (I hope). I have taken to calling him Romulus in my head. Poor thing.
I've been a little scatterbrained recently, something which I don't do well. It's sort of getting me down. Hopefully it will pass, but I feel like the last 24-48 hours, I have been seeing things through a sort of hazy wall. I hear foggy-brainedness can be pregnancy-related - although apparently it's particularly severe in the third trimester - and I pray to dear God that this is just a passing phase and not something I will have to fight through for the next 15 weeks. I feel like I am constantly in need of a caffeine boost, that sort of cottony, distant feeling you can sometimes get, making concentration nearly impossible. I am sleeping well and have maintained a pretty normal schedule, so I am a little mystified as to where this is coming from. However, I have been a little sad over the last few days, so maybe it's a physical response to an emotional state, which I am hoping will turn around.
I have a variety of tasks I have to take care of this week, and I'll admit to slacking on a good portion of them already. It's a combination of laziness, disinterest, and distractedness. I think I am normally quite focused, maybe I am just coming down from the frenzy of moving and constant activity, and my brain and body are just taking a moment to recuperate? Let's go with that as an explanation for now. At any rate, I don't have a choice about the work I have to do this week, so I'm going to powerhouse through it all somehow. It will give me the incentive to being extra proud at the end of the week.
Fortunately, I was required to take a guilt-free break from work and responsibility this weekend because C came up for a quick 2-day visit. It's always good having her around... I worked on Friday and then the two of us went out to dinner, but Saturday we spent zipping around town hitting up some of the spots she likes to haunt while here.
She introduced me to the Palais des Thés, which I am sort of ashamed I had never been to before. I don't know what it is about that place, but the set-up or the atmosphere wants me to buy every type of tea imaginable. I much prefer it to the famous Mariage Frères, which usually stresses me out more than anything. I feel tea-shopping should be a calming experience, much along the lines of tea-drinking. Although enticed by the yummy deliciousness of all their teas there, I managed to restrain myself and only spent eleven euros. I made a silent promise to myself that I will finish both teas I purchased before allowing myself to re-visit the shop. Tea can be dangerous in the same way yarn is. You knitters out there know what I mean.
C and I did a fair amount of walking, which was especially exhausting because of the Saturday crowds. I am happy that at almost 25 weeks, I don't feel that I have to slow down very much. It was a beautiful day -- not too cold, not too windy -- and we weren't the only ones to take advantage of it. Afterwards, we met up with Kathypath for dinner and the three of us were ready for bed by eleven. Coming home on the metro, C and I mentioned how good it was to get home at a reasonable hour, how it's better just to have a glass or two of wine instead of a bottle (I didn't have any, of course), and how it will be great to get up early in the morning. I was in bed by midnight, and fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. I feel like an old lady, but maybe I'm just a pregnant one.
I'm at a bit of a blah phase now -- both Sunday and today have been a bit of a downer for me. I am not too concerned as I have been blessed with an enthusiasm that I wasn't expecting throughout the majority of this pregnancy, despite a lot of the challenges and fears and worries that it has entailed. If I have to throw in a few sad days, that's ok. I just hope they pass and that I can get back to concentrating on the things I have to get done.
C asked me to put together a baby wish list, which I am working on. Any of you mamas have suggestions as to must-haves?
I've also noticed that my vision is not doing so well. I know this can happen during pregnancy, but it's such a pain. It's especially noticeable when I am on the metro and I can't read the signs at the end of the platform. I'm not willing to go dish out the cash for new contacts or glasses, as I've used up my insurance coverage for eye care this year. Apparently, your eyes go back to normal sometime after birth, which makes it all the more pointless to change my eyewear now. So I guess I am just going to have three+ more months of squinting. I am making an effort to wear my glasses more than my contacts, as I figure my eyes are already straining; they probably could use the rest.
To end on a positive note, I did better than I thought on my Arabic exams, so I have a bit of breathing room for this second semester (our grade is the average of the two semesters' exam results). That's nice, as I am a little concerned about making it to classes towards the end. The finals are pretty much right at my due date, so I may have to skip them altogether and take the exams during the September session. I figure that's ok, as long as I manage to make it to the majority of my classes. I am so much more comfortable in Arabic this year than I was last year, and I think that is making all of the difference in the world.
And as one more positive note - tomorrow morning I am babysitting my friend's 4-month-old daughter. As my friend said, "You can get in some practice." Her baby is adorable, and I am happy to lend her a hand for a few hours by hanging out with the little goober. Hopefully, she'll be a doll and I won't walk away wondering what the hell I've gotten myself into...
I remember having a conversation once with The Boy about the Shettles method, which says there is a difference between boy and girl sperm. While male sperm tends to swim faster, female sperm (an oxymoron, sort of) is more durable, and this Shettles character argues that you can semi-plan the sex of your child by conceiving closer to your ovulation date for boys and further away from it for girls. At least I think that's how it works -- someone correct me if I'm wrong.
The Boy is a bit on the macho side (it's endearing... usually) and very African in that First-Must-Be-A-Male thing, so he said what any normal guy would say in response to this: "All my sperm are fast swimmers. I've got super sperm." In other words: he's got far more boy-bearing tendencies than girls do. Of course he does.
I don't think he's ever lived that statement down. I make fun of him for it constantly (in jest) and amongst my friends from time to time (in earnest). I see him saying it in a superhero outfit, fist in the air, "Super Sperm Man" and so forth.
So the sex of this baby was a bit of a cliffhanger for me in a goofy sort of way. I didn't have a preference either way, but I knew what The Boy thought of his own childbearing abilities. A sick part of me wanted to prove him wrong just to see how he reacted; I know deep down he wouldn't care but would he actually revise his Super Sperm statements?
However, from day one, I thought it was a boy. Well, probably more like from day 60, when I saw the little alien-like life form wiggling around in my belly for the first time. I would catch myself calling it a "he." I had a girl name all picked out, but no boy names, so it just seemed logical that things would fall towards the more complicated route.
At the ultrasound, the doctor asked if I wanted to know the sex of the baby and I unhesitatingly said yes. "It looks like you're having a little girl..." he said to me, motioning to a meaningless blob on the screen. "Really?" I said, a bit surprised. I wasn't disappointed in the fact that it was a girl so much as I was just confused that I had been so wrong! "That's what it looks like," he affirmed, and continued clicking away on his machine while I absorbed the news.
And then, of course, I thought of The Boy and his super swimmers and had to stifle a chuckle.
So that was it. A girl! Over 80% of people who made an official declaration before I found out appeared to have been right, I guess I'm (we're) an easy case to read. Amazing. Almost everybody was right but me...
We went on with the ultrasound and the doctor showed me the head (looking good), the eyes (creepy!) and then he measured the femur and the nose and an odd assortment of things I didn't think were high on the priority list. It took about 20 minutes but it felt like five -- I love catching glimpses of itty bitty hands and feet and all the moving they can do.
Towards the end, he said, "Let me just go back to check the gender again, because from the position we were looking at things, I just want to be sure." We had looked at the baby from below, staring up at two little butt cheeks and a crotch.
Click. Click.
"Whoa! Good thing I checked!" he exclaimed, and pointed to a very definite penis. "C'est un petit zizi!" I don't know who was more amused, the doctor or myself. We spent the rest of our appointment giggling and then he said, "Well, I had you thinking the wrong thing for 20 minutes or so, but that's better than almost 20 more weeks, right?"
So apparently the little guy had just had all his junk on top, the sneaky devil.
Congrats to Emily, Aimee, Misplaced and Crimson. You make up four of the five people TOTAL who thought I was having a boy. I think at least 25 others guessed girl... even the doctor was fooled!
I am so, so excited that I can't help myself. In a weird way, knowing the sex has given the baby a human dimension he didn't have before. Now I can refer to him as a he and not as an "it" (step one, right?) and I can imagine him more clearly. I also have little conversations with him sometimes, even just in my head (but also out loud a fair amount, I'll admit). And I can start shopping for clothes, because even though I am not necessarily looking to dress the little guy up entirely in blue, I find that French stores (and American ones, too, probably) still like to divide children's clothing sections by gender. At least I know which side of the shop to daydream in now.
So the next step, of course, is a name. Oh my God, that is one mighty, mighty task.
Also, here's me at 22 weeks -- two weeks ago. I've got to get the most recent pics up because the last two weeks have seen a major growth spurt. So that's me when I'm clearly pregnant when my belly is exposed, but otherwise passable with a sweater on. Not so much the case anymore.
Name suggestions are welcome! My two requests: 1) Not a super duper common name and 2) a name that works in both French and English. Ok. Have at it.
Also: There is a conflict now. Which Boy are we talking about when we say The Boy? I think I might just have to call them both by their real names eventually.
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 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 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 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.
Since the day I found out about the little bean in the belly, I have been taking prenatal vitamins. Actually, on the same day I bought the pregnancy tests, I also bought a pack of prenatals. I was pretty sure about the test result, even though I didn't fully believe it.
When I went to the doctor 10 days later, she "prescribed" me the non-refundable kind of prenatal vitamin that all the women in France apparently take. It's called Gynéfam, which I cannot say at the pharmacy without blushing slightly. I don't know why this is, I guess because of how close I feel "Gyné" is to "Gyno" and how close "fam" is to "femme." Every time, it feels like I am buying yeast infection medication, when really I just need extra iron. I really think they could have named it something different -- Vitaplus or Femmevita or something with a little more zing.
For the past few months, the vitamin packages have served as my little time markers, a sort of adven
