The big love day

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Yesterday, Pedram and I were reflecting that in the eight years we have known each other, we have only spent two Valentine’s days together.  Usually, one of us is off, traveling or visiting family or living in England or abroad.  The Hallmark date doesn’t really play a role for us in our relationship.  But this year, we are both in England for this crazy love fest of a day.

Sadly, Pedram worked until 10pm and I was at a Baha’i’ study circle, so the day went uncelebrated.

However, my true Valentine, Khanh, who has consistently been making me feel loved with candy and chocolates for 12 years now, did not fail to impress.  In addition to the yummy Frans salted caramel (which I will share with NO ONE!) and my favorite heart candy, she included a little gift for the baby.

It is the softest, plushest, most adorable thing with ears in the world.  It is now in the baby pile, which includes nothing else.  Hope the kid is okay with wearing this home from the hospital and for the following few months.  Thanks so much auntie Khanh.

Speaking of babies, a certain someone became a complete gooey, mushy puddle of emotions when seeing this gift.  Which may have made my day a little more lovable.

Gracias and Malaga

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Thanks so much for the nice emails and comforting words.  It is so nice to read them, and I really appreciate it.  Especially people who know me well and aren’t afraid to give me honest advice.  It really warms the heart.  I pray everyday for the strength to be confident and calm through the rest of the pregnancy, and I know I have a great support team.  And I do want to stress that I am feeling much much better, and very much more normal.

So great in fact, that last weekend Pedram and I took a easy jet flight down to Malaga, Spain for a few days.  We drove up to Granada for a day, basking the Spanish sun, and enjoying the food.  I don’t really like Spanish food, but down south there are option with an Arabic flair, like roscas, an enormous bagel, that we had with falafel.  And the coffee…yum.

 

Spain is the ham and seafood lovers dream, but we wandered upon a market that made me so happy with its fresh fruits and vegetables.  I brought home with many kilos of strawberries and tomatoes.  Of course, the first season strawberries and artichokes made me feel like spring is just around the corner, but when we arrived back in England, we had the coldest week ever.

Otherwise, the trip was just a relaxing time drinking coffee at the bars, watching impromptu flamingo dancing in the streets, soaking in some history and discovering a new city.  It was so nice to enjoy a change in scenery and culture and to enjoy fiestas and late dinners.  The baby was loving the entire experience, especially the churros.

The strawberries I brought home lasted a few days before I decided to make a cake out of them.  In these freezing cold days, it is a very nice reminder of where I was a week ago.

The first three months

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All of these pregnancy websites encourage you to take pictures, weekly if not daily, to showcase your growing belly.  Or to write a daily journal with your emotions and feelings, turning your excitement into a small book that you can reflect back on with pride and joy.  Start early and share frequently, they encouraged!  I was told to express my feelings by then posting the pictures and journal entries with other newly pregnant women on forums, so that we could share our common experience.  During the first three months of my pregnancy, I only wrote one journal entry, with the following line:

“I never thought pregnancy would be so lonely”

At that point, I was just plain sad about everything.  I could not get excited about being pregnant, and I couldn’t fathom the idea that I was going to be a mother.  Suddenly, every horrible scenario in the world was racing through my mind.  Something bad was bound to happen.

I fell sick early on and at one point I spent a few days with over 18 hours a day in bed.  I was tired, exhausted in a way I had never thought was possible, spending hours upon hours in bed, sometimes sleeping, sometimes just staring at the ceiling and repeating my morbid thoughts to myself, sometimes just crying.

I cried endlessly.  Randomly.  I had seen a video where a seal fights bravely but succumbs to a group of killer whales, and weeks later the images would come to mind in class, and I would have to leave and run to the bathroom so I could cry for the suffering of all seals.  I cried when one our assignment included caculating the unpaid work of rural mothers in India.  I was just sad.  Really really sad.

I was in denial that I was actually pregnant.  In England there is no official confirmation until the 12 week, so I held out for possibilities that it wasn’t true.  I felt guilty for thinking such thoughts.  And then I would cry about it.  I would eat something I knew I shouldn’t, and then I would cry about that.  I felt horribly guilty all the time.  I felt shame of my own feelings and unbearable disappointment in myself.

I forced a wedge between Pedram and myself.  I refused to cook, I refused to discuss things, I wouldn’t participate in learning more about pregnancy.  He made the doctor appointments.  He bought books and learned about what foods were okay to eat, and then prepared them for me.  I became chronically claustrophobic, and did not want anyone near me, coiling at his reassuring hugs.  Even on the buses and at University, I felt uneasy at the crowds and the lack of private space.  All I wanted to do was lie in bed.

When I had my first visit with the midwife, I tried to explain this all to her — I did not feel myself, and I really really wanted to go back to normal.  Her advice was that this IS normal, that hormones often cause such feelings.  But it didn’t help me at all. I wanted to erase the thoughts in my head, I wanted to be full of energy and joy, I wanted to be confident and not catatonic with anxiety and fear.  The midwife couldn’t help me — I was sent home feeling even more isolated.

I felt so distant from my friends and family, but I refused to share the news with anyone because I couldn’t come to grips with the questions they might ask.

A few weeks ago, I was telling this story to a friend with Pedram present, and at one point I saw his face and realized how unfair all of this was to him.  I did not allow Pedram to share the news, even though he was so thrilled.  Even worse, I wouldn’t allow him to show his excitement, instead asking him to NOT talk about it.  Also, do not ask me how I am feeling, and do not share your own feelings about the baby.  I often told him that I was fine when I wasn’t, and he knew I wasn’t, but was too afraid to try to help.

Pedram was feeling the opposite of my emotions — he was full of joy, raging with excitement, ready to plan and discuss and celebrate, but I asked him to mute it all.  But I did oblige him and ended up telling my sister and one of my closest friends, and they both made me feel so much better.  I was able to share my anxieties and fears and frustrations, and they were sympathetic and reassuring.  They got me — they understood my hesitant responses and gave me great advice.  And slowly the cloud of irritability and sadness started to fade away.  (Not completely though — at one point in Los Angeles, I went around the table and pointed out why I hated each person in my family.  Luckily, they had no problem telling me I was being rude and sending me to bed).

I thought a long time before sharing this.  I don’t have alot of pictures or memories from the first three months, and perhaps that is a good thing.  But I know what I felt was very normal for other people, and in alot of ways, the fears and anxiety are still there.

So maybe it is good to talk about it openly.  I am feeling much better, and am very lucky to have a good support system to help me through my more dark moments.  I still feel a bit out of control with my body, and occasionally guilty or lonely, but overall I am more energetic and less alone.  I share in Pedram’s enthusiasm, am reading more about pregnancy and have joined prenatal yoga classes.  I feel comfortable talking and more in control of my emotions.  Most importantly, I feel more positive about everything, including the idea  that I can be a mother.

How it happened

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It is interesting to hear how many people want to know how I ended up in my current state.

I don’t know always how to respond to this question, because it is so personal.  It was not an accident, but it was such a surprise that I was pregnant.

The reality was that I have never wanted to become pregnant.  I did not yearn for that intimate relationship with myself as a woman, and never wanted to “try” it out.  I have felt this way since I was very young.  Everyone told me over time that I would change and long for the experience, but it never happened.  This was a discussion we had often in our house and Pedram was always incredibly understanding that we could build our family through adoption.  In Canada, we started exploring adoption processes, and learning more about what options we had.

At that stage, I felt ready to start a family.  Pedram and I were closer than ever and I was proud of our relationship.  I trusted our instincts and was committed to the integrity of our marriage.  So to say that we were discouraged by the red tape involved is an understatement.  To adopt from a 3rd country when neither parent is a citizen nor a resident is simply complicated.  I won’t get into the details, but after some research and a little bit of action, we actually had to let go of our plans since we were moving to England.  Where we would have to pick up the process again and delay the whole having children thing even longer.  So we thought it might be wise to leave the 9 month option open as well, just in case, you know, down the road, sometime much later, we may need it.

Once we had settled in England (settled being that we had a bed), we restarted our search again, with the understanding that it would be as difficult as it was in Canada.  And that process in its entirety would most likely take three years.

Sometime in mid-October, we came up with a gameplan on how we were going to go about adoption in the UK — who to contact, how to pursue it, etc.  We read long legal documents that encompassed the many trivialities that we need to consider.  I started reading a book about parenting adopted children.  We signed up for a community meeting to learn more and meet other families.   We agreed on the plan and hugged and celebrated our steps towards adoption, including how to finance it.

At that point, I was already pregnant, but we just didn’t know it.  When we found out, it was so surreal, mostly because we thought we would have children in another way.  It was never an accident, but a pleasant surprise.  A blessing.  And we are both very very happy.

Award winning housewife

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When I asked my Japanese classmate, a former consultant, what she wanted to do when we graduate, she replied that she wanted my life.  But in her words, 

“I want to be a housewife, just like you”

I think it took me a few minutes to process that one.  And then I realized that she was being somewhat humorous, and was saying that she hopes to get married and “settle down” in a house as a wife.  You know, a housewife.  She has achieved much in her life and this position was the next one on her life goals list.

My status as a married person has much more significance to certain cultures than others.  As I was explaining this morning to another classmate about how sometimes we go all out for dinner at our place, and sometimes it is just bread and cheese, she was really perplexed.  

“You serve your husband bread and cheese for dinner?” she asked.

“Umm…yeah.  I mean, we kinda prepare it together”,  I replied.

“Yeah, where I come from in Zambia, that is just a less direct way to ask for a divorce.  A woman who is married is expected to cook a good meal for her family, regardless of her job or school or even if she is sick.  What does your family think about this?”

And I explained to her that my older family members are probably not proud of my role in the kitchen, but that our marriage is built on a foundation much stronger than domestic abilities.  I did reassure her that occasionally I make the effort for a good home cooked meal, and that he does the same as well, but I got the feeling that she was worried I would be fired from my job.  

Later on, as Pedram and I were eating delivery pizza together, I asked him if he married me because of my culinary skills.  His reply?

“You knew how to cook before we were married?”

Exactly. 

LA story

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Phew, am done with the two papers I needed to submit and have some time to write about things not relating to either Foucault’s meaning of power or preferential trade agreements.

In the long standing tradition of our abilities to be “bad planners” (remind me to tell you the story of how we got to Havana last year), I left immediately after the term was over for a two-week stay in Los Angeles, coming back Christmas day.  Pedram left a week earlier, going to a conference before meeting up with me.  This was bad for the following reasons:

1- Me and dog alone at home with crazy last minute library research panic and new city that is so creepily quiet and British winter which means 4pm darkness equals crazy paranoid Mahsa who wishes her dog was 5 times bigger than he is.  And that he was just a teeny bit aggressive.

2 – Finding out that there is no transportation home from the airport on Christmas day, no shuttles, no buses, no trains.  Taxis charge twice as much, which means it is cheaper to rent a car for two days, bring it back to the airport, then take a bus back home, than take to pay for a taxi on Christmas.

3 – As of a week before the trip, we still did not have a dog-sitter.  As of the day before I left, we still did not have anyone for Christmas eve and Christmas morning.

4 – Also, those papers?  Yeah, they really should have been written over a few weeks, as opposed cramming a month’s worth of work in 10 days.  I literally did not leave the house or change my clothes for the first 9 days of 2012.

Wow, I am going to stop the rambling.  And remind myself again to plan better next time.  Seriously, taking a red eye 11 hour flight and then driving on the left-side when it is already dark at 4pm on Christmas day is not a good idea.

Los Angeles, by the way, was amazing.  I have such a love/hate relationship with that city, and this time, I think even Pedram felt his cold European hate melt with the warm California sun.  And of course, there is this guy:

He is my nephew.  And we spent alot of time hanging out, catching up with the Kardashians, and judging my sister in her role as a new mom.  He is pretty cool and likes to nap.  We napped together a few times.

He does not, not matter how hard you try, like to give you a smile, but when he does, be ready, cause it will make your heart go pitter patter.

Pedram and I also took a car trip for a few days to Sedona, Arizona.  All of our other plans (Hawaii, Mexico, even the Grand Canyon) were cancelled for one reason or another.  Our drive there was interesting — leaving the LA mess behind, large, flat, open space with nothingness, and then more nothingness for hours and hours.

Euro's first cactus

And then we hit a huge snowstorm, in which I could only see about an inch in front of the car, and nothing on either side of us.  We were warned about the snow storm by the local news and the woman at the gas station, but decided to continue because Pedram could not wrap his head around the fact that there could be snow in Arizona.

Literally, as we were surrounded by snow and ice, he kept repeating that it couldn’t be right, how is there precipitation in the desert?  And the guy works on climate and geography, people.

Luckily, the valley of Sedona only had a little rain, which turned into small patches of ice on our hikes, and then eventually melted to show the beauty of the great American west.

And then we were back in LA, where the weather was not stormy at all, and we spent all of our time taking turns holding the baby, going for walks, eating delicious homecooked meals, and hanging out with my family.

If I had told Pedram that one day we would be spending a week in a two bedroom apartment with my parents, my two siblings, my sister’s husband and their brand new baby, I think he would have immediately booked a hotel.  His family doesn’t do the whole “lets cram everyone together in one tiny space and let the fart jokes begin” thing that my family enjoys.  They like a little bit of personal space and the ability to close doors and get changed without worrying about their mother-in-law walking in on them.  At one point, my sister’s husband, who when he was not working, was staying up all night with the baby and doing loads of laundry, kindly folded Pedram’s underwear that was in the dryer and left it in a nice pile.  And I imagine Pedram’s discomfort at having someone fold his personal items, and his general uneasiness at the general lack of boundaries.

But if he was bothered, he definitely didn’t mention it, except to be grateful for his brother-in-law’s nice act.  In fact, now thinking of it, I think Pedram thrived in the apartment, since I had many outlets to  vent, and he got a little bit of rest from being my best friend/family/punching bag.  He definitely enjoyed it a little too much when my family would mock me and tell embarassing stories.  And occasionally he would escape to his aunt’s house in the valley, where she would pamper him even more than his own mother.

If we both arrived in California little balls of stress, it didn’t take long for us to unravel.  Sunset walks in Santa Monica, eating outside, and the guilt-free shopping you can do when everything is an additional 40% off when translated into pounds.  I took advantage of the spas, Pedram made time to enjoy the LA street art scene, and we both indulged in lots and lots of delicious persian food, both at home and in the best kabab restaurants in the states.

Shepherd Fairey street art

We returned to England filled with Americanism (real maple syrup, Trader Joe’s mangoes, persian fruit roll-ups), and Pedram even invested in a ukelele, cause we were just that kind of west-coast, beach-loving, sing-songy cool people now.  Yeah man.