A la francaise

Last weekend, Pedram and I went to visit friends in Lyon, France.  Justine and Mathieu had recently moved there (Chambery to be precise) from Montreal, where we had all been neighbors.  It was good to reconnect with them.  I also reconnected with my long lost buddy, their son, Inaki.  Here we are in Montreal back in May 2011

And here we are in March 2012.

If Pedram didn’t have one on the way, he probably would have stolen this one.

You’ve probably heard how French people do everything better, right?  There is a huge American boom about writing in detail how the French manage to do all the things Americans long to do, but with their great snobby I-don’t-really-care attitude and their well, frenchiness.  This past weekend I witnessed it all with my own eyes, and I can tell you — it is all true.

French women do eat everything and do not get fat (like the book). Justine is skinnier than I have ever seen her, including her pre-baby days.  Her secret?  French cuisine.  The girl eats bread, cheese, croissants, coffee, decadent and hearty meals, crepes, galettes, mousse, tartiflette, etc, etc.  And she is tiny.  I, on the other hand, gained considerable weight on that same diet over 4 days.  In fact, that weekend, I “popped”, meaning my baby is like me and probably doubled its size during the weekend.

And did you read all the hype about how French parents are better?  It is true.  They are not afraid to tell their kid “non!”, and then the kid listens.  And is respectful, and obedient.  And well mannered and behaved.  At the ripe age of 1, they learn to greet people when they first see them.  We would go to restaurants and I would observe the children there — they do not negotiate with their parents, they do not throw food, they do not complain about what they are offered, they act like adults.  French adults, which means they can turn up their nose to poorly cooked meal, or anything American, cause they believe they are superior to everyone else.  Vive la republique!

Lyon is the capital of food in the country that is the world capital of food, and to say that I learned a bit about food over the weekend is like saying I knew what it was like to be pregnant before I ever was.  The food culture there is superior — there is such pride and dedication to make an effort to reinvent meals, use premium quality products, and offer the best culinary experience possible.  On our first day, we went to the market, where we had a 20 minute discussion with the cheese monger about local cheese.  And I sampled cheeses so stinky and wonderful that one actually turned my tongue numb.  And it was fantastic.  In the words of Justine — “you can tell it is good because you can feel your heart beating in your gums”.  If you don’t eat anything in your lifetime that fits that description, then you haven’t lived.

Pedram was dying with giddiness the whole weekend.  It made me realize how much he misses continental Europe — his comments were consistently about how classy the people were, how comfortable the pace of life is, and how wonderful it is to get fresh bread.  Every day.  And not from a special baker, but any boulangerie.  Because they are all good.  And we don’t need to buy extra for tomorrow, because tomorrow we will go back to the corner boulangerie and buy fresh baguettes.  Every day.  A la francaise.

Food, companionship, adorable french babies, smelly cheeses and baguettes aside, the highlight was probably a quick excursion to French Alps, where we all relaxed and enjoyed France’s natural beauty, soaking in the sun and snow and the wonderful homemade jams from Justine’s mom, along with the fresh bread that we got that morning.  Cause you know, France.

The paradoxes of new motherly advice

People are confused by why I would be freaked out about anything.

Me:  Ugh…I have some back pain.  I wish I could sleep better.

Supermom #1:  Yeah, it only gets worse.  You are going to be enormous.  Huge.  You are still tiny.  Your spine will twist and contort into painful manuvers that will make you shriek in pain.  I hated being pregnant.  The last three months were so horrible.  Plus, the first three months were the worst.  So you are currently in the best place, enjoy it.  Really really ENJOY IT!  You must ENJOY it!

Also, forget sleep.  You will never sleep again.  Ever.  So ENJOY IT NOW!  Are you not enjoying it yet?

Me:  Labor sounds kinda scary, no?  Is there any way to be completely unconscious for it?

Supermom #2:  Don’t worry, it will be fine!!  Although hopefully you won’t have an experience like me — 52 hours of back labor and a 10 pound baby?  I wish I had a c-section, I couldn’t sit for weeks afterwards.  I couldn’t poop for 2 weeks, and when I did, it was worst than labor.

But you will be fine.  You’re going natural, right?  You have to go natural, home birth if possible.  Also, make sure the cord has stopped pulsating before you cut it.  You’ll be totallllly fine.

Me: The midwife keeps giving me breastfeeding videos, but I am too nervous to even watch.  I hear it can be painful.

Supermom #3:  Oh my goodness, it is the worst pain you will ever feel in your life.  It is as if the kid is gnawing at an open wound with salt-covered lips, and it is the worst torture in the world, knowing that it is going to happen over and over and over again.  But you HAVE to do it – breast is best!

Supermom #1:  Seriously, having a baby is the best thing in the world.  But before you have one, please please please ENJOY every part of your current baby-free life.  I have no regrets about having children, but I want to make sure you really enjoy your life before you have your first one.  Take a vacation, sleep in, go to the movies.  Please.  Do it for me.

Supermom #2:  The labor will go by so fast, you will not even remember anything.  Other than the scars and the stitches, or the fact that your husband has seen things he cannot unsee and will never look at you the same.  There is also the many hours of a pain so intense you ask for someone to murder you, and the mess afterwards, but otherwise, it is a blur. And as women we are built for this, so you have do it.  Natural.  It is the only way.

Supermom #3:  Just try breastfeeding and see how you feel.  I mean, you HAVE to do it for the first two months, which is the hardest time anyways.  Until they get teeth…but before you know it, a year is over!

It is all practice

Today, we had a midwife** appointment, and when she asked me how I am doing, I replied, ‘Great!’  Cause, you know, small talk, right?  But Pedram, who was slumped on the chair next to me, was like “what? great??  this pregnancy is so difficult”

I feel for the guy.  The problem is that Pedram is my only source of venting, so we have arranged for a good session of Mahsa complaining and pouting everynight.  I don’t like to complain to others (other than my sister), but feel very very comfortable doing it to Pedram, depositing all my angst and frustrations and fears and problems onto him.  We often have weeknight therapy sessions, in which afterwards I feel much better and he probably feels like, well, going to see a shrink.  Also, he gets to hear in vivid detail about my dreams, which probably entitles him to a few extra sessions of therapy, cause my dreams were always vivid and scary before, but now, they are straight out of a sci-fi thriller film.  I should write them down and sell them to Hollywood.

We still do not have any friends here, so really, he is all I have.  So when I am sick and need tissues and drugs in the middle of the night, Pedram runs to get them.  He cancels plans, he makes soup, he cleans the entire house, he runs back to the store because I need oranges.  And twenty minutes later, he goes back to the store because I actually want orange juice.

In the first trimester, I spent a great deal of time complaining about people, and the smells, and EWWW…is that garlic??  Take it away from me.  NOW! and I am claustrophobic, please do not get near me and can you stop making that noise, and please please please stop touching your face.  Because I am claustrophobic and you touching your face makes me want to die.  Also, I can’t stand the smell of our entire apartment.  Please fix it.

A few weeks ago, when I spotted raw chicken (EWWW!) and then proceed to vomit spicy red Indian curry sauce all over the bed, the carpet, his fresh pile of clean clothes, the wall, the bathroom and myself, he didn’t hesitate to clean up.  Actually, that is not true.  The scene was straight out of a horror film, so he took a minute to compose himself before asking me “how did you manage to spray everything but completely missed the toilet?”

Sleeping is becoming more difficult for me, regardless of how many pillows I prop in bed.  And when my ectopic heartbeat (a skipped beat which feels like someone is pounding on my chest) was freaking me out and preventing me from sleeping, I hurried us both to the Emergency room, where for 4 hours we waited for a doctor to see me. And tell us everything we already knew before sending us home at 3am.

The whining, the crying, the lack of sleep, the viruses, the endless cleaning, the vomit and its aftermath, it has been a tough 6 months for Mr. P.  I feel like things are going great, but he is slowly losing it.  But this is all great preparation for the wonderful joys of parenthood, right?

** at some point I am going to talk about the British health system and midwives, especially since someone specifically asked me about it.  Some day.

My thoughts on Senegal (sorry, no pregnancy talk)

When I first arrived in Senegal for my study abroad, it was January 2001.  My parents were freaked out by me going to a sub-Saharan country, but were reassured by the fact that Senegal is one of the more successful post-colonial African countries in terms of democracy.  I landed in Dakar during an interesting time — they had just elected their third president, Abdoulaye Wade, a man with extraordinary vision and hope.  Since independence in 1960, Senegal had only had two leaders — the widely adored pro-Africa Senghor and his protege Abdou Diouf, each serving about 20 years.  People were ready for a change, and there was much excitement about the possibilities of Wade’s future.

In April, Senegalese people, including my host family, went to participate in the National Assembly elections.  I felt fortunate to be able to witness the election process, and to engage in the many conversations about democracy and change during that time.

Sadly, when I returned in 2003, the bubble of hope had deflated in so many ways.  People had mixed feelings about the infrastructural changes Wade had implemented, the seemingly endless highways being built and presidential planes while many social needs were neglected.  Some complained that he focused to much on modernizing the city’s capital for tourists.  Others told me that schools were being built without teachers to fill them.  And there were still people holding out on hope, insisting that Wade’s game plan would help them all, pointing to the increased economic activity.  People were happy with the ends but not the means in which this was happening.

That said, Wade was re-elected in 2007 for a second term.  Under his new constitution, the President could only hold two terms, each now reduced from 7 years to 5 years.  But as his time approached an end, Wade argued that the two-term rule would not apply to him.  The suspiciously partial judicial system agreed, and in the Presidential elections this past weekend, his name was on the ballot.  Although he did not garner enough votes to avoid a face-off, he still leads the count.  This is a very different person than when I was there 12 years ago.  He is now facing many claims of corruption — including giving IMF officials bagfuls of money, nepotism, and continuous changes to the Constitution without debate.  He built a $27 million USD statue in Dakar while his country is highly dependent on foreign aid and suffering from unemployment, food shocks and dependency.  Sadly, it remains as one of the least-developed countries in the world.

Senegal, a country that prides itself on democracy, is now being grouped with other countries that have fallen to the selfishness and power-hungry elite.  I follow the stories and posts of my host-family members and friends in Dakar, who reveal day by day the frustrations of political instability.  A season of anger is related by Senegalese rappers, who claim “y’en a marre” — they have had enough.  The normally placid streets are filled with protestors and armed police.  But what does it take to stop a single person’s determination to keep power?

In my program, we often discuss good governance and rule of law.  But I can’t help but wonder about people in public office and their selfishness.  Senegal is known as an oasis of good political practice, an example for many of its neighbors.  It has never had a coup d’etat or military intervention.  The country is filled with proud people, who believe that things can be better, and that the current repressive administration needs to go.  But yet, (as witnessed many times over in Arab Spring movements), an ego-filled delusion leader is willing to sacrifice the people he claims to serve in his own pursuits.

With the run-off now planned in March, I am hopeful that Wade will listen to his citizen’s demands.  His time as President has come to an end — and he can either be remembered as someone who bravely and humbly stepped aside to ensure the progress of his country.  Or he could be known in history as the person who was responsible for demise and destabilization of Senegal.

I wait with baited breath and send my thoughts and prayers of peace and justice to Senegal.

have nothing to say

Am sick. Again. Third time this pregnancy. I blame this on all the foreign bugs and viruses my classmates bring with them to lecture, who sit next to me and accidentally cough in my direction. I am convinced the current version I am carrying is some sort of South Korean flavor of a cold.

Being sick and pregnant sucks. Taking care of someone sick and pregnant must really suck, but I wouldn’t know because Pedram is not allowed to complain in my presence. I have all whining, complaining and pouting rights in the house. However, practice makes perfect, and Pedram has a chicken soup recipe down pat. And makes a mean cocktail of hot water, lemon and honey. I am sure this will become handy when he becomes a mother father to another a baby soon.

And so, I have nothing more to say.  But I will share with you the one thing that has made me smile all weekend, a little surprise from Pedram when nurse Rusby came by to visit.

The big love day

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

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.