It is finally sunny out! Husband has the kids and I'm sitting in an outdoor cafe. There are two Jack Russells at the table next to me. Which is SO normal here, right? Not only that but the waiter comes up to hand them the bill (the owners, not the dogs) and the dogs lunge at him (luckily they are on leashes), barking and attempt to bite him. The waiter jumps back and then laughs and comments on how surprised he is that the dogs are yapping at him because he has owned Jack Russells and has such a good "rapport" with them generally. NO ONE seems miffed by the fact that the dogs have taken over that corner of the cafe. Or that they almost bit the waiter. It's a matter of course. I thought the waiter was going to apologize for upsetting the dogs!
What makes this so much more unbelievable to me is that when I take my kids to a cafe (which I do NOT since Bebe has been past baby stage), my kids are scowled at, and, if one of them dares drop a spoon on the floor I'm sure we are about to be kicked out.
That's the French. Bring your dogs, leave your kids at home.
Tuesday, 13 March 2012
Mean Minnie
This weekend we took the kids to Disneyland Paris. Husband has fond memories of going with his dad and he has been dying to take Bebe since she was 2. I’ve been able to delay this ordeal (because really our girls don't even know the Disney stuff or care. Except for princesses and frankly they'd be happy to just go somewhere and see princess crap).
Knowing it’s a pricey adventure, months ago, I signed up for every website notification service available, waiting to spot a promotional deal on tickets.
Another family asked us to go last weekend and, even though I couldn’t find any promotions online, (or ticket prices), I figured maybe we’d score the child free with purchase of adult ticket – we’ve seen ads plastered all over the metros all winter.
Even though Disney is only about 30 minutes from our apartment, our kids were whining “are we there yet?” the entire ride. We finally arrive, for out fifteen euros to park miles away. We exit the car and embark on the journey towards the park entrance. THREE moving sidewalks to get to the end of the parking lot! Another mile till we hit security. Bebe starts to freak out “Are we going to the airport?” which is her idea of hell. At the same time, she is already entranced by the Princess vending machines outside the parking lot! We could've stopped there, called it a day and saved about $300. Oy. Through security and then we are only at the entrance to "the village". Another mile, the girls asking where are we going and more importantly WHY are we going, since they still have no idea what “Disneyland” is (I'm wondering the same thing) and we finally find the line to buy tickets. I do not understand how so many people can AFFORD to go to Disneyland. As I said, the website was impossible to navigate and all of the promos I had seen led me to believe it would be about 24 euros each. Tickets are 59 euros each! (Thank god Miss Pudding is free) but at that point we aren’t not going to go in!
SO we cough up a small fortune and enter. All goes ok, Bebe nods at the Disney "castle" (but I have to say, the kid has grown up seeing so many chateau sprinkled all over, visiting chateau gardens on the weekend as a playground spot that unless Cinderella walks out and greets us , herself, it is just another "castle" (and this time fake) to her. Mostly our girls are excited to meet up with their friends. We could have saved chunk of change and had a playdate in a parking lot an they would have been happy.
All goes surprisingly well, no meltdowns until lunch. Our friends (who were regular visitors courtesy of a huge company discount on tickets) suggest we eat at the Cowboy Grill - one of the Disney eateries where the characters join you for lunch. Hey, we are all the way here and the whole point is for the kids to see the characters - though, frankly, my kids don't know much about Mickey and the crowd. Again, we plunk down a small fortune for lunch (a pre fixe menu you pay a huge premium for the privilege of dining with Mickey and his cronies).
Fortunately, the place is relatively empty so I am sure our group of five girls will get plenty of face time with the Disney gang. Amped up and excited all five girls dash over to where they see Mickey and Minnie mouse hanging out. Two minutes later they come back, upset and fighting back tears. "Minnie Mouse was mean to us! She told us to go away!"
"Yeah, mom we went up to her and she went like this!" Bebe put her hand up making a “stop” gesture.
Minnie Mouse gave our kids The Hand? What's next - the finger? Are you kidding me?
The girls rally and head off, en masse, to say hello to Daffy Duck, the two littlest ones following in the wake of the older girls.
They come running back. "Daffy Duck is mean too!" He shook his finger at us and pointed for us to go away!"
Give me a break! I understand these characters may not want to be swarmed with kids but honestly the place is practically empty. The whole point of this "restaurant" is to hang out with the characters! It's Disneyland for goodness sake. Only in France would Minnie Mouse be a bitch.
The girls sat at our table, anxiously awaiting the arrival of their adored Minnie Mouse, who was taking her time circulating the room. She visits every table except ours. I can’t believe I’m having to hold kids back and keep them calmly entertained at Disneyland. The other mom I was with, a tough Swiss lady, is about to go tell off Minnie Mouse when she finally comes over to our table.
Minnie makes a half assed attempt at deigning us with her presence. Luckily , the Disney Country Band starts up and a bunch more characters come out and start rocking out to Happy Birthday at the table next to us.
Even in Disneyland, the Parisian snideness seeps in. Luckiily, this was a one and only Paris Disney trip for us.
In the car, on the way home, Bebe pipes up, "Daddy, when you were little was Minnie Mouse mean?" So this is my kid's memory of Disneyland.
Knowing it’s a pricey adventure, months ago, I signed up for every website notification service available, waiting to spot a promotional deal on tickets.
Another family asked us to go last weekend and, even though I couldn’t find any promotions online, (or ticket prices), I figured maybe we’d score the child free with purchase of adult ticket – we’ve seen ads plastered all over the metros all winter.
Even though Disney is only about 30 minutes from our apartment, our kids were whining “are we there yet?” the entire ride. We finally arrive, for out fifteen euros to park miles away. We exit the car and embark on the journey towards the park entrance. THREE moving sidewalks to get to the end of the parking lot! Another mile till we hit security. Bebe starts to freak out “Are we going to the airport?” which is her idea of hell. At the same time, she is already entranced by the Princess vending machines outside the parking lot! We could've stopped there, called it a day and saved about $300. Oy. Through security and then we are only at the entrance to "the village". Another mile, the girls asking where are we going and more importantly WHY are we going, since they still have no idea what “Disneyland” is (I'm wondering the same thing) and we finally find the line to buy tickets. I do not understand how so many people can AFFORD to go to Disneyland. As I said, the website was impossible to navigate and all of the promos I had seen led me to believe it would be about 24 euros each. Tickets are 59 euros each! (Thank god Miss Pudding is free) but at that point we aren’t not going to go in!
SO we cough up a small fortune and enter. All goes ok, Bebe nods at the Disney "castle" (but I have to say, the kid has grown up seeing so many chateau sprinkled all over, visiting chateau gardens on the weekend as a playground spot that unless Cinderella walks out and greets us , herself, it is just another "castle" (and this time fake) to her. Mostly our girls are excited to meet up with their friends. We could have saved chunk of change and had a playdate in a parking lot an they would have been happy.
All goes surprisingly well, no meltdowns until lunch. Our friends (who were regular visitors courtesy of a huge company discount on tickets) suggest we eat at the Cowboy Grill - one of the Disney eateries where the characters join you for lunch. Hey, we are all the way here and the whole point is for the kids to see the characters - though, frankly, my kids don't know much about Mickey and the crowd. Again, we plunk down a small fortune for lunch (a pre fixe menu you pay a huge premium for the privilege of dining with Mickey and his cronies).
Fortunately, the place is relatively empty so I am sure our group of five girls will get plenty of face time with the Disney gang. Amped up and excited all five girls dash over to where they see Mickey and Minnie mouse hanging out. Two minutes later they come back, upset and fighting back tears. "Minnie Mouse was mean to us! She told us to go away!"
"Yeah, mom we went up to her and she went like this!" Bebe put her hand up making a “stop” gesture.
Minnie Mouse gave our kids The Hand? What's next - the finger? Are you kidding me?
The girls rally and head off, en masse, to say hello to Daffy Duck, the two littlest ones following in the wake of the older girls.
They come running back. "Daffy Duck is mean too!" He shook his finger at us and pointed for us to go away!"
Give me a break! I understand these characters may not want to be swarmed with kids but honestly the place is practically empty. The whole point of this "restaurant" is to hang out with the characters! It's Disneyland for goodness sake. Only in France would Minnie Mouse be a bitch.
The girls sat at our table, anxiously awaiting the arrival of their adored Minnie Mouse, who was taking her time circulating the room. She visits every table except ours. I can’t believe I’m having to hold kids back and keep them calmly entertained at Disneyland. The other mom I was with, a tough Swiss lady, is about to go tell off Minnie Mouse when she finally comes over to our table.
Minnie makes a half assed attempt at deigning us with her presence. Luckily , the Disney Country Band starts up and a bunch more characters come out and start rocking out to Happy Birthday at the table next to us.
Even in Disneyland, the Parisian snideness seeps in. Luckiily, this was a one and only Paris Disney trip for us.
In the car, on the way home, Bebe pipes up, "Daddy, when you were little was Minnie Mouse mean?" So this is my kid's memory of Disneyland.
Saturday, 18 February 2012
Carnavale
We are back in Bonvicino! Arrived yesterday after a hellish journey (more on that later). Today, blue skies and lots of snow. Lunch with good friends (pasta hand made by grandma, eggs from the chickens outside, home grown salad and home made vino!) The girls ate as if they had been starved for months. Then off to Carnavale in Dogliani - costumes and confetti, biscotti for the children. Juggler and balloon lady (of course they are friends of friends).
Monday, 14 November 2011
Metro to School
us city and Petite did great again this am but still the task of getting out our apartment door, down 4 flights of stairs, across 3 major intersections, down 4 more flights to very busy metro during commute time, with Petite fussing with her shoes or socks or something that's bothering her, getting her on to crowded metro (at least this one goes above ground for part of the time!) For 6 stops. Then she has to go to the toilet at stop 4 so we get off at stop 5. She's fussing with her socks.
She decided to wear a coat and earmuffs even though it’s probably going to be 70 degrees (and I worry because I think the school insists they wear whatever outerwear they bring to school. Unlike in San Francisco where everyone is used to layers - dressing for winter in the morning and by afternoon, stripping down to tshirt and shorts).
So she's wearing a long sleeve shirt and pants with a dress over it and her new chic black boots, topped with a padded red coat grandma got her for fall. And earmuffs! Everyone else is enjoying the final days of Indian summer, sporting linen slacks and short sleeves.
And now, three stops away from our destination, squeezed between a scowling business man and an elderly Parisian lady, Petite announces that she needs the toilet. Luckily, I know that there is a Starbucks across the street from the next metro stop.
We get off one stop early, again fussing with the socks and boots all the way down the metro stairs. Across 2 major intersections and into Starbucks to use the toilet (thank god its there).
I don't know if Petite is more easily distracted than other kids or not but she's either constantly asking me intricate quesions (like "why does that motorcycle have a seat that's high and another have a seta that's low? Why does that mans coat buckle in the back?") Or commenting on the scenery.
As she’s sitting on the Starbucks toilet, I’m balancing her pile of winter outerwear in one arm while my other arm helps to steady her. She’s commenting nonstop like Seinfeld doing a routine,
"Look at that funny sink! Why are the handles shaped like that? Look at that garbage. How did they get that in here? Why do they have tiny garbage cans next to the toilet? That coat hook is broken! Look! Why is there a picture of a coffee bean on the wall?”
Meanwhile I'm anxious about getting her to school on time since they do NOT tolerate lateness. Having never been late I'm not sure exactly what the penalty would be but I imagine something inbetween a harsh reprimand for me, god just not letting her in! Another mom told me she is late on a daily basis since she has to get 3 kids to 2 different campuses. But she struck me as one of those moms who either started off tough skinned or got that way as a result of mothering three children close in age.
Finished with toileting at Starbucks we begin the 6 block walk to school, Petite complaining that she's too tired to walk and admonishing me for not bringing the stroller. Good grief.
I interpret this as her anxiety about going to school. Luckily when we get there, she runs right in to her class
She decided to wear a coat and earmuffs even though it’s probably going to be 70 degrees (and I worry because I think the school insists they wear whatever outerwear they bring to school. Unlike in San Francisco where everyone is used to layers - dressing for winter in the morning and by afternoon, stripping down to tshirt and shorts).
So she's wearing a long sleeve shirt and pants with a dress over it and her new chic black boots, topped with a padded red coat grandma got her for fall. And earmuffs! Everyone else is enjoying the final days of Indian summer, sporting linen slacks and short sleeves.
And now, three stops away from our destination, squeezed between a scowling business man and an elderly Parisian lady, Petite announces that she needs the toilet. Luckily, I know that there is a Starbucks across the street from the next metro stop.
We get off one stop early, again fussing with the socks and boots all the way down the metro stairs. Across 2 major intersections and into Starbucks to use the toilet (thank god its there).
I don't know if Petite is more easily distracted than other kids or not but she's either constantly asking me intricate quesions (like "why does that motorcycle have a seat that's high and another have a seta that's low? Why does that mans coat buckle in the back?") Or commenting on the scenery.
As she’s sitting on the Starbucks toilet, I’m balancing her pile of winter outerwear in one arm while my other arm helps to steady her. She’s commenting nonstop like Seinfeld doing a routine,
"Look at that funny sink! Why are the handles shaped like that? Look at that garbage. How did they get that in here? Why do they have tiny garbage cans next to the toilet? That coat hook is broken! Look! Why is there a picture of a coffee bean on the wall?”
Meanwhile I'm anxious about getting her to school on time since they do NOT tolerate lateness. Having never been late I'm not sure exactly what the penalty would be but I imagine something inbetween a harsh reprimand for me, god just not letting her in! Another mom told me she is late on a daily basis since she has to get 3 kids to 2 different campuses. But she struck me as one of those moms who either started off tough skinned or got that way as a result of mothering three children close in age.
Finished with toileting at Starbucks we begin the 6 block walk to school, Petite complaining that she's too tired to walk and admonishing me for not bringing the stroller. Good grief.
I interpret this as her anxiety about going to school. Luckily when we get there, she runs right in to her class
Saturday, 13 November 2010
No Sex in the City
Night out with hubbie
Ok so we tried to have a "date night"
I mean, its been 4 years - 5 if you count being preg and how much that sucked - without regular babysitting or much non kid time together
We have plenty of time together with kids
Too much. How awful is it to say that? Too much family time? I'm a horrible mom and wife
Husb clearly loooves family time
How bout "no sex in the city". Did I ever have a sex drive? I think I did at some point
When I was 16 and a horny teenager in the back of the car
Yeegads - in those days we wouldve given a limb just to have some hours alone!
Now I have every night and an apt (well - granted we aren't alone since the 16 mth old and 4 yo both seem to migrate into our bed during the night) and sex is not only the furthest thing from my mind but I actually avoid it!
My fantasy is a whole bed in a room to myself for a night! Not some climbing on me and crawling on me
I already have 2 munchkins who do that
So how do other women get their sex drive back (guess it helps if you've got one to begin with)
Surely feeling fat and wearing maternity pants 16 mths after daughter #2 was born doesn't help
I used to workout every day! Jeez. I haven't seen a gym in 2 years.
Date starts out "great". We sit down at our old cafe - the one we went to in our old hood, before kids. It's heated (very un French) even though it's not cold outside (despite the fact that its mid November). I take off my sweater and my husb says "looks like we need to take you shirt shopping"
Thus follows 15 mins of "discussion" bordering on furious argument, with each of us suggestting we just end the date and go home. Apparently he meant to be funny (I have yet to understand how that comment would possibly provoke a laugh on my part). Of course I felt embarrassed and shlumpy. I already feel fat and unfashionable. That comment didn't help
Nor did the next 10 mins of me feeling like I had to make HIM feel better since he was wounded because I took his comment offensively
Hello? What is wrong here? Does anyone else experience this?
Ok so we tried to have a "date night"
I mean, its been 4 years - 5 if you count being preg and how much that sucked - without regular babysitting or much non kid time together
We have plenty of time together with kids
Too much. How awful is it to say that? Too much family time? I'm a horrible mom and wife
Husb clearly loooves family time
How bout "no sex in the city". Did I ever have a sex drive? I think I did at some point
When I was 16 and a horny teenager in the back of the car
Yeegads - in those days we wouldve given a limb just to have some hours alone!
Now I have every night and an apt (well - granted we aren't alone since the 16 mth old and 4 yo both seem to migrate into our bed during the night) and sex is not only the furthest thing from my mind but I actually avoid it!
My fantasy is a whole bed in a room to myself for a night! Not some climbing on me and crawling on me
I already have 2 munchkins who do that
So how do other women get their sex drive back (guess it helps if you've got one to begin with)
Surely feeling fat and wearing maternity pants 16 mths after daughter #2 was born doesn't help
I used to workout every day! Jeez. I haven't seen a gym in 2 years.
Date starts out "great". We sit down at our old cafe - the one we went to in our old hood, before kids. It's heated (very un French) even though it's not cold outside (despite the fact that its mid November). I take off my sweater and my husb says "looks like we need to take you shirt shopping"
Thus follows 15 mins of "discussion" bordering on furious argument, with each of us suggestting we just end the date and go home. Apparently he meant to be funny (I have yet to understand how that comment would possibly provoke a laugh on my part). Of course I felt embarrassed and shlumpy. I already feel fat and unfashionable. That comment didn't help
Nor did the next 10 mins of me feeling like I had to make HIM feel better since he was wounded because I took his comment offensively
Hello? What is wrong here? Does anyone else experience this?
Thursday, 30 September 2010
Peace Monument Paris
Since my hands and brain have been fully occupied by my toddler and preschooler since we moved back to Paris a month ago, I've been completely out of the loop regarding world events.
Forget world events, if it doesn't have to do with my daughter's pre-k class, night time toilet training or securing a place in halte garderie, I'm pretty much clueless.
So much so that, despite living several blocks from the Eiffel Tower, I had no idea it had been under terrorist threat recently. Until last night when my mother called from California. Trying to hide the concern in her voice, she informed me that it had been evactuated twice in the past week or so and advised me to steer clear.
News to me since you wouldn't be able to tell from the hordes of tourists who continue to swarm the area, enjoying the warm fall weather.
Most recently, I took my 15 month old out for a walk in the Champs de Mars. Since becoming a parent, I've found that children, like dogs, do best in open, yet fenced in spaces, where they can run wild, where jumping on passerby isn't going to cause a lawsuit, and, at least in France, where you can take them over to the side for a pee, if necessary... Gone are the days of toodling through a museum. I'm becoming an expert on open green spaces where children (and dogs) are accepted.
A grey, rainy day, I popped my daughter in the stroller and jogged her over to the Champs de Mars where, like a dog, I unleashed her onto the lawn to romp and play.
She toddled over to the Peace Monument, attracted by the stairs which she proceeded to climb and descend repeatedly, interrupting more than several tourist photos. Despite my attempts to distract her, Azalia was drawn like a moth to the flashbulbs of tourist cameras, madly clicking pics of the Eiffel Tower.
She hopped down the steps, plopped her pink sneakers right into a puddle, splashing her way over to a Japanese couple, sitting for wedding photos.
As I leaped to pull her back before Azalia dove straight into the camera bag (since her father is a photographer she assumes all cameras are her personal toy box), the two young photo assistants came over and beckoned her towards them. Azalia happily toddled over as they cooed to her in Japanese, suddenly all cameras focused on my scrappy little peanut, sopping wet and splattered with mud, her curly hair forming a frizzy halo around her head.
Embarrassed (I would certainly be considered a negligent mother by French standards!) I tried to pull her away from her paparazzi. Politely, the assistants asked if they could have my permission to photograph my child. I looked at my muddy little muffin who was beaming happily at the cameras and over at the bride and groom who were now being entirely ignored.
The bride left her soon the be husband and pressed her bouquet into Azalia's tiny hands. Now the center of the photo shoot, Azalia was having a ball, giggling and coohing with glee while the photographer clicked away and I tried to keep her muddy paws off the bride's dress.
The groom, apparently tired of sitting by himself, wandered over to join the crowd. The photo shoot continued - bride and groom posing in front of the Peace Monument, only now with Azalia, dressed in an old blue fleece, splattered with mud, her "bear ears" poking out of the top of the hood, standing in between them.
Somewhere in Japan, people are going to be looking at this couple's lovely Paris wedding pictures
And wondering who is that muddy blue eyed frizzy haired toddler?
Forget world events, if it doesn't have to do with my daughter's pre-k class, night time toilet training or securing a place in halte garderie, I'm pretty much clueless.
So much so that, despite living several blocks from the Eiffel Tower, I had no idea it had been under terrorist threat recently. Until last night when my mother called from California. Trying to hide the concern in her voice, she informed me that it had been evactuated twice in the past week or so and advised me to steer clear.
News to me since you wouldn't be able to tell from the hordes of tourists who continue to swarm the area, enjoying the warm fall weather.
Most recently, I took my 15 month old out for a walk in the Champs de Mars. Since becoming a parent, I've found that children, like dogs, do best in open, yet fenced in spaces, where they can run wild, where jumping on passerby isn't going to cause a lawsuit, and, at least in France, where you can take them over to the side for a pee, if necessary... Gone are the days of toodling through a museum. I'm becoming an expert on open green spaces where children (and dogs) are accepted.
A grey, rainy day, I popped my daughter in the stroller and jogged her over to the Champs de Mars where, like a dog, I unleashed her onto the lawn to romp and play.
She toddled over to the Peace Monument, attracted by the stairs which she proceeded to climb and descend repeatedly, interrupting more than several tourist photos. Despite my attempts to distract her, Azalia was drawn like a moth to the flashbulbs of tourist cameras, madly clicking pics of the Eiffel Tower.
She hopped down the steps, plopped her pink sneakers right into a puddle, splashing her way over to a Japanese couple, sitting for wedding photos.
As I leaped to pull her back before Azalia dove straight into the camera bag (since her father is a photographer she assumes all cameras are her personal toy box), the two young photo assistants came over and beckoned her towards them. Azalia happily toddled over as they cooed to her in Japanese, suddenly all cameras focused on my scrappy little peanut, sopping wet and splattered with mud, her curly hair forming a frizzy halo around her head.
Embarrassed (I would certainly be considered a negligent mother by French standards!) I tried to pull her away from her paparazzi. Politely, the assistants asked if they could have my permission to photograph my child. I looked at my muddy little muffin who was beaming happily at the cameras and over at the bride and groom who were now being entirely ignored.
The bride left her soon the be husband and pressed her bouquet into Azalia's tiny hands. Now the center of the photo shoot, Azalia was having a ball, giggling and coohing with glee while the photographer clicked away and I tried to keep her muddy paws off the bride's dress.
The groom, apparently tired of sitting by himself, wandered over to join the crowd. The photo shoot continued - bride and groom posing in front of the Peace Monument, only now with Azalia, dressed in an old blue fleece, splattered with mud, her "bear ears" poking out of the top of the hood, standing in between them.
Somewhere in Japan, people are going to be looking at this couple's lovely Paris wedding pictures
And wondering who is that muddy blue eyed frizzy haired toddler?
Sunday, 3 May 2009
Pregnant Mama
What am I doing here? There is certainly part of me that is in shock/awe that, not only am I pregnant with my second child - something I had never predicted in my wildest dreams…but that I now seem to be living in the countryside in Piemonte, Italy. I step out on the balcony or gaze out from the patio and I am in awe. It’s absolutely gorgeous here. I have always (well, since after college) been drawn to countryside and wild places. But I can’t believe I am actually living here. I am a city girl – born in NYC, bred in SF. Sure I went to summer camp as a kid (and hated all the social cattiness of it). I grew up skiing, water skiing and doing similar “outdoor leisure sports” but I was never an outdoorsy kid. My folks didn’t take us backpacking or hiking. Of course we did the odd weekend campout when I was in preschool – the excitement of sleeping in a tent, roasting marshmallows. But I have always lived somewhere where I stepped out my front door onto concrete. Now I step outside and watch out that wild hogs aren’t on the loose. In hunting season, we have to be careful not to get shot on our own property.
It’s so quiet here. Quiet in a non-city noise way. Other than that, there are birds chirping, owls hooting, the donkey up on the road moaning, wild boars calling out to mates, and cows mooing in the distance. Thankfully, there are no roosters within earshot.
In my current state of pregnancy – well into my third trimester, I am not sure how much my overwhelm is due to normal anxiety about having a baby, having a second, taking care of the first while trying not to neglect the second and vice versa and how much is just “oh my god what the f- am I doing in the countryside of Italy about to have a baby?”
I’m going to have this baby in an ITALIAN hospital for gods sake. I can barely order pizza in Italian and I’m going to, not only have a baby, but have a c-section. Which means it will not be the typical in and out drive through process of the USA. I’m going to be there for DAYS. And, unlike the birth of Isabelle, Clay will not be with me round the clock. For one thing, public hospitals here don’t allow partners to sleep over. For another, Hubbie has to take care of Bebe and really, she is my first concern. Which leaves me pretty much fending for myself in a foreign hospital in a foreign country, speaking a foreign language…not that my first hospital experience was so grand (with Isabelle) – in a posh, private highly acclaimed hospital in Washington DC. I felt like the entire experience from admission to check out was a comedy of errors. Although it wasn’t so comic at the time. It certainly felt like none of the staff had a clue about what they were doing (which isn’t rocket science. Delivering babies IS what one does on a maternity ward for goodness sake). So, honestly, I can’t imagine this experience being much worse.
Yet, my anxiety mounts. How will I ask for pain meds? I don’t even remember knowing I needed them last time, I was so out of it. I will be sharing a room. I can barely manage small talk at the café, how am I going to chat with my “roommate” when I’m in the worst shape of my life? Last time I wasn’t able to sit up or roll over or pick up the baby and I relied completely on my husband to bring her to me for nursing. How will I manage? Will I have to ring the nurses constantly to bring her to me? What if they give her sugar water or a bottle in the nursery, against my wishes? How will I even know?
And once I am out of the hospital…oy the recovery. I don’t relish another c-section recovery. The first was less than enjoyable and now I know what’s coming. I’m worried my daughter (2.9) will feel neglected by me when I can’t pick her up or hold her the same way because of the surgery. I’m worried she will feel put out by the baby. I’m worried about being on our own in a foreign country. Hubbie hurt is knee yesterday and I almost flew into a panic. I’ve never felt so vulnerable before. I feel like I rely on him completely here (for language and now for everything physical, including picking up our daughter). I used to feel so independent. I led wilderness trips in Yosemite, chased bears out of campsites, climbed high altitude mountains! I never felt invincible, but I certainly felt in control. Now I feel…vulnerable.
It’s so quiet here. Quiet in a non-city noise way. Other than that, there are birds chirping, owls hooting, the donkey up on the road moaning, wild boars calling out to mates, and cows mooing in the distance. Thankfully, there are no roosters within earshot.
In my current state of pregnancy – well into my third trimester, I am not sure how much my overwhelm is due to normal anxiety about having a baby, having a second, taking care of the first while trying not to neglect the second and vice versa and how much is just “oh my god what the f- am I doing in the countryside of Italy about to have a baby?”
I’m going to have this baby in an ITALIAN hospital for gods sake. I can barely order pizza in Italian and I’m going to, not only have a baby, but have a c-section. Which means it will not be the typical in and out drive through process of the USA. I’m going to be there for DAYS. And, unlike the birth of Isabelle, Clay will not be with me round the clock. For one thing, public hospitals here don’t allow partners to sleep over. For another, Hubbie has to take care of Bebe and really, she is my first concern. Which leaves me pretty much fending for myself in a foreign hospital in a foreign country, speaking a foreign language…not that my first hospital experience was so grand (with Isabelle) – in a posh, private highly acclaimed hospital in Washington DC. I felt like the entire experience from admission to check out was a comedy of errors. Although it wasn’t so comic at the time. It certainly felt like none of the staff had a clue about what they were doing (which isn’t rocket science. Delivering babies IS what one does on a maternity ward for goodness sake). So, honestly, I can’t imagine this experience being much worse.
Yet, my anxiety mounts. How will I ask for pain meds? I don’t even remember knowing I needed them last time, I was so out of it. I will be sharing a room. I can barely manage small talk at the café, how am I going to chat with my “roommate” when I’m in the worst shape of my life? Last time I wasn’t able to sit up or roll over or pick up the baby and I relied completely on my husband to bring her to me for nursing. How will I manage? Will I have to ring the nurses constantly to bring her to me? What if they give her sugar water or a bottle in the nursery, against my wishes? How will I even know?
And once I am out of the hospital…oy the recovery. I don’t relish another c-section recovery. The first was less than enjoyable and now I know what’s coming. I’m worried my daughter (2.9) will feel neglected by me when I can’t pick her up or hold her the same way because of the surgery. I’m worried she will feel put out by the baby. I’m worried about being on our own in a foreign country. Hubbie hurt is knee yesterday and I almost flew into a panic. I’ve never felt so vulnerable before. I feel like I rely on him completely here (for language and now for everything physical, including picking up our daughter). I used to feel so independent. I led wilderness trips in Yosemite, chased bears out of campsites, climbed high altitude mountains! I never felt invincible, but I certainly felt in control. Now I feel…vulnerable.
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