Hiatus

You might have guessed that the silence means that our son was born... And there I was thinking I could have a baby and still blog as usual... Turns out I can't! So here's informing you that I'm on a break for a while. Will be back with plenty of childbirth stories soon. Or maybe I'll spare you the details and let the photos do the talking...

Scatterbrains

On Saturday Krusty went to the local shop to buy us both an ice cream, and halfway through his selection he started thinking that I might be in labour at home. Hurrying back to my side, just in case, he was quickly brought back to reality by the screaming shopkeeper who had followed him out onto the street to let him know that he had not paid!

Good to know I'm not the only one with a one track mind at the moment!

Drunken secretaries and boum boum crickets

Krusty and I have long been trying to find something that we can use to further his French education, but so far, no luck.

I started with baby books, but Krusty is just not interested in those, and I tend to understand. We tried the news on the French TV channel, but he's just not ready to understand running commentary without pressing pause at every word. We tried reading the sentences of financial newspapers, but I'm just not ready to stay awake for long enough to see him through it.

And so we stumbled on a magazine supplement called "100 choses à savoir sur la fête quand on est un homme", or "100 things to know about partying for men". And it seems to be working.

Perhaps it's the feeling of not letting go of our social life even when we actually have dialled outings right down in preparation for bambino, or perhaps it's just the opportunity to learn slang like "empiffrer" (to stuff one's face) and "guincher" (party), but it seems to be working.

Every night we read a chapter together, and it has the double benefit of giving me an opportunity to keep Krusty's morals in check - we're on the office party section, and last night's chapter was entitled "Tu n'abuseras pas de la secrétaire ivre au pot de fin d'année", or "You won't abuse the drunken secretary at the end of year party". That's right Krusty, there'll be no office romances in this family!

In exchange for my linguistic knowledge, Krusty is trying to teach me the virtues of zen philosophy, and blocking out sounds that could be stressful (ie every sound in Hong Kong, really). And so, when he comes home and I complain that the THREE sets of jackhammers in our neighbourhood have been at it for 10 hours straight, he just replies "How can these noises bother you? I manage to live here and not even hear a single sound." Never mind the fact that this might be because he's not actually at home all day listening to them...

And so, Krusty's exercise for me today is to consider the jackhammers, who seem to be answering each other in intensity as soon as another one starts, as just a bunch of crickets in Provence, gently calling out to each other in relaxing, rolling rhythms.

Far from me to want to contradict Krusty's idea that a jackhammer could be likened to a cricket, so here's a little extract recorded in our lounge this morning at 9am. That's right, all windows closed, just me sitting on the sofa with the recorder. Perhaps I should send this recording to a spa for their massage soundtrack... You decide: relaxing or mind-blowingly unhealthy?!

Les couilles de bambino

Speaking of boys, I went for a quick check up yesterday, as planned.

Unfortunately the news was not good - bambino has managed to turn back the wrong way up. Either that, or he never turned head down in the first place (I never understood how the nurses could tell by just feeling my tummy, surely an ultrasound is the only real way to find out?). In any case, his GIANT head is now nowhere near the exit point, which means two things: I could be experiencing the joys of ECV soon; or I could be having a C-section.

The only way out of the C-section that I reallllly don't want (there are 30 steps leading up to our flat, I don't necessarily want to experience them under the influence of post-operatic shock) is ECV - or External Cephalic Version. That's where they try to turn the bub around manually from the outside. It would be done about two weeks from now. If he can't turn around himself for lack of space at this stage in the game, you can imagine what it will feel like to be forced around by ruthless medical staff when he's gained a few more grams. I already find normal examinations painful...

Not to mention that his head is about one week ahead of the rest of his body in terms of gestational size. And that's not the only thing - during the ultrasound I mentioned to the doctor that I kept dreaming about the delivery, and that bambino came out as a bambina. Not only did she laugh, pointing as his humongous equipment on the screen, but at the end of the appointment, where she would usually hand me a beautiful black and white side portrait of our baby's head, this time she gave me a picture of... his scrotum!

And in case you were wondering just how huge a foetus' scrotum could look, that's his elbow on the left side of the picture, and his giant balls on the right!

One down, three to go

I give you baby Kilian, born on Monday, the first of four to come in our group of friends in Hong Kong - one a month from now on, all boys! Problem is, I'm up next...!

RIP Gordon

Tonight, as I was doing the washing up, I lifted up a tray I was washing, and found the body of our baby gecko in a pool of water underneath.

I lifted him out and on to a tea towel and spent the next few hours pleading with the little guy, encouraging him to pull through, begging him to wiggle his little paws. It might just have been leftover nerves, but I could have sworn I saw his tail move, so I proceeded to give him CPR, gently pressing his lungs and breathing to give him air. I had drowned our baby gecko. I was devastated.

I held him in my hand, sobbing and sobbing, thinking about what a bad mother I was going to be. I softly asked him to please not die, until I realised it was too late, and he had probably been dead already when I lifted him out of that pool of washing up liquid.

And then Krusty came home, and told me I was being silly and threw him in the bin outside.

RIP little friend.

Time to find a new doctor

I miss seeing bambino, and although there is no medical reason to have another scan, I really want to go back one last time. So when I lost a night's sleep from a nasty ear infection, I was almost happy - maybe I could sneak a peek when I went to get some drops from the doc.

But then I called to get an appointment, and the conversation went like this:
"Hello, can I have an appointment please?"
"No"
"No?! Is the doctor away? Is there another day I can come?"
"No"
"I don't understand..."
"Please hold"
Cue 15 minutes of hold music.

Either they have caller id and hate me, or it's time for me to change my doctor...