Future Shlock

So, two weeks to go, give or take a week. That’s some standard deviation, and some cause for keeping a phone handy in case I need to cut short a meeting and belt it back home because labour has started.
That’s a bit stressful. But then again, we’ve been reading, hearing and involving ourselves so much in the upcoming birth that you almost want it to get over with. I’m sure Anna does!
She is getting very big, walking around a lot is getting difficult, so I’m driving her to work and picking her up every day. Foot massages and back rubs are increasing in frequency as well…
She has been keeping up with prenatal yoga classes and has also added pregnant massage, which seems to help a lot and is thus encouraged. Any help or means to make things feel better which she can get these days are welcome.

We’re pretty much sorted for baby stuff – went out to buy a walkie-talkie type thing (funnily enough they call it “talkie-walkie” here – we always knew they were a bit backwards) so we can hear her behind a closed door (intuition tells me that, somehow, they’ll hear her three floors down, but that’s another matter).
Also got a big birthing ball (like the ones in the gym), a couple of rubber duckies for the bath and a radiator for the room, which can get a bit chilly. Of course we already have all the rest, so what’s missing is the extras, which everyone is encouraged to send us! (read: night light, mobile for bed and pram, living room playmats etc. etc.) – knudge-knudge-wink-wink.
So what’s left? I guess deciding not to worry about things and to let nature do its stuff. As I don’t smoke I’m not going to do the “worried dad pacing outside and chain-smoking”, especially as I’ll be inside the delivery room being a “slave to her whims” as they so elegantly put it during the prenatal course…

So, perhaps the next update will be the big one! It’s been nine months coming

Times existed when in order to ensure your kid’s success you had to list him or her in a good school and start saving up for Harvard medical or law school 20 years in advance. No longer. Today investment in a child’s intelligence starts before they are born – the “prenatal classroom”.
Sounds very formal and pedagogical, doesn’t it? You imagine schoolteachers parading in front of a pregnant woman and loudly reciting Shakespeare, or discussing differential equations? Reality is much more mundane, and ridiculous. Picture a mom- and dad- to-be sitting on the couch, the mom with her hand on her pregnant tummy, the dad leaning forward ever so slightly, placing his head near the big bump.
The mother rubs her tummy and says “rub” several times as she carries on the movement over and over. Wait for several seconds. Repeat. Wait again.
The dad takes a flashlight, places it on the tummy surface and loudly proclaims “light” when turning it on; “dark” when turning it off. Repeat.
Exciting, isn’t it? Not least when the baby kicks. The buzz reaches new heights, despite neither of the couple really knowing whether the response has anything at all to do with their antics, or whether baby was just annoyed at being disturbed and wanted to tell everyone to shut the heck up and let her sleep.
Further fun involves making noise on a drum, playing Mozart via prehistoric earphones and, of course, the riveting alternatives to rubbing: patting and squeezing. If this doesn’t ensure a PhD nothing will.
So, either we will end up with a very intelligent girl whose neural development was indeed stimulated by repeated interactive stimuli during prenatal growth…or with a disturbed little child who should have been left alone to rest before being thrust into the big bright world. Time will tell.
Tune in next time when we teach her who Tzipi Livni is with a pair of chopsticks, a bottle of ketchup and some vintage Tony Bennet recordings.

Till then, adieu.

P.S. Following a short trip this afternoon, my version of hell has crystalized as being trapped in the Ikea loop (you know, the upstairs portion with all the “already designed” rooms) on a Saturday afternoon, having to go around again…and again…and again…

Into the final straight now, last 6 weeks of pregnancy, and high time for a childbirth course!
And thus I went down to the premises of the local expat-based childbirth class. Note the “I” and not “we” – indeed Anna was away at another conference (these scientists and their jet-setting ways, pah!), and the other participants did indeed chuckle at the sight of a guy attending on his lonesome.
Beyond this anecdote, there were almost 5 hours of discussions, demonstrations and explanations of all things birth-related, including but not limited to: anatomy, baby shopping, the experience and process of birth, the positives and negatives of pregnancy, the different ways of lessening and dealing with pain, and of course much tea and coffee in order not to fall asleep on a sunday morning.
Mind you, the next lesson is two and a half hours on a weeknight – mental note – bring adrenaline drip.
Naturally, I exaggerate in the last sentence: seeing vivid schematics regarding how the same watermelon which I mentioned several posts ago seems to somehow come out a 12 cm opening suddenly propped everyone awake alright. And then some.
Interestingly, the crowd attending is quite varied: eight couples, some from a single country but the others heterogeneous, none Belgian of course. People from India, the states, eastern and western Europe, and of course us middle-easterners. Four Cambridge graduates. Nice.
The american couple (Bob and Marcy – how cliche), have only been in the country a week – talk about culture shock!
Join us next time (next wednesday), when we discuss pain relief: breathing, meditation, massage, aromatherapy, and for the men: how to keep on smiling when your previously loving wife looks at you with fiery, she-devil eyes and you wonder what happened.

A bientot.

So, day after day the due date comes closer, and we’re now at two months from the big moment. Practicalities start creeping into thought – how do we get to the hospital? Have we got all the required equipment/furniture/nappies/smelling salts to wake me when I faint in the delivery room? No doubt most of these will be stricken off the list with time, with new and exciting things to worry about popping up in larger numbers!
We are starting a prenatal course on the 14th of September. Notably, my wife will be absent for the first meeting (conference, you see), so will be attending the meeting alone. Should be a larf.

Now, it seems that with the increase in the little one’s size she is developing more and more potent karate chops. We have not yet decided whether she is actually practicing a prenatal martial art, perfecting her chicken dance or developing inter-placental mime skills – what is clear is that Anna’s innards are suffering from increasingly strong, painful hacks. A small blessing that she seems to cycle between the spleen, liver, bladder and small intestine, the little angel. Well, at least she hasn’t been playing guitar hero with the umbilical cord.
Oh, and regarding pregnant women’s appetite – all you have heard is true!

Qeue dramatic BBC documentary music…

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It can be likened to a cherry sitting on top of a mound of ice cream. the snowcap atop mount fuji.
or perhaps a banner flying high above a castle’s turret.

So lies the pinnacle of the pregnant belly.
You all know it: the “outie” bellybutton.

This post will not, of course, touch upon those deviants, indeed these epitomes of nature’s manufacturing errors, who are inflicted with a naturally “outie” bellybutton. It will rather shortly discuss on those kind, respectful, law-abiding folks (particularly females of course) who are begat with a normal “innie” bellybutton.

Most women start pregnancy with just such a nice, commonplace dip in their lower stomach, nothing out of the ordinary. However, as time passes by, much dismay is experienced as the growing belly slowly pushes out the hidden vestiges of a birth long past. The final months witness all laid bare, folds of flesh that were in shadow for long years now exposed to the sunlight. Perhaps this is nature’s way of “compensating” pregnant women for no longer being able to see their private parts due to a burgeoning belly: showing them a body part they have never seen!

Needless to say this little tummy bump garners much attention, only time will tell if it returns to its lair once the little angel enters the world…

There is not one moment where the realization that fatherhood is upon you strikes more plainly than that day where your wife lets out a little yelp and shows you a little hand or foot striking the inside of her tummy.
It’s called “The Alien Moment”.
While it is frankly hard for the soon to be dad to tell if this is a benign little child which will come out in several months’ time, or actually a little monster which will devour you both very quickly, the end result is similar – two people who realize clearly that things will never be the same again.
Of course, the baby doing the chicken dance inside the womb can be an uncomfortable, sometimes painful feeling for the mother. On the other hand, she comes to expect these movements and is happy to see that the child is alive and kicking, a very apt saying in this instance.
So while our little one continues to wiggle and squirm inside at a seemingly random frequency, we do try on occasion(being modern parents) to interact with her. Until now only a certain female singer has elicited any response (let’s see you guess who) – classical, rock, heavy metal and country have had little effect. We’ll bring out the bigger guns out soon (read: heavy mizrahi, all the way up to Avi Biter – that’s certain to get her moving, or banging begging us to stop).
We’ll keep you updated regarding the little one’s top ten hits.