City Wendy

Home in the Summer

I made my first call about day care yesterday and, boy, was that weird. I mean, the call itself was fine. But just saying those words: "Hi, I'm doing day care research for my baby due in October. Do you accept infants?" was totally weird. My tentative plan right now is to drop the baby off at a day care place in the neighborhood about three mornings a week so I can have a little time to keep up with Dear Wendy and various other writing and editing projects. I hope to start this when the baby is around 3-6 months old, and I was told that if that's my plan, I need to get on waiting lists for day care now. As it turns out, I probably should have gotten on waiting lists about six months ago.

The lady on the other end of the line was nice enough. She explained that she accepts babies as young as three months old, but that she wouldn't have an opening for an infant until next summer. I guess at that point I should have asked some more questions, like if she's open to flexible scheduling and what are her prices and how many kids does she watch and can I come take a look at her place (it's just right around the corner!), but this parenting thing is so foreign and strange that I felt like I was playing pretend ... or, like, making a prank call or something, so I just stammered, "UhOkayThanksBye" real fast and hung up.

I used to do that a lot in college — make prank calls, I mean — back when I lived in the dorms and you only had to dial the last four digits of any phone number to reach someone else on campus. I'd never prank, you know, an adult with real responsibilities and stuff, but prank calling other college kids was always a good time. I thought of it as performance art, and it was just one of many of my "art projects." I also used to scream "announcements" at the top of my lungs out the window, like weather reports and updates on available parking spaces. And when I was a freshman, I'd drag a chair into the dorm elevator and sit there for an hour or so and "take notes" as people got on and off the elevator. If anyone ever asked what I was doing — and surprisingly few people did (I can't imagine why they wouldn't want to engage me in conversation) — I'd tell them I was working on an assignment for psych class. I did learn a lot about human behavior through these various ... activities.

This time of year always makes me think of college. Well, this time of year and the height of fall, when the leaves are all changing color and you can almost smell the scent of school books in the air. But my college town was always best in the summer, and I loved nothing more than sticking around when the campus cleared out and three quarters of the students went back home for summer jobs or internships and chillin' with their high school buddies. For me, home was right where I was from May to September. Those of us who stayed in town owned that place. We knew it the way the other students never would — the long drives out in the country with the windows down and the music blaring; hours spent in the best seat of the coffee shop, sipping bottomless cups of joe and reading books right off the shelf; sneaking into the campus fountain late at night for a quick swim under the stars; the way the air smelled at dusk in July. It was home.

Summer in Brooklyn is pretty good, too. I've only had a small taste of it so far — last summer, I was too new to really settle in — but I like it here. It feels like where I belong. But I'm 34 now and on the verge of parenthood and summer will never be like it was when I was 20. Sometimes I have moments that feel similar, and when I do, I'm reminded that I'm still the same person. I have all these adult responsibilities now and this transition period between being ME and being a MOM is a little unnerving, but I'll always be the same person, right? This is the question I ponder a lot lately. I think I know the answer, but like a lot of things, I imagine it's something you don't know for sure until you're in it. And I'll be in it soon enough.

I Saw London, I Saw France

Hey, everyone, I'm back from vacation! I/we had a wonderful time in London and Paris, but it feels good to be home. I arrived in London after an overnight flight from NYC in the wee hours of Thursday, April 28th. Drew had been there a week already doing pre-coverage of the royal wedding, which was on Friday the 29th. I had every intention of finding some place cool to watch the wedding — along the processional route, Hyde Park, even a pub somewhere with lots of locals — but jetlag and allergies got the best of me and I was too ravaged from sleep deprivation to drag myself out of my hotel room. Just as well, I guess, since I have to pee every five minutes these days.

A little bit after the wedding, I did get myself together enough to head down to the Piccadilly Circus area where there were still tons of revelers roaming about. I saw lots of fancy hats and fascinators, quite a few William and Kate impersonators, and countless Union Jack flags. There was a definite buzz in the air and it was fun to be part of the festivities in at least that small way.

Drew wrapped up with work the next afternoon and we spent another eight days in London, joined for half of them by my parents, who flew up from Germany to celebrate my mom's 60th birthday. My mom is really big into birthdays and I haven't celebrated hers with her since 1994, so one of my favorite memories of our time in London was the evening of her birthday as we were sitting in the theater in the West End watching "Million Dollar Quartet" (where Drew and I were the youngest audience members by 15 years, easy), and I looked over at my mom at one point and she had this great big smile on her face and was clapping her hands to the music and in that moment, it was like she didn't have a care in the world. It reminded me of Drew at his 40th birthday party last year and how happy he was to be surrounded by all these friends celebrating him. It's a good thing, seeing a loved one happy.

Anyway, we all had a nice time in London, but on Sunday the 8th, we said our good-byes and my parents headed back to Germany and Drew and I trained it to Paris.

Paris!

I hadn't been to Paris since I was 16, and that was on a family trip, which, let's be honest, isn't the best way to see the city of lights. No, the best way to see Paris is with the person you're in love with, which is exactly how I got to do it this time, and let me tell you, Paris did not disappoint. If I could have stayed there another month, I would have. And I never feel that way about places I visit. I love traveling, but a few days in one place is usually enough for me, no matter how cool it is. But, Paris... I think I was meant for life in Paris.

We didn't even really do anything there except spend four fabulous days wandering around and around, eating tons of bread and chocolate, people-watching, practicing basic French phrases (Où sont les toilettes?). We did climb up (a little ways) of the Eiffel Tower (that's where we are in the picture on top), and we went to the d'Orsay museum, and we hit the famous Les Puces flea market. Our hotel was only a few blocks from the Seine, so we walked along the banks quite a bit, and had a picnic dinner on a bridge at sunset. One night, we splurged and had a really fancy dinner at this place it's tres difficult to get reservations (but we have connections, yo ;)). My favorite part was just sitting in the Luxembourg Garden, near our hotel, for hours on end, eating chocolate croissants and strawberries, reading books and watching all the passersby. I think, on hectic days in my near future, after the baby is born and I'm sleep deprived and crazy and can't think straight, those are the moments I'm going to remember — the calm before the storm, when it was just Drew and me and our hopes for the days to come.

Oh! I forgot one other highlight of the trip. Early on — my third night or so in London — I felt the baby move for the first time (I think)! I was lying in bed, resting a hand on my stomach and I felt a quick "tap-tap-tap" from inside. I was just about 16 weeks along, which all the pregnancy info says is the earliest a woman might feel her baby move. I grabbed Drew's hand and put it on my stomach and he felt it too! Another "tap-tap-tap." I haven't felt it again since, but I'm hoping in the next few weeks it becomes a more regular occurrence.

I have a midwife appointment later today and it's possible we might find out the baby's sex. We'll definitely know at our next visit, when they do the full anatomy scan, but if there's some reason they need to do an ultrasound at today's visit, there's a pretty good chance we'll learn the gender. And that might be even more exciting that Paris. Maybe.

The Flight Map

I'm in London now. I arrived early this morning — 6:30 London time, 1:30 am New York time. I took a tube straight to the hotel and crashed the minute I hit the bed. I didn't sleep at all on the plane, despite being blessed with two whole seats to myself, and it's been weeks since I had a decent night sleep thanks to mad insomnia. I was so tired when I got here, I passed out cold and I know I could have slept all day, but I didn't want to be awake all night, so I forced myself to get up at 2 o'clock so I could shower and get dressed before Drew got back from work. Only, I was so groggy and out of my mind that when I looked at the clock, I thought it said 2:19, when really it said 12:19, but I didn't realize this until after I showered, got dressed and went out in search of food and coffee and water. I really wish I'd have gotten those two extra hours of sleep. I could have used them.

Back on the plane, something occurred to me. I read for the first few hours and then when I was too tired to focus on the words in the book anymore, I turned on the the little TV screen on the seat back in front of me and zoned out staring at the flight map. This was last, oh, hour and a half of the flight and we were just about to cross into Ireland. I watched as the little plane icon moved slowly across Ireland and then across the sea and then into England and I thought, "This is just what it's like to be pregnant!"

At least in these first early months, when you have yet to really look pregnant and you can't feel the baby and the only way you really know you're pregnant is that you haven't had a period in months and your boobs are huge and you're tired and hormonal all the time, there's this disconnect between you and what you read and hear is happening inside your body. Like, I know there's this baby growing inside me — I've seen it (twice!) on an ultrasound, and it's been confirmed by multiple tests, and all the literature tells me the way I'm feeling right now is normal ... but it just doesn't feel quite... real yet. And that's how it is when you watch the little plane fly across the flight map. You know, intellectually, that you're currently miles above Dublin or whatever, but it doesn't feel all that different than when you were miles above New York or Canada or the Atlantic Ocean. All you have to go by is that you're really tired and a little cranky and you can't wait to get off this fucking plane and go take a shower and a nap already.

And then you get off the plane and it's pretty disorienting and people have a funny accent and the money is different and you aren't sure where to catch the train and then all of a sudden it's real and you're so tired you just hope you can navigate yourself safely to the hotel in one piece and not get lost or mugged or worse on the way there. Maybe that's what it's like after the baby arrives. Who knows? Right now, in my pregnancy, metaphorically speaking at least, I'm still flying somewhere above the ocean. It's all blue down there and I see the plane on the map inching closer and closer to something big, but it doesn't mean much to me yet. I just hope I'm ready when it lands.

New Beginnings

On New Year's Day, I woke up and brushed my teeth in the bathroom like I do every morning. As I leaned over the sink to spit, something caught my eye in the mirror. Not something, but somethings — two of them. Two strands of white hair beaming from the crown of my head like a light show. Well, I guess I'm really not getting any younger, I thought to myself, as I finished wiping my mouth. 2011 is the year I turn 35.

"I'm ready to make a baby," I announced to Drew as I crawled back in bed.

"Really?" He asked.

I'd originally told him I wanted to wait until after my birthday in September so I could enjoy one last carefree summer of unencumbered bike rides and Mojitos at Happy Hour.

"Fuck it," I said, "Let's just do this. It's probably going to take awhile anyway, so let's get this show on the road."

"Yes!" He exclaimed.

The next month my period was due and didn't come, so I took a pregnancy test. It was negative. I threw it in the trash.

I guess I'm just late, I thought, It's not going to happen this fast anyhow.

Then I sat down at my computer and started working. A couple hours later, I had this gnawing feeling I couldn't shake. "Look at that test again," a little voice in my head urged.

So I dug the test out of the trash and studied it. Still negative. I mean, right? There are supposed to be two lines if you're pregnant and I saw just one. Or maybe there was a really, really faint second line. I held the test under a lamp. Hmm. There was sort of a faint second line there. I Googled it: "Faint second line, pregnancy tests." A bunch of images popped up. They all looked just like my test. I read the descriptions of those images, many of them from blogs. I followed the links to the blogs and read about babies — babies that had been born eight months after those faint second lines showed up on pee sticks.

Oh wow. Was I going to have a baby?

I took six more tests over the next three days. Really, six. They were all positive, and clearly so. (Tip: if you want to skip the "Is it or isn't it" riddle, go digital!).

Last week, we had our second OB/midwife appointment and got to see our baby squirming around during an ultrasound. He (I have a feeling it's a he, but of course don't know for sure) was moving around so much — kicking his legs and flapping his arms — it was hard to get a good picture, but the sonographer managed to snap this:

I think he looks like Drew.

Yesterday I started my second trimester. I'm hoping to start feeling better soon. Luckily, I haven't had much nausea, but the fatigue, among other unpleasantries, has been relentless and unbearable. Some mornings I can hardly lift my head off the pillow. And most nights I've been asleep before nine, sometimes even before eight. Having any kind of social life these last couple of months has been a challenge, but I guess that's something I need to get used to anyway. My thyroid levels are three times higher than they should be, which is probably adding to the fatigue, so now that I'm taking medication for that, I'm hopeful I'll have more energy soon. If not, well, I suppose I need to get used to feeling exhausted all the time too.

Anyway, Drew and I are very excited. Very excited! We didn't anticipate this happening so quickly, and as much as I'll miss drinking champagne when I'm in Paris next month, I'm so, so grateful we have what seems to be a healthy baby snuggled in my belly (oh my God, I have a baby in my belly!). I'm sure we'll have plenty of parenting struggles in the not-so-distant future, so I'm happy that getting pregnant is one we were spared — at least this time. Baby's due on October 24th — exactly nine months to the day after I launched Dear Wendy. Guess there were "new beginnings" in my chart that week...