Thoughts

So, Who’s Gonna Move with Me to Europe?

The end of summer is near, well, at least in Czech and such, not here – here we will enjoy insanely sunny weather for few more months. Even than, it will be sunny. Just not so baking-biscuits-on-a-car hot.
Abbas grew up in strength and voice, that’s for sure (alhamdulilah), went through two rounds of vaccinations already, I went through one attempt to make my husband aware of the risks of that, especially the recent link of MMR vaccine to autism; needless to say unsuccessfully.

And So It Goes…

I’ve been suffering from some very weird and irresistibly itchy rash which I am currently unable to get rid off and it makes my life rather miserable – Abbas slept six hours yesterday night (which is in my world post-partum a miracle), yet I got almost no sleep as I was wide awake, forcing myself not to scratch my skin off my body, on many occasions failing and scratching to blood and blues.
I have been on a visit to two different dermatologists and both have different opinions and so far both seem to be not so spot on. I’ve got some antihistamine solution to dip myself in which to be perfectly honest doesn’t do a simple thing, and some night creme for whatever purpose, which, so far, doesn’t work either.
Did you ever had that urge to use the razor (which you were shaving your legs with) as a really sharp, and a really fine tool for all that itchiness? Well, I did. That’s how annoying this current condition of mine is. (I didn’t use it, however. I’ve imagined my husband coming home from work and finding me laying on the bathroom floor, in an indecent state, bleeding all over the tiles. All the mess. So I didn’t do it in the end.)




But besides this mysterious eczema we’re fine, lazy and hothothot summer, dusty even.
Abbas is deep asleep on me right now and I am quite positive that the moment I’ll get up to put him in his cot and dive in the bed to catch some shut eye, he will declare a major party time.
Maybe a bath could knock him back to sleep – or have a completely adverse effect. My bets are on the later.

40 Weeks, Still in Tact

Today is my due date.
Nothing seems to indicate so except the fact it was set on today – baby’s still hanging in there pretty much without a twinge or any sign of an impeding labour. I am huge (like a whale, as my husband lovingly says), I have various kinds of pains here and there but none directly connected to any action, I have Michelin man feet which occasionally turn violet from the edema pressure, and I feel grumpy, fed up and in limbo of sorts. If I didn’t wake up 5 times a night for a wee, I’d say positively I can at least sleep the whole night. But I do wake up 5 times a night to visit the bathroom, so no, not even that currently counts.
Guess I will go overdue like I did with Dori – not pleasant at all, but can’t do much! So, let’s keep on waiting and try to stay positive…

The Case of Potatoes

For the past several weeks of my 2in1 period of life with nr.2 addition to the family I seem to be rather craving one basic (Czech) nutritive – potatoes. Usually boiled, but in any case, I need them. I like rice, don’t get me wrong, but seriously, the amount of rice consumed in Kuwait is just way too much! I was born and raised in a potato country and as such I believe irreversibly in the power of a raw potato (good for your bones, my grandma used to say. True, she used to say fresh yeast is good for skin too – which probably is considering the heaps of vit. B contained in it – but my joy of eating that was much, much less visible.), and I believe that potatoes contain a lot of vitamins and minerals and generally stuff your average mid-European body needs for it’s survival and hence my insane craving for them in the third trimester is actually easily explainable – back to the roots, back to the healthy body with true balanced diet!
Well, whatever it is forcing me to eat ‘tatoes; Abbas maybe, considering how skillfully he made me eat a bunch of steaks – and still want them – although I am normally red-meat non-eater; today’s lunch for me is decided.
Škubánky!
[fusion_builder_container hundred_percent=”yes” overflow=”visible”][fusion_builder_row][fusion_builder_column type=”1_1″ background_position=”left top” background_color=”” border_size=”” border_color=”” border_style=”solid” spacing=”yes” background_image=”” background_repeat=”no-repeat” padding=”” margin_top=”0px” margin_bottom=”0px” class=”” id=”” animation_type=”” animation_speed=”0.3″ animation_direction=”left” hide_on_mobile=”no” center_content=”no” min_height=”none”][pr.:shkoobahnkee] (Or you prefer to call it kucmouch? [pr.:cootsmokh])


It’s a sort of potato boiled balls with flour mashed together and that ripped apart with a spoon dipped in butter (or lard), served with whatever you prefer – sweet with powder sugar and ground poppy seeds and a spoon of butter over it, or a certain kind of hard quark (curd) which I reckon I can’t really describe unless you are raised in Czech, or salty variant with salt and pickles, or bacon – in which case you can also dry/lard fry the potato mash.
It’s rather versatile and very cheap when it comes to materials needed for cooking – just butter, potatoes, flour, water and something to add as finishing as mentioned above, and it’s a traditional Czech meal, which I believe was also widely sported during both WWs in my country – or so said both of my grandmothers.
I believe my Kuwaiti (read: harees, yareesh, maraaq and machboos raised husband) will once again wonder what’s so wrong with his wife, that she cooks something which looks so stomach unfriendly and weird – but hey, not as if harees looks delicious on the first glance!

39

…days to go – supposedly, at least that’s what my Lilypie sticker says that it’s left to the 40 week mark. I’ve been dipping into nesting reflex recently which resulted in me sending my husband out on an errand to hunt some crochet hook and yarn, so I can practice a bit before my real crocheting order comes around – which, so far, doesn’t seem to. I blame Easter, busy postal services and so on. The taste to crochet is blamed on nesting reflex.
I’ve managed to hook up my first creation which, amusingly, turned out in a shape of a newborn hat. Wonder why, don’t you?

Počítání (na žebra)

Já vím, já vím. Počítat týdny do porodu je to samé jako sedět na nudné přednášce někde v aule gymnázia a pohledem sledovat tikání nástěnných hodin; možná i ve snaze vteřinovku trošku, malilinko posunout a uspíšit, než člověk nudou lekne nebo začne velmi neelegantně a nahlas pochrupovat.
Nic nenadělám, počítám, hlavně když se malý všelijak točí, kroutí a na břiše mi dělá mimozemsky vypadající vybouleniny. Vybouleniny bolí, neb je dělá ostrými údy. A já jsem, koneckonců, ve stavu konstantní paranoie, že se něco stane, že se něco podělá, stejně jako v předchozích pokusech, a vůbec, už by mohl být květen, stihomam by mohl poodejít a posečkat na dalšího člověka jako já. A manžel by si oddychl, že skutečně neobsahuji ani predátora, ani aliena, a možná se mému pupku projednou zas přestal obloukem vyhýbat (s velmi vyšinutým výrazem v tváři, přinejmenším.)
Na druhou stranu, není nad to si užít těch pár posledních týdnů jakéhos takéhos spánku a klidu, než mi hlava pukne z breku a špinavých plín – v případě, že se sem dostanou, pokud celníci přestanou konečně stávkovat. Kdo vlastně stávkuje v Kuvajtu, heh? Stát má jako jediný, co znám, státní neschodek, alébrž výdělek či jak se tomu říká, když se peníze v zemi vydělávají; nejsou tu daně, a platy jsou, inu, dá se říct i slušné. Pro rodilé Kuvajťany samosebou, pro expatrioty pravděpodobně dost na to, aby sem za prací jezdili v prvé řadě. Čímž samosebou netvrdím, že je to tu samé sedmikrásky.