Posted on

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…

Posted on

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!
[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!


PS.: If you fancy yourself a try:
You will need:
potatoes (enough to satisfy desired portion, around 1kg for 4-5 people),
wheat flour (the finer it is, the worse, so generally use roughly grained one, around 10 spoons for 750g of ‘tatoes),
some butter or lard to melt and dip your spoon in,
water (duuh!)
and for the sweet and most known type – powder sugar, ground poppy seeds, and some of that melted butter.

Peel the potatoes, cut them (it can be in half, it can be into bigger pieces), pour enough water onto them so they’re under the level of it, add about a small teaspoon of salt (really, that’s up to you and the salt you use) and put it to boil. When almost done, pour away (but don’t throw!) the water. Take the flour and powder your potatoes in a pot with them, shake well so it gets in and around – you can also make holes in the potato filled pot with a wooden spoon turned upside down to make sure the flour gets nicely in. Pour a little of the water you stored away back (150ml? Same amount of spoons as flour? Opinions differ,) and cover it with lid, and on very low flame let the flour get steamed for around 20 minutes.
You should be able to mix it with wooden spoon (or optionally mash with the potato gadget kitchenware) into a quite smooth, not-much-sticky mass (if it is too sticky, you might’ve used too fine flour, or might just wanna steam away a little bit more of the humidity). You than take your spoon and dip it into freshly melted butter and cut away with it chunks of that potato matter on your dish. The butter is what makes sure you don’t get it stuck on spoon. After that feel free to serve with few spoons of ground poppy seeds and sugar and a spoon of butter poured over it, or in any other earlier mentioned variant – your fantasy is your playground.
You can also dry fry the stuff or some folks use lard to fry on, and serve it afterwards.
And if it didn’t come out as you expected? Well, it’s cheap, you can try again or throw that idea out of the window completely.

Posted on

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?


It’s a bit shabby as it is first try, and I am not really automated in the movement, plus the yarn tends to split which makes me go a bit crazy – I am also really easy to distract at the time, so if anything requires counting or regularity, I’m bound to screw it up. I’ve managed though within the two hour visit of my in-laws to play around a bit and create something. Which is, well, something.
Maybe I can crochet in the first stage of labour, to distract myself…? Ok, I guess not. One can dream.
I am a little panicky recently as I am only a week from biting into the 9th month pie; however not because I’d be afraid to give birth, on the contrary, I look forward to it, although a little worried about how it will go in Kuwait and how much difference will there be between my idealized imagination and the cruel reality; no, not that. What panicks me is the reduced fetal movement, as I got used to the little fella poking, throbbing, turning and twisting around till a point I was so sore from inside, and he stopped doing that in the recent days. I mean, he still moves, but much less. I am aware of the fact that this is the time where reduced movements occurs due to the space running out and so on, but hey, explain it to a pregnant brain at 5*40 in the morning, that I really don’t need to rush into my husband’s room shaking him violently to go for a heart monitor. I know the baby’s asleep, I know that eating chocolate, sipping some cold Pepsi and showering and moving around wakes babies up, yet I will still, again and again, wake up in the middle of the night or early morning, poking my belly around to annoy the babe to the bits so he will give me a poke back – and I can calm a little down and sleep. Right, if not sleep, at least I can keep myself away from giving my husband an early morning heart attack.
I believe I do worry so much due to the previous M/Cs, which make me, now running in the finishing line, so paranoid.
And hence, bring on the due date! (So I can start panicking about SIDS instead, as I did with Dori.)

Posted on

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.

Posted on

The Hell of a Choice

Yes!
I got major baby brains. Be it due to the due date approaching, very slowly, but surely; be to due to the fact I chose to go the alternative way once again and than found out it is far more complicated than just slapping a Pampers on the bum, I don’t know; or maybe just to keep myself somehow busy, I dug into the deep waters of cloth diapering, feeling a little odd watching a whole channel dedicated to that on Youtube, and feeling a little bit odder browsing all these forums and articles recommending here and there, this and that.
Needless to say, I’m still aimlessly swimming, though with a little bit better idea as of which way should I direct my tries.
Nevertheless, and no matter on which crazy diaper island I will end up, it will be a damn pocket slap.
Buying a whole new cloth kit to start with – especially if you don’t really know what is the best for you, can be pretty expensive and freaky. I’m counting with a great hole in my pocket money as well as my husbands money, but what wouldn’t we do for the little ones, right..?
I’ve been on three months long blogging break, for some reasons, mainly the fact there’s really nothing much to blog about. Weather is still the same (nearly cold for Kuwait standards), however we’re already third day switching on the AC, which is a big bummer, for me at least; life is still flowing slowly, and nothing much changes around, really. Boring, but settled. Now with AC.


I’m obviously eating healthy. Bananas are healthy, right?


Roger grew up a bit…


While the tomcats didn’t as much…

Being pregnant during summer in Czech sucks; and I can’t really imagine how it will feel in 40+ degrees in shade over here. I’ll probably hang myself very close to the AC outlet. In bikinis. Some really spore ones.
I’m 30 weeks as for today and slowly starting to have nesting reflex. Which is a bit awkward with a housekeeper in. So I at least take care of the growing (and increasingly rude) rabbit, and dig through internet for info I don’t really need and most likely won’t ever use. But it doesn’t matter, because I need to keep myself somehow busy.
My weight gain is scary and even the doc said I should take the doughnuts easy, which I forcefully and under the eagle eye supervision of my husband did (while I started to actually bake cakes, so perfectly negating any no-doughnuts-at-home policies with even sweeter sugar bombs). Recently, I was forced to give up on Coke as well, and most fizzies. Shame. I am however still a major red-eat-consumer, as opposed to the time in before pregnancy when I rarely actually even came across meat, or even thought about it. The baby makes me. How else. (Same applies for doughnuts!)
We’ve visited Dar Al-Shifa hopital, where I am supposed to give birth, and caused a bit (a lot) of hassle about my weird and underground techniques and wishes, such as daringly having the baby with me on room 24/7 except doc check ups, vaccination and circumcision; or even weirder “I want to breastfeed fully,” and the fact I really don’t like the idea of testing the proper latching and sucking reflex on a bottle ( O_o ). Good they’ve got no idea about my cloth affinity, than. Or that I intend to carry my child in a baby scarf. Phew!
Sometimes I assume the atmosphere will be better here (compared to over-medicalized and over-technicized West) due to the society and emphasizing the family and life within, and get rather surprised how far I’ve overshot with such a thought.