Month: March 2012

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.

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.