A Ram Sam Sam

…guli, guli, guli, guli, guli ram sam sam… (A-nooo-yiiing annoying..)
Not gone crazy yet, just re-playing this kids song in my head over and over and over since I’ve heard it.
Mr. Pickles’ new favourite. God bless him and his little taste in music. Here he is, finally back on track with weight and height, delightful average in charts. Hate them charts.

On a side note, I’ve been backing up the site for bigger platform update and have gone through some stats. Amazing stuff. Most searched phrases leading to this blog include: hijab whores (wow!), how to make rahash arabic sweet from kuwait (something with sesame seeds grinded and honey and… I don’t know, I just eat it ☺ ), skinny girls are not glamorous (yap!), face kissing (…uhm?), he already mentioned a third date (ok…), kuwait car stuck up palm tree (really, I don’t get surprised anymore), arab women ugly (na-a!), cholesterol level in kuwait (high!), vyvářka kotlů (wait… that’s in czech and not relevant to me at all?) and many others. None really any way connected to this blog.

I’d Love to Have a Minute to Be Myself, Please…

… so I can finish some of my stuff. Like, uhm, the crocheted blanket I wanted to have finished by December. I am about 90% away from fulfilling that particular goal. Maybe a tad more. Note, that the blanket is supposed to cover a king sized bed.

Abbas, however, disapproves of my idea of spending free time and still – yes, still, darned Velcro baby – hangs on me with all twenty fingers. No space to breathe, that’s how I feel time to time (which forces me to tears and than being upset about how silly I am).
On the other hand, I do enjoy the little hugs he gives me on occasion when he’s particularly happy to see me; usually due to me carrying a bottle of milk; and I do enjoy the cuddle as I know very well this won’t last. Soon in the stores – The Baby Who’s Ashamed of his Mother. But for now, now I am that Milk Goddess to him. And I will remain one for at least six more months.
I still would like to finish my blanket, though.
I mean, is it really that hard and psyché damaging to lay right next to me while I crochet a bit? Well, tell me, is it? I sing to him, talk to him, pass him toys, while trying not to entangle my index fingers in a ball of yarn. (Did I ever mention, how gorgeous the Fishermen’s Wool is? I’d just buy a whole room of them and sleep on them. Just like that. No need to crochet it. One day, when I am rich…)
Sometimes I would just needlessly rage on them kids, and than realize how stupid that is; sleep frustration and feeling pregnant even though I gave birth (now stop that thought, not weight wise, all right?!), like we never parted with Abbas, makes my nerves… melt away. Mostly, I can stop myself from being upright abusive (in a sense of being much harsher in requirements for a “clean” room, “well done” homework, or a “good enough” nap). On occasion, I do explode and insist on goals being met and after that getting frustrated when they aren’t – getting myself in a pretty loop, I can see here from perspective of a well-slept person now (very first night since birth my sticky baby slept from 9pm to 5*30am in his own bed, oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh!). But. That is really not a standard here. Mostly (they come at night, mostly) I am fine. Ask my daughter. Really.
My husband promised me to take me away for a day, after Abbas turns year and a half. I don’t think I will live up to that day in pure sanity, but OK. Effort is what counts.

5 Months of my Little Water Dragon

Abbas will soon “celebrate” 5 months since birth, me fifth month of not sleeping and sixth case of mastitis (yeey, not.)
Little boy is giving me hard time still and behaves like a Velcro monkey, hanging on me day and night, not really hostile to other people if you don’t count screaming them down as hostility, but rather unfriendly at best. Mostly he looks at you, puts up a balcony, a red T over his face (understand, his mouth, nose and eyebrows become bright red), crocked face and few seconds of mute cry, before the real shrieking commences.
He’s also got a new nickname from my mother in law, and that is Africa, as he got very skinny in the recent weeks, or better to define, he seems he stopped gaining any weight after the last vaccinations. So he’s basically a big head over very lean body with almost absent fat folds and muscle.

It made me worried sick in the past few days and after a consultation with family I’m taking him to a doc tomorrow to establish any next steps, be it supplementing formula (after my very tough fight for breastfeeding it makes me a bit sad, but everything for a happy and healthy baby, really!), adding baby food earlier than it’s usual in fully breastfed babies or even running tests to see what could be possibly wrong, in case he still doesn’t gain weight.
By Chinese calendar he has been born the year of Water Dragon, so let’s hope it will bring him all the strength and power he needs, since water dragon is supposedly the strongest of them all.

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.