It's nice when someone thinks you're lucky!

I'm at Cafe Cafe (worst food ever) with Hila who is sitting and playing so nicely in her stroller next to me and a pregnant woman at the table next to me just told me how lucky I am and how she hopes her baby will let her work the way Hila lets me.

Yes, it's true. I'm lucky.

Whereas in last post I expressed my frustration about Hila's moodiness/screami-ness/unwillingness to cooperate in the fields of eating and sleeping, in this post I'd like to highlight Hila's spectacularness.

Some things about Hila:

• Her favorite toys are my wallet and my cell phone. I even tried giving her her own cell phone (my old one) and she'd have none of it. She wants my phone and no broken substitute.
  
• Hila says dada constantly. And now she says di-da, which may be her version of daddy. We're not sure.
  
• Hila can pull herself to standing if she's sitting in her crib facing the railing. It's so cute and she gets so excited.
  
• Which brings me to the next thing--it's very easy to get Hila excited. She puts her hands together and bumps her torso up and down and squeals with delight.
  
• Hila gags when we give her food. She's not actually choking on it. I think she's just being dramatic and proving a point: STOP JAMMING FOOD DOWN MY THROAT!
  
• Hila makes friends wherever she goes. She's very popular.
• Hila is well-mannered, patient, funny, sweet, and smart!The other day I read her two long Dr. Suess books and she sat so patiently listening.
  
• According to The Baby Whisperer, Hila is a Spirited/Textbook baby, which to us, is the best type of baby there is. That means she's generally very easy to read and does what she's supposed to do, when she's supposed to do (Textbook), but she's got spunk and spirit along the way and likes to vocalize what she likes and dislikes what's expected of her (Spirited). And even though it means some stubbornness and sometimes lots of tears, it also means a lot of fun and excitement.
  

(And now I must get back to work since the pregnant woman next to me just came to my table and we just talked for like 1/2 hour

Happy Baby Hila: An Update

Lots has happened in the last two months. Hila is growing so fast and is quickly developing a very strong and opinionated (and yet still very happy) personality. She smiles at people, music, her toys, and mostly, her beautiful reflection in the mirror. She laughs when things are funny--she seems to have a good sense of humor! And she stares at you blankly when she is tired or bored, until you stare at her back and then a huge smile erupts onto her face. Man, she's cute.

Here's another recent tidbit about Hila. Despite her extreme happiness, she has turned into quite the little screamer. You see, two weeks ago Hila decided that she is a big girl and does not need a pacifier anymore. Despite my constant begging for her to reconsider, she has firmly made up her mind on the issue and now lives a pacifier-free lifestyle.

I didn't realize how much the pacifier pacified her until now. When it's time to sleep, nothing calms her (except lots of screaming), especially if she's teething. Sometimes we're truly at a loss for what to do.

I have two theories about why she started rejecting the pacifier:
1. She had a bad teething week (still no teeth) just when she quit the pacifier, so maybe the pacifier was hurting her gums--though that doesn't really explain why she puts basically everything but the kitchen sink/pacifier into her mouth...

2. I've been pushing Hila to eat solids with a spoon since she was 4.5 months old. I tried almost daily shoveling food into a closed mouth until I decided we all needed a break around 5.5 months. We then started up again around the time that she started rejecting her pacifier. And now, whenever I offer her a spoonful of food, a pacifier, or a bottle when she's not hungry, she purses her lips in a very firm and defininitive manner, making her point very clear that she does not want me jamming anything into her mouth. I think because her food rejection was so strong, she began to distrust the fact that I was putting other things in her mouth without her asking for it. And so now she does not let me put a pacifier into her mouth--what if it's (*GASP*) food???

Hila's got strong likes and dislikes and is extremely vocal about them. She talks and sings all day long (unless she's screaming). And even when she is screaming, if you go into her room and pick her up, she gets a gigantic smile and starts bouncing up and down...sometimes I think she's just too excited and happy about life that she doesn't want to waste it sleeping.

Once she does scream herself to sleep, however, she's a good sleeper.

Hila Loves her Mommy (and vice versa)

Sometimes I put Hila in her beloved exersaucer, sit down at my computer, and let us each play in our own worlds for a little while. She plays, sings, bangs around with the toys, and every so often, gets very, very quiet.

I look up to find her staring straight at her mama (me) with a huge grin on her face. I smile back and then get back to writing or reading or whatever it is I do to pass the time. But she's still quiet a few minutes later. I glance up, and she's still staring at me and grinning non-stop. How does that make me feel? So good.

You know what else makes me feel good? The fact that Hila now goes from 8pm-8am (and sometimes later) without being fed. She's still waking up every so often for a pacifier, but we're still so proud of her!

Now the only thing we need to work on is going to sleep before 3am.... Sounds easier than it is.

Sleeping in....

Hila has made a mistake that I'll bet she's regretting...

She slept until 8:45-9:00am for a few days in a row.

If she thinks she can get away with waking up at 6:00 or 7:00 or even 8:00, she better think again.

Like this morning she woke up around 7:00 and made it pretty clear that she didn't want to go back to bed. But I wrapped her up tightly, gave her the pacifier, and stuck her in bed with us, and didn't hear back from her til almost 9:15! (Some of these mornings she's made it til 9:00 in her own bed, but sometimes I just don't have the energy to fight the whose-bed fight.)

Menachem and I usually go to bed around 1:30 or 2:00am, so while 7:00 or 8:00 may seem like normal wakeup times for you, they're still a bit early for us night owls.

P.S. We have successfully gotten rid of the 4:00am feed, but Hila still struggles to stay asleep in those early morning hours and calls out for her pacifier at least 2-3 times (down from 4-5 times). Things are looking up. Good job, Hila!

Hila went 8.5 hours between feeds!!

(That is, at night. We wouldn't encourage that otherwise.)

I woke up this morning so proud of Hila that I forgot that I wasn't feeling well. (I'm actually not feeling great, now that I've remembered, but I do feel a lot better than the last few days.) Anyways, Hila.

We decided that the pacifier was our problem. She didn't need food anymore at 4am, but she needed her pacifier. And not just at 4am, but many, many times between 3am and 7am when she finally "woke up" from a not very deep sleep of the last four hours.

Last night I gave her paci as usual. 8pm and she was asleep. 9:30 she cried (sort or as usual) and I didn't go in. She cried for 10 minutes and fell back asleep. At 12:30am I gave her a dreamfeed (she was still asleep). We went to bed at 1:30. At 4:45 (so late!!) she cried. I let her cry for 15 minutes before giving in and giving her the pacifier. I think maybe I heard her once for a second at around 6, but I ignored it.

Now here's the amazing part. I woke up to hear her playing in her crib, not at 7. Not at 7:30. Not even at 8. BUT AT 8:45!! Of course now her 8-12-4-8-12 feeding schedule is off. BUT WHO CARES?!

I also cheated and put rice cereal in her midnight bottle. I know it's not recommended to do that. But guess who will keep doing that until we get rid of that feed? This (somewhat) well-rested mama!

Hooray for Hila!

Sick Mom / Healthy Baby

I don't usually believe in jinxes, but this is just too big of a coincidence. I wrote that post about looking up cold symptoms TOTALLY HYPOTHETICALLY. I did not, at the time, exhibit any of those symptoms.

Then, a few days ago, I felt like someone punched me in the nose. I'm assuming that it was my squirmy, jolty, four month old (a.k.a Hila Z.) who punches me and kicks me all the time all over. I don't remember it happening, but whatever. My nose kills.

Then this morning my achy, swollen nose started running a bit. Okay, fine. It hurts to blow a nose that feels broken.

And now, I feel like I have the flu. I'm all achy and stuffy. My gums itch like mad (do you get that too?) and I have a slight fever.

And the ironic thing, is that I had a doctor's appointment this morning, and I was whining to him about so many other things that I decided not to mention my broken runny nose.

On a happier note, Hila had an appointment today too (we see the doc together) and she is doing great! She weighs 6.73 kg (that's almost 15 lbs!) and does all the tricks she's supposed to do. He was very impressed with her cheerfulness and her ability to stand up (with a little help). He said she may start to crawl soon!

We're still working on getting her to sleep through the night. She's back in her crib for the whole night (!!!) and sleeps usually from 8pm to 7am. In that time, however, she cries for her pacifier about five times and wakes up to eat around midnight and around 4am. Sometimes it's hard to put her back to bed at 4am.

Sorry I didn't warn you, Hila Bila, but tonight we're getting rid of the 4am feed. We got it down from 120ml to 90ml to 60ml and then to 30ml. And tonight is the big night when we give her 0ml.

You'll do fine, Hila -- you're such a big girl! And mommy needs her sleep!

Google Diagnosis

I'm surprised that Google doesn't have a feature where you plug in your symptoms and it gives you a diagnosis.

(type) Symptoms runny nose, chills, achiness
(enter)

"You have a cold."

Still Waiting for the Big Sleep

I made a mistake. It's not irreversible, but it's going to take work to undo it and I'm not looking forward to it.

When Menachem was in miluim, Hila slept in my bed with me every night. It was at the height of my breastfeeding (which has now come to an abrupt end -- another story for another time), I missed Menachem, we were at my parents' and their porta-crib is annoying, and it just made sense to cuddle up with my baby.

Now, a week has passed since we've been back home and Hila refuses to sleep in her crib. Sometimes (if we're lucky) she'll fall asleep in it, but only for a few hours. And then she'll wake up crying and will not let me leave her alone.

When we do try and leave her room she reaches out for us and looks at us pleadingly not to leave her in her crib. And then she cries. So...I take her out and plop her back into bed with us. And Menachem and I don't sleep so well when she's in bed with us.

Maybe there was a night or two where we convinced her to stay in her room, but it wasn't with her -- then regular, now not -- long stretches of sleep, easy feeds, and easy drifting right back to sleep.

And that's another thing. Hila has been so easy overall, that I thought that by now we'd be sleeping through the night. But she still wakes up every 3,4, or 5 hours to eat. (About a month ago she was sleeping 6,7, or 8 hours at a time and then plus more after a feed -- but not anymore.)

And while Meanchem or my mom (when she's around) both have offered to take night feeds, I end up waking up anyways (Menachem never hears her) and stay awake until I know that she's back asleep. So what's the point of having a third person wake up? I may as well just feed her myself. (And as of last week I was nursing her for every feed anyways, so I wouldn't let anyone else feed her.)

We're not in favor of co-sleeping, but what do you do if your baby insists on it? We need to toughen up, right?

(P.S. While I was nursing I never felt like Hila was getting enough food during the day alone and now that I'm not nursing, Hila is all of a sudden rejecting bottles after only half a feed (and not making up for it later). So only when I know that she's eating enough during the day, will I then be ready to push her to sleep through the night. But for now, I think she still needs those night time calories.)

Hila is cute

I'm holding a mirror in front oh Hila and she is smiling and laughing at the new friend she's just made! This may possibly be the cutest she's ever been. Maybe she's so happy because she finally sees how adorable and perfect she is. She finally gets why we're crazy about her.

Do you think she really thinks that its another person?

NOTE: She is going crazy! She is laughing and talking and sqealing and kicking. For a long time! I'd get the camera but I need to keep holding the mirror (I'm typing with one hand...a skill I've gotten to be extremely good at!). And the camera needs to be charged. But I do wish I could capture this....

Get ready for a really boring post...

Last night as I was trying to fall asleep I was thinking about very important things. Like if I could think of a fruit or vegetable for every letter of the alphabet. In some ways I did extremely well (like Duriun for D) and in some ways I was just stumped (like N???).

So here is my list. This is without the help of anyone or Google or anything. There are a few gaps in there.

A - apple
B - bananas
C - carrots
D - durian
E - eggplant
F - figs
G - grapes
H - horseradish
I - iceberg lettuce
J - jackfruit
K - kale
L - lemons
M - mango
N - I keep thinking noodles. But that doesn't count. Neither do nuts.
O - onions
P - pears
Q - quince
R - radish
S - strawberries
T - tomatoes (that took me a long time!)
U -
V -
W - watermelon
X -
Y - yucca (I think people eat that)
Z - zucchini

P has a lot: peppers, pineapple, passion fruit, papaya

Told you this would be boring.

Having a good day

That subject is not meant to imply that there's anything strange about me having a good day. I generally have good days, but today has been exceptionally good.

Hila woke up in her regular sunshiney mood. She is a morning person, but not too early a morning person, generally waking up around 9 or 10, which is nice for her mommy and daddy. We had a fun morning, watched 24, ate a healthy breakfast, played a little, Hila napped -- the usual.

Then Menachem went to work and Hila and I hung out some more. When I saw she was ready for her next nap, I wrapped her up in my cozywrap and walked up to Palmach. I did some grocery shopping at Mr. Z and then went to get a cafe kar dal shuman im ktzat sucar loh katush (but then I said "not blended" in English because I wasn't sure of that last part) at Duvshanit. I sat outside and read an article about press releases while Hila slept like a little angel wrapped up close to me.

Then Tiff called and we'd been playing phone tag for a while so that was nice. Then I went home in time to feed a waking Hila. And then I convinced Menachem that we desperately need this Sit'n'Stroll 5-n-1 Combination Carseat/Stroller that I saw on Janglo. And it looks like Hila is taking another nap in her swing.

Life's good here in the 'lem.

To nurse or not to nurse...that is the question.

Welcome to the latest edition of adventures in breastfeeding staring me and Hila! Yes, there are still adventures to be told. After a one month and then six weeks and then two months and then Pesach deadlines, I am still breastfeeding. Every day feels like it may be my last and then I wake up the next day (or in the middle of the night) feeling full of milk (relatively speaking), reenergized, and I can't imagine quitting.

We are still supplementing with formula, but with a lot less than the last time I wrote. Back then I was mainly giving her formula and supplementing with little sips of breastmilk here and there; now, while it's still mostly formula, it is much closer to 50/50. Before every bottle Hila nurses from both sides for about 10-30 minutes, depending on my milk supply and depending on Hila's mood. I make her, as Leah once suggested, "sing for her supper." After she nurses, she gets a bottle -- sometimes she takes a full bottle and sometimes she takes 1/2 or a 1/4 or even less. Now, in general I do not support the parenting tactic of rewarding food with more food (or rewarding anything with food), but I'll let that slide for now. I like to consider my breastfeeding as a hearty appetizer to her main course.

The good news? I did finally stop pumping (I just couldn't take it anymore) and I have not seen a drop in my milk supply. I used to dread the pump and sometimes it would truly ruin my day. I am much happier now. I also weened myself from the silicone nipple!

Sometimes it gets really frustrating. Hila is not the most patient of eaters. When she realizes she is hungry, I better be there for her, breast in mouth waiting. If I miss that small window of opportunity, then she will scream and scream, refuse to nurse, and not stop crying til she gets the bottle. I try and try and get really frustrated until I accept that it is just not meant to be during this feed.

I am trying to look at breastfeeding as something fun and enjoyable and extra. I am trying to chill out and not get upset when we have a bad session. Things have really turned around for the better and I am trying to focus on that. I have worked hard and am ready to sit back, relax, and enjoy feeding my baby -- whether by bottle or breast.

And who knows...maybe tomorrow will be my last day. I have a feeling it won't, but if it is, then I'll be okay with that too.

Words that Rhyme with Hila

(off rhymes allowed)

Tequila
Tortilla
Mamila (mall in J'lem)
Tefilah
Mama Mia!

Tequila is the best. (Not the best drink, but the best rhyme). Oh man, I see her high school / college years already...

Getting fat

Isn't it ironic that I'm working so hard to fatten up this little person who (if she has my genes anyways) will spend her entire life trying to slim down? Seems unfair doesn't it?

But since gaining weight is a good thing for babies, I am proud to say that Hila has gained a total of 1.6kg (or 3.5lbs) during her two months of life outside the womb. And the good news is...it's not all formula fat! Breastfeeding, still being the biggest challenge I've ever faced, is becoming easier and easier every day.

That's not to say that Hila is now formula-free. Far from it. (That's not even my goal.) But after taking motilium, pumping like mad, and losing the silicone nipple, I now have enough milk (usually) to give Hila a nice breastmilk breakfast and a few little snacks through the afternoon!

One month has turned into six weeks which turned into two months. Now I'll try and make it til Pesach.

My little girl is growing up!

Here are some milestones that Hila has reached by today, the beginning of her 8th week of life:
1. She rolled over from her stomach to her back three times.
2. Last night we put her in her crib, patted her to sleep, and when she woke up ten minutes later, put herself back to sleep in 6 minutes.
3. She re-learned how to latch on sans silicone (still not entirely correct and pain-free, but a latch nonetheless) and is started to breastfeed more and more every day.
4. She can sit and entertain herself in her swing, bouncer, or play mat for a good 1/2 hour, looking around, smiling, and being fully engaged by what she sees.

She'll probably start walking and talking any day now at the rate she's going.

Hila's Arms

I've been doing a lot of staring and studying of my baby's both awake and asleep behavior and actions. Here are some things that I've noticed about Hila's arms:

- When she's eating she makes little fists with her hands, sticks out her pointer fingers and brings her arms over her head, as if to say, "You are number one, mom!"

- Sometimes she does this with two fingers out, as if to say, "Just the two of us, you and me, mom."

- Sometimes she puts out three finger, "And daddy, too."

- When Hila is napping, her hands go angelically under her chin or one arm goes over her head and one arm stays under her chin or to her side. There is always a lot of flailing in the naptime phase.

- When she is sleeping a deep sleep in her crib, both of her arms rest over her head on the mattress surface -- "I surrender to sleep!"

- Sometimes she jolts awake for a moment (or longer) and her arms shoot up into the air. "AH! Why am I sleeping?? I should be conducting an orchestra!"

The best part of Hila's arms, though, are her hands, which are perfection. She has long, graceful fingers, that are not at all like my short, stubby digits. My mother says that they remind her of her mother's hands -- Hila's namesake -- how appropriate!

Advice for New Mothers

I was recently having a gchat conversation with Talia, a fellow new mother who has about four months more experience than I do. While venting about how much more difficult infant-raising was than I had expected, Talia gave the following advice:

1. You are allowed to want to throw the baby out the window.
2. Do NOT throw the baby out the window.
3. Your husband, in-laws, and parents all want to hold her too. Let them.
4. It's tough but try to get alone time once a day.
5. Don't worry about fitting into your clothes.
6. Talk to your friends for tips and advice; then you won't feel like you are the only one dealing with baby issues.

So there are six tips...feel free to add your more!

The Nursing Saga Continues

Things are getting better, but are still not perfect.

Breastfeeding is becoming an expensive ordeal. I've become a regular at my lactation consultant (100 shekels a pop), the tongue snipping wasn't cheap, nursing bras are expensive (I went up another cup size!), and we still need to buy formula which we're still having to give Hila at every feed.

Nipples are still a bit sore, but thanks to silicone nipples, they feel a MILLION times (at least) better.

I'm pumping about four or five times a day to help increase my milk supply. And I'm taking fenugreek supplements which are supposed to also help. And I'm really starting to see an increase!

I nurse Hila maybe three times a day, but sometimes she just sits there to humor me, waiting for me to finish so she can get her bottle. She spends half the time sitting quietly and half the time thrashing around -- again, thank goodness for silicone. My goal is to partially reverse wean her from the bottles, to breastfeed her (with no supplement) a few times a day and to rely on bottles for middle of the night feeds and outings.

The tongue snipping was a partial success. It hurts a lot less when she latches on, though I also switched to the silicone nipples, so who knows if the snipping would've made a difference with those. My lactation consultant says her tongue is still a little tight and she could use another snip, but I say enough is enough. There's only so much mutilation I can allow.

I'm feeling less discouraged, maybe even hopeful. More than that though, I've come to terms with the fact that breastfeeding just may not work out this time around. I'm going to try for a few more weeks and I'm going to try and stay positive.

Thank you all for your suggestions, support, and encouragement. I'll keep you posted!

P.S. The good news is that Hila is definitely gaining weight. She's really filling out and is looking a lot less scrawny. We'll do an officially weigh-in on Tuesday.

Tongue Tied

If you've spoken to me or written to me or heard anything about me in the last few days, you're likely to know about my sore nipples. People have been saying that all you need is a good latch, but what do you do when it is physically impossible for your baby to "get a good latch"? Since day one I've been struggling to get Hila to latch on properly, but even when it looks like she's got it good, it still kills. My nipples have gotten no chance to heal and just keep getting more and more and more irritated.

A few visits to the lactation consultant later, we learn that Hila is tongue tied. This is a real thing! It means that her frenulum is tight so she is unable to fully raise her tongue to the roof of her mouth, making it difficult, if not impossible, to get an effective suck. (The frenulum is that string-like tissue that connects the tongue to the bottom of the mouth.) Don't get me wrong -- this girl can suck strong...just not effectively and not widely, which means that all of the action is on my nipple and not enough on the area around it.

Another result of this, other than severe pain, is that my milk supply is suffering. Milk supply is stimulated through the areola, not the nipple, and since Hila is barely getting to that, my milk ducts are barely being stimulated. Thus I have been relying heavily on pumping (which also kills) to help stimulate my areolas and increase my milk supply.

Another result of Hila's tight frenulum and my sore nipples is that Hila is not gaining enough weight. This is the most upsetting part of the story. We have been advised by both our doctor and lactation consultant to supplement her diet with formula, which was actually a huge relief becuase it gives me a little nipple break and coming from them (and not me) makes me feel less guilty.

The good news: Tomorrow we are going to get Hila's frenulum snipped. A quick cut under her tongue will loosen her frenulum and help release her tongue, making it easier for her to eat and less painful for me. She will also be getting that string like thing that connects the top lip to the gum line snipped (don't know what it's called) so that her top lip has more room to more as well. (Coincidentally (or maybe I should say genetically, I had this procedure done many years ago to help tighten the gap between my two front teeth.) I've got all my eggs in this basket -- if the situation does not drastically improve, then it could be that breastfeeding is just not for us, which is upsetting, but at least now I know that it's not my fault and it may not even be what's best.

Wish us luck for tomorrow!

Welcome to the World, Hila Zehava!

After much planning and anticipation of a masculine addition to our family, little Hila Zehava made her very feminine appearance one week ago on our (now shared) birthday of January 26. Here is our birth story...

I started a few days earlier with some period-like cramps. Wow, I thought, if these are contractions, than I can totally handle these -- they barely even hurt! At 6:30am, though, on Monday, January 26, those cramps got a little stronger. And then a little stronger. And then a little stronger. And before I knew it, I was in the hospital, screaming my brains out, beggin for an epidural. I felt like I was in a movie.

About eight hours later, I got that blessed epidural and the painful and traumatic labor experience went from unbearable to absolutely blissful. I took a little nap, chatted with Joanie, our amazing doula, ate a bit, and just chilled, with a warm flush of numbness flowing through my body.

A few hours later, after they had broken my water with a wooden stick (seriously) and given me a bit of pitocin to speed things up, a midwife came in, looked at the monitor, ran out, and quickly reentered with a staff of 5 or 6 doctors, nurses, and midwives. What I heard was "blah blah hebrew hebrew". What I saw was a look of panic on their faces as they pulled my legs up and apart, told me to hold my knees, and told me to push. I got the translated update -- our baby's heart rate was quickly dropping and if I didn't push her out in five minutes, they'd have to cut me open and take her out themselves.

They sent Menachem out of the room because of the emergency nature of the situation and told me to push again, harder this time. But...I still had the epidural and couldn't feel a thing. How can I push if I couldn't feel any of my pushing muscles? Apparently I didn't have a choice. And then, soley through the power of the mind, I visualized what I thought pushing would look like and feel like, and I pushed and pushed and pushed that baby out like there was no tomorrow.

My panicked cries of "Is my baby ok? Is my baby ok?" immediately switched to a relieved and overjoyed "My baby is ok! My baby is ok!" Menachem was back in the room by the time they threw that little girl on top of me and assured me that she was perfect.

It's a girl! "What?" we said. And my first thought, I kid you not, after of course the flood of relief and love that I felt, was "oh man, Menachem is going to have to exchange all that blue stuff for pink." (And he did.)

I delivered the placenta with no problems (it looks like a lung on a string) and then they sewed me up where they had cut me and where I'd torn -- and I didn't feel a thing.

And now one week later we're all adjusting to life with a newborn. It's tiring, at times frustrating, at times extremely painful (recovering from the stitches and dealing with sore nipples -- see my other blog about that), but always filled with wonder and amazement about the presence of this miraculous, beautiful, little baby girl.

Hila Zehava is named after my mother's mother, Gloria Goldie. Hila is Hebrew from praise/glory, and Zehava means gold.

And we love her. And you'll love her too when you get to meet her!

Happy belated Bowelversary to me!

I don't believe yesterday came and went and I didn't think about my bowels once. (Clearly I have other things on my mind.)

Here is to me -- for survival, acceptance, and digestive health!

And here is to you -- for friendship, love, and caring that you've all provided for me over the years, bowel and non-bowel related!

It's been seven years, do you believe it?

Early/Late

I made the psychological mistake of assuming that this baby would be early. (After all, I was three weeks early myself...doesn't that count for anything??) So now, with still one and a half weeks to go before even hitting the due date, I feel like I'm late.

38 weeks tomorrow!

Focusing on work is even harder than usual (if you can imagine that). Sometimes I just stare into space and think, "I wonder if it'll be now. Or now. Or now." I waste so much time just sitting around and waiting. And yet I haven't shown any signs of labor and still suspect that I'll probably be late. I'm just bored.

The baby should come at the right time. Hopefully that right time is today. Maybe now. Or now. Or now. Nope. Nothing.

Pregnant dish washing is hard!

Tonight I decided to give Menachem a break and do some dishes. He just started a very demanding job and gets home very late (and I love him and wanted to surprise him), I just kicked out Rachel (my other dish washer) since I plan on laboring in private and that could be any day, and I just spent the whole day reading in bed, only doing a bit of work here and there. It only seemed fair that I chip in and do some dish washing myself.

I did about six dishes before I quit. Here's why it's hard to do dishes while you're pregnant:

First of all standing in one place for an extended period of time without moving is tiring.

Second, and more crucial, is the fact that I don't fit properly in front of the sink. See, you probably don't realize how close you stand to the sink while you're doing dishes, but when you've got a foot long belly, you can no longer stand in that optimal location. Instead, you have to stand a foot back and reach further into the sink. And I have short arms, so the reach ends up forcing me to hunch my shoulders and curve my spine and it's THAT that makes me stop before finishing the batch.

And no, I can't just stand closer and squish my stomach into the counter because a) that hurts a lot and b) I end up getting soaked.

So, sorry Menachem, the sink is still filled with dishes.

Forced Nesting

I've heard about this "nesting" phenomenon--Pregnant women nearing their due dates feel the need to do intense cleaning and organizing, to get their lives and their homes in order before the baby comes.--and I'm afraid I'm going about it all wrong.

Oh, the instinct to clean and organize I've got, but the surge of energy that supposedly goes along with it...well that I've yet to see.

The result? I'm taking my nesting instinct out on Menachem. I'm seeing things that NEED to get done RIGHT NOW, but...I don't want to do them...but they NEED to get done... Menachem?
I
From cleaning out the little room (ok that really does need to get done) to cleaning the ceiling fans in every room, to hanging our curtain rod, to filing, putting away clutter, organizing all our books, going through clothing...the list is endless.

And I feel bad because I'M the one who wants all these things done...I just don't want to be the one to do them. I'm as fat as a house and barely have energy to lift myself off the couch to go pee--how am I expected to clean our ceiling fans?

In other news, I just ate almost a whole pint of B&J and am feeling (emotionally) pretty bad. (Physically I feel fine.)

Sometimes I eat too much and then my stomach hurts and I think I must be going into labor. But really it's just because I've jam packed food into a space that looks like it holds a lot more than it actually does.

Wow, I'm starting to feel that ice cream settle into my stomach. I feel really sick. I should not be left alone with a pint of ice cream.

Getting Huge

It's like it just happened over night. I notice that there are very clear growth spurts, but this one is by far the biggest. All of a sudden I'm gigantic. I feel like a beached whale (maybe an overused analogy, but now I understand why). Just moving takes effort. Sleeping is getting difficult. Turning over raises my heart rate and leaves me breathless. Stairs? Like running a marathon (which I've never done, but I can imagine). Next pregnancy, I'm putting in an elevator and getting a car. And moving to a place where there are fewer hills. Maybe for my future ninth months of pregnancy (poo poo poo) I'll relocate to Kansas.

So not only do I feel like I'm about to pop, I look like it too, apparently. Last night we were getting into a cab. I was getting in the front seat (it's easier), with a moan and groan (all exertion demands a grunt), and the cab driver took one look at me and said "Shaarei Tzedek?" (our local hospital).

Man I got so excited! I almost said yes! I don't know why, but I felt like he had just given me the biggest compliment EVER. We told him we still had three more weeks, and I walked around with a huge smile all night (until we got home and I had to walk up all those stairs).

All that being said, the truth is, is that I don't really feel like I'm about to pop. I actually feel like this baby is going to come a little late. Yes, I'm getting uncomfortable. Yes, I'm excited and ready to have this baby. Yes, I'm getting a little tired of being pregnant. But it seems to me that when women do finally give birth, it's because their bodies really are done and just can't carry the baby anymore. And I don't feel that way. Moaning and groaning aside, I haven't had any contractions; I don't feel like I'm going to tip over; for the most part, during most of the day, I feel fine.

My due date is January 30. I'm predicting a February 1st arrival. Menachem predicts January 26 (my birthday).

I'll keep you posted...

36 weeks and a Cake Guard

I was just looking at engagement pictures of Tiff and Mordy (mazel tov!!!!) and there's a picture of them blowing out candles on their Happy Engagement cake. And a thought occurred to me: What if one of them has a cold? (I had a horrible cold/cough all week so it's on my mind.) Would I want to eat a cake after someone with yucky germs sprayed their breath all over it? How come I've never heard any concern about this? It's sad to think that probably in the next few years (if not sooner), as the hygiene/germ craze gets stronger, the tradition of blowing out candles on a cake will probably disappear. I mean, if I'VE thought of it, then I'm sure hyperly sensitive moms of allergy-ridden three-year olds have thought of it too.

Fortunately, Cake Guard Industries to the rescue and make a ridiculous product to protect cakes from germs. Cake Guard Industries assures its customers that "saliva and germs no longer need to be a part of the celebration by using CakeGuard at your next celebration." Hurrah!

Meanwhile, in unrelated pregnancy news, I've hit the 36 week mark and I've hit my due date month -- our baby could be born any day now! (though preferably in a week or two or three--when s/he's good and ready.) I've taken out the hospital bag and plan on packing it up today and I'm starting to drink nettle and raspberry leaf tea which are supposed to stimulate blood flow to the uterus which will help during labor.

Moving around is getting harder. It takes me about double the time to walk to places which used to be easy walks and I've definitely been taking more cabs. I avoid going certain places (down) because it means a dreaded walk home (up).

Otherwise, things are great! Tiff's engagement made my day -- a trip to America is finally in sight (sometime this summer)! (And we love Tiff and are so happy for her!)

Shabbat Shalom!

It's a.....boy!...maybe...

I keep chuckling to myself over here. We're so sure that it's a boy (without any scientific or empirical evidence whatsoever) that we went shopping the other day and bought everything blue.

We went to this great store in Talpiot called Motzitzim and bought a whole package deal: crib, dresser/changing table, bath, some clothes, pacifiers, cotton balls, thermometer, and like 20 other baby odds and ends. It's all in a box on hold at the store until the baby is born and Menachem goes to collect it. If it's a boy, then all the stuff stays as is--the blue sheets, the blue changing pad, the blue diaper bag, etc.--but if it's a girl, Menachem will have a job ahead of him of switching everything to pink.

I read recently that babies don't really look so good in yellow and green, so rather than opt for neutral colors, we figured we'd gamble.

Don't get me wrong -- if it's a girl, we'll be thrilled...and surprised.

Life in the 8th month

Just some updates:
1) We went on a fantastic pre-baby vacation to Eilat. Apparently pregnant women are not allowed to swim with dolphins.
2) The other day I experienced the baby's first kick that actually startled me. It was fun.
3) Our most recent ultrasound picture revealed what still looks like a boy. But we still don't know for sure.
4) I ate my first sufganiya of the season and it was kinda dry. I'm looking forward to more this week.
5) I went to yoga TWICE last week.
6) My face is getting sorta fat.
7) I still love how the bigger my belly gets the smaller my butt looks (it's just an illusion though because my butt has actually gotten bigger too).
8) I finally finished reading The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy -- exactly one month from Menachem's birthday. (It was a birthday present to him that I would read it.)
9) I started eating sugar cereals again, which is not good.
10) I started a new blog www.babythingsiwant.com and you should check it out!

Hellooooo sweet tooth!

This is not good. I feel like I've been pretty healthy through this pregnancy. Then, a few weeks ago, I saw that a few weeks went by during which I didn't gain any weight, so I started eating junk. Lo and behold, the weight caught up with me and now I'm in a junk food rut. All I want are cookies and brownies and milkshakes. A few weeks ago I had this AMAZING chai milkshake at Tmol Shilshom. I keep dreaming of that. And I'm just itching to go into the kitchen and make myself a batch of chocolate chip cookies. Fortunately, laziness has stopped me from doing that for the last few days, but now the urge is stronger than my laziness. I don't just want them, I NEED them. NEEEEEED.

Meanwhile, all last week I thought I was in my 32nd week, but I miscounted and was only in my 31st, so THIS Wednesday will be 32 weeks -- only two months to go! It is now December and I'm giving birth in January (unless the baby is 2 days late, and then February)!

We're going on a final we-don't-have-kids-so-we-can-be-irresponsible-and-drop-everything mini vacation next week to Eilat. We already booked a hotel and I just made a list of things I want to do: snorkel in the coral reef, snorkel with the dolphins, go to the underwater observatory, and just relax by the pool and beach.

I'll tell you all about it when we get back. For now, I'm going to make some cookies.

The Misplaced Placenta

As you know, I've been worried about the presence of kicks and movements of our baby. I know you're not supposed to compare to other people, but it really seemed like everyone I spoke to and everything I read suggested that I should be feeling the baby A LOT more than I have been.

Now, I'm a little annoyed that no ultrasound technician and no doctor had mentioned this (following reason why) to me. It was only last week that our birthing teacher suggested it and then I looked at my ultrasound scan and confirmed it -- my placenta is not behind the baby, but in front of it. This means that everytime the baby kicks, it kicks the placenta, NOT my belly. This causes a muffler affect causing me to feel the movements a lot less and a lot weaker than the average woman with the averagely placed posterior placenta. (There are no risk factors to an anterior placenta.)

PHEW. How come no one told me this before? It would have saved some anxiety.

Tomorrow is 29 weeks. That's almost 30 and 30 is almost 40. I'm so excited! As though working wasn't hard enough before, now I have my mind constantly drifting to the glorious future, of holding and cuddling our new baby, losing weight, and eating raw cookie dough.

Fitting in places

This is a bit disconcerting. I'm not THAT big. I'm at Tal Bagels and I only JUST fit into one of their chairs. There are three types of seating here at Tal's. Regular chairs with no armrests, booths, and these rounded swivel chairs, and it is into that last type that I am just barely fitting in. It's sort of comfortable. Very snug. But strange that all of a sudden I'm so big that I don't have room between my butt and my chair. There are other instances of this, when I realize all of a sudden how large I've gotten. Like I'll see a chair sort of close to a wall and think I can just slide behind the chair...and can't. Or the door to the mirpeset sherut will be blocked partially by the bathroom rug, but I'll think I can squeeze in through the crack to see if the clothes are dry...and I can't. I guess, to sum up, I can no longer squeeze into tight places. There are worse things.

A terrorist and a pregnant woman walk into a cab...

Did I ever tell you about the time this terrorist got into our cab? We were on our way home and were stopped at a light on the corner of Herzog and Tchernichovsky and a guy hailed a cab and our cab driver let him in. He sat in the front seat and after closing the door, there was a knock on his window. It was cop who starting questioning this young, hippie looking guy, and then asked him to get out of the car and go with him. Meanwhile, it was all in very fast Hebrew and I missed the whole thing, but our cab driver caught it all and said that the cops had seen this guy running around outside the prime minister's house and suspected him of terrorism. He looked harmless to me. Looked like a post-army, just back from India, probably had lots of weed in his bag sorta guy. It must suck to get wrongly pulled over for terrorism and then have the cops find illegal drugs on you. Poor guy.

And now, some things I like about being pregnant:
1. You're allowed to be fat.
2. Breasts. My breasts now have a top, bottom, and inbetween. Like when I get out of the shower, I actually need to dry myself in the creases. This is a new phenomemon.
3. You can be tired and lazy and people assume it's because you're pregnant.
4. People do things for you.
5. You're allowed to be fat (did i say that?)

Third trimester here I come!

I'm obsessed...

...with this ultrasound picture. It's of our baby's face. It's so clear, like someone took the baby out for a minute to photograph it and then stuck it back in. It's so clear that I feel like I'm doing something philosophically or morally wrong. Are we supposed to get to know our babies this well before they're born? Are we supposed to get this attached? Are we supposed to look at their pictures and imagine what their thinking before they're even born? I've stopped short of posting the pictures on facebook or putting it up as my desktop background, but I have sent it around to a bunch of friends and to family. As though to say, "Introducing Baby Gold Pritzker!" But...isn't it a little early for introductions?

And now I'm really feeling the baby kicking. So not only do I feel it, but I've seen it. I can feel it kicking and look at the picture on my computer screen, and all of a sudden--where's the mystery? It's so suddenly UNOBSCURE and UN-ABSTRACT.

Is that how it's supposed to be?

In other news, I was waiting for a bus the other day and an old man sat down next to me and started speaking to me in Spanish. Now, I don't speak a word of Spanish, and I was about to tell him so, but didn't really have the heart to, so I heard him out. And strangely enough, I understood him. Here's what he said:

"You have such lovely white skin. It's good that you don't sit out in the sun. Then you'd have dark, splotchy skin like mine."

Or maybe it was:
"Damn, girl! You are so pasty white. You need to get yourself out in the sun more so you can get a nice tan like I have."

I heard these words: Blanco, negro, sol. And he was pointing to my white leg and then to his dark, splotchy leg. Before he ran for his bus, I said, "Blanco bueno?" and he said "Si" and gave me a thumbs up. And then he said (in Spanish) that he is an astrologer from Buenos Aires, but has been in Israel for seven years. And then I told him (in Spanish) that I was in Buenos Aires for four months. (Which isn't quite true, but I was all flustered from speaking and understanding a language that I've never spoken or understood.)

So that was a strange encounter.

We think we're having a boy. It just really looks like a boy. Tiffany said we're probably having a girl because everyone else is having boys, but I think that logic doesn't really make sense. I also think that the quick flash of what looked like a little penis on the ultrasound screen is a pretty good sign. Obviously we'd be happy with either one, but we have such beautiful girls' names picked out, and boys names are just tougher.

Happy Yom Kippur to you all! May we all be signed and sealed in the book of life!

Jerusalem nIghts and Richmond reminiscing

Halleluyah! The skies are beginning to cloud over a bit and it's not as sunshiny bright as it's been all summer! Days are still hot, but last night I was...get this...COLD. And now the windows are open and breeze is coming into the living room and maybe, just maybe, we can stop relying on the expensive a/c and save a buck.

Happy week 22! (or is it week 23? I'm starting to lose count.) I'm feeling better than ever and I think I'm even feeling the baby move a bit, which is good since today was my deadline before panic. Everything online says that I should feel the baby between weeks 16 and 22, and here I am, thinking I'm an early bird, expecting to feel it by week 15, and so, as luck would have it, I don't feel it until i'm toeing the line into week 23. And I guess I'm still not 100% certain that it's the baby I'm feeling. I don't really know what a kicking baby feels like.

Otherwise, life is moving along swimmingly. Last week was Molly and Mike's wedding which was so much fun. and then we had a Richmond sheva brachot which was even more fun. I love seeing old Richmond people. I was trying to explain to Menachem why hanging out with Richmond people makes me so giddy, and the only explanation I could come up with that really pinpointed it was how they remind me of my idyllic childhood. I think I outgrew Richmond by the time I was 15 or so, but those elementary school years were pretty sweet. And all these old friends were a part of that. Before I knew of world suffering, disease, twisted bowels, heartbreak, stress, starving children in Africa, and evil. Not that knowing those things hasn't made my life more rich and valuable, but there is still something to be said for life pre-knowledge. Like Adam and Eve before the fall. Paradise.

Is it possible to still raise children in that sort of world? Is it possible in Israel, or in Jerusalem, more specifically, to raise kids in an evil-less world? Where terror attacks and talk of war is a regular concern? But then again, isn't it sort of like that in America now too? Remember when all we were taught was 'don't talk to strangers'? And now there are sessions taught to kindergarteners about sexual abuse?

I do have a great talent of blocking things out. Maybe I remember things better than they were.

On another subject, I'm still playing tennis and doing some pottery, though both might come to an end soon, pregant-wise and money-wise, respectively. My pottery teacher said I looked "light". I thought she meant pale, but she said she means "light", like not heavy, but I'm not sure if she was talking about body weight. (Though I am still right on target for weight gain!). It was a peculiar compliment.

If we don't speak before Monday night, shana tova! May you have a happy, sweet new year, filled with peace and blessings!

Half way there...and feeling great!

It's strange. You think you're always going to feel nauseous and weak and exhausted and then soon you forget that you ever felt that way. First you think, "I'm NEVER going to do this again." And then pretty soon your bad memories fade and the thought, "Maybe we'll have our second one right away" pops into your mind. Though, I imagine the third trimester and labor might make that one take a turn for the worse.

Project: Clean out the little room. Make room for baby.
Goal: Clear out the little room without simply transferring all the stuff from little room into Shira's room. Also, clear out Shira's room. Make room for Shira.
Dates: Now until January, preferably early January.

Is that enough time? Today I started by emptying a drawer filled with papers. But now there is a bigger mess. We have too much stuff. Where do you keep little locks (like from an old locker)? Where do you keep listerene strips (is there an expiration date)? Where should I keep my purses? When should you throw out magazines? Should American change go in the tzedakah box with the Israeli change? What do you do with old course work that one day you may just need to refer to?

How do I declutter without feeling like I need to move in order to start fresh?

Yours truly, Sarah

Still waiting for a kick...

I thought: If most first time pregnant women feel their baby move at 18-22 weeks, then I will definitely feel it earlier. After all, I am sooo much more in touch with the goings on of my body than the average woman is. And now, here I am at 18 weeks, 3 days, and still nothing. How am I supposed to know that my baby is alive and well in there if I can't feel it? I understand why tom and katie cruise bought their own ultrasound machine. oh to be rich and neurotic!

One strange thing about pregnancy is that I love potatoes all of a sudden. I never disliked them, but I found them boring and pointless. And now, I dream of potatoes. Plain, boring, boiled or baked potatoes, with nothing on them but salt. I also really like peas. I've been making such an effort to eat two vegetables a day. Do potatoes count? I was never clear on that.

Good news: I had a driving lesson and my driving instructor said I was a good driver and another lesson would be a waste of time and money. So now I just need to wait until the test which will be in about a month. I begged him to make sure it wasn't early in the morning, because of the sun and because of my laziness, I mean Pregnancy Exhaustion.

I don't have so much other pregnancy news because, well, not much has happened. I feel like I'm at a bit of a stand still. I don't think my stomach has grown at all in the last few weeks. I still haven't felt the baby move, which is frustrating. I mean, the book says that for a first baby, it's possible at this time to feel "flutters that may feel like gas", but if they feel like gas, then how am I supposed to distinguish between baby flutters and gas flutters? I had a dream that I felt a good kick, but in the dream it was clear that it came from a fully developed baby sized leg, and my baby is still the size of a hamburger, so I'm not expecting to feel that (while I'm awake) for quite some time.

Menachem is afraid that if I don't feel the baby soon, then it may induce anxiety and so I should be careful not to obsess about this and just let things happen when they happen. I have no idea what he's talking about...

I want to go on vacation. I want to go to Italy for two weeks. And I want to go to a spa for at least two days. Somebody please knock some sense into me.

Week 16.5 News

The thing about now, is that how I look and how I feel completely depend on what I wear. Like if I wear a shirt with an empire waist and, even better, with a tie that accentuates that between the bust and stomach line, then I feel pregnant and good. But if I wear any other sort of shirt, I just feel fat.

Also my headaches have mostly subsided. I significantly cut back the amount of dairy I was consuming, so it's possible that that's related.

In other news, I finally went to work today. We had a very important "how to lock the doors" orientation that even people who work from home 99% of the time had to attend. Had lunch with Ben and sat next to Netanyahu and his posse, which I don't really care so much about but maybe you do.

Meanwhile, when given the choice today if I am more excited to have our baby or for the weather to get cooler, I opted for choice B. Obviously having a baby is the most exciting thing in the world, but for now, it's a bit abstract, as opposed to a change in weather which is something I'm quite familiar with.

Menachem pointed out that today is the first day that we've both been at work at the same time. That is because a) I rarely go to work, and b) because he used to work American hours, while I worked mostly during the day. But now -- Halleluyah! -- he got a normal job like a normal person and we will get some normal sleep! (If you need a real estate agent, let us know.)

Other things I'm looking forward to: My mother-in-laws arrival, and with her: Peanut Butter South Beach Bars (I like PB again), tennis rackets, and MATERNITY CLOTHES!

A Crazy Thing Happened on the Way to Bed the other Night...

I was getting into pajamas on Friday night. Off came my shirt, first, and I was left in a very tight, stretchy tank top. I glanced at myself in the mirror, and then-- stared. You will simply not believe what went through my head at that moment. It was: "Wow. I love my body." Now, if you know me at all, you know that those words have never crossed my mind, and as you can imagine, they came, therefore, as quite a shock. Menachem walked into the room to find me standing in front of the mirror. I felt slightly guilty, or rather, I felt like I LOOKED slightly guilty and felt the need to say something. So I blurted out, "I was just admiring myself in the mirror." I started crying. It was a very emotional moment, to share with someone this deepest, strangest realization. Off came the rest of my clothes, and I just stood there, shocked. I used to associate "body" with "thighs" because that's all I saw when I looked down at my body. But now, I actually SEE my body. And Menachem, perfect as he is says, "I'm just so happy that you finally see yourself the way I always have." God, I love him.

So am I ALWAYS going to have to be pregnant in order to feel this way about my body? Or will this boost of self-esteem somehow stick, even after the swell of the upper body deflates?

Happy week 15!

The topic of this week is: Headaches. Remember that image of the telephone pole banging against my stomach while I'm up against a brick wall? Well, this is like that, but at my head and not as bad. But still, in the last few days I've had a headache everyday and nothing works except for an ice pack and an Excedrin Migraine which I really shouldn't be taking, even though the doctor said I could. This is the same doctor who prescribed me muscle relaxants for a backache, who, on the phone, never asks what trimester I'm in or if I tried regular tylenol yet or really anything else. (I'm looking for a new doctor if you know of any maccabi doctors in Jerusalem.)

Ok, we're going to the mall and then to play tennis -- one of the last vestiges of my normal semi-active life.

I'M the irresponsible one?

I lost the piece of paper with my next appointment on it and now, THREE weeks in advance I call the doctor's office to find out when my appointment is so I can put it on my calendar. And she's like, "If you don't know when you're appointment is then I can't tell you.": HUH? I'm calling because I don't know when my appointment is...so how can I tell you when my appointment is and then if I did, what exactly would be the point of my question? So I give her my name, but that doesn't help. So she's like, "It's your responsibility to remember when you're appointment is." Okay...so what am I supposed to do? You can make a new appointment? Well, what about my old appointment?

So I made a new appointment, which is just dumb because now I'm going to MISS another one of my appointments sometime around then and the doctor is going to give me attitude. And this was all in broken Hebrew and it was frustrating and now I'm not so in love with Israel right now.

Some body changes

Here's something--my stomach is starting to feel solid! If you've ever touched a pregnant belly, you know what I mean. I doesn't feel like soft, flabby fat, it feels kinda hard, solid, and like there's something in it other than digested food.

Another exciting body change: I'm starting to notice that the bigger my belly gets, the smaller my theighs and butt look--it's an all illusion, of course, but still.

Also, my head is growing. Someone has suggested that maybe my hair is getting thicker (which certainly would be a nice perk), but I'm pretty sure it's my actual skull expanding. I can't tell by looking in the mirror, but scarves and bandanas are starting to give me headaches.

And there you have it--body changes of week 13.

Growing out of my clothes already??

Although I've already seen our baby a number of times on the ultrasound screen while the technician holds the wand up to my uterus, I'm still somewhat convinced that I'm growing our baby in my butt. I always feared this...

I always knew I wasn't going to have one of those gorgeous pregnant bodies where from the back you can't even tell the person is pregnant and from the front, the only thing is this perfectly round belly, but meanwhile arms, legs, and face are virtually unchanged. I always knew that wouldn't be me. I knew that as my belly expanded (and it is, thank god at least for that!) so would the rest of my body. My butt and theighs are enlarging, as well is pretty much every other body part associated with me (except of course, my breasts, are still rather small). Well, it's still early yet.

Happy 12 weeks and 6 days!

Pickles

Scratch everything I said about cravings not really existing. I'm eating pickes out of the can. I feel like such a cliche. But I really wanted pickles. and only pickles. But eating the pickles is kinda making me want hot dogs, which is strange because I've had no meat or chicken for the past month. Yum. Hot dogs and pickles. Maybe also because on the news they were talking about the July 4th eating competition on Coney Island. The winner ate 66 hot dogs in 15 minutes. And strangely, that doesn't repulse me, but rather intrigues me. I could probably eat 66 hot dogs in a day.

Indigestion

I finally understand what indigestion is. I never really experienced before and now I've got it down to a science.

There are 4 different types of burps:

1. Feels good, tastes good -- like after chocolate milk or soda.

2. Feels good, tastes bad -- maybe this category doesn't exist...can't think of an example.

3. Feels bad, tastes good -- like after apples.

4. Feels bad, tastes bad -- like after cheerios, tuna, peanut butter, and pesto.

Which brings me to another interesting pregnancy observation/experience. I despise peanut butter and pesto! Perhaps it is because I know that it provides the nasty aftereffect of burp #4, but also, the smells are simply repulsive and the tastes...well, i'm not going near enough to try them.

And here's the thing about cravings: Everybody has cravings, pregnant or not pregnant, and it's not even that when you're pregnant the cravings are stronger; but rather, it's that the aversions make you unable to eat anything OTHER THAN exactly what you're craving. For example, cheetohs. I love cheetohs and often crave them, but because i'm not repulsed by all other food in the world, I am able to settle on a healthier, also tasty option. Whereas when you are pregnant, when you want the cheetohs and someone (someone else or your very own conscience) says, well, how about some cottage cheese or an apple instead?, the answer is, "absolutely not. I need the cheetohs." And again, it's not because the craving is stronger, but it's because the craving is working together with the aversions which veto all other options. So in essence, the craving IS stronger, but only because strong aversions have kicked in.

That's my theory anyways.

Tomorrow I will be 10 weeks, which is exciting. We've decided to start telling people after my doctor's appointment which takes place on 11 weeks. But maybe we should also wait for those genetic tests to come back. Those freak me out and I try not to think about them....

I should really be working...

Breasts

I think my breasts are growing. It's hard to tell. They're still small. I don't know what I was expecting. It seems unlikely that one would go from a barely-A cup to a C, yet that's what I've been dreaming for....well, it's still early on. 9 weeks, tomorrow.

Can't kick this cold...

...and the problem with that is that I can't tell what's a pregnancy symptom and what's just plain old sick behavior. Let me start by saying that I am not a klutz. I always say that I remind myself of Bridget Jones (or the other way around?) except for the klutziness. I don't generally trip on my own feet, drop things, or forget things (not too often at least). And yet...And yet...in the last week since I started my 6th week of pregnancy AND since I got this nasty cold, I have done all those things multiple times.

For example, I went to take an egg out of the fridge and simply dropped it on the ground. I may have even forgotten that I was holding it. That's how smoothly it dropped from my hand. And then I made a banana bread, and forgot to put bananas in. Though I did go a little crazy with it and add everything else in the pantry -- craisins, flaxseeds, musueli...and I don't even remember what else. And then last night was the clincher: I was getting my pre bed snack (lately I've been too hungry to fall asleep) and I was about to get into bed with my cup of instant grits and my knee landed on my phone which tipped my whole balance and the cup went FLYING, spattering grits all over the sheets, my pillow, the wall, and my nighttable. I burst into a hysterical laughing/crying fit while Menachem patiently changed the sheets. I lose my appetite; I gain it back ten-fold. I eat too much; I get nauseous. I love food; I hate food. I've been queasy.

So, what I want to know is: Is my sudden klutziness and queasiness a symptom of pregnancy? Or is my cold making me lightheaded and unbalanced? I guess the answer is that it's probably both.

COLD, please go away. PLEASE? Please let me enjoy my pregnancy symptoms untainted by silly cold side effects!

Happy Anniversary!

Today Israel and I reach the big 3-0! We have hit our one month together mark and we are truly happy.

Maybe I'll stay...

(only kidding, employers and mom and dad)

Shalom! How are the bones? (That's a common greeting here.) My bones, and the rest of me, our good, actually. (Bli ayin hara poo poo poo.)

Did I ever tell you about the time that Molly and I were stuffed into an overcrowded matatu filled with people and bananas and it was time for our stop and the only way out was through the back window? And that I'm not as bendy as the Africans and so it took a whole crowd of passersby to pull me out from the other side? Good times.

Did I ever tell you about the time that my father got knocked to the ground by a motorcycle? That he was crossing the street and looked both ways, but in the American order? That was funny. (Right, daddy? Even you laughed.)

Did I tell you about the time that a group of men offered to buy me for the price of the cow? But that happens all the time.

But those are all things of the past (except for the offering of the cow-dowry).

This time around, I am a visitor. Not a tourist, mind you--I ride the bodaboda bicycles even like an African woman now, side saddle and all. I even eat the skin of the mango that the kids throw down from the trees. And I'm not even buying souvenirs this time.

I have spent my last week and a half visiting friends all over the region. Since many of you know the people here, I'm going to do a bit of name-dropping, so skip this if they are just names to you:

I have spent about 1/2 my time at Hadassah with my children and a little bit of time on top of the hill reviewing the Passover Hagadah with the older youth. On my way down the hill, I have visited M'zee (old man) Nehemiah, who has a vanilla and coffee plantation (though I'll bet the Ugandans have never though to make a french vanilla cappachino). Further down the hill is Majuma who insisted I come in for tea and boiled eggs. I spent a night in Nasenyi visiting Jacobo and Norah and saw the team of oxen, Mike and Rene, hard at work. I also visited Israel Kilya's family in Nasenyi, but he was in Kampala. I've spent a few nights at the Putti yishuv where I intend on returning for shabbat. I went to Samson's and Dinah's house near town for a quick coke and saw their new baby. I've also visited Naume's new shop a few times. Oh, and of course dinner at Yael's, but unfortunately Yael had to be in town at the hospital with Sarah (not me), so it was cassava with Susan and the other kids. I've been to Namatala twice to visit Buete and Leah, and also Rachel Modundo, Nathan, and Maxwell. And last night Rachel M. and I journeyed to a small village ("This is REALLY a village," says Rachel.) near Namutumba where Mama, Papa, Grandma, and Grandpa Abraham live. I had never met them before and both parties were excited to meet the other--it was a big Abraham-fest (kinda like the Faust-a-thon, but not).

No one understands that I like my tea without sugar. And when I tell them that I like my tea like I like my men--big, black, and strong--they don't get that either. Hmm.

Last shabbat was spent praying and playing. This shabbat will be the same, but I have lots of studying and teaching planned also.

Some high school kids decided they wanted to go to Namutumba to help Pesach clean, so the 2 Israeli volunteers from the top of the hill and I are hiring Samson and his new van to take them there.

From there I will go to Kampala and then Entebbe and Monday morning I depart.

Yesterday evening I prayed in a grove of banana trees, their big leaves shielding me from the drizzling rain. Today I walked across a marshy rice paddy and through fields of millet and sorgum. I ate fresh roasted peanuts and drank tea while my hosts and I discussed the magic of airplanes and tractors. Those things ARE magic, I told them, but so are these things here in Africa--their own means of survival are slim but they are happy. And they have never heard of homelessness. Everyone has a roof and everyone has a family.

And during this visit here, all have made it clear that I am family too. Awww.

Wow. I'm truly in love.

Chag Kasher V'Sameach! Next year in Jerusalem!

Sarah

P.S. To continue reading about my journeys, check out http://sarinthecity.blogspot.com

-----

Back in Africa!

Oh, Uganda!

I took a cab (8 hour bank search instead of just the 4 hour ride--uch.) and as we drove into the African sunrise, I smiled and laughed. The rainy season has just begun and the land was brimming with extraordinary greenness and rich browns. The large maribu storks peered down on me from the tops of the trees; they are magnificently ugly. The women wear their finest clothing as they walk down the dirt road with bundles carried on their heads. The sides of the road were filled with miles and miles of sugar cane, casava, coffee, and corn (c,c,c,c). The windows were down and I became immediately coated with African dust. I was dirty and I was happy.

Time ticked away slowly, as it naturally does here in Africa, as I awaited my cliff. We approached Mbale and: Wanali. Majestic and awesome. She stood in silence, the drop from her peak as straight as the line in my back. The clouds above her, her crown.

By the time I took my second trip back to Mbale (another 4 hours, but this time in a crowded matatu, taxi-van meant for 14, but stuffed with 20), sunrise turned to sunset and then quickly into dark. When there is no moon and no electricity, it becomes obvious that the stars, in all their beauty and utility (light) were created for us. The wide, open sky does not make me feel small, like it used to, but makes me feel great.

I got back to Hadassah School and it was late, but the children were waiting up for me. I got off my boda-boda (motorcycle) and they came rushing towards me. We had tea and shared a cake that I brought from home. We said Shma, sang Hamalach Hagoel (which I taught them, which they still say every night), sang the Mosquito song (pronounced mo-skwee-to--but then again, shouldn't it be that way since there's a Q?). Since Purim just passed, they kept getting Mosquito mixed up with Haman (same tune, so cute). And then, as though not a day had passed, when we were done singing, they all yelled out, "Kiss! Kiss!" (the boys and girls separately), and I went around and gave each of them a kiss on the cheek, or leg, or arm, or whatever I could reach before they pretended to be squeamish and shy away.

And today Abraham and I began rekindling our friendship (I slipped him a lollipop). His older sister, Esther, says that he talks about me often.

So, what am I doing here, you ask? Well, I decided last Thursday that I really just wanted to see all my friends in Uganda and realign myself back with the basics. To do a bit of good (I brought matza) and to get a bit of perspective. So I'm hanging out here on the equator, right in the middle of this crazy world, in this very beautiful place, for 2 weeks of vacation.

Mommy made me get a mobile (m,m,m,m) and here's my number: 011-256-78-222-3172. It spells nothing. I'm 7 or 8 hours ahead. I won't be angry if you wake me up. (On the contrary.)

Off to the market I go to buy vegetables for dinner at Yael's.

Love, Sarah

P.S. If you'd like to donate to the Send Sarah to Africa and Still Enable Her to Eat and Pay Rent When She Gets Back Fund (the SSTAASEHTEAPRWSGBF), please send your check or cash to: Sarah Gold 6400 Patterson Ave. Richmond, VA 23226. I am officially about to run out of money.

ooooooh M'zungu?.....it's shopping time!

I keep dreaming of Africa.

I was sitting with a group of friends and little Abraham was sitting on my lap. Mid-conversation, he tugged at my sleeve to get my attention. I leaned down and he whispered in my ear,
"Saalah (rolled "r"s sound like "l"s), where are your wings?"
"My wings?"
"Do you have invisible wings? Aren't you an angel?"

It's funny -- they always thought WE were the angels.

Meanwhile, I requested an order of 50 hand-woven kippot and have just received a sizeable package from the Ugandan Putti community. They are $12 each and come in all colors and sizes. $10 each if you buy 6 or more. For a little sales inspiration, see my entry "M'zungu give me my 500 shillings!" You'll see just how far your $12 can go. What was it -- like 200 avocados per kippa? Something like that.

E-mail me your orders at sarahgold81@yahoo.com, please. Thanks!

Death be not Proud

Sometimes we just need to pull the plug --

I spent yesterday mourning the death of my faithful computer, Daisy. We had spent 4 long years together and I knew her death was coming near. And at 8:33 a.m. yesterday, when I found my ipod uncharged and my computer screen blank, I accepted that the time had finally come. I pushed the power button a few times, just to be sure, but to no avail.

A full day I spent not checking my email! (That sounds jumbled but somehow, I like the ring of it.) I went outside having no idea how hot or cold I would be! (I was cold.) A day of phone calls to spread the word about the deceased and to discuss the prospects of Replacement (GASP! So soon?!).

At about 10:36 p.m. I decided to wrap her up and lay her to rest in a more comfortable spot than the dining room table (dining corner, not really a "room" in the traditional sense of the word). I went to unplug her when -- LO AND BEHOLD! -- she was not even plugged in!

Repeating the words, "I am such an idiot. I am such an idiot.", over and over again, I plugged that life giving cord back into the wall and... WALAH! She came back from the dead! I type on her now. We are closer than ever.

There is a moral to this tale (besides the obvious one of Sarah is dumb). Sometimes in life, we may feel like pulling the plug on something--a task, a friendship, whatever. But usually, the better option is to examine the plug. Maybe instead of pulling the plug, we should try pay more attention to it and just give it a gentle shove back into its warm home in the wall.

Happy New Year!
Love, Sarah

P.S. My cranberry walnut bread ended up hardening into a dense brick. It all ended up in the garbage. Well, I'll bet I can......whistle and snap better than you can! So there! We all have our strengths and weaknesses. (I don't mean to be so didactic...maybe after a brush with death, that's just what happens....)

Sarah can't bake.

I must have been absent that day of Kindergarten math class when they taught us how to measure.

I was just in the kitchen, in the bubble of solo baking, unaware of the fact that time was passing outside of my little 3 X 6 cubicle. (It just took me over an hour to get that cake in the oven.) I was covered with flour and batter, standing over bowls and measuring cups and spoons, laughing and laughing and laughing about how much time I was wasting on this cake which, when the buzzer dings (right, like I use a buzzer), will be gross cake.

Literally. Back in my Cambridge days, Dee (one of my roommates at the time and also one of my very best friends) and I used to make dinner together. We’d pull out our secret weapon, cake mix, and the accessories, egg whites, applesauce, and Splenda (wait, had Splenda been discovered yet?). We’d mix our cake (or cookies) with one goal in mind: fat free. It would be chewy, too sweet, and kinda gross; it would be dinner. We called it Gross Cake/Cookies. “What do you want for dinner tonight? Gross Cookies?” “Sure!”

FAT FREE FAT FREE FAT FREE, the words would haunt me, back in my obsessed with fat free food days (pre low carb revolution—so we must’ve used real sugar rather than Splenda).

So…back to the kitchen. I started out deciding that I would be extra careful with my measuring for this cake. But I just couldn’t give up my substitutions. So I substituted Splenda for sugar (but I measured!), some whole wheat flour for regular (measured!), 1.5 jumbo eggs for 2 large (leaving out part of the second yolk), and, of course, apple sauce for oil. (Those who know anything about dieting will know that I’m mixing diets and mixing diets means canceling out the benefits of both. Y’see, applesauce has the sugar of the sugar I omitted—so I’m mixing low carb (i.e. Splenda) with low fat (i.e. applesauce), and, quite frankly, that’s dumb. And the whole wheat flour in a cake—yuck.)

So I’m following the recipe just as it’s written. (Well, not mixing the dry and wet ingredients separately doesn’t count because we all know that’s just a hoax.) (Oh, cranberries are really hard to chop, so I put them in whole.)

But then it says to pour the batter into tins. Batter (b'lilah raka)? I’ve got thick, thick dough (b'lila avah); it’s practically bread (it's got an entirely different halachic status--I'm taking a whole class on the laws of bread). So I took out some and made scones. And then I added water to the rest to make it into batter. And I added a drop more applesauce. I would’ve added more orange juice, but I had drunk it already. But then this new batter tasted kind of bland, so I added more Splenda (unmeasured).

And now…the cakes! (drumroll please)

The scones are….quite good!

The cake is…well, YOU probably wouldn’t eat it. But as one of the co-founders of Gross Cake, I’m looking forward to my low fat low car treat!

Strawberry Fields Forever

I have the day off because of the transit strike, so after a leisurely morning of Barnes & Noble and Cosi, I decided to do some baking. I stopped at my local grocery store to get ingredients, came home, put on my cooking clothes, and got to work. Not five minutes after changing, I realized that I was missing key ingredient #1: flour. I went back and forth for a while as to whether my cake might be good enough with whole wheat flour before grudgingly changing back into my grocery shopping outfit and braving the cold.

I went outside and scrunched up my nose—yuck, burning rubber. A wave of panic: did I leave my oven or stove on?—no, I haven’t cooked in days. Is there a blanket near the heater in my room?—no, heat hasn’t worked in days. Okay, I thought, I’m safe.

And I was, and I am. But unfortunately, down the street, fire engines were screaming (and still are, as I write this) toward the scene of a smoking building. I saw no flames, yet the sight was still shocking and horribly upsetting. I still do not know how bad the fire was (is still?) or what, if any, the casualties are, but the air around me was filled with smoke. It was very scary.

Refusing to walk closer and gape with the prurient spectators, I continues walking hurriedly back to the supermarket. (I am not so much self-righteous as I am fond of the word “prurient”.) I passed the entrance to the market four times, engrossed in my anxiety as the smoke rose around me. (Flour is on sale for $.99!)

I just turned the news on, but the only reports are on the transit strike—“the illegal, selfish strike of 2005”, as described by Mayor Bloomberg, who must now walk over the Brooklyn Bridge in order to get to work every morning (well, he doesn’t actually have to, but he is anyways, with throngs of people around him, for that New York solidarity that I have now witnessed and love). I know it sucks for New York and for New Yorkers with jobs, families, and busy lives, but it’s given me a jump start on my winter vacation, and I’m a walker anyways.

Amidst all the commotion I am consciously being a (sometimes) disciplined active person. (In other words, for a person who prefers videos, popcorn, and pajamas to getting out and going out, it is taking astute attention and motivation to experience the pretty cool life that New York has to offer.) The opera (Carmen, box seats and dressed to impress)! The museums! The Christmas windows (tomorrow night’s plan)! The bars! I’ve been doing it all! I even got free tickets and went to the season’s finale of The Apprentice (live)! And I went to Strawberry Fields for John Lennon’s memorial! And I joined a Scrabble group!

And I walk about 3 miles a day.

And now I’m going to go bake a cake, either in muffin or bundt form. Cranberry nut, yum yum yum. Wanna come over? I also have hot chocolate…

...but the journey has just begun!

Last night I dreamt I was in Africa. It was the third time this week.

I arrive at the Hadassah School nervous--would they remember me? Or, more specifically, would they remember how much in love we had been with each other?--and the kids emerge from their classrooms and come charging at me with hugs. Let the dancing began! How different this second visit was from the first when their entrance into the dirt courtyard had been so shy and hesitant!

I saw Abraham standing by the doorway (haha, like in this week's parsha!) of the nursery room (oh). He was avoiding my stare; I could tell he was as nervous as I was. I made my way through the crowd, knowing that I would have to make the first move. When I approached him, I picked him up, squeezed him, and twirled him around. He finally looked me in the eye, we paused for a moment, and then we both began to laugh. We laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed till tears were running down all our cheeks and we had to sit down.

Did I ever tell you about Abraham?

Throughout Africa, I tried to include stories of Abraham in my emails. I tried to explain how he had touched my life. But in the end, all the words were deleted. Not only could I not explain this angel of a little boy, but I could not even explain how I could not even explain.

Uch--what has come over me?! I have lost my flair! I've melted into a puddle of moldy sap, getting warm and sticky on my expensive finished, hard-wood floors.

NEW YORK! NEW YORK!
In a land flowing with caffeine, vitamin water, and money, I sit in my $2850/month apartment (not including utilities and cable) and complain about my looks. My black leather boots are too high, the sole on my red suede boots is a bit low. My skirts are too loose and my pants are too tight. My hips are too big, my breasts too small, my eyes are too wide, and my hair too tall. And I'm getting a cold. And I'm getting old. And don't even let me get started about boys...

Well I certainly just killed the mood. I'll write more later.

Ah! To be young again... 

The Last Word

Hello again!

Jew in Putti once wrote, "Like any other Jew, I
should not lose hope [to return to Israel] though life
is difficult. This means that one day my mouth will
be full of laughter, my tongue with joyful songs and
there I will say among other things that 'The Lord has
done great things in my life.' At this moment,
though, I will be like those who sow in tears and thus
reap in joy."

I am so lucky. I am so lucky, I told myself, over and
over again as I flew over the desert from one paradise
to another. I have gone from the pearl of Africa,
where chickens cross the dirt roads more than human
beings do (I've asked myself 'why' on countless
occasions), to the land flowing with milk and honey,
where beauty is trumped only by holiness. I have
cried painful tears over my departure and an equal
number were shed upon arrival in the developed, holy,
land of Israel (especially when I saw--in no
particular order--the washer and dryer, Eden, and the
kitchen).

My last few weeks in Uganda were bittersweet, to say
the least.

A vacation to the relaxing Ssese Islands. There I
went from sleeping on the beach to sleeping in the
grass to sleeping in the hammock to sleeping in the
tent. I read hundreds of pages of book and wrote
pages and pages of journal. There were parrots in the
trees and bilharzia in the lake-one of the many exotic
diseases that were tested during my 3 day hospital
visit upon arrival in Israel (another long, boring
malaria story that I will spare you from).

And then back to the village for the wind down. Did
some work, had some goodbye parties (one in Putti, one
in headquarters), recorded my debut album-Molly and
Sarah's Most Excellent Prayer Adventure-packed my
bags, cried my eyes out, and left.

I have no more exciting stories to tell though my life
has been far from unexciting. I long ago lost my
flare (or interest?) for explaining the funny details
of travel--perhaps they became commonplace. And even
after all this time, I still cannot explain that which
I could never explain. I will never be able to
explain what living in Uganda was actually like for
me. I will not be able to put the stars into words or
let you hear the bleating cries of the goats. You
cannot feel the sun burning my skin through my
clothing and you cannot see the sun's rays as they
inexplicably tear the clouds apart. Hardest of all, I
will never be able to explain the children.

I have now been in Israel for two weeks where I am
experiencing reverse culture shock. Physically, it is
very easy to get used to the fully developed
world--twenty three and a half years of life have been
in this comfortable setting of showers and
televisions. Emotionally and philosophically,
however, the first world is much more complex than the
developing third. Living in Uganda brought me "back
to basics", to the simple, to the clear and obvious,
to the understandable. It is the developed world that
is complex and impossible to understand-easy to
explain, but impossible to understand.

Also, it is strange to be around so many white people.


As far as I am concerned, I am home and my trip is
over. I am back with family, back with friends, and
back to my real life. Before I end, I just want to
thank all of you, dear readers, for your time,
attention, responses, packages, phone calls, and love.


You've been a wonderful audience.

Yours, etc.

P.S. For photos, check out this site periodically:
http://www.snapfish.com/share/p=511101118417718852/l=50454481/otsc=SYE/ot

NEWSFLASH!! MALARIA !!, (take two)!!

JUST IN:

The malaria parasite strikes back! Despite my diligence in:

a) consumption of anti-malarial pills (big waste of money),

b) sleeping under a fully tucked in mosquito net, sprayed with promethrin, and

c) constant use of toxic bugspray,

I have once more been infected with the (other) disease that puts Uganda on the map. (I should play the lottery; I seem to be good at beating the odds.)

But, once again, the holy Jedi knights (me AND Molly, this time), have enough power from above and from within to combat the evil, parasitic monsters. Don't worry. We’re both fine. Two nights ago we had a malaria party. We stayed up late, sweating bullets, complaining, and eating cereal!

And yesterday I went mango picking and water fetching with the kids. All of Day Two of Malaria One was spent in bed, with me thinking I would never see daylight again. I'll bet Malaria Three will be a breeze. (That is so not funny, actually.)

I spent all of the day before thinking: It’s just a headache. It’s just a fever. It’s just joint pain. It’s just a stomach ache. It’s just exhaustion. But in the end, it’s just malaria. As common as the common cold. As fatal as a bullet wound. As fixable as a loose skirt hem.

My skin was burning of my body so I went to the clinic. The power went out while I was at the first clinic. The second clinic had power, but the lab was closed. The third clinic had power and an open lab, but took a while to get to cuz even though it was a close walk between clinics, I had to walk carefully cuz it was dark outside and there are random large holes in the sidewalks of Mbale town.

Do you want to hear something crazy (besides the fact that I have malaria again)? There are only two times in my 3 months here that I carried a laptop down the hill. Both of those days are the days that I was diagnosed with malaria! The moral of the story: Don’t carry laptops down hills. (It can’t hurt to be extra cautious.)

And the other funny thing is that I wrote Baby Eden (my niece) an email just that same day, introducing myself and assuring her of my health—I didn’t want her to be afraid to get near me. (B & B—malaria is not contagious. Actually, the natives think that you can get malaria from mangos. Molly has explained to them over and over again that the only link between mangos and malaria is that mosquitoes may hang out near mango trees once it starts getting dark. There were lots of “m” sounds in that sentence—oh! I do love alliteration!)

Meanwhile…

I have begun the three week wind-down of my stay here. Sick (physically) as this country makes me, the last few days have been the first of the next 18 to come, of tearful musings of my departure. To put it plainly, I have fallen in love with this place to the point of heartache and distress. I’ll look at one of my friends or a cow or a goat, a ripped shirt, a beat up motorcycle, even the rat poop on my floor, and with pathetic tears in my eyes I’ll whimper, “How am I going to leave you? How am I going to live without you?”

But let’s save all that gushiness for my final email. Hey—don’t you get sad! We still have loads of time before the final email!

I’ve spent this week and last week giving classes (Torah and writing), typing up the students’ work (for future compilation), and devising curricula for elementary and high school Judaism classes. I gave a seminar to the elementary school teachers about the use of flashcards and word games in English classes. I taught about the Hatikva and led an Israel-focused poetry workshop on Yom Ha’atzmaut (in Putti). I’ve continued teaching prayer-reading classes and have begun praying more with the kids at Hadassah. I went to Namutumba for a Shabbat (home of really good (white) sweet potatoes), Namatala and Namanyoni for a Shabbat, and Nasenyi for the Abayudaya Women’s Association bi-annual convention. I’ve met weekly with the boys from Putti, teaching Mishna and Halacha, over ginger sodas in a restaurant in town. I’ve sat outside with the P5 (fifth grade) girls (and Isaac and Kochas, my teenage-boy best friends) and written poems and stories with them. I got a dress custom-made. I spent way too much time online finding more dress ideas for the future dresses I’m going to have made. I’ve encouraged people, young and old, to read and respect books. (Am I a nerd, or what?) Hmm...what else? Oh, and I got malaria.

And now a question for the audience: Does anyone know of any jobs in NYC for this upcoming year? In what field, you ask? I have no idea. My quick resume: B.A. Philos./English. M.A. Editorial Studies. Other: many years as Hebrew School teacher and a world wide traveler. Not much else. I guess I'd add that I'm a kind and charming person. And responsible and organized (deep down). (Can this double as a personal ad? I also like long walks on the beach--as long as I'm not expected to get in the water.)

Love,

Sarah