Da Club

In the midst of a tough political environment at work, I had a nice thought about camaraderie here. All of the moms in the office, regardless of which section they work in have been so friendly and useful. This became more apparent to me yesterday when a woman that I don't know too well that works in a department that I don't work with that much, came up and excitedly exclaimed her congratulations on my pregnancy.

For a while I have been focused on the negative points of being pregnant in the workplace:

1. I have had to limit my travel, dramatically underscored by my having to say no to Istanbul - Istanbul!!
2. My physical appearance does not escape notice and increasingly does not escape comment. And I quote a male colleague to yours truly last week, "man, when are you going to pop." Nice.

But as I enter my 7th month, with my pregnancy now undisputed, I am having more and more mom conversations. Moms sharing their experiences and moms sharing advice, most of which begins, "but don't worry, you will figure it out..."

Women in the office have been extraordinarily generous. My family has been so worried about my winter coat situation (and my refusal to fork out the bucks for a winter coat I will only need for two months.) A woman in my office gave me a coat that she no longer wears and it literally saves me every morning. Another woman brought me my first baby gear: a bumbo and a moby. Both of these items are considered essential in modern childrearing, both aren't cheap and I am happy to report that both are in perfect condition. And each mom in the office keeps offering more and more. What a nice club to be a member of (finally.)

Even Hayden's female colleagues are getting into it. He came home triumphantly clutching a Medela handsfree and portable breast pump - a $300 value. His colleague just gave it to him. Amazing.

Top Ten Signs that I’m 6 and a half months Pregnant

1. The days of covering the bump with my husband’s winter coat are slipping away…real fast.
2. I curse at the pregnant Pilates instructor when she smiles at the camera, with her belly bigger than mine, and sweetly shouts, “Four more! And three and two and…” $$#@!!!
3. I shamelessly outmaneuver old ladies to get a seat on a rush hour metro
4. Wait, did I just waddle?
5. I announced I’m pregnant to someone at work who immediately gave me the “no shit Sherlock” expression.
6. I used this line with my all-male soccer mates: “Sorry dudes, can’t play pick up anymore...don’t want to harm the fetus!”
7. No pants Mondays! (and Tuesdays and Wednesdays, etc.)
8. At a recent bachelorette party, I was annoyed when my 9 months pregnant friend was still out at midnight, therefore trumping my “I need to go home early” pregnancy card.
9. When the President of my organization asked if people minded going a little long on a meeting, I replied with a similar tone of authority: “I need food. Now.”
10. Karate chops by my fetus interrupted my conversation with a Syrian feminist dissident

More kimchi please

The food in Korea is awesome. It started on the Korean Air flight. For dinner, I had bi bim bap. The best part about it was that the airline came up with a way to serve it with the usual fanfare and production of a Korean restaurant. A big part of what I love about Korean food, besides the great spicy flavors, is that it's interactive. One is involved in the preparation of one's meal. You don't just receive a plate served to you in final form, but often there's a few steps at the table before the final product is ready for your mouth. The best example of this is Korean barbecue, where you must cook your meat at the grill in the center of your table and then assemble all of the toppings into a lettuce "taco."

The otherwise typical airplane tray of food contained odd looking compartments, such as a shrink wrapped package of piping hot jasmine rice, a bowl of veggies (shitake mushrooms, cabbage and spinach) and some spicy pickles. There was also a small plastic tube filled with red pepper paste and a small packet of sesame oil. I froze at first (it's been a while since I've had Korean food and we were on an airplane), but then I figured out that you just throw it all in the bowl, mix it together and then voila, dinner is served. The amazing thing is that it tasted, to borrow Hayden's favorite phrase, "fresh." And that's no small feat for an airline.

Breakfast at my hotel has the typical five star spread of cereals, omelet stations and smoked salmon. But it also has an elaborate Korean food section, including a prominent display of kimchi. Kimchi in the morning is way too intense for me - but I did have soup with udon noodles and a very delicious clear broth.

Just now for lunch there was a buffet that had a ton of very nice looking sushi, which tragically I had to avoid. (I could tell by the cut that it was probably amazing.) But I did have other delights including the famous kimchi, some various spring rolls and beautifully put together dumplings. I couldn't convince my stomach to go for the short ribs (maybe for dinner...) But I had some sweet and sour chicken, which was tasty.

I can't quite get into the rice ball desserts, which come in a variety of flavors, but the soothing miracle of Korean green tea more than made up for it.

Korea, what to say so far

I’m tempted to wrap my first impression into a permanent one. It may be unavoidable, but in Korea, like no other place, I’m concerned that I’m passing judgment too soon. I guess that’s because my first impression is that I feel like a hick who’s confused (and a little freaked out) by the “otherness” of this place. This is disturbing particularly since I consider myself such the world traveler.

I’ve never been this far East. I know and love Korean food from my NYC days of the occasional trek to 32^nd street for barbeque. But I’m finding it hard not to say things like, “this is so weird,” “how bizarre,” or to just kind of chuckle to myself.

It started on the plane when I watched a documentary about Korean Food in New York. I assumed, based on my aforementioned experience, this would be interesting and familiar. It was the former but not the latter. A famous TV personality came to New York and highlighted some Korean influences on New York culture in a sort of boasting manner. He visited Fulton Fish Market, for example, and exclaimed that not only do Koreans get to the market first, but they are the main drivers of the Fish Market economy. While I haven’t googled this, I find that hard to believe. Slowly, but surely, the video felt more like a propaganda film. It felt a little like something that might come from North Korea, save the nuclear destruction threats.

Today, at the opening conference, there was more of this propagandizing of Korea. I find it difficult to describe and there isn’t space for it in a blog. But let’s just say as we went through a plenary session and participants made suggestions for how the organizing body could be more inclusive, each suggestion was brushed aside or punted down the road for later – all with a smile and a bow and a return to Korean-centric presentations.

But on the other hand, this doesn’t come across as arrogant as much as it comes across as desperate for approval. A traditional musical group of women came out at the end of dinner and played Western music with their traditional instruments. They played “Let it Be” and “Dancing Queen” with wooden flutes and stringed instruments whose names I do not know. It would have been nice to hear some Korean music – there was a little, but it was mostly Western pop. It was as if they were saying to the audience: we want to show off our culture but we want to make sure you understand and like us for it.

To save myself from sounding so, well, Western (and ignorant), I shall write about the food next – which is fantastic!

Last day of pants

Today I am 16 weeks pregnant. Yesterday I wore my last pair of regular pants. I strapped them on and it was tight, but they were below my bump so I figured it was ok. All day I kept tugging them down, because they were too tight and I feared I was squishing the fetus. I flung them off when I got home and put on a pair of sweats.

Oh pants, how I will miss thee.

So now, I must put away all of my normal clothes and cave to the baby industrial complex. Over the weekend I bought two pairs of maternity jeans, seemingly early. But I need them. I may also need more than the one pair of work pants I bought.

Being pregnant has not been a picnic. I have been constantly nauseous for four months. I've said things like, "I feel like I'm 95." I heard a line from a pregnant woman that captured it: "I feel like I'm running a marathon under water."

Outside of my own private physical discomfort, the kid seems to be doing just fine, which is the most important thing. We're starting to make plans around his/her arrival: registry speculating, nursery conversations. That part is fun.

The grandparents are beside themselves with joy and excitement, which is nice to see.

Hayden and I oscillate between not wanting to screw the kid up and wanting him or her to be the next Roger Federer. There is some evidence it might be a boy. Hayden is delighted. I am less concerned with the sex. Although until I recently spotted a hilariously cute little boy outfit that looked like a middle aged man's outfit (button down cardigan and suit jacket, jeff cap) I was worried little girls clothes were cuter. Bottom line, I just want a healthy kid.

This morning I put on my super cute dress from Paris. My belly rejected it. I then put on another great work dress I've had for years. It was ok. At 2:24pm though, I realize that this will be the last time I wear it as well.

It's a bit like putting away one's summer clothes, which is also happening right now. I fold up another cute summer outfit. However, this time, I wonder/fear if I will ever wear it again...

Francophone Food

Although I’ve been largely food adverse over the last couple of months, my ability to eat more than peanut butter has improved since leaving for Senegal. The nausea unfortunately remains, but at least I can get some food in me.

It’s no secret that Francophone West Africa kicks Anglophile anywhere Africa's butt in the food department. I have been impressed that the tiny little Goree Island I’m staying on, off the coast of Dakar in Senegal, holds its culinary own. A boulangerie exists in what would be a mobile phone airtime kiosk in Uganda. Just like in Paris, the Senegalese Islanders line up in the morning and walk away with fresh baguette tucked under their arms. For each meal I’ve had, a caramelized onion sauce has accompanied the main course of chicken or fish or shrimp. With the assistance of the Mali Chief of Party I reversed engineered it: onions reduced in chicken broth with lime and mustard. Delicious and simple.

Coffee breaks in Uganda consist of lumps of cake, not unlike sweetened concrete. Swallowing the cake is tantamount to scrapping putty from an old pipe, and then it sinks into your stomach like lead. Here in Senegal at the Goree Institute, we were served onion tarts and Petit Fours. They were exquisite.

The African staple, cassava, is served countless ways here and dare I say some of them are tasty. For lunch we were given fermented cassava that had the look and consistency of cous cous with a taste not unlike sourdough bread. Topped with the caramelized onion sauce, it was delish.

Africa, Pregnant

It’s a funny thing to be in the early stages of pregnancy. In addition to the excitement/panic of the good news, behavior change becomes a big part of daily activity. It is too soon, for me anyway, to feel affection, per se, for this life growing inside of me. A more accurate feeling is protective. The obvious example is giving up food that is harmful, like alcohol and sushi. That wasn’t too hard for me though due to my extreme nausea and resultant sheer aversion to just about everything except peanut butter Cliff bars.

But as I prepared for my journey to Senegal, new concerns challenges came into a previous routine experience. I had to take Lariam for the first time, the dreaded anti-malarial that allegedly makes one mentally insane but is apparently the only one safe for pregnancy. Thus, fetus trumps sanity. Yet, I still feared the impact on this living thing’s health. Talk about swallowing a bitter pill. As it lay in my hand, despite reassurances from my Ob and Hayden’s Googling, there was an unexplained hesitation that sprang up like a wall in my mind. Swallowing took a lot of self-coaxing.

Traveling to Senegal was a decision I made before I got pregnant. My job would always push this part of me. I chose a doctor who would get that. Now that I’m here its small stuff I have to be vigilant about, like remembering to put on bug spray, something I was downright lazy about on any other trip. I normally brush my teeth with water from the sink, having become an expert at not swallowing rather than dealing with the annoyance of bottled water brushing that never gets the toothpaste rinsed off the brush properly. Pregnant, I need to worry about imbibing even the smallest amount of water. What if it has Typhoid in it? I’m in the last year of my Typhoid vaccination. Is that cutting it close, especially since the vaccination isn’t a 100% guarantee of a prevention of the disease?

But then I swing the other way. Africa has a lot one can worry about. If I start parsing the risks, I’ll go insane and I’ll realize it’s futile. For example, how can I eat even a single meal here in Senegal? I have no idea about any of the restaurants’ hygiene practices. Even if I did, I can’t control a mistake in someone else’s food preparation. Or even ferrying out to Goree Island. The ferry station was the worst kind of human traffic jam and I literally had to throw elbows to make it into the station. And then I thought, jeez, there are A LOT of people getting on this ferry. Don’t these ferries in third world countries sink all the time, because no one is paying attention to the weight limitations? Ahh!

So far, if I block that stuff out, I mostly notice that much of my symptoms remain the same here as they are at home. I tire very easily and struggled through an all-day session today. I was also very nauseous today; more so than in recent days. Perhaps it’s something I ate here or more likely it is because Peaceflake grew a new body part and just needed an extra pull from my body today.

When the plane touched down in Senegal, I was at once relieved to land in one piece and delighted to be back in Africa. Then I went to slip on my sandals and noticed that I couldn’t get them all the way on my feet. I peered down and, to my horror, I realized that in 7 hours I had produced yet another pregnancy symptom: cankles! My ankles had literally tripled in size and my feet had puffed out to resemble more paddles than feet. Oy!

But otherwise, I have no regrets taking this trip.

My own private James Gandolfini moment

On the night of the season finale premier of the Sopranos in March 2006, I met Kate and James at the Ear for a pre-game meal. We were in a joyous mood for the event. Speculations ran high. How could this awesome show be topped? How would it end???!

As we were debating the possible plot twists, Tony Soprano walked into the Ear and sat at the table next to us. This is not a metaphor. James Gandolfini took a seat at the table next to us. Those who have been to the Ear know how small it is. So basically James Gandolfini joined us for dinner.

We did the typical New Yorker thing of immediately clocking a celeb, catching each others' eye to acknowledge and then completely ignoring him. It was extremely hard on this occasion, however, because we just couldn’t believe the coincidence.

Finally, James folded. He screamed at us (of course he did, my friends and I speak in screams), “What is going to happen to Carmela?!!” Kate and I died in our chairs. We were mortified and as James realized what he had just done, he turned crimson. Gandolfini on cue and without skipping a beat said, “I kill Carmela in the first episode. Don’t watch it. It’s a terrible show.” Despite our shame, we looked over. He had an enormous grin on his face.

We burst out laughing, relieved. He was lovely for the rest of the meal. James even claims he was flirting with me a bit, which I denied at the time, but now, of course, remember it that way. He engaged with us the way people do in the Ear: camaraderie due to cramped conditions + beer equals a good time always (just ask Fred.)

Trying not to stare at him that night, I remember thinking that he was a gentle soul with very kind eyes and was surprisingly handsome. It was one of my best celeb sightings ever. And now, with this sad news of his passing, it is an even more precious memory.