More on Bizzleburp: I've realized now as we're approaching Due Date that if I don't blog for a few days, people will call me wondering whether I've gone into labor. No, no, just been busy with the house (as you see below).
I had a doctor's appointment on Thursday. As I suspected, my weight and blood pressure were deemed good, the baby's heart rate was excellent, still no sign that it's "dropped", so I'm unlikely to go into labor for a week or so. I'm back to the doctor's office on Thursday this week for more of the same -- probably. Now that I've written this, no doubt SomeOne Up There With a Sense of Humor will decide to prove me wrong.

Yo yo yo, we are in da house!!! Saturday was a busy day: the bed that was supposed to show up on Wednesday got delivered, and the phone guy who was supposed to be there on Friday came by to activate our phone. Never underestimate the power of pregnancy when dealing with commercial screw-ups: the bed store guy hadn't called and we had no idea when to expect them, so I showed up at the store in person on Thursday(they're only about two miles from our house). Sitting in the manager's office, looking heavy and tired, I explained to him that we needed this bed soon because it's costing us 100 bucks a night to stay in temporary housing and we'd really like to get settled in the new house because the baby's due date is next week. Dude called up the supplier, got us on the delivery roster for Saturday, and refunded us 200 bucks for all the trouble. I love being on this side of the Atlantic!!!
Friday was also abuzz with activity. A guy came over to assemble the Ikea "wall unit" - actually just three bookcases that sit next to each other, but which served as an entertainment center in a past life - which the geniuses at the moving company had completely disassembled two years ago. This poor SOB had to try to put the thing back together with half the hardware and all of the written instructions missing.
Yeah, the moving and storage company from our transfer to Europe really screwed up. Those Ikea units can be a bugger to assemble even with the instructions. I told the carpenter he could use duct tape to hold it together for all I cared. I'm just glad we finally have the bookcases together; I spent most of the day today emptying boxes of books that were cluttering up the living room. Hooray!
I've also been playing with baby gear. Saturday, in between deliveries and service calls, I assembled the swing, the playpen, and the stroller. I also figured out the car seat and carrier contraption. Yep, the nesting instinct is in full effect. Tomorrow, the nursery. Maybe. I might have to do something work-related (ugh) that I should wrap up before Bizzleburp arrives - because once the baby is here, I am probably going to completely forget about anything else.

We had to scuttle our plans to spend our anniversary in our new home. The bed we ordered last week hasn't arrived. Last night the store called to say they'd received defective merchandise from the warehouse; this morning they called for good measure, saying the truck had broken down. I can't help but wonder if they are just full of it.

Last night's breastfeeding class was amusingly informative. Some guy asked if it was theoretically possible to nurse into adulthood. The lactation consultant handled the question gracefully. If I were the dude's wife I probably would have elbowed him in the solar plexus. The answer, incidentally was that it wouldn't be practical, as a developing child's nutritional needs change blah blah blah. But in some cultures there are grandmothers who can "relactate" when need arises. I continue to be amazed at how we in North America turn a fundamental biological function into a huge, complex academic exercise.

Meanwhile, I am nesting my little brains out. We built the baby's swing yesterday, we have a car seat, and I bought a package of diapers, so I suppose technically I'm ready for anything. I made the mistake of going to a home improvement store today for a shower curtain liner and a broom. I nearly walked out of there with 20 square yards of wallpaper and the makings of organizers for three closets. There really ought to be a law preventing women in their last two months of pregnancy from entering these places without an escort.

Tomorrow, it's off to the OB again. I'm hoping he'll say the same thing he always says: baby still hasn't descended, everything looks good, heartbeat sounds wonderful, call me if you think it's time but otherwise, we'll see you next week.

Moving, Day Two: The good news is that there were no casualties today. In fact, we got a surprise: two guys showed up to finish the repair job on the front walk. Seems that the weather had been dragging their four-day job into a four-week ordeal. We got the air shipment with no problems, and the TV guys came to set up our satelitte dish. The house is starting to look like a home.
Today's hiccup (and there's always one): the bed store called up to tell us that they received damaged goods, so they can't deliver our bed tomorrow as promised. Bummer!
Tomorrow is our anniversary. I might not get around to the blog till Thursday.

Shower Pictures! My sis-in-law sent me pictures from the baby shower. They are very sweet. I'm just going to ignore that my old nemesis, the double chin, is sneaking back up on me. The camera adds ten pounds, right? Oh heck, I'm pregnant, who's gonna fault me for looking a wee bit porky?

Moving Day One: Not nearly as bad as past moving days. The only casualties so far: a crystal pitcher, a table lamp, and a completely disassembled wall unit that won't fit in the space we'd hoped for it. I had lots of fun taking digital photos of the packing crate with the stuff that fell over because it was so poorly stacked. I especially liked the way the guys put a computer monitor and CPU just wrapped in paper in a "wardrobe" box. How did I miss that two years ago?
Oh, and there's the fact that they sent the truck to our old address. My, what a rude wake-up for the current residents. Can you imagine, 8:00 in the morning, and there's a big-ol'tractor-trailer at your doorstep and a crew of strangers asking where you want all this stuff?
Tomorrow we get more stuff and the TV guy shows up to hook up our satellite dish. The hilarity ensues when the guys with the trucks try to find our house with our street sign AWOL. (Oh, did I mention that? Our street sign is gone.) Welcome to the neighborhood.

Here's a look at my week. Yesterday: visit with in-laws; today: Pain Management in Childbirth class; Monday: delivery of our stuff that's been in storage for the past two years; Tuesday: delivery of the stuff that was shipped by air from Europe, plus an evening class on Preparing to Breastfeed; Wednesday: delivery of our new bed, also our wedding anniversary; Thursday: weekly visit to obstetrician. Friday will be one week away from Bizzleburp's ETA. I can handle this. One thing at a time, right?

Helen was one of the names on my short list in case Bizzleburp is a girl. Now I'm not so sure.

Another Day Older And Deeper In Debt: We bought the house! We bought the house! Friday, October 1, a day that will live in infamy: we settled on the house today. It involved signing our names enough times to develop carpal tunnel syndrome, and handing over big fat checks. After all that, my husband had to run over to the office, so I wandered around our new empty home thinking two things. First, "This is ours. We own this. We just made a down payment bigger than our parents' mortgages were, and we own a friggin' house." Second, "Wow, I'll bet the joint will never be this clean again."

Today's Purple Scare FAQ: (Previous editions in June and August archives)

Where have you been all week? Yeah, yeah, I took a few days off. At 37 weeks of pregnancy I'm really tired a lot of the time, and my sleep schedule is totally whacked (what a great preview, eh?) And I don't have ready access to a computer for most of the day anymore, so I don't always get to post even when I want to.

37 Weeks? What's your due date? I went to the doctor on Friday, and we're maintaining an ETA of October 15 for Bizzleburp. Of course, we all know that maybe 5% of all babies show up on their actual "due date" as predicted by those fancy little wheels at the OB/GYN's office. One way or another Bizzleburp should be home by Halloween.

Okay, Bizzleburp. You're not really gonna call the baby that, are you? Of course not! Well, maybe as a nickname. But we are looking at alternatives for the birth certificate.

So, Big Question: Pink or Blue? The doctor's office has been really good about honoring our request that Biz's sex remain a mystery until The Big Day. At my last sonogram, I didn't spend as much time looking at the screen, just in case I inadvertently saw something that would give it away. But we got some great pictures from the neck up: another one of baby waving hello at us! Technology rocks.

What's up with the house? We close on October 1. The stuff we've had in storage for the past two years will be delivered the following week, as well as the stuff we had shipped by air from Europe. The surface shipment from Europe will probably arrive shortly after Bizzleburp (oh what fun that will be!!!!)

So you're moving into a new house and having a baby in the same month, maybe even the same two-week period. What are you, nuts? Sure sounds like it, doesn't it? It could be worse, I could be in Florida. Though I can relate to the folks with "hurricane fatigue" - you just get over one storm when another one pops up on the horizon.

This is part of the reason I removed work from the equation for a little while: I wanted to have some degree of control of the amount of stress I was dealing with.

So are you going back to work after your sabbatical is up? Uuuhhhh...Reply Hazy. Ask Again Later.

With the way we've financed the house, I don't have to go back to work. I could decide to stay home for a while. Or I could switch to a job that requires less traveling (which would be strange, as I work in the travel industry, but it is an option). Or I could get a totally new job in a different field. There are lots of choices out there - but none that I have to decide on right now. First things first: that means getting Bizzleburp home safe and sound.

On advice of counsel, I have been conducting a little revisionist history on the blog. Even though I maintain that the likelihood of my being positively identified among the five million bloggers in this hemisphere is pretty durned slim, it has been suggested that I delete certain archival material.
I have made a considerable effort to vague up personal references and comments about work in order to preserve my anonymity (and that of my employer). I know that other folks in the blogosphere and in the world before blogs have used their attitude problems to gain fame, fortune, more fame, and even infamy. This is not my goal. I'm just blogging to keep my family and friends informed about the myriad of changes happening in my somewhat confusing life, and to vent and rant like everyone else who takes up this weird little hobby. If someone other than my target audience comes across Purple Scare and is amused by it, welcome and thanks for dropping by, come again if you like.

Big Shout-Out to my homeboy who is a new dad today. And welcome to the gene pool, little guy.

If I shoot them, that will only delay settlement further. After I called the moving and storage guys to set dates for delivery of our stuff, I got a call from our realtor saying that the sellers can settle on October 1 after all. I should be very very happy. And deep down, I am. But I am also about to go Marvin the Martian on them: you are making me angry...(huff, huff, pace)...very very angry!

House Update: The radon test came back with a reading higher than recommended safe levels. The sellers have agreed to pay for someone to come in and do "remediation" (i.e. install a vent). Fair enough - in fact, it's pretty routine, I believe.
Radon can be some spooky stuff. If I didn't know that it was real, the description would sound like a schizophrenic's delusion: It's everywhere! But you can't see it, or smell it, or taste it, but it's radioactive and it permeates your house and it can give you cancer, so you should line your house with tinfoil and chant the Mickey Mouse Club theme song backwards twelve hours a day to protect yourself, bwahahahahaha. Okay, I made that last part up. Plastic sheeting is fine, it doesn't have to be tinfoil. So I'm not too worried about this whole radon thing.
On the downside, our sellers can't get a moving company booked until the 10th of October. This means that we settle and hand over keys five days before Bizzleburp's ETA. I suppose this means drawing up contingency plans to have someone else at the house directing the guys with the boxes in case I go into labor when the trucks show up. Either that or it means I'm nuts for going through with this.

Just because nobody asked, let me give you the highlights of yesterday's childbirth education class. (Hey, a pregnant lady gets LOTS of unsolicited advice, stories, and other information. I'm just giving back to the community.) The unquestionable highlight of the show was the video they showed us from the 1950s, to put into perspective for us how much more pleasant it is to give birth nowadays.
This was an instructional video for the U.S. Navy to give wives a preview of what it would be like for them to have their babies at a military hospital. Having sat through both this Navy video and Gone With the Wind, I would rather give birth in the middle of the siege of Atlanta, with Prissy standing by offering her mama's advice to put a knife under the bed to cut the pain in two.
Okay, what was the best part of this highly informative film? Maybe it was the fact that the patients were all shaved, then mopped down with iodine like meat on a barbecue grill. Or maybe it was the "bracelets" they used to hold the patients' arms in place, so they wouldn't risk "contaminating the sterilized perineal area". I liked the way they extolled the virtues of forceps, and in demonstrating their use looked like a dress rehearsal for the famous Roswell Alien Autopsy video. And just think, this was all to reassure those poor Navy wives and make them grateful for the fact that they were not going to be squatting in a rice paddy.
So yes, giving birth today is perhaps less tidy than it was in our mothers' time. We walk and talk and breathe funny and poop while we're in labor. And I'm sure the U.S. Navy is much improved these days (gads, I should hope so!!!). And yes, Bill Cosby is right, you know you're overeducated when you're taking classes to learn what comes naturally to billions of people. But you know, I'll take the postmodern approach any day. All in all, I feel good about my options for giving birth in a civilized, civilian facility with lots of room to walk around and lots of drugs on demand. I feel like I've achieved a happy medium between the rice paddy and the operating room. Lucky lucky me.

Yesterday's baby shower was a lot of fun. My sister- and mother-in-law flew down for the day and set up a very fine spread in my folks' house. My stepmom set out beautiful flowers and baked tasty cookies, and conspired with some sneaky folks to surprise me in a big way: my oldest and dearest friend flew in from another city with her 10-month-old daughter whom I hadn't met yet.
I continue to be amazed by the amount of sheer STUFF that one very small person needs just to maintain a 24-7 regimen of eating, sleeping, lying down, and pooping. But for me, the shower was not just about the stroller and swing and cuddly toys and oooohing and aaaaahing over aaaaaaaall that CUUUUUUUUTE stuff! I was delighted to see some friends I hadn't seen in months (or even years) and have a chance to catch up with people. It's nice to be reminded that I have lots of support and love from friends and family as I embark of this great adventure called Parenthood. It was a very, very good day.

The fun part about taking childbirth classes on Talk Like A Pirate Day is that you can practice labor-room cussing in really creative ways, or threaten to make your husband walk the plank.

House inspection today! The house passed with flying colors. Okay, we might want a new roof within the year but we can afford that. There aren't any leaks or anything, that's the most important part. The main guts of the house and the foundation are nice and solid. Happy happy happy, joy joy joy!

In other good news, yesterday's doctor appointment went very well. Bizzleburp is estimated to weigh 5 lbs 5 oz at 36 weeks. Sonogram pix show the baby waving at us. It is sooooo cool to recognize facial features, after all those months of "Alien" and "X-Files" shots. My latest constant craving is ice cream (gotta get that calcium!) - if Biz is a boy I might well end up naming him Ben and/or Jerry.

The good news is that we got the house. The bad news is that for the next week I'm gonna be looking at myself in the mirror and saying, "Hm, so that's what 400-thousand-plus dollars in debt looks like."

But we GOT THE HOUSE! Yeeeeehaaa!!!! We have a place to bring Bizzleburp home to! Woo hooo!!!!

Once more into the breach, brothers and sisters... We made an offer on the house we liked this weekend. As far as we know, we're the only bidders, but the possible hiccup is that we want a closing date of October 1. The owners were looking at something like October 15. Hmmmm...I might have a possible conflict around that time.
But as I've been saying all along, it's in the hands of Higher Powers at this point.
I did have a very nice lunch with my "other mom". My mom lives on the other coast, and I have a few "moms" in the old neighborhood - this one is the mother of my oldest friend, we go back to 2nd grade together, if you can believe that.) So we had a lovely time catching up and I got to eat real crab cakes for the first time in I-don't-know-how-long. And I have even held them down, several hours later. Looks as though yesterday's tummy troubles were an anomaly (I hope, I hope). Still a few burps and urps here and there, but from everything I've read and heard, that's typical for this stage. Oh boy.
My dear husband even went on a late-night grocery run last night when I wanted ginger ale. He came back with ice cream, too. Readers, I married him.
Next post: we hope to know whether or not we got the house. Until then, fingers crossed!

Homehunting has yielded another prospect this time it's a single family home, detached, in a nice little cul-de-sac. No jacuzzi tubs, but the price is much more reasonable and there's a lovely garden. No more comments on this one until we have some idea about whether we stand a chance of getting it.

I was supposed to go to the realtor's office this morning to sign some papers, but I had a relapse of morning tummy troubles. That hasn't happened since we got home, ugh. I suppose I couldn't escape it completely: now that we're really in the final stages of pregnancy (ETA: one month and two days) it's time for the return of heartburn. This is of course inevitable when your stomach is squished down to half its normal size and feels like it's been shoved halfway up into your rib cage. But I was really enjoying those few months when I could actually eat food like a normal person again. As many of you know, I spent most of the first trimester (and well into the second) extremely unwell. I really don't want to relive that - but at least on this side of the Atlantic I can have a steady supply of ginger ale.

Home-hunting Round Two commences Saturday morning. If we can't find anything by mid-month we might just cave in and find ourselves a rental. It's kinda hard to house-hunt when you are unsure about future income: we are shopping for location as though I were going back to work, but in a price range as though I were not. This is more than a little confusing. I don't relish the idea of moving several times in one year if we take an interim rental, but better to do that than to rush into a huge house we can barely afford or a shoebox we outgrow in three months. And did I mention all the stuff that's in storage? Ugh. Can't they just knock me out and wake me up when it's over?

Busy day today! We put in an offer on the house with the Jacuzzi. Alas, we were outbid. Back to square 1.5, I guess. Live and learn; Buddha will provide. At least we know where we stand moneywise.
We also visited the maternity ward at the hospital where Bizzleburp will likely make his or her debut. It looks pleasant enough, though if I were the tour guide I wouldn't have stood around asking, "any questions?" while half a dozen pregnant women were wincing and shifting their weight from foot to foot. All of us were having back twitches by the end of the 45-minute walkthrough. Whimper. ETA: Five weeks!

Homehunting, Day One. On Saturday we went out with our realtor, who has sold two houses for my mom in the past. I also was in Girl Scouts with her daughter about a thousand years ago. (My family has known this lady for a loooong time; this will be our third transaction with her in as many decades.) So not only am I feeling on the verge of impoverished, I'm also feeling OLD.
Fortunately, while living behind the Rusted Iron Curtain, we saved up a nice chunk of change and will have enough for a decent down payment. Nevertheless, the sticker shock of our real estate market is brutal. It's never been a particularly rational market around here: goverment offices, tech corridors, and conspicious consumption drive up prices as a matter of course. But folks around here seem to think that it's perfectly reasonable to offer a house with two bedrooms and one full bath for over 350,000 U.S. dollars. We looked at two virtually identical houses Saturday within three blocks of each other: one had a back porch in terrible condition and the other didn't have a porch at all. The first one was asking 550K, the second one wanted 580K. They'd been on the market for over 45 days. Methinks these folks are overly ambitious.
After countless hours of net-searching and a weekend in which we saw ten houses all together, we've narrowed the field to two good candidates. Both are end-unit townhouses. The less expensive one is a hop and a skip away from the church where we got married; while nearly 100,000 bucks cheaper, it would require a certain amount of redecorating (I hated the wallpaper in the foyer) which may take more time than I'll have with a baby in the house.
The more expensive one sits right on top of a light rail station and has a master bed/bath suite with a Jacuzzi tub. It has me reeling from sticker shock and covetousness. Mmmmm...Jacuzzi...

Culture shock indicator #162 since returning: I was out shopping at Target this week, and passed by a woman in the store who was drinking from a can. I did a double-take when I realized that it wasn't a can of beer. I think I spent a little too much time behind the Rusted Iron Curtain. Once, I passed a woman who was drinking a can of gin & tonic (yes, G&T in a can)...while walking her kid to school at 8 a.m. So you see why I am making a bit of an adjustment here.
Maybe I'll just stop shopping at Target altogether, it's too surreal. The last time I went to a Target before this, I passed by Tracy Ullman talking on a cellphone. That should have been my first warning.

My little blog is four months old now. I think I'll go out for ice cream to celebrate.

Sticker Shock. That's my excuse for not blogging (oh yeah, and the fact that my computer is still in transit, so I am at the mercy of others when I want to get on-line). But good grief, things on this side of the Atlantic can be downright nuts. Real estate searches were bad enough; yesterday I went clothes shopping - yes, I know, two months to go, where's the point? The point is that I can't live on one pair of jeans alone. Anyway, I have to wonder who they think is buying this stuff. One blouse for 150 bucks, are they nuts? A sheer top for 100? Thanks, I'll stick to raiding my husband's t-shirt drawer. I found one shirt I liked, and my head was spinning at the thought of spending 40 bucks on it, but it turns out to be designed for nursing too, so there's a longer lifespan there. On the positive side, I can walk into a store and there are pleasant people who speak my native language who don't look surprised at the notion of my asking for assistance. In fact, they actually offer to help before I have a chance to ask - what a concept! Home sweet home.

I had a great day yesterday visiting the zoo with my godsons, who keep getting bigger every time I turn my back for a second. I also got a preview of my life to be, surrounded by little kids everywhere on the behavior spectrum. I suppose that when I'm walking around with one of my own, it will be easier to tune out the incessant chorus of "Mommy LOOK!" and "Variations On A Theme of I Wanna/I Don't Wanna...!" that makes me wonder whether I'm really cut out for this gig. I'm not someone who thinks haughtily, "MINE will be better behaved than that" or "I could handle that better" - far from it, indeed. I'm much more likely to groan to myself, "How would I cope with that situation?" I guess it's time to start researching places to put my dignity in cold storage for the next 20 years.

My husband was teasing me a week ago about my "last days of work this year." Upon reflection, I will concede that he was right. I had not focused on the fact that if all goes well, I will not have to go to work (except to do some check-in stuff at HQ for processing my leave of absence) again until 2005. This is equal parts disorienting and exhilirating.
Not that I expect this time to be relaxing and restful, mind you. I may not be going in to an office, but I fully expect to be working my tail off, between finding a home and relocating to it, and oh yeah bringing another human being into the world and trying not to let it starve to death or develop mental scars. The next stage of my great adventure begins.

We're Baaaaack!!! Ah, home sweet home, Terra Firma America Borealis. The airline trip was not too awful, we got all our luggage, and the cat survived the trip with relatively little trauma. Hooray. We have a rental car to tide us over while our car is en route from the Baltic Sea, and yesterday we went shopping for something for my husband to drive. We went grocery shopping in our old neighborhood and didn't quite faint from sticker shock. The bigger shock was the renovation they'd done to the place, really. They yupped it up and moved a Starbucks in. Sheesh!
Home-hunting begins in earnest now, since we've almost resolved the car situation. I'm still torn between rent and buy. If we buy, that commits me to going back to work after Bizzleburp is born. If we rent, and later decide that I won't go back to work, then we'll be in the market for a house in about another year, and will have to move with a baby. Oh heck, if I stay with the company we're still looking at a move with a baby. (The difference being that the company would pay for it...) Decisions, decisions.
I have a doctor's appointment on Friday. That's the other major search that commences this week: where to bear?
But the really good news is that Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Abkazan is still on the big screens here. My husband goes back to work tomorrow, and I start playing some serious hooky. Whoo hoo!

Okay, so I blogged about the car twice. I was tired, sorry. Packout does that to me. I couldn't fall asleep last night to save my life. Tonight will either be a repeat performance of that, or I will sleep like the dead.
This evening was my farewell at work. I'm saying goodbye to a lot of people and still not quite believing that I may never see any of them again. That's the drawback of this business: a lot of goodbyes. But considering what a big Hello! I have coming in about two months, I'd say it all balances out. I also had my last doctor's appointment here today. I've gained almost two pounds since my last visit three weeks ago, and baby's heartbeat is still steady and strong in the 130s. Not a bad way to wrap up.
And on that happy note, I'm off. We leave Saturday morning and if all goes well, we'll be on our home side of the Atlantic afternoon local time. I should be back on-line by Monday. Since I don't know whether I'll get to post again before we leave, I'll say Happy Trails now, and thanks for sticking with me through these long weeks. Hopefully, I'll get to see a lot of you all soon.

Packout Day One went pretty well: the only major glitch was with the car: we have to de-register the car in order to export it. Problem is, I seem to have lost the registration card. OOOOOPS. So today one of our Admin guys took the car in to be re-registered -- yes, that's the way things go behind the Rusted Iron Curtain. They can't just pull the record out of their files, oh no. It's back to Square One. So the car has been successfully re-registered; now it can be de-registered. On the one hand, bureaucracy here is an art form and keeps lots of otherwise useless human beings off the streets. On the other hand, it is a huge byzantine pain in the neck. One less thing to miss.
Last night my husband and I went to dinner with a friend to say farewell, and after a nice meal we drove around to say goodbye to some of the various sights we will miss in this city: the museums, churches, and riverside walks that make this place livable. It's not enough to keep me here, but it's enough to make me say that the last two years have been worth it.

'Twas the night before packout, and all through the house... I am still in denial. It doesn't help that I seem to have lost my car's registration card, which is going to make de-registering it for export just a little more complicated. If it were not for Bizzleburp, I'd probably be doing really unhealthy things right now, like taking mass quantities of Xanax (no, I did not raid my mother's airline survival stash) and/or caffeine. I have, however, given myself license to have a good hissy fit and blame it on hormones. Don't be alarmed if tomorrow's headlines say something about a meltdown near the Gulf of Finland - it's not the polar icecaps or the local nuke plant, it's just me.

The main reason I decided to take a sabbatical: somewhere along the line I realized that I spent half my time at work wishing I were home, and half the time I was at home I was preoccupied with work. I needed my sense of perspective back, if I ever had one at all. Sounds like I'm not the only one with this problem.

Yesterday Blogger was on the fritz again. Argh. More later, pre-packing laundry frenzy in progress.

Well my friends, it's the beginning of the end: my last week behind the Rusted Iron Curtain commences. One step at a time, I am getting ready to go. My mom just wrapped up her three-week visit and I miss her terribly already. My replacement has arrived and is getting to know our co-workers and routines (such as they are in this business). The packers come on Wednesday. My last day of work is Friday. We take off on Saturday. I still feel as though I have a million things to do between now and then. But at this point I'm just so happy to be in the home stretch, I don't care about the stress. I'll just keep on plugging away and looking forward to seeing my family and friends back home, a mere one week from today.

Grin of the Day: Logging into the network at the office, I got the message, "Your password will expire in 14 days. Would you like to change it now?" In fourteen days, I won't need this password, I won't need this account, I won't need this computer. NO, I don't want to change my password. Let it wither and die, bwahahahahahahahahaha! I'm very much going to enjoy starting up my computer over the next week.

As someone who hopes to feed her baby the way nature designed me to, I have to jump in on this debate: there has got to be a happy medium here. I don't think it would be unreasonable for someone to ask me not to flash a lot of flesh while Bizzleburp has a snack. However, anyone who tells me that it's "disgusting" to feed a baby in public is likely to get a mini-lecture on the differences between nuturing an infant and picking one's nose. I intend to be tasteful and discreet in my approach to nourishing my child in public when the need arises. Yes, breast milk is widely considered to be better for babies. I do not intend to use Bizzleburp's needs as an excuse to educate the masses through shock value.
Let's make a deal: I promise to cover up as best as I can if you promise not to gawk and make comments. Fair?

Another day closer to escape velocity. We had the movers' survey today. Packout is pencilled in for next week, Wednesday and Thursday. It occurs to me that it won't be easy to keep up with the blog once the computer is packed up. WHINE. I'm not taking any chances on posting from work. But other than that, hey, I can handle this. One day closer to family, friends, and sanity. I'll start panicking about finding a real home and place to give birth after the plane lands on the other side of the Atlantic. I can only have one nervous breakdown at a time.

The baby has been busy kicking this week. I think it's getting big enough now that it feels squished if I sit too close to my desk or lean forward or cross my legs for too long. Bizzleburp seems to be saying, "Hey! How about some room here?!" I'm still making adjustments to my changing dimensions.

The cat has figured out that she can't sit in her usual spot on my belly when I'm lying on the sofa, but aside from that I'm not sure she has the slightest idea of what she's in for. She just sits further down on my legs and curls up alongside the growing bump. The baby has yet to kick the cat; this gives me hope for their future relationship. I'll be curious to see whether the sound of the cat purring has left any impression on Bizzleburp in utero, like playing Mozart or Brahms.

One down, nine to go. Actually, fewer than nine days in the office left, if you count packout days. I can't decide whether to weep or scream. Time to break out the pregnancy yoga videos and remind myself how to breathe. One day at a time, right?

And Congrats to my friends in South Carolina who welcomed a new addition to their family last week. The gene pool warmly welcomes you!

I haven't done much blogging this past week, as I'm sure you've noticed. Two factors are responsible: one, I'm still coughing up the occasional lungbunny; two, I can't avoid going to work and getting stuck there for long periods of time. The good news is that the guy who's taking over my contract arrives this week. This is good for many reasons, not the least of which is that I can actually relax and spend some time wrapping up all my loose ends, as well as give my replacement some time to adjust. Overlap is good.

It's time for an updated Purple Scare FAQ. You'll find the original in the June archive, if you haven't seen it before.

Q: When are you coming home?
A: We'll be home in two weeks. We should be back on our regular side of the Atlantic the evening of August 21.

Where are you going to live?
We've arranged a short-term rental so we aren't homeless when we land. We'll look for someplace more permanent once we're back. But we're looking around the same area we were in before, since it's convenient to my husband's workplace. With any luck, we'll have a place to move into before Bizzleburp makes his/her debut. For details and contact numbers, e-mail me at purplescareblog@yahoo.com.

Ah, Bizzleburp. Boy or girl?
Yes, it's one of those. We don't know which. At last week's ultrasound, the doctor said she was pretty sure she knew but we asked her not to spill the beans. We want it to be a surprise.

Are you registered anywhere?
Yes. E-mail me if you really want to know. But really, we aren't asking for a lot of stuff. The whole "not having a place to live" thing makes it hard to assess what we need vs what we have room for.

What are you looking forward to most when you get home?
Hard to decide. Seeing our families will be a big one, or course. Going to the movies without subtitles will be nice. For me, not having to go to work every day will be nice - though I expect to be busy looking for a home and a place to give birth. Voting will be nice. Drinking water from the tap without fear will be nice.

The other day it hit me that within 15 days I could be eating deli sandwiches and spicy onion rings with my big brother at one of our favorite neighborhood joints. I swear I almost cried. Damn hormones.

Anyway, that's all the news that's fit to print just now. Further bulletins as events warrant.

I have pregnancy freckles! The technical name for it is "chloasma" and I have a pretty mild case of it, since my skin is darkish to begin with. It reminds me of the time my best friend and I pretended to have a fight in the fifth grade so our teacher would sit us next to each other again (yeah, the logic escapes me even to this day). I just remember making a big show of calling her "Nutmeg Nose" in front of Mrs. Bowman. So I now I see myself in the mirror and think "Nutmeg Nose! Nutmeg Nose!" And if you think I'm going to tell you what my fight nickname was, you're out of your minds.
I'm also facing another wardrobe dilemma: the suits I bought in London, which didn't fit me very well in May, now don't fit seasonally. I could wear them, but it's too warm out -- I'd sweat off any weight I'm supposed to gain. Ugh. Air conditioning is still a rarity here behind the Rusted Iron Curtain, so I've taken to wearing my husband's boxers around the house. (It's still possible to tell us apart; I'm the short one.) But what to wear to work? I think I'll just cut some holes in some potato sacks, and rely on my keen sense for accessorizing...not!

Sorry about the absence, kids. I came down with another stupid cold and of course I still can't take anything for it but vitamin C and chicken soup. The doc said I should also get plenty of rest. Good thing he told me by e-mail so I couldn't laugh in his face (or kick him in the shins).

The Countdown Begins: I have 20 days left here in the Baltics. Fifteen of those days must be spent, at least partly, at work. (They do give me time off for the movers.) Three weeks left to deal with the people who get up in the morning and take their Stupid Pills before coming to see me, three weeks left to see the sun still up near midnight. Wish me luck.

Our security guys threw a 70's theme night party on Friday. They let me DJ their parties sometimes, which is a lot of fun, but 70's can be tough. Half the crowd wants Led Zepplin and the other half wants disco, and they're both right. What does one do? Fortunately, 70's also mean FUNK, which I love and is very crowd-pleasing. But the highlight of the evening was when one of the expat military guys walked up to the podium and asked me why I was playing Black Sabbath, "like dude, they're not 70's!" My contemporaries around the podium and I looked at this kid as though he'd just said that Jesus's native language was English. Gobsmacked, I asked him, "What year were you born, child?" He replied with a perfectly straight face, "1981." I should feel sorry for a person who was born into a world with no living John Lennon. But, no, suddenly this guy was facing a cluster of women over the age of thirty ready to strangle him. I sent him on his way with, "Boy, leave the music selection to people who were there, OKAY?!?!" And we spent the rest of the evening shaking our heads...perhaps banging them slightly.

Yesterday's doctor appointment was pretty good.  On the down side, my hemoglobin is down a wee bit - but still not enough that she's gonna give me supplements.  On the plus side, there's the scale: up two kilos!  I want that gold star on my chart.
But the absolute highlight, the alpha and the omega, was the ultrasound.  Not only can I recognize bits and pieces, we saw actual facial features!  The earlier pictures looked like x-rays.  Now we can see a little button nose, eyes, a mouth sucking a thumb.  I don't know enough words in all the languages I speak combined that can describe the feeling that comes from watching the baby inside.  I will not attempt it for fear of sounding like a cheap, tacky greeting card.  Let it suffice to say that it is like nothing I have ever experienced or could have imagined. 

Thanks to all who Thought Happy Thoughts for my homegirl yesterday.  Surgery went fine, and the thing they took out was benign.  We like benign.  Keep the happy thoughts coming while everyone recovers.

As for me, I'm off to the doctor tomorrow and looking forward to it - which is something I never thought I'd ever say.  I'm excited at the prospect of getting another glimpse of Bizzleburp - maybe the last one before B-day?  My mom will be there too, probably making goo-goo noises at the screen along with the doctor. 

The other fun part about going to the doctor for a prenatal visit is that it's the opposite of a Weight Watchers meeting: I actually find myself pigging out a little bit in the hopes of tipping the scale higher.  I'd better not get used to that.

Yes, my mom arrived in one piece.  My mother and commercial aviation are the reasons Xanax was invented, I'm quite certain of it.  (And that's just for me to survive the trip.)  My husband is being very brave about his mother-in-law visiting for three weeks.  Maybe Mom should count out those Xanax pills very carefully.

Second shout-out of the day: Happy Birthday to my big brother, who is not only old enough to run for President but also old enough to know better.  

Psychic Hugs and Happy Thoughts going out Monday morning for my homegirl and her partner who is having surgery.  Looking forward to a happy ending and a swift recovery, knock wood/cross fingers/burn candles etc.  Lots of love. 

My mom arrives for a three-week visit tomorrow.  Mom hates to fly.  Two things have gotten her on an airplane in the past five years: her childrens' weddings and the birth of her first grandchild.  Even then, she'd have preferred to take the train.  Two things are drawing her here: one, an art museum with unrivalled priceless collections; and two, the prospect of getting a glimpse of her future grandchild at Wednesday's ultrasound.  Well, there's also the fact that I asked her to come and hold my hand as we prepare for packing out in a few weeks.  Six months pregnant and planning for a transAtlantic move?  Hell yes, I want my mommy!

In the words of Michelle Shocked, "Sleep keeps me awake at night."  I'm starting to look like a raccoon with a cocaine problem, ugh.  But hey, last time I stepped on the scale I was up about two pounds!  Maybe my doctor will put a gold star on my chart and give me a lollipop at my next visit.

Target departure date: August 21.  We'll fly straight back to our usual side of the Atlantic, to our former hometown where we lived before moving over here.  We don't have an address, temporary or otherwise, yet.  Stay tuned for further developments.

My husband surprised me at work today with half a dozen roses. Why six? Because this week I hit the six-month point (three months till baby's ETA), and six years ago this week was our first date.
Reader, I married him. Now you know why.

Travel orders! Travel orders! I got my travel orders!!! Whoo hoo, there is light at the end of the tunnel! The company has finally made it official: I can start planning packing dates and making airline reservations. If I were more sprightly I'd be doing a Snoopy-style Happy Dance right now. I'll just sit back and watch Bizzleburp do one instead.

The office is down to a skeleton crew for the next few days, and I expect I'll be putting in some extra hours. I hope to stay current on the blog nevertheless.

Today's Sign From Above That It's Time to Go Home: I dropped my cell phone in the toilet.  Don't ask. 

It's still too early to tell whether I'm doomed.  Nevertheless, I'm printing out copies of this article for future reference (that is, I'll enclose copies with Bizzleburp's therapy bills when I mail them to my health insurance company).

My very kind sister-in-law is encouraging me to set up a gift registry on-line for Bizzleburp and me.  I've made a start but, having never done this before, I honestly haven't a clue about what I'm doing.  Also, since I don't know where we're going to be living and how much space we'll have, I am really hesitant to go totally hog-wild.  But there's a baby on the way and people want to give us STUFF.  Ack!!!  
After sorting through a thousand customer reviews at the on-line stores, I finally gave up and did the most sensible thing: ask my girlfriends who have been there.  I figure the baby isn't really going to notice what s/he is spitting up on and won't care whether it's sleeping in shabby chic knotty pine or a playpen or a cardboard box.  Don't get me started on the whole pink vs. blue thing.  There's still debate among the girlfriends on certain topics (sling vs Baby Bjorn, swing vs Megasaucer) but everyone agrees that the most important thing is having lots of burp cloths and a good car seat.  Thanks, homegirls.

Forget money, sex, religion and politics. You want to start a serious blood-curdling argument with someone, start talking about pregnancy and parenting books. Read some of the customer reviews of these titles, and your hair will turn white. Some of these must have been composed by Dick Cheney on a bad day. One book is according the status of Bible by some readers and denounced as sociopathic propaganda by others. Any one of them could bring on crushing guilt even in Mother Teresa; some would make me feel like a communist pervert if I didn't eat organic whole grains for every meal and use only unbleached cloth diapers. I've decided to take a "salad bar" approach to these guidebooks: sample a little of everything, pick out what I like, and forget the rest. Sooner or later I'll have faith in my own common sense, right?

Happy Birthday to Me!

As I've said before, I work in travellers' assistance in Baltic Europe. Life behind the Rusted Iron Curtain has its ups and downs, and I've dealt with some clueless people, but at least I never had to come to the aid of someone this bloody stupid.

Non sequitur giggle du jour: you would need a security clearance for this job?

Well I guess I'm doing my part for my demographic...

I took a few days off from the blog while the in-laws were in town. My husband's parents and one set of grandparents were in town (yep, six adults in one apartment, it was cozy) for a week. It was lively and enjoyable, but it's nice to once again have the bathtub to myself utterly guilt-free for an hour. Yesterday's pregnancy milestone du jour was actually seeing the movement when Bizzleburp started kicking. (Hey! My shirt moved, and it wasn't me belching!) So this morning I took a nice luxurious soak in the tub and watched the show when wee Biz got hiccups. Getting out of the tub was really hard - not just because I was having a lovely time, but mostly because when getting up, I move with the graceful ease of a cow on an ice rink. Ooooof!

Latest news from the doctor: Of course she's concerned about me losing weight -- funny, I stepped on the scale yesterday and thought I'd actually gained, but since my last appointment at the clinic I've lost about a pound and a half. But all that energy is going to build Bizzleburp, whose heartbeat is a perky 138 bpm and who has stretched my uterus to 25 cm tall. So mostly happy signs today. The good news about the glucose test is that they didn't take the blood out of my arm, just little finger sticks and a monitor like diabetics use. The bad news is that the process was still unpleasant. It took me over 20 minutes to choke down the glucose: dissolved in water it just seemed like cheap flat cola, and if I have too much liquid on an empty stomach I get bloated and nauseated. So I tried the spoon approach, which resulted in less bloating but still felt icky. I still managed to yak up a bunch of the stuff (ugh), but thankfully it wasn't so much that they had to start over. It was like being an extra in a Willy Wonka/Buffy crossover flick: "Here, have a big wad of sugar. Now, give us some blood, please." At least I got to nap in between finger sticks: "Wake up dearie." POKE. OUCH! Drip, drip, drip, beep. "Okay, looks good, go back to sleep." Repeat several times.
So I'm not diabetic. But my hemoglobin is on the low end of the scale, so I have to consume more iron. The doc also gave me some horse pills loaded with calcium. I'm supposed to dissolve one in a glass of water every day, and drink up. After this glucose experience, I must admit I'm not too enthusiastic. How about I just eat a pint of ice cream every day, and we'll call it even?

Wednesday I go in for my Glucose Tolerance Test. It's a fairly common screening in North America, but less frequently done here in Europe. Basically I get to go into the doctor's office with an empty stomach, have some blood drawn, then they give me some super-mega-sticky-sweet beverage and draw my blood several times over the next few hours to see how my blood sugar levels are. The idea is to determine whether I am at risk for gestational diabetes. Sounds to me like a cross between Abu Ghraib and a particularly twisted episode of Buffy.

Pregnancy Milestone du Jour: First time a stranger has ever shown deference to me because of wee Bizzleburp. I was out at a tourist site with my husband and in-laws yesterday, and my mother-in-law and I both had to do the chick thing: find the restroom! Some things are universal: the line at the ladies' room is always longer. But the attendants noticed my belly and let me jump ahead to use the "family" restroom. Somebody in front of me tried to protest, but the restroom lady said, "that room is especially for people like her!" and ushered me in. Whoa.
Behind the Rusted Iron Curtain, folks in "service sector" jobs are historically not known for initiative and customer service; nevertheless, there is a quaint kind of chivalry that endures: men will hold doors for women, oftentimes my male co-workers will offer to carry things for me (even when I insist that the packages are not heavy), and anybody over the age of 65 is treated with a certain amount of respect because most folks just assume that you're lucky to be alive past that age around here. (Hey, if you weren't killed in WWII or purged sometime afterwards, and haven't drunk yourself to death, you've lead a charmed life.) Back home, I wouldn't necessarily expect someone to offer me his seat on the bus just because of the Biz. My peers who have gone through pregnancies lately in this town have mixed reviews of others' manners concerning Women In A Delicate Condition. So to be told, "Come here sweetie, you're next," around here kind of throws me for a loop: it's a pleasant surprise, but still a surprise.

Yesterday was Canada Day, Sunday is the Fourth of July. Let's hear it for three-day weekends. I could use a good break. Not that I'm going to get one: family arriving tomorrow! My parents-in-law and one set of grandparents-in-law are staying for a week. Still, three days of sleeping late is three days of sleeping late.

One of my co-workers has a daughter, about eight years old, who is fascinated with pregnant bellies and has been on a Quest to Feel Bizzleburp Kick. Unfortunately, as many of you know, babies keep their own schedules, and the last couple of times the girl has been around me hasn't been Bizzleburp's playtime. Yesterday, as I sat on the sofa telling her about babies kicking more when mommies are sitting still, I let slip that sometimes Biz will start moving around when Daddy is doing his nightly multiplication tables drills (don't ask, I beg you). Kiddo marched across the room, took my husband by the hand, dragged him over to the sofa, pointed at my belly and said, "TALK!" (We should all have the moxie of eight-year-old girls.)

Today was a much much better day. Or I could just be buzzed on hormones. Bizzleburp has been kicking up a storm lately. Must be growth-spurt time. Whatever it is, I'll take it.

It's been "Extreme Monday" over here in Purple Scare land. I got the news today that a colleague and friend who went west for her maternity leave this weekend landed just in time, as her water broke Saturday night. She now has a bouncing baby boy -- six weeks early. The good news is that both mother and baby are doing well and are expected to be just fine.
And aside from that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play? Yep, and it's only Monday.

Random thing I just thought I'd share with you: never underestimate the power of the subliminal. Every time I post to the blog, I get a Meat Loaf song stuck in my head for a few minutes. Why? Because blogger.com's main interface page is called the "dashboard" -- and every time, without fail, "I can see paradise by the dashboard light..." sneaks its way into my alpha waves. It used to annoy me, but now I just look at like part of the process, kinda like opening my Yahoo! mail and going to my "Bulk" folder to delete all the Viagra ads and Confidential Business Proposals from Nigerian exiles.

And you thought the Americans were over the top on warning labels. Folding laundry this morning (whoo hoo, more pre-kids hedonism on a Saturday!) I noticed that the tags on my maternity undies read "KEEP AWAY FROM FIRE." How does one react to this label?

a) Well, DUH!
b) Rats, there go my plans for making a little extra money on the side before the baby comes.
c) What's your definition of "away"?
d) Who is this label for?

The security guys in our building run a TGIF canteen, selling bagels and coffee for those of us who are too slack-jawed at the end of the week to feed ourselves in the morning. I was whimpering about wanting Baileys in my coffee today and not being able to drink, and he looked at me all puzzled. "Why can't you have Baileys?" he asked. (I should note that he didn't look surprised at my wanting a drink before 10 a.m. Life is like that behind the Rusted Iron Curtain.) I looked at him, equally puzzled, and pointed to the growing bulge under my very loose sweater. "Oh, are you pregnant?" C'est la vie, says this old folk, it goes to show you never can tell.

Now my corner fruit lady has gotten into the act: "You've really lost a lot of weight!" Yes, I told her, see the tummy here? I was really sick for about three months but I'm much better now, thank you. Mostly.
Corner Fruit Lady is one of the bonuses of living in my adopted hometown. CFL (previously we had a CFGuy) operates a little kiosk selling fresh produce (or the local definition thereof) at the end of our block. It's very nice to come home at the end of the day and pick up some oranges for a vitamin C fix. What's amazing is that they're there year-round, even when it's 20 below zero in the dead of winter. And she's always friendly and chatty and notices if we haven't been to see her for a while. One of the things I will miss (yes, there is more than one, believe it or not) when we return to our usual side of the Atlantic will be our CFL.

Good news: dinner with friends does wonders to erase a bad afternoon, especially when the food is homemade Thai. Here in the Baltics we don't get a whole lot of flavorsome Asian cuisine, but our chums shipped a bunch of ingredients when they moved here. Mmmmmm...Pad Thai and Peanut Chicken...mmmm.
Another peculiarity of living this far north: it's past midnight and the sun has not yet set. It will eventually dip below the horizon for an hour or two tonight, but that's about it. Happy Summer Solstice, everyone!

I managed to have a rotten afternoon even with lots of sunshine. It takes two things to override a sunny day: a city power failure and an interaction with the home office.
City power failure=operating on a generator. Generator=lots of noise and fluctuations in the electrical works that make my computer, despite the UPS, roll over and play dead every five minutes. Yeah, that's a real kick in the productivity.
Interaction with the home office - more specifically, my HR point of contact. I could get better answers out of a Magic 8 Ball:
"Is the company paying for temporary relocation housing while I'm on maternity leave, since I'm still technically on the payroll then?"
"Reply Hazy...Ask Again Later."
In order to be any less helpful this person would have to be declared legally dead.
I expect a nice dinner with friends will cheer me up considerably. If that doesn't do it, I'll flip a coin over bubble bath & nice warm glass of milk vs. DVD of Kill Bill, vol. 1.

My weight has hit a plateau, which is both good and bad. I'm not losing anymore, but I'm also not quite gaining yet. But everyone keeps telling me that I look great: "We can tell you've lost weight, we can see it in your face!" Great, so I lost all that weight in my face, and my butt is still the envy of any dancer in a Sir Mix-A-Lot video? Puh-leeeze!
Okay, really, it's nice to hear compliments, especially on days when I feel like two gallons of soiled diapers in a one-gallon pail. And I suppose that the weight I've got, in numbers, is just rearranging itself (like leaving my face ?!?!?! and heading for my waist), and in the end Bizzleburp will be a nice healthy size. It's right up there with "I feel sorry for Nancy Reagan" on my list of things I never thought I'd hear myself say: "Gosh, I'd feel a little better if I gained a few more pounds."

Sorry folks, nothing witty or interesting to say today. I've been kind of insomniac lately, which is giving me a great preview of my Zombie NewMom life to come in about four and a half months. My colleagues have orders to shoot on sight if I start stumbling around the office groaning, "Braaaainns...must...have...fresh...braaaains."

Mad Props to all the Pops! Happy Fathers Day to all who are celebrating.

Today's Purple Scare FAQ: Why "Mugs"? 98% of my readership knows my real name, but I'm staying incognito on-line anyway. Very few nicknames have ever stuck to me, for reasons that elude me. My brother started this one, and he's the only one who really uses it consistently. This one has stuck and I like it, so I use it for the blog. It has nothing to do with the fact that I've been dreaming of coffee, no no no. Not real, caffeine-drenched, sweet creamy coffee, nooooo.

For the record: all you Yahoo! users out there who think the new interface stinks, raise your hands. Yep, I thought so. Yay for increased storage space, boo for running slower than honey in the Yukon.

Mad props to one Kindly Uncle William for finding this article on the incomparable Sir Ian: "I can imagine what it's like to kill someone, I can imagine what it's like to cast spells or have superpowers. But imagining what it's like to be Canadian? No. You'd need experience for something like that."

Doctor's appointment went just fine. We didn't do the ultrasound, but we listened to the heartbeat (138bpm - sounds like a 12" dance mix). Everything is fine (so don't worry, Mom) and I go back in two weeks for a "Glucose Tolerance Test" -- usually done between 24 and 28 weeks, and I'm at 22.

Boss returns at the end of this week. I will have to practice gritting my teeth and biting my tongue. Ah, it was good while it lasted.

Doctor appointment tomorrow! New ultrasound pix coming up! The first ones looked like they were taken with the Hubble space telescope. Lately, they've looked more like something out of the X-Files. That's progress, right?

A less frequently asked question, but a relevant one:

Why did you ask for a leave of absence for a whole year? Because I wanted to, we could afford to, and I figured it was about time I figured out what I want to be when I grow up. Bizzleburp is an added bonus. I picked up a book when vacationing out West in October 2003 and found it very informative. More recommended reading, if you're interested, available shortly.

Time for a Purple Scare FAQ:

When is your due date? Mid-October.

Is it a boy or a girl? Yes. We won't know which, though, until B-Day. Meanwhile, we're referring to our growing family member as "Bizzleburp".

"Bizzleburp"? Are you serious? Yeah, it seemed like a good idea at the time. It's Greg the Bunny's Puppish name, and appropriately onomatopoetic for the anti-social sound effects I've been experiencing since the early weeks. Don't worry, we'll come up with something better for the birth certificate.

When are you returning to the other side of the Atlantic? No later than September 1.

Where will you live? Good question. Know any good realtors?

How long will you be back in North America? Ummmm...good question.

Here's the story: Last winter, I asked my employer for a leave of absence starting when my contract here was up (fall 2004). My employer agreed. Shortly after my employer agreed to this, we learned about Bizzleburp. Around the time Bizzleburp is supposed to show up, my employer is going to want to figure out where to send me when my leave is up in Fall 2005. So within a period of about ten weeks, we're going to
1) make a transAtlantic move;
2) figure out how long we're going to be at our new location;
3) figure out whether to rent or buy;
4) settle into said place and unpack several tons of household effects;
5) try to guess where we're going to be in another year; and, oh, yeah,
6) bring another human being into the world and begin nurturing him or her on a 24-7 basis.

So before I even give birth I'm going to have to decide whether I'm going back to work and if so, when.

Are you out of your mind? Not yet. But now you see why I started the vent-a-blog. It's cheaper than escapist chemical recreation and less likely to damage the baby.

That address once again is purplescareblog@yahoo.com.

A former colleague sent me Belly Laughs, a pregnancy humor book detailing the wit and wisdom of Jenny McCarthy (yes, it's a pretty slim volume). It is refreshing to know that even the rich and famous get their share of symptoms, side effects, and stresses during these nine months. Jenny referred to experiencing bowel difficulties as "passing Stonehenge." I'm with her on that, with two caveats: first, let's be clear that we're talking about the real Stonehenge, not the six-inch-scale model from Spinal Tap; and second, yeah, as long as Stonehenge were made of peanut brittle.
And yes, it's nice to know that the rich and shameless, too, know what it's like when you have to cross your legs every time you sneeze, 'cause you're bound to have some kind of leakage even though your bladder is about the size of a cough drop by now.
Oh, how we suffer to keep the human race going.
I don't know about you, but I'm thinking it was just one stupid apple, it was several millenia ago, I'm sure Eve is very sorry she did it, and isn't there a statute of limitations on divine curses?
And this is the "golden trimester," too.

We got out of town over the weekend, and at long last I got to see Kill Bill, volume 2. I enjoyed it tremendously, with a few hitches: all the scenes involving The Bride training with Master Pei Mei were subtitled only in two Nordic languages -- neither of which I read. So I missed out on about 15-20 minutes' worth of stuff. I was also a little bummed not to get more backstory on some of the characters, after we had learned so much about O-ren Ishii in volume 1. Well, I guess I'll have to wait for the Director's Cut DVD.
I also made a five-hour roadtrip, in the backseat, without losing my lunch or having any bathroom crises. This is a major accomplishment for me as we move into Month Five. I'll take my small victories where I can.

The Japanese have an honor they bestow upon performing artists: "Living National Treasure". I've always thought the US should create such a title, and I had the perfect candidate for inaugurating the award, but now there's little point. Forget Reagan -- NOW is the time for a national day of mourning, discussions of changing the currency, and debates over where to erect a monument. A great American is no longer among us, and I shall miss him greatly. Hail and farewell to you, sir.

At the end of an extremely long day, I laughed out loud at this. That's my excuse. My sister-in-law sent me this, so you can blame her if you groan.

"A mother and her young inquisitive son were flying Southwest Airlines
from Kansas City to Chicago. The son (who had been looking out the
window) turned to his mother and asked, "If dogs have baby dogs and cats
have baby cats, why don't planes have baby planes?"

"The mother (who couldn't think of an answer) told her son to ask the flight
attendant.

"So the boy dutifully asked the flight attendant, "If dogs have baby dogs
and cats have baby cats, why don't planes have baby planes?"

"The flight attendant responded, "Did your mother tell you to ask me that?"
The little boy admitted that she did. "Well, then, tell your mother that
there are no baby planes because Southwest always pulls out on time. Now,
let your mother explain that to you."

Missed blogging yesterday, sorry. Our ISP was holding us hostage. Back to normal now.

Today I decided that it was time to end my "awkward, in-between phase" of pregnancy and break out the Office Maternity Clothes I bought almost two months ago during an unexpected trip to the English-speaking world. (I was able to shop in a language I more or less understood, so I spent a wad of money sophisticated, dignified, tailored outfits that wouldn't make me look a big wad of ruffles.) I am coming up on five months, by golly, it's time to revel in it. Under any other circumstances, I would be thrilled to discover that my clothes are too big for me because I've lost weight. This is not the case here, though.
I spent my first trimester in a near-constant state of nausea. It wasn't until I saw my first sonogram that I realized that there was really a baby growing in there and I didn't really just have the Tapeworm From Hell. Even now, my doctor yells at me when I walk in her office because I keep losing weight (believe me, I had the pounds to spare, it's not like anyone is going to mistake me for a supermodel anytime soon). But 20 pounds is 20 pounds. And now my sophisticated, dignified, tailored outfits fit me like a clown suit.
So here's my dilemma: do I put them away for another month and hope I grow into them naturally, or do I go on a binge with ice cream, peanut butter and chocolate to ensure that those suckers fit me?
Nah...then my doctor would yell at me for gaining too much. (But she always forgives me when she brings out the ultrasound wand and starts making goo-goo noises at the screen.)

Every blogger on earth probably has some reflection today on the passing of America's 40th President. Far be it from me to exclude myself from the flood of commentary.
The fact is, I never liked the Reagans. I thought the U.S. First Lady was a superficial, clueless caricature that made the Stepford Wives look like Eleanor Roosevelt. "President" Reagan was unfit for the job, he stood for everything I found objectionable, and I disliked him intensely. I choke on the new appellation of Washington's National Airport, as I consider naming an aviation facility after the man who fired striking air traffic controllers to be on par with naming a coal processing facility after Margaret Thatcher. One would just as soon name a day care center after Timothy McVeigh.
But -- and there's always a "but" -- I lost someone I loved more than life itself to Alzheimer's a few years ago. I was very close to my grandmother and namesake. She had travelled all over the world (in part, no doubt, inspiring my career choice) and led a good, full, satisfying life that on the whole would be the envy of most people. I always said that Saint Peter was going to have drag her kicking and screaming through the Pearly Gates. Her love was one of the greatest gifts of my life. Her family was everything to her - even when she could no longer tell us apart. Losing her by inches over a period of years was excruciating. Watching her watch, uncomprehending and increasingly helpless, as her world shrank around her was a torture that even a year in Abu Gharib prison could not top.
I wouldn't wish a death via Alzheimer's on anyone. It took five years for the disease to claim my grandmother. Reagan lasted more than ten. God help me, I can actually empathize with Nancy Reagan today. If you had asked my adolescent self twenty (gulp) years ago if I ever believed that would be possible, I would have said no. I don't give myself any credit for being more mature now. I just know what it is to mourn and to feel tremendous relief at the same time. My heart goes out to her.

Oh cruel fate! First, I have to wait two months to catch Kill Bill, Volume 2. If I had stayed in France, my last vacation spot, just one more day I could have seen it...in French (probably would not have done me much good). Now it looks as though I may be unable to see the new Harry Potter for over two months - I might not even see it until I get home! Moviegoing choices are really limited where I live. I can slip across the border to a neighboring country where they show stuff in English (as you have seen below, with Troy and The Day After Tomorrow). Or I can wait a week after the North American release date and get a bootleg DVD...but that would be wrong. After all, KB and HP really require big screens. Oh, and there's that whole copyright infringement/intellectual property/piracy issue.
Really, this wouldn't be so poignant, except that I know that after B-Day in October, I will not see the inside of a movie theatre for months, if not years. I've already resigned myself to at least ten years of "vacations" that involve cartoon animals at every stop. Not going to the movies, now that is gonna hurt.
And look at it this way: in ten years, I'll probably have the Harry Potter series - written and cinematic - committed to memory. What's the rush?

My belly now sticks out farther than the rest of me. Time to hold a farewell party for my waistline. Yippee!

I took the day off from blogging yesterday. When I got home from work I could barely keep my eyes open. So I lay down for a few hours, woke up at 10 p.m., got up to brush my teeth, and proceeded to toss and turn for the next five hours. Oh fate, how you mock me.

I have figured out why the Ineffable Tao gives pregnant women mood swings on top of all our other symptoms & side effects: so that our partners can experience the joys of pregnancy vicariously. Nothing can replicate three straight months of nausea, but my husband can get that queasy feeling just watching me threaten to have a thermonuclear meltdown because the mashed potatoes turned out less well than expected. Nature is full of such wonders.

Okay, I leave town for a few years, and Sarah grows her hair way out, and Alanis chops her locks. Anything else I should know about? Has k.d. started eating meat?