All right, I give up.

I know that "every woman's pregnancy is unique," but there were certain things I assumed would happen to me. You know, because they happen to everyone. I thought I'd have weird cravings. Or cravings at all. I thought I'd suddenly have a more sensitive sense of smell. I imagined a beast-like hunger that could never be satisfied. I pictured morning sickness.

Never in all my idle imaginings did I think I would no longer be able to read.

I mean, I can still read. The letters still come together to form words. My eyes can still scan them and create meaning. It's just that I can't focus.

This is really killing me. It's just so strange. I can't tell you how many books I've started and tossed aside in recent months. Or how many I've sort of limped through, only half present but desperate to hold on. I've tried re-reading old favorites - I think "The Hero with a Thousand Faces" is currently gathering dust under my bed, where I finally chucked it one evening. I've tried reading new (to me) books by some of my favorite authors. Meh. I've tried reading more "candy"-like things - a mystery, a Bill Bryson book about traveling through Europe, "High Fidelity". Eh.

It's sad, because I can't imagine myself doing much reading after the baby gets here. These months, right now, were supposed to be something of a "last hurrah" for me. Who knew?

I'm just going to put it in writing then, and by doing so let it go: no more books for awhile. And that's totally okay.

Thankfully, I'm able to handle The New Yorker. I guess I'll just be reading magazine articles for the next three and a half months.

And maybe I'll get some of those food cravings, too. Anything can happen, right?

Bad pictures / good project

As a 30th birthday gift to myself, I put together a "life list" this past December. One of the items on it was "learn to sew."

My mother has been sewing since she was an adolescent, and she is amazing. She made clothes for me when I was a kid, she quilts, she has a little just-for-fun, very-low-key business of selling American Girl doll clothes, etc. I grew up with a basic knowledge of the craft, and even made a little piece here and there, but I never had the desire to buckle down and really learn it until quite recently.

While this desire to start sewing was building within, I got the news that a set of friends was expecting a baby. Lightbulb moment - I could make them a busy book!

Over the years I've watched my mom make a series of these books for friends, relatives and co-workers. So cute! Educational and fun! Making one would force me to go over the basics of sewing again and again (change the thread, change the stitching, etc.), but the whole thing wouldn't be too complicated for me to handle.

It was settled, then.

Below are some photos of the finished project. I had to use flash on my camera, so the colors look a little washed out... ah well. You get the idea, right?

 (baby ladybugs are inside... in case you were wondering)

 (Rabbit and crocodile finger puppets in the cars.)

As for vacation...

It was wonderful. I don't feel like using so many words to describe it just now - maybe a few photos and captions can fill you in.

Much of our time was spent with Oliver's family - who, because I respect them and any desire they have for privacy - are not pictured here. Oliver's mom's dog though- I can post a picture of him. You don't mind, do you Bodo?

We made our way one day to Bremen (of the Bremen Town Musicians fame). It had a beautiful "old town" section, complete with town hall and rickety cathedral (both pictured). A beautiful place - if you find yourself in northwest Germany at any point, it's worth dropping by.

Silhouetted in the tower of Bremen's cathedral.

Taking leave of Germany after a bit, we made a brief foray into Denmark. Our first stop was Aero Island, a little island in the East Sea. We stayed in a village called Aeroskoebing (pictured). It's a rarity - perfectly preserved 18th century buildings and very little of anything else. No condos, no fast food chains, no malls. The perfect place to go for an escape from the real world. 

Our biggest doing on Aero Island: an epic bike ride. The island itself isn't all that large but the bike route weaves back and forth a hundred times, sucking the strength out of your legs but giving you views like this one over and over again. I could barely pedal come evening, but I wanted to keep going. Every minute was beautiful, and every place I was that day was exactly where I wanted to be. The world needs more bike trails on tiny, quiet islands.

The little guy enjoyed the view - his first of the East Sea.

Oliver also enjoyed the view. 

Copenhagen was our other destination, and it was wonderful too. Canals, bikes, and all those beautiful buildings. We wandered around for a couple days, feeling guilty and nervous about two things we had never bothered to learn: a single word of the Danish language, and the dollar-kroner exchange rate.

My favorite part of Copenhagen - its outdoor cafes and the fleece blankets that hang casually off the backs of their chairs. A fleece blanket in August! Sorry to be the crazy old weather lady again, but I can't help it. This photo captures me at my happiest - wrapped in a blanket, sitting in a cute neighborhood, relaxing. Blankets in August! All right, I'm done now.

Our last stop was Frankfurt, where we spent a couple days with some friends. Frankfurt is mainly shiny tower-like buildings (background) and almost no quaint, old-style "German" buildings (foreground). The old-style buildings are fake-ish anyhow. The city was destroyed at the end of World War II, and all its historical buildings were reduced to rubble. The facades pictured are just replicas of the originals.

And thus it came to an end. We'll be back next year with the little guy in tow. I'm already plotting day trips and North Sea island excursions. Maybe I'll find some more fleece blanketed-sidewalk cafes. I still can't get over that. Fleece blankets! In August!

All right, I'm done now.

How it is this time

Sometimes I come back from vacation feeling energized and enthusiastic. My two weeks of adventure and relaxation have led me to all sorts of new plans and ideas for regular life, and I whistle while I do the post-trip laundry, etc.

This is not one of those times. As our plane approached JFK yesterday afternoon, the pilot announced that the temperature at our destination was 94 degrees. That broke me. I actually shed a few tears on the plane. Dropped a couple f bombs while Oliver tried valiantly to remain patient. I know there was more to my freakout than just the weather - exhaustion, hormones, a fresh reminder that so many of the people we care about live so far from us - but the pilot wasn't making announcements about any of those other things, so the weather bore the brunt of my rage.

I don't mean to be a cranky old lady who always talks about the weather, but after two glorious weeks of sweaters, fleece blankets and chilly evening walks, New York feels horrible. It's going to be 95 degrees again today. I am so tired of not being able to spend time outside. Of coming home from work and feeling listless and cranky. I want to turn on the oven again. I want to go for a bike ride. I thought that by skipping out of town when we did we could cheat the city of its last two weeks of summer hell, and come back renewed and cooled down. September would be a brand new month. Silly me.

Off!

24 hours from now, I'll be on a plane. We'll be spending the next two weeks in Germany, with a little side trip to Denmark thrown in as well. Looking forward to putting my German to use, eating things I can't get here, seeing friends and family, and seeing my first piece of Scandinavia. Norway and Finland... you know you're my true loves. I'll get to you someday soon. Preferably when I have more than 4 days to explore you.

Back in two weeks! With pictures!

The name

I've been thinking about names for a long time. Long before I was pregnant - long before I was even thinking about trying to get pregnant. It started in Beijing, when I was teaching English. One of my students was named something along the lines of Mei Lin... Mei Wa... Lin Mai... the actual name escapes me. She told me the story once of how she had been named. Her parents had been living some distance apart in the early days of their marriage, and her father would fly to visit her mother every few weeks. There was a mountain range between the two parents... the daughter was conceived in the winter... her name meant "Snow bird that flys over the mountain."

I loved the fact that her name really meant something, that it told a story. I've been a little bummed ever since, knowing that my own naming process wouldn't be nearly as poetic.

We've been talking about names quite a bit, trying to both come up with ground rules and make whatever we choose meaningful. Some decisions we've come to:

1. Little Steff man's middle name will be my maiden name. For me, this is a no brainer. I like the idea of using the middle name to honor someone you love - and now we'll be honoring my entire family.

2. Hot on the heels of  heels of this decision, no names beginning with A. I want to be a good mother, and I'm pretty sure good mothers don't give their kids the initials "ASS". Maybe he'd appreciate the humor. But probably not.

3. His name will be a German one. I'm pretty sure about this. It's a way to connect him to his dad's family and culture, since we're going to be raising him in the United States. I don't want him to say "my dad's from Germany." I want him to say "I'm half German."

4. He'll have a German name, but it won't be a weird one (weird by American standards, that is). No Lothar, no Wolfgang, no Joerg.

5. The name can't have two obviously different pronunciations - one in German and one in English. I was in love with the name Bastian for awhile, but realized that my pronunciation (Bah' * schee* ahn) would fly in the face of what most American would want to say (Sebastian minus the "Se"). Nope, not gonna do it. 

We've got a couple contenders right now, and are going to let them roll around on our tongues for awhile to see if either is a keeper. We'll share our choice with the rest of the world as soon as little Steff man is born... I like the idea of having a small surprise for everyone.

Two encounters

I had to go to the post office during my lunch hour one day last week. I don't generally like going to the post office, and I especially don't like losing a lunch hour to do it. Duty called though, and there I stood, eating hummus and pita while shuffling forward spot by spot.

Lucky me, I was called to the window of my favorite post office worker. I've always figured him for a Native American, though I've never asked him any questions about his ethnicity. Let's just say he's Native American. I like picturing him that way. He's got a soft, smooth voice, and he is always so pleasant. 

I asked him for a pen. "For you, the best pen," he said.  I had used the wrong tape to wrap my package. "I'll let it go for now, but make sure never to use this tape again." I promised him I wouldn't. And I won't. Our business concluded, I got ready to walk away. "Have a wonderful day," he said. "Take care of yourself and your family. Stay healthy."

I stopped in my tracks for a second. "Thank you," I said. I felt like he had just given me a blessing.

*          *          *

Later in the week, I had to leave work early to go to the dentist. My root canal was infected, and I needed antibiotics to put an end to the throbbing in my gums. This was actually my fourth visit to the dentist - in as many months - for the same problem. Long story.

In the elevator, I pressed "15." I was tired. I was worried about the infection. I was annoyed with the professional who had told me to wait until January to have anything done. As the car started upwards, I sighed and leaned my head against the wall.

"Are you okay?" 

I came back to reality and looked at the man standing across from me. He was in his 50s, and had a soft Indian / Pakistani accent. "Have you had a bad day? Are you feeling all right?" 

"Oh," I said, smiling. Nothing serious. Just a toothache. Going to the dentist." I pointed to the elevator doors as they opened for me.

"Ah." He laughed softly. "Good luck!"

"Thanks," I replied. I walked into my dentist's office, feeling good.