Despite having to trudge through the soggy autumn leaves, drained of their vibrant colours due to the dampness from the rains that characterize Vancouver, I am still overjoyed to once again have the privilege of enjoying autumn. We are experiencing our first fall in many years and despite the dominant wet weather that has unsurprisingly plagued Vancouver, the few fine days were so astoundingly gorgeous that the rain hasn't gotten us down; yet. While living abroad all those years, I was conscious that the seasonal cycle was something I was missing out on; something profound that was missing from my life.
And yet nature's irony has not been lost on me either, for just as Her cycle approaches one of death, a cycle of rebirth - a spring - is about to commence in my own life.
That's right, my friends, the countdown is on. Can you hear the theme music? Anyone remember Europa? My devilish goal in writing this letter is not to update you, at length, about what is going in my life, but to make you suffer through your day by planting the seed of one of the worst and catchiest tunes of all time into your heads. Brwahahaha...
You haven't heard from me for a while and the reason for that is that the madness of parenting has already begun. No, baby isn't born yet but the nesting process and the necessary preparations have. There has been furniture to put together, pre-natal classes to attend, weekly doctor's appointments, a fantastic baby shower to reap the benefits of kind friends and foot rubs to administer. Time, something I never felt I had enough of even before the pregnancy, will no longer be controlled by my selfish wants and needs. I am stubbornly and slowly coming to terms with the fact that it's not about me, me, me! anymore. Family comes first and that requires sacrifice on my part. Both my ego and my artist child are throwing little tantrums but they'll get over it.
Every day, a new person asks me the inevitable: are you ready? An equally poignant and silly question when you think about it. It's similar to being asked , "Are you OK?" , after you've broken up with your girlfriend. In both cases, there is no immediate answer. Only time will tell. Am I ready? I reckon there is a little hell yeah, and, god no in the answer. I mean, this isn't exactly an exam. Sure there is lots to read up on but the more I read, the more I realize that this is is going to be a lifelong instinctual experience that can be summed up by different authors and experts, but only actualized by doing it. There, my answer is about as clear as mud. I do know that the only way I could express it was a mix, a to and fro, between excitement and nervousness. Not very creative or expressive. That's why I was happy to come across the quote from the Kite Runner, as it summarizes it much better than I could.
The due date, or D-day as Michele lovingly refers to it, is October 27. A mere week away. Michele is wonderfully large and round in the belly, glowing and beautiful in the late stages of her pregnancy.(and I'm not just saying that for brownie points -although I could use a few...). For the most part, it's been a happy ride for mamma-to-be, lacking in swollen ankles, carpel tunnel syndrome and other such malaises that many pregnant women experience. The only strange craving to record is the sudden desire for Captain Hiliners fish fingers. I mean, that's odd for anyone, of any sex, over the age of say 14 years old. I'm just glad there hasn't been any three o'clock wakings to my throat being grasped by a pair of hands and a psychotic voice demanding nutella and garlic on toast - NOW! Nor have the hormonal changes affected her attitude from minute to the next, up and down as a boat in a storm at sea. A few tears have been shed, and more than a few obscenities have surprisingly escaped from Michele's angelic mouth, but for the most part she has been wonderfully even-keeled for this seemingly interminable 9+ months.
However, that said, there is no such thing as a perfect pregnancy and she has had her fair share of struggles. Morning sickness (I have submit a formal request to the Pregnancy Board to officially change it to any ol' time o' day sickness), sore back and hips, acid reflux from a stomach that is pushed up near the oesophagus, heartburn, as well as sleepless nights due to a future gymnastic gold medalist practicing parallel bar routines in the belly during the hours of 11 PM to 7AM. And the other day, a trip to the shops that should have taken 20 minutes, took her an hour and half thanks to baby presumably grabbing onto to an innerd and twisting with all his/her might for fun, forcing her to stop every steps to wince in pain. Sure sounds like fun doesn't it ladies? There is also the matter of a compressed bladder suddenly propelling peeing into a major concern for any outing. A forgotten trip to the bathroom before leaving can result in a painful car ride or a jittery wait in a line-up somewhere. Imagine being unable to see your feet, let alone put on socks or tie your shoes. Imagine, and this one was way too unfair n my mind, being told by your doctor that you could lose a few pounds. Were he not delivering our child, I'm pretty sure he would have had a knuckle sandwich delivered to his own mouth for a comment like that. I think you'll agree with me that it's just not what you want to hear when you are about ready to burst. All in all, Michele has taken the role on admirably. She has had ample want to complain and yet she has remained positive and cheerful throughout. She is a trooper and I have to say that I am falling more and more in love with her as our partnership and our new roles as parents begin.
However, our new roles as parents have also forced us into new roles either of us had necessarily wanted or planned on before returning to Canada. For Michele, it has been the classic role of housewife by taking on domestic duties such as cleaning, washing and preparing meals. As for me, it is going in to the office as I assume the role of family breadwinner, or better yet - given my salary and high cost of living in "the world's most livable city" - yeast winner. Sometimes I wonder whether we've reverted back to the fifties and no one has bothered to tell me. While all of it - the new roles and the re-adaptation to Canada - being undeniably strange, we've accepted it for now and are rolling along with the punches. The dude and dudette abide. It's not necessarily how we envisioned life when we originally made the decision to come home (before we found out about baby). And though it hasn't been a cakewalk, I am proud at how we have handled these profound and irreversible life changes so far.
I now find myself waking up at dawn, in the dark, so that I can practice qi gong and do some writing before hopping on my bike for the commute to work. On the odd day where it is clear, the Rockies are quite a magnificent setting to behold. Otherwise, it is chilly and often wet, but I enjoy the fresh air and the exercise regardless. Beats a depressing bus ride along East Hastings I tell ya!
The office environment is a surreal place that I am still adjusting to. It's been over two months now and I am still in training. It's that complicated. I am learning details about financial procedures and transactions that are ridiculously complicated for my abstract mind. Sometimes they even have the gall to make me do a little math.* It's a struggle to keep my apt to daydream mind from drifting while Raman tries to drill into me the information I am required to learn. I try to remain positive, tell myself that through osmosis it's all bound to sink in eventually, but I do go through moments of self-doubt. It's not my dream job, but without the bi-weekly paycheque and the benefits, we'd be screwed. And truth be told, sometimes I arrive home drained and dejected. But then I walk in the door, see the belly and all the promise that accompanies it, get mauled with attention from Flea, get a waff of another delicious meal concocted by Michele, I realize what's really important. My mood swings from self-pity to one of feeling blessed. You know, I got it good after all.
For the record, I haven't given up on writing; just as Michele will eventually pursue photography. But the little miracle insider her belly will put these dreams on hold for the both of us indefinitely. We feel that the baby has chosen us as parents at this particular time, for whatever reason.
So, the next email you will receive within a few weeks will hopefully be a picture of a healthy baby that looks just like me! Or, for the baby's sake, maybe it's best that (s)he looks more like Michele. As you should have deciphered, we have kept the sex of the little one a surprise. I love surprises and I cannot think of a bigger or better surprise than this one. Dreams of it being a girl were reported by several women. Last night, however, I dreamed it was a boy. Michele waivers daily between the two. On verra, quoi. We have a girl's name that we have pretty much decided on but a boy's name remains undecided. Feel free to email me any suggestions. Ideally, it is a name that sounds good in either French or English. I am have half a mind that we need to see the little one before naming it. You know, I'll see it come out and think to myself, “Ah, it was Pablo all along!�
Also, sending a few positive vibrations in terms of a safe and healthy delivery for both momma and baby would be appreciated. And while you're at it, might as well throw in some strength for poppa in his supporting role (i.e for him not to faint), wouldn't hurt either...
papa oj
* Recognizing our hopeless math skills, Michele and I have been playing Mozart to the baby in an effort to not have our child suffer the embarrasing math inabilities of its parents. Apparently, Mozart's compositions were mathematical in nature and studies show that playing Mozart to your baby will magically develop the math part of the brain. Hey, it's worth a shot!
