Why yes, I have been reduced to posting exclusively when link-ups are involved. And just when this lovely little blog was starting to heat up.
C’est la pregnancy.
Morning sickness. It’s over, and not a moment or 11-weeks too soon. I will take bone-crushing fatigue and cravings for baked potatoes over all-day nausea in a heartbeat. And speaking of hearts, mine doth go out to expectant mamas who truly suffer. Especially the HG varietal. I was starting to think for a minute that I was riding that horse, but the clouds have parted, the sun is once again shining, and I don’t run screaming and gagging past the seafood stall in the market most mornings.
Houseguests. My husband’s best friend (who is a brand new,13-day old priest!) has been staying with us this week, and what a joy it has been. Mass in St. Peter’s basilica on the altar of Bl. John Paul II, Mass in our home, served by my somewhat enthusiastic 2-year-old who only wandered off to play with trucks 2 or 6 times during the liturgy, and countless moments of consolation and joy after 5 long, arid months alone in this city. So very blessed.
Every new priest’s dream. And not a shabby morning for our family, either.
Chipotle. Super Target. A car to drive around in. Oh, I mean my family and friends, in 20 short days. Oh America, I am longing to be home again, and all that stands between us is 3 short weeks and an 11 hour red-eye from London to Denver. Should be relaxing, rejuvenating, peace-filled, etc.
This piece I wrote for the Heroic News blog got picked up a couple different places. And normally when I write ‘controversial’ I’m filled with comment-dread and holding my e-breath for the comments to start rolling in rough and dirty…but now I don’t read them! Weeee! Such a simple, stupid epiphany that has saved me so much e-grief. Because non-blog related pieces aren’t meant to be dialogues between the writer and the world.
5. Can I just say, being pregnant in Italy is a biiiiiig change from being pregnant in the US of A. Or maybe it’s just that every pregnancy is different, etc. etc. But I’ve lost 6 lbs so far (beer weight? Am I a frat guy?), and I’m still not showing at 11 weeks. (Due to, I don’t know…All the walking? No processed foods? Eating a loaf of bread a day?) Both boys had me in maternity fat pants by now, and I have to say my relief is immense as I contemplate walking down someone else’s aisle in 4 short weeks in a gorgeous bridesmaid dress and having the optimistically-sized-last-December beauty zip right up. Fingers crossed.
Also, stuff like encounter number two in Steph’s post never, ever happens here. Or if it does, the language barrier is such that I don’t know when it’s happening. Which makes me feel…normal. And even though Italy has the lowest birthrate in all of Europe and there are no babies here and there will be no native-born Italians in another two generations if they continue in this fashion…well, these people love babies. Not enough to actually have any of their own, mind you, but oh my goodness do they like to love on mine. And sometimes take them out of my arms in public places…
6. Joey and JP kissing ‘baby’ over and over again and talking to my stomach and making big plans for ‘baby Jesus coming at Christmas time’ and ‘playing trucks all together’ and ‘drink hot milk.’ Okay, son, whatever you say. Also, Joey insists that bambino numero tres is a ‘he’ named Tonio. ‘Baby has a penis, Mommy.’ Over and over again. Hopefully never in public, but there’s always that 11 hour plane ride on the horizon…
7. Baked potatoes for lunch, every single day this week. Slathered in Heinz ketchup, imported from a specialty store across town and enjoyed with inappropriate gusto. And did you know, Italian Heinz has no artificial flavors, colors, or preservatives? It’s basically health food, people. I only do the very best for my babies.Weirdest pregnancy craving ever? Nah, with Joey I couldn’t get enough of salt and vinegar chips paired with salami and cheese, and I hunted green chile like it was my job. I fatefully and regretfully consumed a super-hot varietal on the eve before labor, and, well, Yolo.