Making the Mommy Case

I have recently found myself in a couple of frustrating situations that have led me to question at first myself and then, with more objectivity, those around me. 

For as long as I can remember, I have always been a workaholic.  

I started working my very first semester at university and by the time I was done with my studies, I was already out of the country on a great venture and missed my graduation. Not that I regret it. I actually never thought about this as a "miss". I guess at the time, I had already moved on to exciting professional opportunities and I did not think twice when I could not make it back on time for what seems like just a party. By then some of my best friends who were older had already graduated before me and I had made new connections and welcomed new people into my life. Work and this fresh start seemed so much more important. And in retrospect, it was. 

I met my husband at that job, so I guess this decision also shaped my entire life as I know it today. It helped we have the same work ethics and he is as much an addict as I am. We would reach the office first and leave last. We literally had the keys to the door. I loved it. Back then, I remember well how I used to think: "even when I have a family, I will never stop working". How could I? 

Work was literally what defined me as a person

I feel like I married young. Or at least way younger than I had planned and that is why I never thought of having kids from the get go. I used to feel like I had so much growing up to do myself, I was not about to take that leap yet. In fact, it wasn't before I turned twenty-nine that I started to sense something was missing. I don't know if getting closer to thirty had anything to do with it, but none of that matters now. The bottom line is: we tried twice and ended up with two back to back miscarriages in less than a year. 

This is when the shift happened. This is when I understood that to me, jobs and work and promotions were all exciting and rewarding but that they would never be all that there is. In fact, what had always been my number one priority had not only lost its place, it was nowhere to be found on the grid. And this lasted for quite some time. 

I am quite proud of what I have achieved professionally. I was young and given heavy responsibilities and I raised to all the challenges that came my way, with distinction if I may say so myself. And this is an enormous and crucial part of my person and my life. I would not change a thing.

But when starting a family proved to be difficult and the need grew stronger than anything else (blame it on the hormones, blame it on emotions, blame it on depression, or on that primitive instinct to reproduce and save the specie from extinction, I don't know) everything fell into place differently. 

Six months following my second miscarriage I got pregnant and this time, I needed it to happen. And it did. We were blessed with the most beautiful and loving daughter anyone could ask for. 

My pregnancies are quite challenging physically and even though I thought I could continue working, I quickly realized the only places I would be going were my bed, the bathroom and my bed again. Basically, each time I got pregnant, it boiled down to the same: Hyperemesis Gravidarum. I get it from my mom who gets it from hers. I was vomiting dozens of time a day and I was too miserable and weak to do anything. Needless to say work was out of the question. Simply put, I was crippled for the whole nine months. In fact, the midwife thought I was joking when she wheeled me into the Delivery Room and I asked her for a bucket. She had never seen such severe morning sickness right before giving birth apparently.

As I evaluated the whole experience, I quickly gathered it would be impossible to commit to any job if I ever wanted to conceive again as no company would ever allow me such a long time off. So I made the decision to try for a second child immediately and we got lucky because Mia was only seven months old when I got pregnant again. Thankfully, we were blessed once more with the most perfect little boy and another nine months of sickness turned out to be quite worth the trauma. My son is now four. He just started school a few weeks ago. 

The plan was simple: 

I stay at home, take care of the little munchkins and when they start nursery, I can resume work. In spite of my most tenacious attempts to not become my mother, I turned out to be just as overprotective as she was (is). And I say this with the utmost affection and admiration to the woman who literally sacrificed her person to become the catalyst of ours. She made us her life. I am eternally grateful for everything and I am in awe of those mothers who let go of it all and just give. 

I am not as generous as she is and I still dream of work almost every day. But right now is not the time. Jad has autism. No matter how hard we try to put things into place, they keep getting off track each time in a different way. 

The "Mommy Case"

I apologize for the long introduction but I feel like I need to fully disclose who I was and who I am before I focus on what I have learned from all of that. 

I do not judge and I completely respect women who opt not to work. I think it is tragic when women choose (or are forced) to refuse education regardless of whether they plan to work later on or not. Education is so much more than just a ticket to a career. It is what raises us as individuals to become the fullest and best version of our person.

That being said, I can recognize the differences in each one of us and the reality that some women long for families and do not care for a career. I can understand this is what they dream of, they choose and they undertake. And there is nothing wrong with that. 

But I was never one of those. I had always seen myself as someone who works. Someone who would always work. Someone with passion and in time, hopefully, a successful career. Even when family became all that I wanted, I always felt like I would soon return to work, once everyone's roles were sorted. 

I guess, even if work was not the only feature defining me anymore, I always thought it would still be a substantial part of my definition. 

So it is as someone who loves work, someone who longs for work that I write this. 

I have been part of organizations and a manager long enough to understand what being professional means. I have even gone through the whole entrepreneurial journey and launched my own company some years ago. So I know very well what it entails to succeed (and not to). 

And although I don't claim to be some sort of a business expert, far from it, it is with certainty that I say mothers are true assets. 

They gain and develop key skills that could be transferred to the workplace and almost any market depending of course on previous academic knowledge and work experience. I don't claim I can suddenly engineer roads. But I know what I have learned being a mother can definitely add to what I used to do before what many consider a "stop". 

Mothers are risk takers, flexible and quick learners

Mothers are forced into a journey they know nothing about and yet they must navigate and somehow complete it successfully without prior learning, experience or training. This ability alone is commendable. No company manager in their right mind would send assets to a project without ensuring these talents had some sort of skills that could ensure a successful outcome. First time mothers get pregnant and have to learn quickly how to adapt to this new situation without having experienced or practiced it before. And even when they have experienced pregnancies before, each new "project" is completely unique and adaptation is constantly needed. On a monthly basis! And when they feel like the most difficult time is finally done and they can proceed to some sort of normalcy (whatever that means), they suddenly must face the ever changing environment of caring for a baby. A project that will probably last a lifetime and which requires continuous flexibility and adaptability.  

Mothers are dedicated and work with heart

I guess this one goes without saying. Mothers learn to completely and entirely let go of their person to cater to their "project" wholly. They push aside their own personal needs, dreams and comfort to be able to give their all. Dedication is an instinctive quality and it kicks in naturally when women become mothers no matter how difficult, exhausting or frustrating things may get. But then comes a time when the "project" at hand requires less time (never less effort, but definitely less hands on intervention) and mothers can start to make room for new projects. This time on the professional end. What leader would decline dedicated coworkers ready to become real partners and willing to engage wholeheartedly? Work ethics and dedication are not easy to come by.

The Mother of all Multitasking is a mother

As stay at home moms, we always love to joke about how the world perceives our "job". Apparently, some might still think, even in this day and age, that we sit around the house looking cute, drinking coffee, practicing our most impressive yoga pose and brunching with friends after a good massage and mani-pedi while our husbands slave at work and our kids are at school. Sure we do. But while we have coffee, we are organizing doctors' appointments, gym classes, music classes, children therapy sessions, birthdays, lunches, car pools, and much more. We can hold a conference call and cook at the same time. We can review emails and documents while waiting in the car for a child pickup or at a doctor's waiting room. We can finish work from the playground or while waiting for children activities to end. We can supervise homework of Child One while building towers with Child Two and mentally going through tomorrow's checklist. We shower and clean the shower at the same time. We load laundry and dishes while picking up toys, packing tomorrow's lunch boxes and sewing a child's costume for Book Day at school. We watch cooking videos, arts and crafts videos, home improvement videos, do it yourself videos and Pinterest the kids next Halloween get-up while feeding the baby at night. We do everything and anything all at once. And it is a factual fact that we are constantly interrupted by something more important. Best scenarios usually imply holding two coherent conversations simultaneously while each ear dumps completely unrelated information to be processed at the same time. Daily, multiple times. Worse scenarios mean juggling two or more situations while one or more could lead to a little human being badly injured or even a life being threatened. And yet, we manage to complete all that is necessary for our household and those living in it to run smoothly.

Mothers are lifelong learners and experts

When I decided to become a mom, the first task I undertook was to get my driver's license. I had never needed to drive but I knew that overnight, I was about to turn into Chauffeur Extraordinaire. Nurse Extraordinaire who can make booboos disappear with magic kisses or who can actually mend a massive bump in the middle of a tiny forehead or even a bleeding wound. Paramedic Extraordinaire who can quickly tend to an injury, safely drive to the ER and clearly explain the events that led to said injury while listing allergies, medical histories and previous accidents, surgeries and procedures and literally Okaying or banning certain actions by the ER staff. Therapist Extraordinaire who can support a son with ASD be it during fun and engaging learning activities or in the middle of the night when things get a little bit tougher and I am more sleep-deprived mummy than mommy and he still needs me to sort of manage his loud cries, kicking and screaming. Autism has definitely taught me a lot and I have acquired the knowledge to be able to speak of Autism and with Autism experts coherently and with ease. I can hold conversations with educators, physicians and therapists in their own language. When you are presented with a new need for your child, you man up and you do what you need to do to make it work. You learn. You educate yourself. You educate those around you. And you try to make the world or at least your child's world a bit more understanding and kind. It's definitely not easy. It can get tricky. It is exhausting. But mothers know that giving up is not an option. Determination and perseverance are the only acceptable options.

Mothers are supermanagers and natural leaders

The whole multitasking argument is just above and says it all. But most importantly, mothers know intuitively how to prioritize, budget, plan and manage their time (and that of their "team"). They are extremely resourceful and they know who to build support systems of like-minded teammates (other mothers) to help them move forward. Managers are expected to master skills to administer and control groups of people. But leaders kick it up a notch. They strive to be managers with heart. They need to inspire and guide. They help others, not only themselves, grow into better professionals. And what is the main role of mothers? To shape little humans and help them grow into the best individuals they can become. But more than this, they are generous. I cannot believe the amount of support groups out there created by mothers to offer guidance, support and all kinds of help to other mothers, whether online or in the real physical world. Stereotypes on women always lean towards the hostile and offensive misconception that women are inherently jealous of their peers and hate each other. Nothing could be further from the truth and I have found this inclination towards sisterhood to be so strong within communities of mothers. They are there for each other, they offer tips and even actual options to alleviate challenges and difficulties. They will go the extra mile and cook, drive, and babysit for each other. They will be there in times of struggle but also even just to give an overwhelmed friend a chance to get some time for herself, just for fun. Mothers are truly team leaders and team builders.

Mothers are patient, strong negotiators with stamina 

Have you ever tried to hold your own with a... Toddler? They are small, cute, adorable little stress machines! They will drive the sanest, most objective, brilliant mind to insanity. It sounds completely absurd and funny but it is absolutely true. Children have no real responsibility. Their worries revolve around the few needs they have identified for themselves in a certain point in time. They have the ability to continue nagging and arguing about one trivial issue for hours. Even days (oh they do not forget a thing)! I am not saying mothers are saints who will keep their shit together at all times. Oh, we will lose it. That's for certain (and that's also for sanity and survival purposes). However, we will also learn to become more patient. Endurance is a skill you train for. And boy, do we train for it. Every day. And it is not about learning to shut off or ignore (which can be the best self-preservation instinct sometimes). It is about active listening and communication. It is about learning to negotiate by truly hearing the other. An other who could not be farther from your reality, your overwhelming responsibilities and your needs. An other who is innocently selfish, but selfish nonetheless and who thinks his needs trump anything and anyone. However, to teach that person how to listen and acknowledge the existence of others and their needs and respect that truth is a long process which can only be achieved with time, patience, repetition but mostly leading by example. Listening, understanding and making informed decisions. It is a daily exercise we have to master several times a day. Sometimes we fail. But most times, we will nail it!

Mother are tough 

Mothers are tough. They will go through childbirth and no matter how you look at it and the choices or inevitable routes they take, this alone is one of the hardest and painful human achievements. Let me be clear: yes, we do have it better than our grandmothers. The invention of the epidural (which was not initially for the benefit of women by the way) is definitely an advantage. However, it is not a guarantee. Sometimes the epidural does not work. In my case, it worked on one side only and I felt literally everything, and I mean every single finger, I mean thing that happened to happen where everything was happening. It bloody hurts. Like hell. That was my second time around. The first time I gave birth, my anesthetist was not available due to an emergency with another woman in critical condition that I ended up getting the epidural when I was already completely dilated. That means I felt all the labor, and it felt like, you guessed it, hell (again, yes). C-sections are not an easy way out either as many thing think. It is a full-fledge surgery with all the dangers and consequences on the human body it entails. Some mothers can literally not hold their babies due to complications or pain following childbirth. Some of us cannot sit down for two weeks. The pain is not restricted to the birth itself. It extends to weeks after that. And somehow, most of us will do it again. Why? Because we are badass, that's why! Also, because we understand the pain and by extension, anything that is bad is only temporary. That is a great life lesson. But that doesn't change the fact that childbirth is one of the most dangerous and life-threatening process a human will go through. And even in this day and age and with all the great progress of modern medicine, some women will still lose this battle and their life during or because of child birth. This may seem irrelevant in the workplace (unless you're a boxer) but it is actually a skill to overcome physical pain. It is a skill to rise to the physical, emotional and mental maturity to be able to cope with such pain and get over it. I will not deny our hormones play a huge part in the "forgetting" aspect of this whole process. However, it still takes strength and power to get through it all.

Mothers are thick-skinned

We live with criticism. Daily. From relatives, from friends and even from strangers. And sometimes it gets to us but with time, we learn to not only let go but also handle it like a boss. Somehow, society does not frown on mothers being targets. Complete strangers feel it is socially acceptable to give us looks, advice and even scolding as, when and where they see fit. People who know nothing about our reality, day in, day out, still assume they know enough to bestow their wisdom upon us, without prior request. And somehow, social etiquette does not even slightly disapprove of that. On the bus, at the supermarket, on the road, at the park, at parties, anywhere where other humans roam really. They will school us on how to feed, dress, parent. They will tell us we are bad mothers for not breastfeeding and then they will tell us we are offensive and exhibitionists if they see us breastfeeding. They will tell us our children are ill behaved and we are too lenient and if we so much raise our voices they will accuse us of badgering and even abusing our kids. They will tell us not to give in to our kids tantrums and turn them into unbearable brats all while judging us when we ignore a creaming child who just wants yet another toy he already owns in another color. But criticism doesn't scare us. We can take it. We do everyday. And sometimes, when we're in the mood, we can even respond and put people in their places. But most importantly, we know how to handle it all and move on. We know how to not let it get to us. We know how to take constructive criticism and turn it to our advantage and we know how to not let unwarranted destructive judgement take us down.

Mothers are challengers 

Put simply: competition doesn't scare us. Everything around us seems like a continuous competition. We strive to be the best mother. It is instinctive. We don't really think about it. It is just how we become wired. We just want the best for our children and to get there, we know we have to be the best too. That's why we take on life and challenges fearlessly. That is why we learn all the skills mentioned above and make them our own. That is how all these qualities become inherent to us. We do not back down from challenges. We deal.


We tend to joke about Mommy Brain as being this crippling handicap. But it can also be our biggest asset. The brain of a mother has learnt to acquire and implement wonderful qualities such as resilience, endurance, efficiency, leadership, motivation, strength, emotional intelligence and team playing that translate as strong skills in the workplace too.

When your primary role in life is to ensure the safety and survival of another human, you learn to become a well-rounded, powerful, responsible authority. 

So when mothers feel they are ready to get back to work, employers should not look at that "gap" as a loss. They should look at it as one hell of a boot camp during which women were turned into warriors and acquired unique skills and talents they can now transfer to the benefit of a company.

End hostility.

End condescendence.

Empower women.

Encourage them to take any road they desire without making them feel they are giving up on something else.

And then, sit back, relax, and watch them give back to you and your organization. You will not regret it.  

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On time, absence and everything that it means

English

So I've been away from this blog for a while. Almost a year in fact. My last post dates back to February and soon, we'll be welcoming the new year. Not very serious of me, I know.

But to be frank, when I first started this blog, I needed a space for me to share and voice some issues I did not feel I could necessarily insert in my daily chats with people around me. 

It seems lately, I've been talking way too much to real people, in the physical world.*

Ok, that's the truth of my entire life. I talk way too much. Anyone who knows me, knows that. But that's been happening since I uttered my first word so that's not really the reason behind my absence. 

I think I've been out of relevant topics to this blog. As far as my mommy-blog goes, I think I've had an overdose of topics: so many, not enough time to process them all and at the end, nothing. They just remained ideas (and quite humbly, very witty conversation with my own self).* 

But mostly, I blame it all on social media. 

You know how I know I've been writing on Facebook for way too long now? I was about to type "LOL" at the end of each of my extremely funny jokes above (a "LOL" would usually be inserted here too). 

Since I've been able to express thoughts instantly without having to take the time to process them into well-composed essays, I haven't been feeling the need to come here. A status on Facebook is instant gratification and apparently quite enough in this high pace life I've been leading. How could it not be? When I hardly have time to shower, a status that took less than thirty seconds to type can lead to immediate feedback from friends and acquaintances. Even strangers sometimes. And it all turns into interesting or fun (or both) debates within a matter of minutes. 

So what brings me back here?

I miss writing I guess. 

Family commitments, the holidays, daily mommy duties, a husband on bed rest, and a few projects here and there might not make it easy to be consistent again just yet. 

Parentheses: A crying baby has already interrupted me three times as I write this. Three. That's quite a lot for such a short essay. The crying is pretty loud so I guess it would be difficult to concentrate and work through it, but of course, some might argue I could ignore the baby. Nah, I really couldn't. 

But I think I want to come back here. Maybe I even need to.

My next post is probably more relevant to my other blog. But I'll be back here too. Let's see how this unfolds... (insert *wink smiley* here)*

* It's very hard to try to be funny online while avoiding emoticons and smileys. I'm always worried people might not catch my brilliant sense of humor. 

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Blog-Out

So I've been on a major Blog-Out.

I've neglected both my blogs not intentionally but let's just agree that sometimes priorities shift and we need to adapt and move on as we see fit in that particular moment in time.

Might be the biggest mistake in the history of mankind or just a simple misstep. Might be the ultimate brilliant chance of a lifetime. Might be none of these, just something mediocre, but comfortable in that middle ground.

In any case, I haven't been blogging for a while. And I am not back on track yet.

In fact, I am typing this post on my phone, in bed, in the dark, with one of my ears detached from my head and focused on the sleeping kids.

I am one of those paranoid, freaky moms who wake up ten times a night to make sure baby's still breathing. Not ideal to maintain a clear head, mind and blog.

Good thing we're not in an actual exchange either, where I would be expected to actually listen and respond accordingly. You would've thought I was the most obnoxious person in the world. But at least, you can't say I'm a fake. I lay it all out, and happily so.

I was approached three times about monetizing my blog in the past year. Good thing I passed on the offers or I would have been forced to write, even when uninspired and as clichéd as this will sound, I started blogging because it made me feel good. So turning the whole thing into homework wouldn't have worked anyway.

That being said, I plan on coming back. Soon I hope. Because it's not the inspiration that is lacking right now, believe me. But only when the time is right. When I know I can be back to a regular rhythm.

If after this long absence, you're still here, reading: Thank you. It's nice to be in good company and I look forward to more of that soon ;)

Christmas shopping list?

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Let's face it: shopping for the holidays is always a bitch! Actually, shopping for any occasion, any time of the year is definitely not the most entertaining activity. 

And here we go again, for a winter filled with events! I never know what to get and the fact that I start looking just a few days before Christmas certainly does not help my quest. 

So this year, let's try and plan ahead, shall we?

I was inspired by Lorena's Epiphany's different Christmas which encourages everyone to support local artists and artisans this holiday, instead of buying from big corporations. I usually buy some gifts from charities too and I'll keep you posted on that as well in another article. In the meantime...

Earlier, on this very space, we have had the fantastic opportunity to meet new talents, so why not take advantage of their unique creations which promise to dazzle the toughest of gift critics!

I cannot help but think of Bras for a Cause first since it is the event that introduced us to fantastic designers and hopeful creators this year. So get some fabulous and glamorous FOR HER, all the while helping a great cause. If you are still wondering where to find the Look Good Feel Good Collection, search no further, we have got all the addresses for you over here.

As a daughter, sister and more recently wife, I attest that shopping FOR HIM is a nightmare! He usually has a zillion ties, wallets, pens and watches and to make things worse, he buys his own gadgets all year long which means that we end up with no wish list by the time the festivities have arrived.

But how about personalizing a favorite piece of his or even better, creating and entirely new one? And what could be better than a piece of wood? Wood is tough, rough and raw. Just like HIM. Well you are in luck because I have got the thing just for you. Wood artist and painter Dyala Khodary has a magical touch for turning dull into excellence. Indeed, Mia's Easter boxes turned out amazing, but you can request just about anything at Double U As Wood. Right off the top of my head I would say a keyring which would never leave his side, a set of coasters to impress his mates at their next margarita night (I have mine and they rock), a wine rack to earn your parents' admiration the next time they come to dinner or even a bookshelf to make those annoying intellectual neighbors of his so jealous they might not survive until new year's.

Image by Double U As Wood

Something that works FOR HER and HIM is SmallPrint's silver jewelry. I had initially discovered them when looking for the perfect gift for my mom. Which we did: a fantastic pendant with Mia's footprint. Since then, I also made the cutest keychain for hubby's Father's Day. SmallPrint can turn just about any print (foot, hand, even lips and drawings) into pendants, bracelets, keychains or cufflinks. Fancy, right? And a treasure which will last forever.

Image by Grossesse En Blog

On the other hand, some things are made to please instantly. I am not saying you will not remember them forever, far from it. However, there is something special in turning a regular everyday moment into magic. And I think everyone can agree chocolate will do that for you. Usually men gift chocolate to ladies but let's face it, when we are dealing with delicacies like Hala Khodary's Chocolat Fée, then trust me both HER and HIM will be delighted by this sweetness in a box which incidentally can also be handmade and customized by Dyala Khodary.

Image by Chocolat Fée

Last but not least, are two talented designers who also participated in Bras for a Cause: Sana'a Habib and Janeth Manneh Hachem.

Sana'a has recently launched her jewelry line, El Sa's J which you can find on Facebook. Sneak a peak, but beware, you might get addicted.

Janeth, a designer, painter and an art broker is bringing to the region artwork from Latin America where she grew up and currently lives; check her online gallery at Artistika Matizes, you won't regret the detour.

Image by Artistika Matizes

I promise to tell you more about these two, and I have got some very interesting things coming up on this space on and by them so stay tuned. But in the meantime, feel free to browse their cyber spaces and look for some dashing and unique holiday gifts FOR HER and HIM!

HAPPY HOLIDAYS ;)

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busy mamma

English

I've recently been busy with my Mamma's blog so feel free to swing by and take a peak. Fellow moms might like it as I'm meeting with fabulous local designers and introducing products for babies and parents both :)

Will be back over here soon! 

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Useful Numbers: SOS Médecins

English ✮ Français

With what's been happening to Mia since Monday night, I thought it might be useful to mention SOS Médecins' numbers on this blog as well:

SOS Médecins Lebanon 
Tel.: +961 1 344444
Mob.: +961 3 344444

 SOS Médecins Dubai 
 Tel.: +971 4 4275000
 Mob.: +971 55 3804196

Avec ce qui arrive à Mia depuis lundi, je me suis dit qu'il serait utile de partager les numéros de SOS Médecins sur ce blog également:

SOS Médecins Liban 
Tel.: +961 1 344444
Mob.: +961 3 344444

 SOS Médecins Dubaï 
 Tel.: +971 4 4275000
 Mob.: +971 55 3804196

--

LEBANON / LIBAN

Red Cross / Croix Rouge: 140

Police: 112

Civil Defense / Défense Civile: 125

Fire Brigade / Pompiers: 175

Information: 1515

LibanPost: 01 629 629
Airport: 01 629 369
Hamra: 01 354 706
Ashrafieh (Ogero): 01 20 20 19
All Branches 

Allo M3allim: 71 770730 - Link
Allo M3allim is a one-stop service station for all house work: Air Conditioning and Heating, Electricity and Electronic Appliances, Plumbing, Windows and Frames, Carpentry, Masonry, Painting, Upholstery, Solar Systems, Computers and High-Tech Products

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Not dead...

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... Just pregnant again :)

As usual, same crippling symptoms as before which is why I've been away for a while... But I will try to update both blogs as soon as typing and reading is no longer torture :) In the meantime, keep an eye over here for pregnancy updates, whenever possible ;)

See you soon! ;)

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D like Dubai

English

50% of my time on the phone is spent spelling!

I find myself singing the phonetic alphabet at almost every call:

  D like Dubai

       I like India

C like Charlie

         K like Kangaroo

    E like Echo

  N like November

      S like Sugar

Yeah, I know, I'm making some of them up but that's really not why I'm writing this post. Today a couple of things happened that prompted me to pour my heart out on Facebook:

I have absolutely no problem if people can't speak Arabic or English in Dubai. I take issue with companies that put them on the phone with customers! Why torture both your clients and your hardest working employees? I say hardest because these people are drivers and delivery men. Let them DRIVE and DELIVER! It's hard enough in this weather! Have an admin, someone who can speak both English AND Arabic make the calls!
Someone just called to take down my address and deliver a package. Try spelling Dickens Circus over the phone when there's no common language to communicate!
(Oh! AND an Arab who's not proficient in English should be able to get services in Arabic in an Arab country!)
Source

My building's named after Charles Dickens, and as beautiful as that may be, every time I have to verbally give my address to someone, it never fails: no one understands a word! And don't think that mentioning "Dickens, as in Charles Dickens, you know, the author" would make any difference.

Well, it probably doesn't help that I live in Motor City and that for some unrelated reason, buildings and streets are named after renowned writers. Ferrari Street would have been easier to explain: "Yes, like the car, Ferrari; I live in Motor City! Duh!".

Instead we're stuck with literature!

In this day and age, it would have been really more practical to name the streets Google, Facebook, Twitter and YouTube. But no, the creative people at Union Properties preferred authors.

And why make it easy when you can make it even harder: the buildings are either clustered in "Circuses" when they form a complete circle, or "Crescents" when they form half a circle.

That makes me a resident of Dickens Circus.
Seriously.

I'm only kidding about the names of our buildings; I do like them.
Our community is really beautiful and I love living here.

But obviously it would have been easier to live on Shakespeare Circus. Everyone knows Shakespeare (or at least his name) and somehow I'm sure I could have convinced the whole world that in my building, all residents are dedicated to putting Shakespeare's plays on stage, in a Circus tent, because we can't afford a real theater.

My flat-mate Charlie (Dick for close friends) was so right when he wrote:

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times"

The best is at Motor City.

The worst is telling people how to get to The Best without getting lost! It's a little like Atlantis; the island, not the hotel. Everyone knows it's there, but no one is really sure how to reach it.

OK, it's not that bad and I only kid for the purpose of entertaining my wonderful, loyal, one and only reader. Somehow I know you are out there. I know you read my posts. I know you wait for new ones. And I am a little scared you may start stalking me one day. But not too scared. Just the right amount that Hollywood celebrities feel on a daily basis when they pass by Starbucks for their morning caffeine shot.

Dear Future Stalker, kindly disregard the following paragraph. Thank you

And if you plan on moving to Motor City but are too worried you'll be stranded like Tom Hanks and Wilson, don't worry, you can always choose to live in Bennett House, Norton Court, Widcombe House, Sherlock House, Fox Hill or the Terrace Apartments. Somehow they're easier to understand than "Circus".

Oh, and let me reassure you dear reader, yes, I did receive my package this morning. Thank you for asking. 

But seriously, I wasn't kidding about the pre-delivery call. It's really frustrating when all the while someone who's proficient in English could have taken all the details and given clear directions to the driver.

I personally talk London very best and eventually, I managed to agree on the basics with that delivery man (who was so nice by the way). But what if my mom had gotten that call? Yes, she does pass by Dubai from time to time. Or any other non-English speaking poor soul? 

Dubai is such a cosmopolitan hub that sometimes you forget you live in an Arab country. But it is exactly that: an Arab country.  

Once hubby was at a main Supermarket chain in one of Dubai's largest shopping malls and he saw an elderly Emirati man, probably in his 70's, fighting with a cashier from the Philippines. She couldn't understand a word he was saying and since he wasn't proficient in English, he couldn't understand what she was saying either.

He was appalled that in his own country, he could not find one person able to provide him with answers in his mother tongue.

He was right.

I am not saying that we should get rid of all the non-Arabic speakers in town, far from it!

But at least, in common places where customer service is essential (if not the only thing staff does) and customer means all and any human being, employees should be able to speak primarily the country's native tongue, in addition to English to cater to non-Arab customers who obviously are a large market in Dubai.

A humble opinion.

(In case you're curious, here's the other incident I reported on Facebook)

First Everythings!

English

Taken from Grossesse En Blog


Since this year, everything is a first, Mia's getting the royal treatment.

You now know she's had her cutie little footprint engraved on a silver heart.

But that was not all she got personalized. 

For her first Easter, she also received custom hand-made wooden boxes designed by one of my most talented friends: Dyala Khodary. And as if this was not royal enough,  these boxes were filled with the tastiest Easter eggs home-made with love and the most delicious chocolate you'll ever find: Chocolat Fée by Dyala's choxpert twin sister, Hala Khodary. A killer combo!

Hand-made boxes with a collage of Mia's baby photos

Hand-made boxes with a collage of Mia's baby photos and the date
Check out those chocolate eggs! Yum!!

Hand-made Easter boxes with حقاً قام (He Has Risen) on the cover

Hand-made Easter boxes with حقاً قام (He Has Risen) on the cover

Hand-made Easter boxes with حقاً قام (He Has Risen) on the cover
and ميا  (Mia) on the side

Hand-made Easter boxes with حقاً قام (He Has Risen) on the cover
and ميا  (Mia) on the side

I strongly advise anyone and everyone to order now; but beware, it's addictive! Don't say I didn't warn you! :)

To place your orders, call or email

Hala Khodary

+ 9 6 1 . 1 . 3 6 6 8 3 4

+ 9 6 1 . 3 . 4 2 8 9 1 7

You'll lick your fingers.... and don't worry about thanking me later but if you insist, don't bother writing; just send a box of Chocolat Fée my way and we'll be even! ;)

Mia's walking all over us!

English ✮ Français

A new post on Grossesse En Blog
Un nouvel article sur Grossesse En Blog

On inspiration, deception, depression and all the "sions"

English

DEPRESSION : INSPIRATION

FRUSTRATION

Fear not dear, loyal reader (if there's anyone out there!) I am not really depressing. It's just that a lot around me calls for a great deal of sadness these days.

Mia aside that is, of course. She's probably the one thing that's keeping me from officially being  institutionalized.

2010 has been a bitch!

Naturally, I forgave her because she ended up giving me Mia just one month before she finally hit the road. But I just couldn't wait for 2011 to finally come. We all needed a break. Well...

2011 doesn't look any kinder

Which sucks, royally. Because I will need some good stuff to keep my sanity and chocolate won't do it anymore. Of course I still have Mia's cheeks but I don't want to be that annoying mother that keeps following her child and steals a few kisses by force. Because eventually, she'll get bored of my overbearing affection. Then what?

Hubby cannot reiterate it enough: I am a Drama-Queen.
Capital D, capital Q.
Capital DRAMA actually.
And I won't argue much with that theory because well, let's be honest, I do have my dramatic moments. Every day.

But these past months would have been unbearable for just about anyone in my shoes.

Or crocs, they're all that fits right now.

Too many people left us, way too soon

First there was a close friend's cousin. He was in his forties, in good health. To add even more cruelty to the tragedy, it ironically happened on his way back from jogging. He was in his living-room with his family when his 5 year old daughter asks him to read her a story. He gently declines telling her he is tired and lays down on the couch. Suddenly he tells his wife he's not feeling OK and has a stroke right there, in front of his wife, his daughter and his baby boy! I didn't know the man personally but we had many common friends. Clearly, the 995 people who joined the Facebook group created in his memory can only attest how appreciated he was.

It was disgusting.
He was young.
Healthy.
He exercised.
He wasn't that much older than us.
And he was leading the same kind of life we do.

The lifestyle similarities, the common friends, his age...
Everything was disturbing.
Unfair.
Tragic.
Utterly disgusting.

Ironically, he had been supporting a common friend who had lost her mother a few days earlier. Her mom had been sick for years and couldn't get out of bed anymore. And yet, it still felt as unfair as ever. She was my friend's only family. She raised her on her own. A real-life hero. And as if being horribly sick and in pain for years wasn't enough, she was robbed of the joy of  seeing her only child get married. She will never kiss her grand-children. And they will never have the privilege of meeting her.

Life's cruel ways

A few months later, it was another friend's turn to leave us suddenly. He was only 30, we attended high-school together. He was so friendly and socially and politically active that he became one of those popular guys that everyone loves in college. Three groups were created in his memory on Facebook. One has 2,366 members, the others 255 and 361. Obviously, "popular" is an understatement. He was riding his bike on one of the perfectly-maintained and super-safe highways in Lebanon when he crashed in a pit.  A freaking pit in the middle of the highway! Just like that.

It hit hard.
He was too young. Obviously.
And his accident was outrageously ridiculous and absurd.

Horrific.
Hideous.
Disgusting.

Then came Ziad

Dear Ziad

Also in his forties, also with a young family; a three-year old baby girl. And also in the most unfair and dreadful of ways: Cancer. Ziad was the closest. He was family. We went to the doctors' appointments with him. We followed up his treatment. We supported him and his wife throughout the most hideous of ordeals. And he simply left. Just like that. Leaving everyone and everything behind. He had only begun to build a good life for himself and his family. He was finally happy at his job. At last he was close to home. He was close to his loved ones. He was close to us. And only a few months after we celebrated all these accomplishments which everyone had prayed for for so long; he is diagnosed with advanced Cancer. He struggled like a hero for months before his body finally gave up. His soul was never weakened. His heart was saddened, yes; but his soul remained intact. How can anyone justify that to his daughter? What do you say? Life sucks, deal with it?

Do I really have to say it?
Disgusting.
There. Said.

Surreal and brutal

Only a few weeks after he visited me at the hospital to meet Mia for the first time and congratulate us, one of the sweetest and most innocent man I know was brutally attacked and murdered in his own home. He too was in his forties. He too was healthy. He too was young, bright, kind. He too was loved by so many people. And he too left in such a hideous and terrifying way. Murdered. I thought I would only know that word through movies and books. Maybe the evening news. It turned out my friend made the evening news this time.

The horror

Just a few days later, my dad goes to check on his best friend of 30 years. He finds him in his home, sleeping peacefully on his bed. Gone. Just like that. No warning. No reason. He was a bit older than the friends I mentioned above, granted. But 60 is still too young and too ridiculous. People don't just die for no reason. At 60. Not in this day and age. He was an artist; a filmmaker and a photographer. He was an activist always ready to tackle the most sensitive issues. He passed away before he could witness the Arab revolutions. He would have loved them. He would have been part of them. He, who made documentaries on the Israeli war on Lebanon; on Iraq; on Egypt's Abdel Nasser. He was supposed to be there. He was supposed to see and experience the pride of those he supported for so long. He was supposed to film the revolutions he's always encouraged. Was supposed to. Didn't. Never will again. Just like that. Ironically, because apparently life is too cruel not to be filled with disgusting irony, he was the healthiest man I know. Always giving advices on how to eat, how to exercise, what to do to live a long, healthy life.

Disgusting?
It was much more than that to all of us at home.
My dad hasn't recovered yet.

Fate did not spare him anyway.

What the hell?!

A few weeks after he buried his best friend, the one he spent each and every day with; my dad lost his mother. On his birthday. The irony never stops, right? This date that will now be stained forever in his eyes. Yes, she was senile. Yes she was sick. And yes, she was 90 years old. But it still felt like a knife in the back. Forty days later we lost my grand-father. Forty days. Forty damn days. We consoled each other: they had lived a full life, together, up until the end. They had been happy. They got sick together (Alzheimer). And somehow, I don't know how, they left together. As it should be. Is it less disgusting?

Make it stop!

Now, a few days ago another friend my age, in his early thirties, left us. A day after his birthday. Didn't I mention life was too cruel not to be ironic? I hadn't seen or spoken to him in years. Then I see his name on my Facebook calendar, so I wish him a happy birthday and he replies that same day. We exchange a few messages and I wait for him to let me know when he'll be visiting Lebanon (he lives in Washington) so we can get together. The reply never came. He passed away that day, probably before he could even read my message. He was not one of those people who dismiss others. He was one of the kindest souls I know. Truly. absolutely not one person who knew him disliked, let alone hated him. Not one. And now every time they will remember his birthday, they will remember his departure.

Absurd.

Cruel.

Ironic.

Disgusting.

WHAT THE HELL LIFE?
WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG?
SO WRONG.

NOTHING SEEMS FAIR.

NOTHING SEEMS TO MAKE SENSE.

WHAT THE HELL?!

WHERE I’VE BEEN HIDING…

English

Note: this post is quite long and it could get tiring on a black background, so feel free to visit me at Grossesse En Blog and read it there until I find the time to rework on this blog's look and feel ;) Thanks!!


I woke up that morning, thinking of our upcoming trip to China and what I still needed to do to get ready.

One pending task on my checklist: peeing.

Well not just peeing, peeing on a stick.

It wasn’t like I was late or worried but I just needed to make sure I wasn’t going to discover any surprises once we were there.

So I carefully proceeded with the usual ritual and waited, with not much enthusiasm might I add, since my cycle is normally longer than most and I had absolutely no indicators that could lead me to think something was growing inside of me.

It was just a precautionary measure that hubby had insisted on because he couldn’t cut his trip short should I actually be pregnant. He was travelling on business and didn’t want to take chances.

The first line appeared very quickly, no drama there. The test was working fine.
Now we wait.
Actually I wait. Alone. So what? There was nothing to get excited about anyway, and my time would have been better spent googling Beijing’s weather and checking my closet for appropriately comfy clothes. I couldn’t believe I was about to see the Great Wall. My life was about to get just a tiny bit cooler!

And it did get just a tiny bit cooler.
Actually not just a tiny bit.
So much cooler than I was imagining.
So much cooler than the Great Wall.
So much cooler than all of China.
So much cooler than anything else in this world.

The second line appeared.

It was probably a bit foolish from hubby to think he could leave me all alone with a stick. No matter how small that stick was! I don’t really remember what happened next. All I know is that I was shivering and turning in circles trying to figure out what to do next!

A phone. I needed a phone. Where had I left my phone? It took me a couple of minutes that felt like an eternity but I finally managed to locate my mobile. Step two: dial. That took a little while too and it is when I actually realized I was shaking! My fingers wouldn’t obey my brain’s insistent instructions and type on the proper keys!

Finally I had hubby on the line. I am not sure I was making much sense and my voice was so pitchy and shaky it took a few sentences for hubby to grasp the simple word “Pregnant!”

I was so excited I couldn’t stand still. Or sit. Or just stop trembling like a leaf!

As I waited for hubby to come pick me up and take me to the nearest clinic for a blood test (false positives are rare but you never know) I almost went insane.

So I decided to call my mom despite the fact we had agreed to wait for the blood test results. By the time maman had picked up, I was crying, chittering, breathing heavily, sobbing all at once so of course she first imagined the worst (I don’t know what that would be but she probably thought I had some kind of disease or something!) and she finally heard THE word I managed to articulate once again in the most pitchy, shaky and annoying voice I had ever heard! She remained as calm as possible although I could feel the excitement in the silences between each of the words she spoke.

The blood test confirmed the cancellation of my trip to Beijing.

(Come to think of it, testing for potential pregnancies is a bit ghastly and violent: pee, blood, cold devices shoved in rather sensitive areas… Not very glamorous. Sounds more like torture! And yet, if you’ve been waiting for a *positive*, the disgust usually associated with such repulsive practices suddenly becomes fantastic, brilliant, magnificent!)

The Great Wall’s photo on the VISA stamped on my passport would be the closest I’d get to experience China (yet). And I loved it!

So here I was, a frantic, hysterical mom-to-be.

That baby had hit the jackpot!
Actually that baby’s future shrink had hit the jackpot!

And it wasn’t about to get any calmer.
Because the most apprehensive was still to come: the ultrasound.

After two miscarriages predicted in advance by disappointing ultrasounds, I have developed a phobia of that already abusive device. First of all it forcefully violates parts of my body I’d rather keep private and to top it all, it’s become my own personal psychic with an emphasis on bad news! Bad news that would usually lead to me in pain, bleeding and cursing!

The minute I laid on the exam table, I started to sob! The technician must have thought I was borderline insane considering she hadn’t even turned on the machine yet!

She insisted on doing a belly view which I disagreed with several times but she just wouldn’t listen. My overwhelming fear was making the very rational argument that it was too early to “see” anything from the belly. And I was so worried the prognostic would be: it’s too small for the number of weeks you’re at. Indeed, she turned and turned and looked and turned again and looked again… Nothing.

My sobbing quickly turned into anxious crying, with tears pouring from my eyes like a fountain! The technician called my OBG who quickly got to the exam room and checked for herself before (finally!) doing an internal scan.

And there it was! I couldn’t resist spitting an “I told you so!” to the technician. Of course that didn’t put us any more at ease since the OBG told us usually we should be able to perform a belly view at this stage of the pregnancy. Well thank you for the reassurance, especially knowing my medical history.

That same anxiety followed me at each and every ultrasound since.

I guess I truly am sonographobic now!

The fear of an underdeveloped embryo or blighted ovum (anembryonic gestation / œuf clair) behind us, I developed more fears as the pregnancy progressed.

Yes, I am paranoid to the extent that I can never enjoy anything fully because I’m always worried about the worst! But that’s another story; I’m not here to psychoanalyze and get to the roots of my emotional dysfunctions.

As I had learned from my first pregnancy, one of the signs of a blighted ovum is when pregnancy symptoms suddenly end. Indeed, my first experience with child conception terminated at week 6 or so when the ultrasounds showed the embryo was not growing from one week to the next and so the doctor diagnosed an anembryonic gestation which is basically an empty sac. There was no need to be upset (or so they say) because there was no “baby” to begin with. Everything is relative and of course, to us, it was as tragic as death.

This experience alone shouldn’t have scarred me for life; after all many of my friends have endured a blighted ovum (some more than once) in between successful pregnancies. I was not the first nor the last to suffer from a miscarriage.

Then again, the doctor could have been less cavalier about it and should have followed up instead of leaving me with the news and travelling that same day for a one-month vacation! I ended up with a major hemorrhage at home that same evening; with contractions and pains I had never imagined before! We spent the whole night at the ER of the American Hospital in Dubai where they told me everything was OK and the last ultrasound showed a “clean” uterus confirming my body had expulsed the fetus entirely. It was probably sloppy from me not to request an OBG and I trusted the ER doctor and ultrasound technician’s verdict, allowing me to go home and even travel the next morning. I wasn’t about to undergo surgery in Dubai with my OBG out of town so I headed for a curettage in Lebanon. Apparently, ER doctors who handle night shifts shouldn’t be trusted as much as seven-month pregnant ultrasound technicians! Indeed, thirty minutes before reaching Beirut’s airport, contractions and the hemorrhage erupted again and I ended up leaving the airplane screaming in a wheel chair that rolled me straight to a Red Cross ambulance, and off we went as fast as lightening directly to the hospital. The bleeding lasted for a good week before my doctor decided to schedule the curettage (apparently, once we start, they leave us on auto-clean mode and only then proceed with surgical cleaning). He was so shocked afterwards to find the majority of the fetus remains were still “inside”.

And apparently some of it still stayed “inside” even after the curettage! We had waited six months before attempting to get pregnant again to make sure I had given my body enough time to be ready. And six months later, I was pregnant again. Hubby is very efficient that way. The oh-so-dreaded ultrasound also ended in paralyzing disappointment and a sea of tears.

The fetus looked underdeveloped but nothing was clear and we were advised to wait a week. Evidently, the curettage hadn’t been completed properly and the new images showed residues stuck on the sac. Or an ectopic pregnancy. Both options were completely devastating but the thought of an ectopic pregnancy even scarier so again, I flew to Beirut for curettage. The OBG who performed the previous one was furious my doctor in Dubai had dared criticize his work and was conclusive: it’s an ectopic pregnancy. It was a Friday. He told me to come back on Monday. I was in shock. I didn’t want to wait. I wanted it removed. Immediately. He assured me there was no danger and I could spend my weekend in peace (as he would) and I should return to see him on Monday first thing in the morning and he’d perform the surgery then. I did as advised… And waited until the afternoon for him! He never even spoke to me that day. When I checked with his secretary, insisting I had an emergency she replied that he had other patients and he was busy doing an ultrasound. I got furious. Insane would be more accurate. All this time I thought he had emergencies. Turned out he was receiving patient after patient for regular checkups, and none had any sort of medical emergencies whatsoever! So I left running down the stairs, screaming and cursing in all the languages I proficiently speak and headed to another hospital nearby, on foot mind you. I was so angry I could have walked all the way back to Dubai and not even feel a thing! The OBG they assigned examined me in between patients, as an emergency case, and concluded there was nothing to be worried about. My doctor wouldn’t bother hurrying simply because it wasn’t an ectopic anything. The Dubai diagnosis was correct: there were residues which prevented the fetus from growing. But of course the doctor who performed the curettage wouldn’t admit to that and instead preferred leaving me in panic for three days. The newly assigned OBG scheduled my procedure that same day and told me to admit myself immediately and get prepped for surgery. It would be both a Laparoscopy and curettage followed by an another long wait before trying to get pregnant again as hubby was often away on business and could only be in Dubai for the weekends. I asked him to explain to his boss and the clients that ovulations aren’t programmable on-demand but he wasn’t sure they’d appreciate the biology lesson.

Needless to say my personal procreation history had turned me into a major drama queen!

I have to admit all sorts of ideas were battling in my head as pregnancy symptoms were not showing. I was feeling suspiciously fine.

Unlike my first pregnancy during which I was forcefully put to bed by a fierce continuous nausea: no vomiting at all; just uninterrupted sickness 24 hours a day to the extend I had to bang my head against the wall to make myself fall asleep at night!

When it ended literally overnight, a sign my pregnancy had died too, I cursed the days I was lamenting about nausea and would have given anything to be nauseous again!

And this time was no exception. I was praying for signs.

Little did I know mother nature would be extremely generous with me signs-wise. Signs appeared. Nausea. All day. 24 hours a day. But this time, it was enhanced with vomiting. All day. Yes, it is possible to vomit a million times a day.

Everyone was telling me all that would end by the second trimester but I was no dupe. I knew my mom’s history. Continuous vomiting throughout her three pregnancies! Vomiting that would only end in the delivery room and only once the baby was out.

And in homage to ma petite maman, I too spent nine months puking, being nauseous and by month 7, added severe heartburns to the recipe.

Of course, I would try to console myself by thinking: “anything worth having should be hard to get” or “this baby will be that much more precious” or “it’s a small price to pay for the wonders to come” and most importantly “at least this time you’re getting a baby at the end”… All words of course. Not cures.

When I started showing symptoms, hubby was away all week and could only be next to me on weekends. He came home one day to find me just laying around, exhausted. I couldn’t keep anything down and was vomiting so much I ended up throwing up blood all week! He took me to the hospital where I got an IV which supposedly should have hydrated me and kept me from vomiting for a few days. Because vomit feeds on dehydration. And dehydration is caused by vomiting. A vicious circle which can only be broken with rehydration and the only way my body was going to take fluids was via intravenous feeding. I puked as I left the building. So much for a few days of peace!

Hubby had contacted mom and told her she had to come to Dubai immediately because I was in really bad shape and needed constant care which neither he nor my brother knew how to give or even had the time to give.

They all kept her arrival a surprise. When she entered my room where I was lying in bed, with the light off, depressing by myself; I screamed at her sight! And then burst into tears. Total hormonal craziness! I cried like a little baby in her arms for a while there. Until she decided to shake me up and get me out of the room. She was going to give me fluids and I would take them even if I was going to throw them up a couple of seconds later. This was the only way.

My OBG had prescribed a certain pill in case the vomiting wouldn’t stop at all. A pill which was developed for cancer patients on chemotherapy! Pregnant women suffering from severe vomiting are taking it in the US but it is still at its early stages and there are no pertinent studies to confirm or refute possible harmful effects on the baby. So I refrained. I would rather puke blood fifteen times a day than gamble with my baby’s health.

Yes, I did just get on my high horse.

And also, I did take the pill. Once.

I couldn’t smell anything or anyone and ended up sleeping in the living room with mom sleeping on the floor! She would wake up at night, clean up after me, and make infusion that should supposedly help. All night. I was looking at her, admiring her and wondering if I’d be able to be such a strong mother for my baby one day. After a few weeks, we decided to leave for Lebanon because hubby and my brother couldn’t bear to live in Dubai, in the summer, with no air conditioning which had become my rule at home!

So in order to travel, I had to get down from my high horse's back and took one "cancer pill". I did not throw up that day, thank God, despite my continuous nausea.

Once we reached Beirut, it was my dad’s turn to live by the crazy-fat-hormonal-bitch-law. Every time he or any man would enter the room, I would puke. Hubby would come to visit for a few days, and I never missed. I threw up each and every time we were together.

My mom and I ended up sequestrated at home for nine months, forbidding any and all kinds of visits, even when people promised not to wear perfume or deodorant. After all, my dad was doing that very thing (he had left his in the car and would spray himself on his way to work) and still, I got sick every time he entered the room in the evenings when his perfume had already faded away hours ago.

So basically I incarcerated my mom in solitary!
Visits were not allowed at the crazy-fat-hormonal-bitch-jail!

The most absurd symptom was vomit-by-phone.

I kid you not. Every time I would speak on the phone, I’d get so sick I’d have to throw the phone away and run to the bathroom! I discovered the reason why one day as my dad was watching TV and I was sleeping in another room. I was listening to the TV but couldn’t see anything. And I got nauseous. Apparently, when on the phone, my brain couldn’t comprehend why the voice it was hearing didn’t come with a face!

Hubby ended up getting news and updates from my mom who had to spend her time apologizing to the world and swearing on her life that I couldn’t physically get to the phone.

Sometimes some things are hard to understand. And believe. And I can see why some people would take it personally and be upset. Thankfully, those who I care for accepted the situation (I’m not sure they believed it completely but they respected my needs).

I couldn’t go out for nine months

I had absolutely no energy and anyway, what would I do out? I was too afraid to puke at every street corner! Car trips? No thanks! I used to get sick even when I was not pregnant, so with the preggo-nausea and the roads of Lebanon which are smooth as a wild mountain rocky track, outings were a total recipe for disasters. Every trip to the doctor’s was aggravating and I had to make superhuman efforts to get there for checkups and run back home to rest.

Embarrassing disasters did happen like when I surrendered to my family’s incessant nagging and finally went to have dinner just down the street at Hamra’s Crepaway. By the time we were seated, I had already snatched my plastic bag from my mom’s purse and puked my heart out! But we did stay and ordered dinner! That's the spirit of fighters just there!

I (and especially mom) did get a short break when I mustered up the courage to endure a car trip and got up to my hometown, Ehden. The mountain fresh air was very helpful and despite the fact that I never left home either, I could at least walk around my beloved grand-mother’s garden. The weather was becoming unbearable in Beirut, worse than Dubai (!) and we were suffocating without air conditioning. It was a really good month. I got to have fun with my téta*, her wonderful neighbors and most importantly, I got to see the sun! That didn’t prevent me from throwing up, mind you. I’d been very adamant about vomiting. When I set my mind on doing something, nothing can stop me and I was very keen on throwing up, yes, very keen I tell you! It was pure pleasure so why would I take a break, even for one day? (Am I pushing the irony to the extent of exasperation? Sincere apologies).
*téta: equivalent to “nana”; grand-mother’s pet name in Arabic

And so, as I survived my first excruciating miscarriage (and now I don’t even remember the pain I felt then) , I undeniably survived that difficult pregnancy.

There were some memorable moments, like when I felt a kick (or was it a punch?) for the first time.

October 27, 2010.

I was so frustrated I couldn’t feel the baby even by the third trimester that it was an explosion of happiness when she finally hit me for the first time! Somehow, every time her dad was around, his hand on my belly, waiting for a sign, she just refrained. She knows her to make herself wanted, that one!

Another anecdote, just for the fun of it and also just a little bit to corroborate I am a certifiably paranoid phobic:

By the end of month 8, I could finally feel Mia but also hear her heartbeats thanks to a small monitor that works like a doctor’s stethoscope. Well, one night I went to bed thinking that I hadn’t felt her all day so I turned and turned in bed, lingering on the side she prefers, and still, nothing. It was passed midnight and I was starting to panic. So I went to my parents’ bedroom and woke my mom up. I told her what was happening and she told me to stop being paranoid and go back to sleep because babies don’t necessarily make their presence noticeable all the time. So I went back to bed but couldn’t fall asleep. I grabbed the heart listener and proceeded to "search" for Mia. I must have checked every centimeter of my belly. Nothing. I instantly remembered stories I had heard about babies suddenly dying in the womb and I burst into tears! My mom heard me and came to my room, checked what was happening and I told her I couldn’t “find” Mia so she woke my dad up and told me to get dressed. She was certain everything was OK but she knew I wouldn’t get to sleep if I wasn’t reassured first. So we went to the hospital where I was scheduled to give birth and we explained the situation. The nurses smiled and said first time moms always panic like that and it wasn't the first time they had "emergencies" of the sort in the middle of the night. Apparently no one was willing to take my worrying seriously! They took me to the monitoring room anyway and called a midwife. She was so sweet and gave me some tips as she installed the straps on my belly. Then she proceeded to look for Mia and find a heartbeat. Nothing. She searched and searched… Nothing. My eyes filled with water and I looked at my mom and saw she wasn’t doing a great job hiding her fear! I was holding back the water fountain, grinding my teeth, when all of a sudden, at the very second when two tears rolled down my cheeks (I know it sounds cheesy but it’s true) we heard the loudest “boom boom” ever! The look on my parents’ faces was priceless. They were both holding their breath and they confessed later that they thought the worst had happened! So did I. But it appears that Mia had just turned upside down and it took a little longer to locate her heart!


And now, two days before Mia’s two-month birthday, I can honestly look back and feel pure joy in spite of all these annoyances which have become so insignificant in the face of her presence near me. Just one look from her. Just one smile from her. And I'm ready to get pregnant all over again!