Only palm trees have roots

I'm not myself!

2010-07-17T02:59:00.003+04:00

I'm bored with ranting so although I do have topics to rant about I'll keep them for another time.

There is something funny I realised this week. The time in the UAE made me really chatty. I used to be such a reserved and shy person, unable to talk to strangers and always feeling awkward. Now , I'm still reserved in a sense that I won't start up a conversation with a stranger or even a neighbour but when an unsuspecting soul initiates a polite exchange, beware! I just feel the need to keep going, as if not adding a sentence after theirs would somehow be impolite. I'm sure I freak people out. I need to shut up! LOL

Moving again and again...

2010-07-03T18:39:00.002+04:00

We've moved into the temporary flat. I still need to go back to clean and get some last bits and pieces but at least I'm not in someone else's home anymore. Of course moving means sleepless nights until Saboodlette gets used to the new place but it's all good. We have a big park literally across the street with playground for children paddling pool included - perfect as it's supposed to get over 30C this week. The only issue is sockets - in the living room the only socket that fits the adaptor plugs are TV socket so no TV while the laptop is on. Oh well, there is nothing to watch anyway, LOL. The bed is tiny, how on earth two people are supposed to sleep comfortably in this space is beyond me, it's too small for me and Saboodlette.

In two months we're moving again, this time for longer, inshallah.

I don't know, I've never felt so much like an alien before, in any country. I'm used to being a foreigner, I embrace it, even but here I feel alien. It's weird. People are nice and friendly but not overwhelming (best thing about Canada) weather is decent enough, I have a place to live, money to buy what I need, things to do enough not to be bored and still... We'll see.

Canada blues

2010-06-06T23:41:00.000+04:00

I’ve been trying to put off writing about Canada. I didn’t want to put a negative post about how it’s all different and therefore wrong. I thought with time I’ll have some interesting things to write about. And I probably will but I can’t stop myself today. I wonder if this is typical immigrant/expat blues as I never experienced it before. Basically, there is nothing fundamentally wrong with this place and yet everything is wrong. I’m unhappy bordering on depression. The rain today is not helping, I hate rain, I hate grey skies and I hate cold. 12°C is cold in my books. I even made a list of positive things, good things, pleasant things. Things like fresh air, friendly people, trees and play grounds. I hate them all. I hate being here to the point of crying and not wanting to get out of bed. I should feel busy – I have so much to do. I need to study for driving licence, I should be looking for a short-term rental (which is easy as opposed to long-term), I should be cooking nice food as I have no ironing and hardly any cleaning to do and therefore have enough time to cook. I should be looking for a university classes, I should be looking for activities for Saboodlette, it’s summer after all. I’m not doing any of the above. I’m sitting around feeling unhappy and sorry for myself. And I feel bad for feeling bad which makes it worse. I also worry about a lot of things but it’s still not an excuse. I feel so bad I can’t make myself call a friend in Toronto and even less her friend here in Montreal. I just don’t want to. And it’s bloody raining so we cannot even go to the playground and pretend all is well. Saboodlette went to sleep after a whole morning of whining and tantrums. I wish I could do that too. I hate grey skies. Always have.

Put the weezaaaaaar back on!!!...please?

2010-04-05T14:50:00.002+04:00

We all know the eternal debate - what is appropriate when it comes to clothes, what is decent, what is sexy what is in and what is out. And it usually concerns women as in our paternalistic world women are defined by their looks whether they wear a mini skirt or a full veil. But that's another post I might or might not write. Anyway, most people agree on two things - white is a great colour to wear in hot weather (I don't but I'm vain) and the white "hot weather" clothes are usually transparent to a degree. So of course there is a lot of advise on the underwear one should wear under white clothes - nude, not white, and for the love of God, not patterned. The white string with red polka dots is neither cute nor stylish under white linen trousers. We all know that. And there is a lot of outrage about this being a muslim country and please show some respect. Right. Well, I think it's time muslim MEN are called forward. So before stepping outside to ogle every passing female, before putting signs in malls about the length of the sleeves and skirts, take a look in the mirror. The white kandora is transparent so do not leave your wizar or whatever undergarment you should be wearing underneath, at home. The tight boxer short is not enough. Especially when you're walking with a suit-clad gentlemen and obviously talk business. We know it's hot but remember, hell-fire is hotter!

Agave sweetened chocolate cake

2010-02-14T10:09:00.004+04:00

I bit the bullet yesterday and tweaked a recipe by replacing the sugar and honey with agave nectar. I was a bit apprehensive but the result was perfect! The original recipe can be found here:http://www.dianasdesserts.com/index.cfm/fuseaction/recipes.recipeListing/filter/dianas/recipeID/2346/Recipe.cfm My cake wasn't exactly "moist" but wasn't dry either so here goes my version

Ingredients: 3 cups all-purpose flour, 1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa, 1/4 teaspoon salt, 2 1/2 teaspoons baking powder, 1 teaspoon baking soda, 2 teaspoons spice mix (I used the rests hence the difference with the original - cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg and 5 spice mix), 1 cup vegetable oil, 2 cups agave nectar (I used blue agave dark one dark ones are supposed to be lower GI than light ones), 3 large eggs, 1/2 cup cinnamon apple sauce (I used a 4oz pot of baby apple sauce), 1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract, mix of walnuts, cashews and almonds (optional but worth adding) Topping: Melted dark sugar-free chocolate (had one with maltitol but I'm sure a fructose one would be even better)

Instructions: In a large mixing bowl, combine the flour, cocoa, baking powder, baking soda, salt, cinnamon, ground cloves and allspice. Set aside. In bowl combine oil and agave nectar. Beat mixture on low to medium-low speed for 1 minute. Add in the eggs, apple sauce and vanilla and beat for 2 to 3 minutes on low speed. Slowly add in the flour mixture and beat on medium-low speed for another 2 minutes until batter is smooth and well combined. Fold in the nuts and pour the batter into the pan (2/3 as it does rise quite a bit). Bake in preheated 160 C oven on lower shelf (if heat comes from the both upper and lower part) for 50 minutes or until cake tester inserted in center of cake comes out clean. Remove from oven and let cake cool in pan until the pan cools down, then invert it, let it cool completely, decorate and eat! Just a side note - check on the cake regularly as it might burn slightly on the top or the edges even with the lowered temperature.

I can drive!

2010-02-02T15:26:00.002+04:00

Yeah! I know this statement sounds silly as I've had my driving license and been driving for the past 5 years, but! I'm a very insecure person. I underestimate myself, don't believe in my practical abilities while at the same time I'm a perfectionist. Bad mixture as it ends up in procrastination, lack of productivity and avoidance. But I'm digressing. Eventhough I've been driving almost daily for the past 5 years I was refusing to go off the "safe" roads and hell would've frozen over before I went on Sh Zayed or further than Diyafa Rd. Until yesterday, that is.I desperately wanted to be able to go to Sharjah but had been too scared. But yesterday I decided enough was enough - we decided with a friend to go to Blue Souq and instead of going there with her, I drove myself there. And it was silly easy! Not even stressful!
As they say "if I knew then what I know now...". So why was i so scared and why wasn't it even half as bad as I feared? For once I only ever went there with husband who is a good but short-tempered driver. Hence part of my fear. Now the easy part of going to Sharjah is staying in the same lane the whole way. Perfect - no need for life-threatening lane changing. And the lane one needs to stay in is the second from the left which means no crazy minibuses and wild weavers and slalomists (is it even a word?). Next challenge will be Al Wasl Hospital, I just need to find an alternative way to my husband's...

Narnia time

2009-11-12T11:54:00.001+04:00

Like so many children, I read the Narnia Chronicles when I was young. And like so many children, I loved it. But there was one aspect that I couldn’t really warm up to – the Narnia time. Time in Narnia flowed differently than time in the “real” world. When you crossed over to Narnia time seemed normal but when you got back, you came back at more or less the same time you left. But when you went back to Narnia again, you never knew how much time has passed – an hour, a week, a century… Now, as for different time flow I could understand the concept of that but the variable speed was weird and I found it fake and invented just to make the whole thing easy for the writer.

Fast forward two decades. I so get the Narnia time now. You see, living and taking care of a baby and now young toddler makes me slip between the “real” time and Narnia time only it’s the opposite here. The baby time in the “normal” time – she has fairly regular timings and durations for playing, sleeping, whining etc. It is the time in the “real” world that is unpredictable. Somehow the same exact action and gestures while taking care of Saboodlette that seem in baby time to take equal amount of minutes and hours last different amounts of time according to the “real” world clock. So for example the morning (waking up, feeding, playing, breakfast) can take anything between 1 and 3 hours. And I swear we always proceed at the same pace and speed. Go figure.

That November feeling

2009-11-12T11:46:00.002+04:00

Living in the Gulf turns the world as we know it upside down. Only yesterday I uttered a phrase I would've never imagined saying in a million years - I love November. Where I come from November means cold, wet gloom. Not seeing the sun or the blue sky for weeks on end. The worst month of the year - gone is the glorious golden coppery early autumn and the white and crisp winter is still far away. But not so here. Here November means the suffocating humid heat has finally left and the cool breeze and temperatures under 35 degrees are back - not too hot, not too cold, perfect time for long walks, sidewalk cafes, beach and picnics in the parks.

In short, I'm well, my mama's been here for a week so I got a break (my yearly holiday, lol) and the low feelings left with the heat.

Not this!

2009-10-07T19:37:00.003+04:00

I really have been trying. Fighting it with all my strength. But lately I started losing the battle. I'm borderline depressive again. The problem this time is I don't have the luxury of doing what worked in the past to keep the beast at bay - I cannot be gentle with myself for a while, I cannot sleep in, have a long hot shower, scrub, have a face pack, massage a rich cream into my whole body and then spend the rest of the day in bed with tea and a good book. I cannot go to the club and spend an afternoon lounging on the beach sipping water and fruit juice and swimming in the pool. I cannot go shopping and spend long moments contemplating a dress or an eye shadow, sit in a bookstore and look through books in peace. Hell, I can't even concentrate fully on writing this entry. I need to find another way of coping because I'm not getting a break anytime soon.

Bukhoor me!

2009-08-27T17:53:00.000+04:00

I love perfume. Especially heavy, heady, woody, spicy, smoky ones. Can’t stand the fresh, flowery, “light” scents especially ones made with artificial oils, they give me a headache or/and nausea. That’s probably why I love oudh and bukhoor. i haven’t had any for months and I was missing it. My happiness arrived today in the form of a guilty husband who decided to make up for travelling the first week of ramadhan (and every week prior to ramadhan)by buying a small and expensive sachet of “ramadhan special” bukhoor. Since at our apartment building we have a fairly sensitive (as in going off at odd times day and night) smoke alarm, I decided to avoid th risk and put it not on hot coals but on aluminium foil on electrical cooker. Now my living room smells gorgeous – not too smoky but still incensed not sprayed. After the weekend I’m bukhooring my clothes. I have found “my” bukhoor…

Ramadan shopping frenzy

2009-08-21T18:17:00.000+04:00

Ramadan starts tomorrow which means the shopping and, for some, cooking frenzy started yesterday, or maybe even earlier in the week. We all make fun of it commenting how crazy everybody goes buying food as if supermarkets were closing for the entire holy month. But to be honest, if I had a huge fridge and a big freezer, I would stock up as well. Not because I’m afraid supermarkets will run out of food and other products but because shopping, especially grocery shopping while fasting is even more tedious than usual. Add to it a baby on the crossover to toddlerhood and my enthusiasm for grocery shopping evaporates. That’s why I understand the crazy shoppers. During ramadan, and especially in the first week one does not want to battle heat and traffic to find themselves surrounded by food and drinks in the supermarket ailes while hungry and thirsty. Come the second week, the body will usually adjust to the different rhythm and venturing into the vastness of a hypermarket becomes less frightening. So bring the trolleys on – it’s time to shop!

No sweat

2009-07-29T19:44:00.001+04:00

One of the traditions in Dubai is to state every summer that “it hasn’t been this hot last year”. It is hot, it is humid and it is dusty. Last year (and the year before last) the temperatures soared over 50 degrees. So imagine how exasperated and tired I was when I decided to go out for a stroll in a desperate move to get Saboodlette to take her evening nap. Since coming back from holidays, I’ve been a single mum for most of the time as husband is travelling every week. I needed a break from the overactive baby who is determined to learn to walk and on the way there explores every speck of dust… The poor thing was ecstatic when she realised we were going out – she must’ve been so bored day after day stuck at home. So there we go fully ready to come back 10 minutes later drenched in sweat. Surprise! The air was fairly clean, the sky looked blue (well, dark blue, it was right after maghrib), the moon sharp and not hazy as usual. The temperature was well below 40 degrees and there was a cool strong breeze. It would’ve been downright pleasant if it weren’t for the humidity – definitely over 80%. But all in all, we had a pleasant walk, Saboodlette fell asleep within 10 minutes and I wondered around for almost an hour. Today, feeling brave, I decided to venture outside before sunset so off we went around 16h30. The weather was as pleasant as yesterday even with sun shining. Thank God for little mercies! Now Saboodlette has a proper evening nap and I hope she’ll sleep at night as well as yesterday (woke up only twice and went right back to sleep without tossing and turning). Husband is on a plane home, weekend is 24 hours away and I'm ready to put up with all the nagging for some respite...

Home Sweet Home

2009-07-13T09:07:00.002+04:00

We’re back home. This year our absence was longer than usual and than foreseen. Almost a whole month. A whole month back at my parents… well, with a week’s worth respite at the seeside. Kamilia was happy – her nose was never dry or stuffy (after initial two-day runny nose), she could crawl everywhere (carpets and rugs) and stand up anytime she felt like (a lot of accesible tall, sturdy furniture). We breathed more fresh air in these 4 weeks than during a whole year here. We also walked. And took public transport and survived. Funny thing, friends told me that people don’t get up for them when pregnant or with babies like it used to be the case when we were younger (the way we were brought up, I cannot sit when an elderly or a pregnant woman stands next to me, my behind gets twitchy). This time again I found it not to be true. Maybe it’s the summer that makes people less tired and grumpy and more helpful. Unfortunately it’s not the case in Paris where you could die buried under your luggage and nobody (with rare exceptions) will care. This hasn’t changed.

So back in dhh (dusty, hot and humid) Dubai and I’m happy as can be. Tired since there is no respite from the Formula1 formerly known as Saboodlette but it’s soooo good to sleep in my own bed, have my own bathroom and not having to check every yoghurt for pork (tip – check out the unknown, local brands – their products usually contain less additives and are closer to the traditional, natural ones - tastier, too).

On the plane back I was musing over the definition of “home”. Found one – it’s the place where I can close the door behind me and I decide who to let in and when. That’s my definition, that’s what made me feel “at home” or as the French say “chez moi” in various places I lived. And that’s what makes me truly happy. I remember this feeling of closing the door behind me in my first “own” flat. Pure bliss. It felt so good that I go back to that feeling when I’m down, upset or else. And it works a treat. I’m not a sharing kind of person.
Now an update on the previous post - on my way back I met my Friend. She's still the same, I haven't changed (according to her). So so good.

Now that’s probably the most boring post I’ve EVER written but what’s done is done. The alternative was to write about ironing and related housework after a long absence.

Friendship

2009-04-01T23:23:00.000+04:00

It’s our fifth year here. Almost four years. Which is roughly the same amount of time I spent in the previous country I lived in. And yet, while the previous place felt (and still feels, to a degree) like home, Dubai doesn’t. Sharjah got closer but still not quite. And while I know what I miss the most, the real friends, I was trying to figure out what exactly defines a friend to me and why (apart from the usual “it’s a transitional place” bla) the friends I made here don’t really feel like friends even though I had thre same amount of time to get to know people as before. So what’s different? I met so many different people with similar interests and at similar life stages. We talk, do things together and yet… And then it hit me. When talking to a real friend I can voice my opinions without apologising for them even if the said opinion is in opposition to how the other person thinks or feels about the topic. Even if it’s a sensitive subject. We might disagree totally but there won’t be awkward silence, backtracking or smoothing over. There might be a heated discussion or just exchange of views but no apologising for thinking this or other way. This is what I miss. And this is what makes me even resentful. I’m tired of being careful about what I talk about and to whom. I’m irritated by running into a wall of awkwardness when I say something the other person disagrees with. I’m fed up with having to tread carefully, having to use expressions like “I read/heard that”, “this is what some people say” etc. What people??? And why these “people’s” opinions are important enough to quote while my opinion must be dressed up and backed up with what some elusive “expert” has to say?
I need a friend. A friend who I can disagree with. A friend who’s ok with difference in opinion and won’t have their feeling hurt by it nor would be too scared to say what they think. My feeling can take it. Please, apply.

And all of this because I miss her. Our birthdays fall on the same day. She’s pregnant now and due on the day of Saboodlette’s EDD.
I miss you, H.

What's up

2009-03-07T22:25:00.000+04:00

Good and not so good but no bad things happening here, alhamdullilah!
Starting with not-so-good. Husband’s been feeling unwell for the past couple of weeks. He’s going to have a general check-up done, inshallah there’s nothing serious. He’s been working far too much and not taking enough care of himself – not enough sleep, no sport, hardly any time off. It breaks my heart to see him working so hard and not being able to do much to help.
Good stuff: just when I thought I can’t take anymore, was so exhausted, had a tension headache bordering on migraine and was in no state to drive, Saboodlette decided to sleep through the night. Yes, that’s right, 7 hours straight, 22.30 – 5.30, then ate and slept another 3 hours. The night after was even better – 22.00 – 6.00, feed and 3 more hours. Today is the third night and Husband’s travelling so we’ll see. Inshallah it will continue. Funnily enough (NOT) my body was so set on waking and feeding that the first night I woke up at 3.22 and couldn’t fall asleep again for 1,5 hours. Second night was better, though. It’s easy to get used to good things. Getting almost 7 hours of uninterrupted sleep really makes a difference. My brain actually doesn’t feel cloudy for the first time since pregnancy. If I get more nights like the last one I might even manage to write a post about something else than baby babble. Unfortunately, the good ideas come in bed, right before I fall asleep and by the morning they’re gone. All the wit and brilliance wasted, haha.

Can't wait...

2009-02-16T00:32:00.004+04:00

My mama's coming tonight. I can't wait. Finally. I was slowly going crazy. The house needs organising, it's been a mess since we moved here shortly after Saboodlette's birth. And I need a rest. The plane is late, of course. It's never late, usually but then usually I'm not as desperate for it to arrive.

...

They've landed!

Desperately looking...

2009-02-12T17:59:00.001+04:00

...for my brain. If anybody's seen it, please, leave a message.

Happy birthday... yeah, right

2009-02-04T09:50:00.002+04:00

It was my birthday yesterday. Husband forgot, as usual. And, as usual he vowed to make up for it and not to forget the next year. I won't hold my breath. Oh, and btw. I only reminded him every day for the whole week leading up to my birthday so there's no excuse. He tried to buy his way out of this mess. No, "happy birthday" doesn't have a buy out price tag attached to it.

Post partum survival part 2 - it's all about shopping

2009-01-23T13:31:00.001+04:00

Courtesy of nappy brain and a baby with short attention span (as they come) the previous post wasn’t complete. So here’s the addition. Sometime during the 8th month go shopping… for yourself. Get nice, good quality and great smelling products: shower gel, body lotion, face and eye creams. Shampoo and conditioner. Perfume. No, babies do not get confused by nice smelling mamas, they’re interested in your boobs not smelly armpits, anyway. New mascara if you use it. If you worry about parabens&co, go organic, the products smell nicer anyway.
And then breast feeding bra and tops. Don’t buy too many, you might feel the need to treat yourself during the first months of motherhood and if you buy too many beforehand, well, you might feel guilty buying more later on (I made myself feel better at a low point with La Senza cotton knickers in the brightest colours they had. They were on sale as well). Now I wrote breastfeeding BRA, singular. Two at most. Reason is simple – you’ll need one straight away but there is no way to predict you final size. If you back expanded during pregnancy, chances are, it will shrink again, at least partially but not immediately. So for the first days (and nights) get the softest bra possible, adding a cup to the size you think you’ll need. Seriously. Better a little too big than too tight, especially in the first weeks.
For the clothes – get your favourite colours. If white isn’t your colour, don’t go there! (Same goes for the bras, btw). If it’s not available get it made. Do not, under any circumstance resort to using an oversized, overworn, old, gray XXL t-shirt. Rags are rarely becoming and grunge (sp?) is sooo last century. You’ll need comfortable shoes as well. Loafers, preferably, you don’t want to fiddle with shoelaces while you baby’s screaming for attention NOW.
Once you bought all of this, put it away for after the birth. It feels great putting the “baby clothes” on for the first time – not unlike the pregnancy clothes. The only difference is the speed. And then pick up your little monkey dressed in his/her new baby clothes and admire both of you in the mirror in the short seconds between feeding, cleaning, crying, rocking, burping and other fun activities ;)

Post-partum survival

2009-01-19T16:31:00.001+04:00

I’ve been trying to write this entry for a weeks and each time it came out a whiny rant which would be fine if I were planning a whiny rant not a survival strategy post. SO cut the crap, Saboodle, here it goes.
1. Treat yourself as you treat your newborn. I mean, you wouldn’t allow you newborn go hungry/dirty/sad crying his/her little head out. If they hungry, you feed them, if they dirty, you clean them, if they’re sad, you console them. So be the same way with yourself – you need to eat, take a shower, rant and complain and be heard and given a hug. Especially that with all the post-partum hormones swinmming around in your system, your reactions are not unlike your newborn’s – sudden, intense and often involve crying…There might be moments/hours/days when you’ll be asking yourself “what on EARTH have I done???” It’s OK, most of us feel like this at some point. Those who claim they don’t are either weird or are lying. Don’t feel ashamed – call your best friend/mum or go on a rant on a forum or blog. Let it out and let others pat you on the head and sympathise – avoid idiots who tell you there is something wrong with you.

2. Don’t even try the superwoman routine – get someone to be there for you to help you. Even if your husband takes a week or two off, unless at least one of you is babycare professional, it will be hard and someone there who understands the situation and knows you need help as in cleaning, cooking, ironing and taking the baby away from time to time (time to time every day not once a week for 10 minutes).

3. Take care of yourself even after the help-person (mum, sister, best friend etc) has left. In the morning (whether your morning starts at 7 am or 10 am) after you fed and changed the baby and whether the baby’s having a nap or is playing, have a good breakfast (you might not have time to eat afterwards) and take a shower, put on clean clothes and even make up if that makes you feel good. If you’re planning to go out this day – get dressed in the going out clothes – it may be harder later on. Housework can wait. Seriously.

4. If you’re breastfeeding, the above point is even more important because in order to produce good amount of milk you need to be watered, fed and rested (and if it’s a myth, let it continue) Your husband can wash up and sweep the floors, he cannot produce milk.

5. If you’re planning on taking advice from books, buy them and read them during pregnancy as the chances are after the baby’s born, you won’t have time or energy to read and even if you get to read you won’t be absorbing anything – the brain gets mushy and is interested only in the baby.

6. Be flexible. Just because you decided on doing some things a certain way or follow a particular “method”, it doesn’t mean it will still make sense after the baby’s here. For this reason, as well, I would recommend reading different books (if you’re planning on reading any at all). If you bought Gina Ford, buy Dr Sears as well. Then you won’t feel pressure to do or not do things a certain way. At the end of the day, mamas and babies have all different personalities and temperaments. What counts is happy baby and happy parents and not an opinion of some author or even family member.

7. Bepanthen ointment. For you and your baby. Heals cracked, irritated nipples and red bottoms. Lanolin is supposed to be great as well but some people (me included) are allergic to it. Bepanthen rules.

I’m sorry if this post sounds chaotic and doesn’t read fluently but I’ ve decided enough is enough – I must post it and be done with, mushy brain or not (and the ironing will wait).

I hardly dare to breathe right now...

2008-12-29T12:15:00.002+04:00

I've been working on another post but somehow it refuses to be written. I'll keep on trying, though.
Meanwhile, good news (and the reason why I'm writing with both hands). I hardly dare to believe it but I managed to make Saboodlette go down for a nap in her cot. Ok, it is thanks to a pacifier (I hate the term “dummy” as it somehow seems to imply it would make my baby stupid) but who cares! I finally got my hands on a small pacifier that actually has a shape and size of mother’s nipple so that’s why she probably accepted to give mine a well deserved break. So even if this nap will be her average 20-30minutes one, it’s half an hour for me – I can have a tea, iron a shirt, write a short blog entry, check the inside of the fridge for edible lunch things. Life is good and thank you, Japan (the pacifier brand is Japanese – Pigeon).

She eats...

2008-11-10T19:10:00.001+04:00

...and eats and eats… I’m tired. She thinks napping is for losers so she’ll fight it with all her little body and then, after finally succumbing, she’ll wake up too soon, still tired but expecting the milky reward – we all know how exhausting and energy consuming sleeping is, don’t we? Very early on my mum and husband suggested a pacifier. So we bought two. She took one, tried and spit it up. I tried again and again. Each time she’ll take it, try and spit it up. Nothings coming out, so why bother, right? And today, desperate, I tried again. And it made me cried. Why? Well, tiny little baby crying and rooting like a starved woodpecker (45 minutes after an hour long feed, I must add), so I try the pacifier. She takes it, starts seriously sucking on it for a while, then lifts her eyes wide open as if asking “it’s coming, isn’t it, mama?” I say “you’re not really hungry, calm down, you need your sleep”. So she doubles the effort while staring with her wide open, trusting eyes – her mama would try to trick her, the milk will come if she only sucks hard enough… You can imagine what followed…

Another milestone..yipeeeeee!!!

2008-11-07T13:05:00.002+04:00

I hardly dare to breathe - Saboodlette has just (well about 20 minutes ago) fallen asleep on her own. Not in the cot, obviously (to big, too flat and all) but in the... the name seems to be "rocker" or "rocker chair". Whatever the name, she sleeps. And it was about time - my back is hurting, my knees are hurting. She's exactly 8 weeks today, she has a sense of timing, little monkey. Let it be a beginning of progress and not a one-off. Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaassssssssseee!

Poopy post

2008-11-05T16:44:00.002+04:00

Some of you may know, Saboodlette had a poop issue – following a small fissure she refused to poop. She got an X-Ray done, her bowel washed, got treated for constipation although she wasn’t constipated, poor thing. Luckily I finally found a doctor who isn’t above listening to parents and talking to babies, even buttoning them up after the (gentle) examination. Saboodlette liked him so we keep him despite our (useless BUPA) insurance not covering it. Well, she ended up on glycerine every four days. Since nothing was happening (apart a huge but perfect glycerine induced poop every four days) I was going to schedule another visit sometime next week. And today I decided to hold off the glycerine until the evening. And… after much stinky gas and fussing, the huge, four day stool came on its own. We’re all relieved.
Other random things.
1. A friend has just gave birth to the sweetest babygirl. It was only after seeing the newborn that I realised how much Saboodlette has grown – I was convinced until now that she’s just the way she was at birth, regardless of whatever the weight and mesuring tape would say.
2. I figured out a way of mincing meat without a special, big, difficult to clean machine. I love my 8 years old Braun mixer. We can now enjoy all the bolognese and kebabs we want. We don’t like buying already minced meat so this is sooo cool.
3. I had a brainwave yesterday, an idea for a business here. What Dubai needs is a baby friendly spa or Mother and Baby Spa. Where you could go with your baby, first a tandem massage treatment and then get a pedi while feeding the little monkey. And no, someone coming to your home is not the same, not even close. A home with a baby and no maid is as far away from a spa as possible, unfortunately…

Baby clothes mystery

2008-10-21T13:45:00.001+04:00

Courtesy of a babysling, I recovered the use of my two hands for the moment which makes typing much easier, as Saboodlette is a monkey-baby, she spends her time draped over me, or, if in good mood, she’ll sleep on my knees on a nursing pillow (another great invention – normal pillow didn’t cut it). I’m told, it’ll pass. Inshallah. So the sling is not perfect as I still feel her weight and so does my back but I brought it onto myself – she is definitely not a surprise baby, so talk to the hand, Saboodle.

What was I… ah, yes. Clothes. Most women, when pregnant, get warned not to buy too many newborn size clothes, ditto diapers, as the baby will grow out of them within days or not even fit into them if it’s a big baby. As a first-time mum you get scared to buy anything/confused/unsure what to do, depending on your personality. Basically you freak out. Luckily, most of Saboodlettes clothes were bought for her by her grandma – lovely new carter’s stuff bought in outlets and garage sales silly cheap. We got a couple of missing pieces ourselves at mothercare and were waiting. We weren’t really expecting a giant but I do have some tall genes on my side so you never know, as the ultrasound estimations are often so wrong you might just guess by the size of your bum and spare yourself the expense. Husband claimed the clothes were “too small” – he was sure expecting a two-year-old to come out. And then she came. A perfect average baby, her hight and weight right in the middle of the charts for girls. And the clothes? Well, luckily, when I was visiting my parents, we went to a baby shop with my mum and there were these perfect, tiny, softest little sets for newborn babies. We bought one as they seemed sooo tiny and much smaller than the other newborn size clothes we got. Was I glad that I insisted on buying it! I should’ve bought two, as they were the only clothes Saboodlette fitted into for the first weeks. Yes, weeks. As in three weeks. In all the other things she looked like a poor baby in hand-me-down clothes from rich and big. Good thing she didn’t have leaky diapers (thank you, Pampers size 1 and thank you, Co-op for stocking them), otherwise she would get a lot of clothes-free time (which she hated). Then into her second week, grandma bought her an outfit that, well, fit. Funnily enough, it was designer - even at this age they make smaller clothes than the high street versions, haha. It was only at 4 weeks of age that her “newborn” size started fitting in length and a week later they stopped looking oversized in width. Hence my question – are western babies really that huge at birth? I know a couple of babies born at over 4 kilos but they are all boys. So?
Just to clarify – when I say newborn size I mean newborn size, NOT 0-3 newborn size. These are still much too big.

Saboodlette

2008-10-07T18:36:00.002+04:00

She was born on the 12/09. Been induced. On the 9th. The pushing itself lasted for 2 1/2 hours. And contrary to the popular mythology, I did not forget the pain as soon as I saw her. 25 days later I still remember the agony. All I have to say is - epidural rules and anestesiologists go directly to paradise.
So Aidiya is not her real name - it's her nickname since she's our aidiya - aid's gift ;) I like Saboodlette as well, which one should I keep for the blog? Btw, she's got another nickname - Jaws. Yep, like the film title. Ouch and ouch.
So I have a couple of ideas for posts: If you think you'd like to give birth - think again, The truth about gas, Milk'n'Blood - not only for Masai, I want my mama, Waiting for poop, The art of sleeping upright, Are other newborns giants? Hospital receptionists - the other term for useless, etc... unfortunately my brain is a mush, my attention span equals one of a goldfish and typing with one hand is a craft I'm still trying to master. But I'll try, I need to whinge and vent and I like having an audience while doing so.

Daddy’s Girl

2008-09-01T14:39:00.000+04:00

I was thinking about L_Oman’s suggestion for a post about “interesting” people in the malls but unless I can make it non-bitchy, it will have to wait until after Ramadan (that is, if I understood the adjective “interesting” correctly). And for now this must do ;)
I haven’t updated for a while, because, as I wrote, I was unable to think clearly. The day after Husband left to see his family (urgent affair) Aidiya aka Daddy’s Girl decided to ruin all my plans for a nice, relaxed and pampered week and thrust her bum into my right ribs. It was painful. So painful that it woke me up in the middle of the night gasping with pain for breath, unable to move and therefore convinced that at least one of my ribs was broken. It was not but it’s definitely been bent. And so, for the next three days I’ve been in a state of agony, could only sleep on my left side, not breathing deeply which made me feel like I had a mild asthma attack and generally not able to do anything as any effort needs oxygen I was unable to supply to my lungs. So no gym, no swimming, no massage, no shopping, no seeing friends. It was fun. And, of course, two days before Husband return she gets off of my (badly bruised by now) ribs, giving me time to recover and making me look like a crazy pregnant woman who complains about nothing. Conspiracy, I tell you.
Daddy’s Girl communicates with her Daddy. It usually goes like this:
“Baby, are you sleeping? Are you? Give Mama a kick. Come on, give mama a kick”
Death stare from “Mama” who is NOT amused.
WHAM!
“Oooooooh, good girl! Come on, one more!”
More death stares followed by a fantasy of boarding a plane to Bahamas straight from the hospital leaving the two of them to fend for themselves.
WHOOP!
More delighted cooing from Daddy. I can’t wait to see if he’s going to coo like that over a poopy diaper in the middle of the night.
Of course, I’ll be there. I’m not going to Bahamas. I love them both to death, for some reason…

Sorry

2008-08-30T18:47:00.000+04:00

Sorry for the silence. My pregnancy teamed with the heat reduced me lately to a whimpering wreck - I did surf the net but my brain wasn't functioning enough to create a coherent post. I'm working on it, though.

Taxi talk

2008-08-11T08:55:00.001+04:00

L_Oman inspired this post (well, it “inspired” sounds better than “I stole the idea from”) with her story on dealing with shop assistants.
The rule of minimum words, maximum content doesn’t apply only to aforementioned shop assistants but also, or even more so, to taxis, so here it is, a short guide to communicating with a taxi driver.
If you live in Sharjah or any other of the Northern Emirates, it’s easier to learn a couple of words in broken Arabic (don’t overstrain yourself with correct pronunciation, it will be confusing), if you’re in Dubai, it’s the same but in English. The words you’ll need are:
-straight
-left
-right
-here
-exit
-yes
-no
-after (instead of “the next one”).
-you know? (and this is the only verb you should use).
Example:
“Sh. Zayed, straight, straight, you know?”
(when arriving at the destination)
“After (here) exit”
and two seconds later
“Exit here, yes, yes”
And here for the “Arabic” version:
“Sh. Zayed, sida, sida, ma’loum?”
“B’ad hini, mouhridj”
“hini, eeh (na’am, aywa), hini”
And this is how you guide your taxi from Sharjah to the Mall of the Emirates, known to the non-anglophone population as “Emirates’ Mall”.
One more rule. Never ever give more than one information at the time. Space them and only ever give the specifications if really necessary. The mistake most anglophones (or wannabe anglophones) make is using extra-polite forms. Sometimes, so it seems, to show how egalitarian and non-racist they are, since they speak to the poor guy in the same exact manner they would to their boss. It sounds something like this “Do you, by any chance, happen to know the shortest and most efficient way to this small, quirky boutique, the name is “xyz”, I believe, that is situated in one of the backstreets on the left coming from Abu Dhabi, after the 3rd Interchange”. Of course, I’m exaggerating, of course, but only slightly. The poor guy would only understand “Abu Dhabi” and “Interchange”. Being polite is not about using flowery and complicated grammatical structures, it is about making it easy for the other person to understand you. It doesn’t mean barking orders, either. Just simplest, plainest words in a polite tone. Usually works.

Arab fathers

2008-08-05T17:13:00.000+04:00

I’ve been postponing this post day after day being under illusion that “inspiration” would strike and I’ll produce a long and riveting text. Unfortunately, since I got pregnant my attention span became that of a goldfish so no chance of a long and deep account of anything is going to happen here and short posts will have to suffice.
I had my prenatal visit in the overcrowded and overloaded Al Wasl hospital today and I came to the conclusion that I love Arab fathers. After years of observation how they deal with their kids, how they care about them, how they take care of them, play with them, are proud to be fathers, my admiration reached its peak when I saw one such a father of a baby carrying a huge, flowery pink diaper bag. He wasn’t hiding it or being sheepish about it, no. It was flung casually over his shoulder while he was ordering something at the Starbucks. This image was the highlight of my day (yep, my life is that uneventful).

New Beginning

2008-07-28T14:39:00.001+04:00

Here I go again. I used to have a blog but closed it down because it was soo boring even I couldn’t stand it. I’m going to give myself a second chance because deep down I still believe that I’m interesting and witty (yeah, right) and it’s a waste not to share my talent with the world (double yeah, right). It will probably turn into one more boring “mommy blog” once I give birth to Aidiya but it’s ok, at least it will have a purpose.
Now, I’m an expat wife in the UAE and so my blog, by definition should consist of post complaining how this country is different and therefore worse than my home country. Yawn. But then, as my math teacher used to say, one cannot compare nails and apples, so? But there will be comparisons and complaining but of a different kind, at least in the beginning – I’m desperately nostalgic about Sharjah, the beautiful. We moved back/again(?) to Dubai after 2 years in Sharjah and I’m inconsolable.