Week 12 Day 3

What happens in New York? Music, Art. Hmmmm. The Bolshoi Ballet was here, but I did not go. Not enough money you see. If only I was a whore. I was faintly embarrassed in Soho yesterday, for my look - plain, glasses, no make-up, sweats, old holey running shoes, unwaxed shins peering out. We saw "March of the Penguins," and although the writing was weak, the stars were adorable, cuddly things. The papa penguin keeps the baby egg balanced on his feet under his fur for months, through snow storms and 70 below and northern lights. Then a babe emerges, I love babies! I ate too much popcorn though.

In New York it is just a big fancy dress party and I'm not invited because my dresses don't fit no more. I did break down to Aaron tonight, poor Aaron. "I don't feel comfortable here!" I wailed, "I can't find anything, like cranberry juice or soil." I need the cran juice for my burning bladder and the soil for my poor baby plant, my trial run baby. Aaron went to Whole Foods to get me stuff - it took him 2 hours. He couldn't take the car, because where was he going to park in Union Square? The logistics of New York are illogical. Good for staying thin, though, if you're not pregnant.

Look at where I live - the LES, where all the immigrants came to live in tenements. They came with their heartss full of hope and worked mighty hard, laboring long hours so that they could create a better life. It's quite inspirational really, to think of how these newbies transformed their situations, educated their children, etc. Hey, my parents were like that too!

But now I've become part of the brat generation - expecting things upon demand, not liking long hours that get in the way of my "lifestyle," waiting for the next technology boom to get rich quick or at least my real estate to appraise higher. I read that 20-somethings can't commit to any career and that they often steal things from their parents, not for drugs or anything, but just because they want their parents' stuff. "That's despicable!" I said about the younger generation. But then: I took a Persian rug from my mom's house 7 years ago when I moved out and she still remembers it, expects it back. "Forget it mom, it's mine now." There's also her black sequinned sari from India which I now have. I vaguely recall her giving it to me, but she doesn't at all.

So karma has given me a bladder infection. It is not fun. I had heard that pregnant women get it, but I thought I'd escape it due to my love of water. I don't like water anymore. It tastes weird and makes me nauseous. Then me and my lover were copulating today when bam - it burned on my pee pee place. I was courageous and kept going. Finally I said, "I can't take it anymore."
"Can you take it for one more sec?" said my lover. He's lovely though, he travelled far to fetch me cranberry juice afterwards.

Week 12 Day 2

Aaron took me for a date tonight. So I washed my hair, put in my contacts, covered up my pimples very carefully and boy did I look good. Solly thought so. Solly was my room-mate, whom I pranced in front of before my date (Aaron played the part of Solly). Aaron arrived at the door and kissed me very smoothly, like a Larry would. I giggled and couldn't stop smiling.

I felt like walking, so we walked. We stopped for a shrimp cocktail at the Knickerbocker bar, where Aaron had a beer and I had a few sips of his. "Man could I get drunk tonight. As soon as I have this baby and wean her, I will drink red wine, coffee and cigarettes."

For dinner, I ordered a delectable braised lamb. Yes, it was good, but I could tell it was jet-lagged. Why oh why must we order our lambies from New Zealand and Australia? It does not taste good on this side of the world. Have you ever ordered U.S. lambies from Colorado? Okay, it is extremely expensive (I paid a butcher $70 bucks for chops for 4), but at least it still tastes like meat. Please god, let the farmers grow their animals close to home.

It was our first date, actually our 2nd meeting though. I told Aaron I was pregnant. He was surprised but agreed to move in and take care of me. Perfect ending. We had planned on coitus, but instead we settled for some reading and cuddling before bed.

12 Weeks

I still miss mummy a lot. But now I'm a grown woman - 31! - and I've gotta do this alone, even though I'd rather be in a pregnancy tent surrounded by women and my mother of course who cooks delicious foods and makes me milky chai two times a day.

Some mama meetings may be starting soon. I replied to a craigslist ad and we're waiting to get enough women in the picture.

It's Friday night and my only plans are to eat pizza and watch movies. I read Breakfast at Tiffany's and now I want to rent the movie because Holly Golightly does not strike me as Audrey Hepburn at all. Does Hepburn look like a Hillbilly to you?

Olive's doing well, growing and stretching out my sides. My hipbones feel loser too, so I walk funny down the street.

I did watch Breakfast at Tiffany's and it was so retro - NY looked clean and crisp and so did all the whores. It's a city of whores, I told Aaron later, having read on the internet that the Big Apple referred to "Eve's Girls," a famous courtesan type of European in early New York.

11 Weeks 5 days

We dropped mummy off at the airport and I miss her already. I've gotta cook now, I told Aaron because I've gotten used to eating delicious homemade foods every day. Then I moped and avoided work for most of the day. While I was lying down with my feet raised I wondered how I was going to get anything done with such a lazy disposition. I felt around my lower tummy to see if I could feel active Olive.

I ate some rice pudding that mummy and I had made together. It's so luscious and healthy, I must give you the recipe. It takes a while to make, but it is so worth it.

Kheer (Pakistani Rice Pudding)

2 Liters whole milk (not lowfat)
2 heaping tablespoons white basmati rice, washed and soaked for 1 hour
2 green cardamom pods
1/2 to 3/4 cup sugar, depending on how sweet you like it
1/8 cup blanched chopped almonds
1/8 cup unsalted natural pistachios, shelled and chopped

In heavy bottomed clean pot, bring milk to boil. Add drained rice and the cardamom seeds. Discard green shell of cardamom pods. Reduce heat to below simmer (no bubbling at all) and cook uncovered for 6 hours. Stir every 1/2 hour to break up cream top and ensure that no burning or sticking is happening at the bottom. Do not burn.

After 6 hours, the milk should have reduced by half. If not, increase heat and cook futher, but be careful not to burn. Add sugar and keep on low heat for 5 mins and keep stirring as sugar burns easily. Pour into glass serving dish. Add chopped nuts. Cool in fridge for 4 hours. Serve cold.

11 Weeks 4 days

Aaron, my mom and I went to the doctor's and saw little Olive kicking her legs in the air. She was in a headstand position, dancing upside down. She's really been enjoying all the treats her grandma has been cooking for her during the past week, pilau, lamb stew, eggplant mix, French lentils and rice pudding with pistachios and almonds. Yummy. But I wondered if Olive was a boy today.

Dr. Nabatian was medical as usual. I do like him. He has none of the touchy feely womanly advice that the midwives used to give me. He is the practical and scientific doctor who says "Eat normally," and "No vitamin except folic acid had been proven to do any good." Okay, okay, but there are intuitions and ancient knowledge after all, aren't there? There is a desire to be comforted by your health care provider and to be given detailed advice based on the combined knowledge of women since Eve who were pregnant and gave birth. Who cares about clinically controlled studies? They can be manipulated to show anything, whatever you want or are willing to pay for.

He did look at my foot, even though he said he wasn't a podiatrist. I appreciated that. I'll admit I may need new shoes with better arch support. I need a ton of things but in this hotbox of a city I cannot go outside. The subway underground is like an oven. The streets - you can fry an egg or at least a pregnant woman on the sidewalk. My chores are piling up and yet I won't go out except for doctor's appointments and park picnics and things like that.

After the doctor's appointment we went to celebrate seeing Olive and my parents' anniversary. They've been married for 33 years. We ate steak frites and profiteroles for desert. Afterward we came home, drank herbal tea and played gin. It was my mummy's last night in town. What will I do without her?

11 weeks 3 days

I'm doing well. My right heel hurts still and my family things it's because I'm carrying too much weight. Yes, I do look big, but I think it's just the shock to a body that is used to moving and jumping every day and now is grounded, earth-bound, an incubator for baby flesh.

I had so much fun with mummy at Central Park. Aaron went to play volleyball. Mummy and I spread out a blanket under a tree, ate 6 oranges and a bag of Doritos. She gave me a yoga class, light stretching, breathing and relaxation. She so good at guiding people (or bossing them around) and she's agreed to be here for my delivery! Her mother was with her when I was born. My grandma made sure that my mom got no drugs nor a C-section when I was being labored. She held her hand and I finally did pop out on my own.

Having mummy here is wonderful - she cooks for me, cheers me up and keeps me constantly entertained with stories of her yoga students, friends, community in Kuwait and Toronto. We are bonding on an elemental level. We are even sleeping in the same bed, since Aaron has gallantly insisted on sleeping on the couch. I am surrounded by saintly beings who love me and take care of me. I used to sleep with my mother a lot when I was a kid, since my father travelled on business a lot. And now, we sleep together, dream together: mummy me and olive.

Last time around I had the miscarriage in the 11th week, but I'm not scared anymore this time. It is surely the influence of my mother, of her loving company. She insists that I think of no evil or bad thoughts, just repeat a mantra of well-being. Still I snuck onto the Internet and read about Hedra, who felt her baby move at 11 weeks. Wow, how did she know whether it was gas or bowels or baby? I feel things down there too, lots of stretching, pulling, moving, farting. "One day we'll be able to see our babys on our laptops all day simply by attaching some nodules on our bellies, kinda like the dopplers only with vision," I told Aaron. "Yeah," he agreed. He and my mom think I'm obsessed and tell me not to read too much on the Internet. "These are my pregnant friends and companions!" I exclaim and keep googling.

So, we're moving to Brooklyn. I just couldn't take Manhattan living anymomre. It stinks so much - I guess living in Chinatown does that. Plus its such a concrete block; no natural peace. I want urgently to roll around in the grass. The people too, walk around, posturing in bars and offices with painted faces and overdone gestures. "What a grand ball we're having!" Not. It may be caused by an environment of little concrete boxes and gray streets and eating the fumes from the backs of taxi-cabs. They've forgotten their true genuine natures, being rather civilized and denatured. Recalling Rousseau, I'm not much for civilization these days. I'm down with the earth mother, round and plump, singing love poems and tearing at their piercing truths.

Meanwhile, Aaron enjoys the networking, the technology, the savvy of New Yorkers, the top-reaching attitudes and success at that, the easy money. He's got a family to support now, at least a wife who eats a lot.

And there it is, the conflict between a career woman and maternal requirments. I must stay with baby, but I want to be monetarily successful too and go for $200 facials. No, not now. I may be in karmic punishment for spending all the money I've made in the past on fashion and ballet lessons. Though there is the Miami condo too, the wiser investment. I can no longer wear my Givenchy heels and if my feet do grow, which they very well may in pregnancy, then I will not be able to wear any of my name brand heels purchased at $350 a pop under the giddy influence of women's lib brought about by "Sex and the City." What a fool I was ! Gee golly goddamn! I'm considering selling the shoes, if anyone is a size 9 and still is going through that phase. These thoughts are fleeting, because I have to stay in the good books now, the good thought books - happiness at little tiny babies in the baby powder smells and first tiny smiles. I can't wait to look into the eyes of Olive. I look deeply into my mother's eyes. They are brown whirlpools of energetic activity, the swirling movement of her soul. Aaron's eyes are placid blue lakes, the kind of lakes formed by icecaps between mountains, so clear that you can see your reflection in them. I see my reflection in Aaron's eyes.

There is a fairy tale about such a lake between the mountains, told me to long ago for a mere 5 rupeesby an old man with a cane . A Fairy in the Himalayas was bathing at Lake Saif-ul-Maluk, which holds the waters from virgin peaks around it. She had taken off her wings to bathe with her fairy friends when the Prince of Egypt, who was travelling the world to satisfy his unquenchable curiousity, saw them. The Prince took the Fairy's wings and quietly hid behind a rock to watch her bathe and sing with the other fairies. When it was time to go, the other fairies got dressed, but the Fairy couldn't find her wings anywhere. The fairies reassured her they'd come back for her, and flew back to Kaukaaf. The Prince came out of his hiding place and gave the Fairy her wings. They fell in love and cavorted in the mountains, but then the jealous Keeper of the fairies arrived, looking for the missing Fairy. The Prince and Fairy hid in a cave. The Keeper was a giant and too big to enter the cave, so he angrily struck his heel on the edge of the lake. To this day a river runs down the mountain from Lake Saif-ul-Maluk, the river that trapped the Prince and Fairy in a cave behind it.

11 Weeks

Into 11 weeks nausea returns with a vengence. Eating, not eating doesn't cure a thing. My mummy runs around me, making me lemonade, asking me to chant after her: "Healthy I am; happy I am; holy I am." She's so sweetie pie. I can already begin to understand what it means to be a mother, sort of.

Dr. Nabatian has a delivery so I have to postpone my appointment. I am sad, but not too much so.

At the Park

Week 10 Day 6

I am blue today because I can no longer negotiate. I just want to give in and ask the other side, "Don't you know I'm with child?!" This is not the best development if you happen to be an attorney.

My mother asked me today, "So, it doesn't look like you have that much work to do."
"It's slow in the summer," I said. I've started my own practice since moving to New York, but have not marketed or barely networked. My practice hasn't quite taken off, though I do have a few lovely clients. I'm following Agnes Martin (Canadian painter, 19-- to 2004). She didn't try to pursue or even have ideas. She waited, for inspiration to come to her. Eschewing all aggressive behavior, she thought "you can get so much more with a softer attitude." Of course, she also painted horizontal lines for 40 years.

I applied for court jobs today. Yesterday, volunteering at the Housing Court's pro se attorneys' office, it suddenly hit me. The hours are great, 9:30 to 5 and so are the other benefits. As a public attorney one has so much more potential ability to tangibly benefit the public, rather than corporate interests. Plus, one can move up to being a judge potentially and hold a gavel in one's hand.

Mom's gone for hot yoga with sis, I don't know how she'll survive it on such a hot day. I had afternoon tea and pound cake without her.

Week 10 Day 4

I got off on my rants last night. It's maddening to be so different from your parents in fundamental ways. Today is a good day, I write this despite some concerns regarding my baby Olive, money, sanity, my career, what I am doing with my life, etc.

I've developed a terrible pain in my right heel, so much so that I can barely walk on it. I'm walking on the balls of my feet like a ballerina and was even doing port de bras in front of the bathroom mirror. "Agh!" I wailed. Should I give up writing like I gave up ballet. Of course not, neither is given up. Baby is simply taking all of my creative energy and is giving back so much in return - life experience in love, nausea, breast tenderness.. To tell you the truth, the nausea is much better.

Yes I'm living in a new city and trying to find myself, career-wise, but other than these two minor stressful points, life is lovely. My husband loves New York. I try to but I secretly do not. There is nothing to do here, I exclaim, but really the things are simply too far away and demanding. I cannot walk or stand for miles in my condition. I've become an invalid because in my last pregnancy we were in Toronto over the holidays and there was too much standing and exertion while baking five different kinds of gourmet Christmas cookies, including macaroons, the real French kind made of egg whites and almonds and cocoa powder. And my cookie press was sticking terribly. I had to squeeze hard until my palms were raw and sore but the spritz were perfect. After baking all day I attempted to walk to and through the winter solstice celebration and just could not because my back was breaking. I had to sit down immediately, in the street. Was this the cause of my miscarriage? I told my midwife that it must have been the cookie press because there is a pressure point at the bottom of the thumb in the palm that makes the uterus tip its contents. She wouldn't hear of my nonsense and drew diagrams of how miscarriages happen and why.

It makes so much more sense when there is a reason. My mother, over the phone from Kuwait, was convinced that I had been wearing high heels, causing my own miscarriage. "A pregnant woman should only take 20 minute strolls," she said. I, Westernized and scientific, decided to take my old mother's advice in this pregnancy.

So I don't do much physical activity at all, meditation and strolling excepted. I am waiting until the 2nd trimester, when the baby has clung to me. And so I wait in my studio apartment in the big city with my tiny baby floating inside me.

Week 10 Day 3

According to the stars things are supposed to change in a majorly good way. Yes, I'm waiting for that. But life is nice. Mummy is here from Kuwait now and we talk all the time, for hours, something I've been wanting to do. But sometimes we disagree, because she subscribes to a blind faith Islam and is pretty conservative, I guess from her experience of the world. She was telling me about one of her friends from Kuwait who yelled at her teenage daughter for buying a long skirt that revealed her ankles. "Where the hell are you going to wear that skirt? I've told you a million times no skirts and you know you are not allowed to wear skirts. Are you going to wear that skirt in Pakistan?" Apparently this mother was all-controlling and didn't want her daughter doing anything bad, getting into trouble, even going to college in America like her brothers. "I don't want her to give me trouble with marriage and if I send her to America she'll develop that habit of rejecting arranged marriage." My mother and I were arguing about this strange type of mother.
"She's very strong," said my mother.
"She cares for no one but herself and her narrow-minded beliefs," I said. "Would you like to live under a dictator?" I asked mummy.
"A mother cannot be a dictator because she always cares for her child," she said.
"Not in this case," and on and on it went.

It's the same discussion we've been having for years, ever since I broke my mother's heart and married a non-Muslim. He converted simply to please us Muslims, but even that didn't fully satisfy her. "I don't want anybody to convert," she said. So basically my mother wants her kids to stick to a group of people who were born Muslims. Unfortunately, most of these blind faith-ers (aka Muslims) are a bizarre group, indoctrinated into a life of paranoia and fear from the very beginning. "You will burn in hell if you don't pray; bugs will eat you alive in your grave if you do bad things; Satan is following you; your legs will be cut off if you show them; pray, pray pray and don't dance, sing, kiss the boys or make your own decisions. Just listen to your elders, parents, and society." The resultant population is just not a happy or desirable one.

10 weeks

I am 10 weeks - either today or tomorrow, the authorities disagree on the matter. This morning at 5 am I puked for the first time. My breath still smells like acid and my jaw hurts from retching into the toilet. I woke up and felt nauseous. I knew it was an empty stomach and with no crackers around, I decided to eat a banana, lying down. Bad mistake. I sat up and the vomit was already in my mouth before I ran to the bathroom - that's how much I avoid puking. But it gave me a bit of satisfaction that I have puked. Can one have a real pregnancy without puking? My mother vomitted a lot. I have been nauseous, but finally I vomitted - yes! I'm so proud. I was thinking of my little Olive and what fun we'll have together, mummy and daughter.

I went to a Yogi Bhajan yoga class yesterday where they were bouncing around. I do not like them for that - I will have to confide in Angad and see what she thinks. She is the counter person at kundalinieastyoga. After the class I tried speaking to some people, but they were all in such a rush to leave. Man, can't one simply have a nice conversation with someone? I really needed that - just to talk to people. All day I was chatty and so uncharacteristically social.

I also wanted to start a letter to Sarah Gilbert telling her how much her blog helped me, entertained me, assured me that there are people out there doing things similar to me and doing it with confidence and poise.

Week 9 Day 4

I read today a pregnancy blog, Sarah Gilbert's, which is what inspired me to start my own. We have so much in common, me and Sarah - as all pregnant women do I suppose. But our names are so similar, we both call our little ones Olive, she was worried in the first trimester due to her earlier miscarriage, too weird.

I lost nausea today. I was happy, but also worried, the usual worries as it's only 9 weeks 4 days today. Too early to lose nausea I think. But what can one truly do in these matters? I do smell very fishy down there, the pregnancy smell I remember it from my first pregnancy when I was very young and fertile.

Now Olive is swimming happily in her ocean unaware that she is something separate from me, a little pit of a girl. Lately I imagine her in her teenage youth, long and limber and goofy like her parents. A substantial wisp of a woman - both solid like an Olive, and with a taste so unique, indescribably wonderful.

Then I imagine my mother's reaction to the name. Well, we won't tell her! That's it. "Aren't you going to raise her Muslim?!" she'll cry out in a desperate angry plea, her specialty. "No, mother, I will not inflict upon her the curse of what is now practised as Islam." On the other hand, I was positively jealous when I read of Sarah Gilbert's trips to the church. The community of the community. And faith is always something to be admired, prayerful faithful thankful blissful. What is that? So difficult for me now because I have no community in spirituality. Even the kundalinists seem false in their shared terminology - automated and group-thinking.

I'd like to start a mama community. I loved that Sarah Gilbert knit. I must start to knit too, or crochet or make something wonderful with my hands. Looking at my drawings, my patterns, I quite like them. I should have gone into textile design - if I was in Pakistan maybe I would have. I was even looking up practicing law in Pakistan today. I wondered how it would feel to defend human rights cases there, defend the women who are raped by their father-in-laws and rejected by their husbands. Well, first I'd have to make my fortune elsewhere.

I've been feeling terribly poor and afraid but then I did get a phone call and have an interview tomorrow. Now God is giving Aaron lots of financial success. I am so proud of him, supporting his family and friends and such. He is a model of virtuous success, built on creativity, brain power and heart. Then he goes and packs up our entire Miami house single-handedly in 2 days! I've given up flying for Olive. Now he's driving my car up to New York - yea. I am so happy. I have so much and nothing to complain about really.

I wonder what happened with the last interview - did they not like me? I thought I was good. I have to go with the utmost confidence. Is it my hair they did not like? Perhaps I'll wear a red shirt or jacket - yes! I have been having intermittent headaches. I'm not stressed anymore. I do feel very large, very large, because I ate so much today. I ordered from Kushie and a little Sikh boy in a turban came to my door, smiling in this silly way. I had to look in the mirror after he left - I looked good, if a little greasy-haired and pimply. The biryani was so moist and the makhani daal so delicious I simply couldn't stop eating and eating. I ate the entire thing over the course of the afternoon. And it was more than enough for 2 very large people. But it had been made with incredible good energy.

Sometimes I see things moving from the corner of my eye, but when I look directly it's gone. I wonder what it is? It didn't happen before, just started recently a few weeks ago. Little curvy lines or something, like a yumma but not quite. Just a glimpse of something.

No more horrid dreams. I couldn't even remember last night's dreams. What's happening? Is Olive Holm still there? Olive? I just can't believe how tremendously emotional and overwhelming and life-fulfilling pregnancy is. It's not easy having kids, ya know. I thought they would simply come, arrive. Instead I am really tortured on a daily basis by thoughts of what happened last time - really too bloody to recount the whole thing. "It wasn't meant to be," everyone said. Yes but it still hurt tremendously and is causing heart-ache even now. July 19 was Bosco's due date. I just shouldn't think about it, but what else to do, sitting here alone?

Week 9

Aaron went to Miami and I instantly got down. Stayed in bed until 5 pm, reading, snacking, crying. There's no point to feeling scared about what happened last time, but I've been having morning dreams about worrying about that very thing.

Emotional. To combat this, I looked at baby pictures on the Internet. Constipated and alone. (Except for little beauty Olive.) She's such a beauty I can feel it already. Must keep my mind off things.

9 weeks - what a milestone. I feel positive, I feel like I've been pregnant forever, since after the last miscarriage my body still thought it was pregnant until May really when I became pregnant again. Reminds me of the abortion so many years ago when my breasts leaked milk months afterwards. They were ready for baby, but baby wasn't there anymore. Such a wonderful consuming process, pregnancy. I've given up so much already, surrendered to procreation and its ways.

8 weeks

I went to see Doctor Nabatian today. He noted that I was nervous. Luckily he had an ultrasound in his office and I saw little Olive, floating about in my pelvis. Her heart was beating. "Thanks to God!" said Dr. Nabatian. He is Iranian. I like Persian history, so rich like the designs of a Persian carpet. Like the Persian poet, I too am sate with a cup of wine, a book of verse and my lover in my arms. And Olive in my pelvis.

I love the doctor too because he is such an expert with the speculum and the swabs. I've had speculums thrust repeatedly inside me by emergency room doctors, who also pinched my labia in the speculum's jaws. I know that it takes a skillful hand to gently examine a woman.

Aaron was in France doing film producer things in Marseille but I called him and told him that I saw Olive. She is alive. He yelled out joyfully. I love technology.

I thought I was home free - my baby's heart is beating. But then on the Internet I read the story of a woman whose baby's heart beat at 8 weeks, stopped at 10. You never know. Still time to kneel and pray and prostrate myself before the gods. I have to enjoy my time with Olive know. I keep reassuring her, the world needs you Olive, mummy and daddy need you.