Some days you just have to indulge in a delicate crepe filled with sugar and lemon, nestled up to a mountain of velvet whipped cream and sprinkled with powdered sugar. It doesn't hurt that there is a rose perfuming the air, a great friend sipping tea across from you, and waiters who indulge your practicing of butchered French.
At 9:30am, when I finally pulled myself out of bed, after another restless night of sleep (and disturbing dreams related to my two episodes of Dexter just before bed), I knew that today was stretched before me without any grandiose plans. No adventures in the works. Slate clear.
And so to find myself in the afternoon basking in the cuteness of Nico (and his mama, Valerie) as I sipped green tea and fawned over a spicy bowl of green curry with shrimp...was a delightful surprise. Nico's outfit taught me the months in French. His mom taught me, once again, just how joyous having a new baby could be.
With each hug that I give a friend, I am aware that I might have Nuggies swaddled up between us the next time. This afternoon may be the final mid-week lunch that I relish "solo" for a while (no offense, Noodle, "solo" is a technicality).
I've decided that due dates are cruel. Most midwifery or natural childbirth books, blogs, websites strongly advise you against paying them any mind...but I'm a creature of the Western Way. I have long-since marked my calendar with Nuglett's potential arrival date...so it's just a waiting game at this point. Constant Facebook messages asking if I've had the baby. Emails inquiring if I feel anything yet. Sweet voicemails curious about what's happening.
Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zero.
Today I squatted, cat/cowed, meditated, imagined, talked to and rubbed the belly, played the "laboring" soundtrack, walked, ate spicy food, swam my heart out...and I go to bed knowing that there's a seemingly infinite amount of time before I could finally meet M---- or N----- in the flesh.
How is that for a teaser on the names? Fun, huh?
Mango & creme popsicle juice dabbles down my shirt. Daniel is hammering in an extension cord to alight a Mexican fertility gourd in the guest room. KCRW blasts out groovy music. The microwave hums with a chicken chili verde casserole (courtesy of TJ's).
We have creatively and vigorously encouraged Nuglett to join us today. Following any and all advice that we've gathered over the months. So, as the afternoon continued and my swimming of 70 laps ended (yup-yup, I swam 70 laps -- 50 entire minutes non-stop...and told EVERY single person the entire day that I did it...much to Daniel's dismay), we ventured downtown to pick up some French. Besides, why not pursue another foreign language? Challenge for the brain, socialize with new people, provide adventure for the tongue...and most of all, after 18 years of being surrounded by a ton of French-speakers, I'll finally be able to participate a little more with my friends.
I offer gratitude or "merci beaucoup" for this experience to my new friend Valerie who invited Daniel and I to join her French exchange group down at the divine Creme de la Crepe. Velvety crepes filled with sugar and lemon and doused with whipped cream; cappuccinos brimming with froth and served with tiny irregular cubes of brown and white sugar, mini crocks of potato soup served with croutons and cheese, and vibrant green water flavored with mint dotted our table as ten of us from beginner (D & me) to advanced conversed in French. Valerie gave us conversation starters and as we went around it was possible to feel like you actually picked up a few phrases. Sufficient to make even a salty Parisian smile!
A glorious evening settled in as I practiced a new language, sipped coffee, and imagined a sidewalk cafe in the future where I could say, "Je voudrais un cafe avec le lait de soja, s'il vous plait," and then continue reading a worn novel along a quaint Parisian street. A la prochaine.
*translations*
I'd like a coffee with soy milk.
Until the next time.
