I originally started this blog to talk through my many, complex feelings during the transition from "American living in America" to "American living in Germany." Then the reality of that move happened, and I had a lot less to say than anticipated. I had expected to be conflicted, to feel ripped from all that I had ever known and deposited into a strange land with a strange language and strange customs. And an inordinate amount of pork prepared in an endless variety of ways.
As it turns out, the strange language has been less of a problem since most people here speak enough English for me to get by in any situation, and my German classes are going well.
I've gotten pretty used to the customs during the last 4 years of visits, so nothing was too shocking.
There are many more ways to fix pig meat than I ever could have anticipated. Some are great, some are, as best I can figure, raw? Bright pink and served cold to be spread on bread like an actual food. They also use lard like butter. It's really just pig fat, in a cold lump, and the locals like to smear it on bread. I, needless to say, have not embraced that particular local flavor.
So, to catch up since June. I am still pregnant, even moreso if that's possible. Oh wait, depending upon when in June I wrote, I didn't know I was pregnant yet. So yeah, that happened. And to cover all the usual questions everyone wants to ask but "shouldn't," it was on purpose, we were trying, and it did happen a lot faster than either of us anticipated. Like, it took a month.
I feel gigantic, but know that I have a long way to go. I'm only approaching my 6th month, so while I'm bigger than I ever have been in my life, I am not at my Largest I Shall Ever Be So Help Me God. I have lost any natural grace I ever pretended to possess. My hands a feet swell if I am not well hydrated, and I have to pee all the time when I am. My face got so dry for a while there I had to stop wearing makeup, which was actually a highlight. I've recovered, but have decided to go
au natural for a few more days because no one else cares.
We found out that the baby is a boy, and as much as I thought I wanted a girl since I am a girl, and I really liked the idea of little tiny dresses with ruffled socks and tiny Mary Jane shoes, and I really loved my Cabbage Patch Kids and Barbies and was finally going to get the Barbie Play House I always wanted...for the baby... So yeah, I always thought I wanted a girl, and a stereotypical one at that. But when I saw the anatomical evidence on the sonogram screen, I was surprised to only feel joy and excitement. The last few years with R, filled with tractors and combines and dirt and fields and more dirt, have really opened my eyes to a different world. Seeing a friend's 2 year old daughter playing on their family farm, hearing one of her first words was clearly "tractor," and wiping good farm dirt from her little face was really fun. She wears adorable little overalls and runs toward farm equipment like I would have run toward a new doll. And part of what makes it so adorable is the relationship she has with her father. Sure, she's 2, it's not an overly deep and complicated connection. He's her daddy, and he's the one that lifts her up into the tractor cab and goes a whole 5 mph for her when she giggles and says, "
Schneller, Papa!/Faster, Daddy!"
Our son won't be raised on a farm, but he will be raised by a man that has the makings of an amazing father. A father who is dreaming of playing in the sandbox with his child, building fantastic Lego cities only to have them destroyed by little tiny hands (well, maybe his dream is more about the building and less about the inevitable destruction, but I don't have the heart to burst his bubble quite yet), about going to the park and getting dirty and catching at the bottom of the slide. Or maybe riding the slide himself while I catch both of them because he took the kid along for appearance's sake.
(Disclaimer: while he doesn't love the idea of poopy diapers and spit-up, or crying in general or heaven forbid real tantrums, he is also aware that those come as part of the package. We just don't talk about them, because uuuuuugh depressing.)
And for me, I love the idea of a little boy. A mix of the two of us. A little boy who hums while digging holes in the yard when he thinks no one is watching. A mini-R who drives tractors around the house. A little kitchen helper who wants to stir cake batter with a toy wrench (assuming I actually bake someday). A little boy in a tutu with dirt up to his eyebrows, or grass stained overalls dancing in the living room. I don't care which parts of us he gets, though it would be idea if he takes after his dad's math abilities and my language/communication skills. Talk about perfection, am I right?
Either way, we're both as excited as can be that we have a healthy son on the way, transforming us from Couple to Family. It's also terrifying, because it's not going to just be about us anymore (in this case, by "us," of course I mean "me"). But I guess that's part of this whole ongoing Adulthood Experience. At least now I'll have someone to color with, but he'd better stick to coloring in his own book and leave mine alone, because I am going to make some beautiful art with my crayons. I'm also going to need my own crayons because he's just going to break them all. Ugh.
