Bagel Foot

I once saw this episode of Taboo on National Geographic that was all about bizarre body modifications, and the weirdest one of all was the "bagel head" phenomenon.  What they do is attach a saline drip to the fool's expressive individual's forehead and pump it in until a big bump forms, much like you'd imagine would be created by vigorous facepalming. Then, with a finger, an indent is pushed into the middle of the bump. The end result: the recipient looks like she or he has had a bagel implanted in their forehead, at least for a few hours until their bodies can absorb all the saline. Great success!

Watch it for yourself here:

I bring it up because yesterday I realized that I can do the same thing with my enormously swollen feet! And just when I thought that there was no upside to this condition, too. BEHOLD (the spots on my foot, by the way, are psoriasis, because I'm not allowed to take my usual meds because pregnant... it's awesome):

Now I know how EYE'LL be spending my Saturday. And you?

P.S. I had to go to the hospital again yesterday for yet another scan (all's well), and spoke to the head doctor about inducing labor. Basically she said I should show up on Tuesday morning with a car seat, cashew nuts and a suitcase full of giant underpants because I'm not leaving again without a baby. Thank Gof for clarity. 

Underpants and The Dangling Bough

I didn't post anything yesterday owing to a major laptop-related disaster. But today I'm back to talk about the underpants and share a very short video that I made of the laziest tree branch in the world.

Photo: Wikimedia Commons

Because the infant continues to make herself scarce, yesterday I again trooped up to the 18th district for a CTG (cardiotocography). A CTG measures your fetal heart beat and also any contractions you may be having by way of two transducers (had to look that one up) that are strapped to your heaving belly for about half an hour. Occasionally a nurse walks by and gives your gut a hearty jiggle to wake the baby up. This little exam takes place with increasing frequency after your due date, plus they do an ultrasound to check whether your kid is in the preferred head-down start position and make sure that your placenta and umbilical cord still work.

This might all be really boring for you, but for me it was totally riveting, not least because this was the only opportunity I have ever had to be concurrently in the company of several enormously pregnant women who all have their panties showing.  This is because the "CTG Lounge" (true story) at the clinic fits four girls at once. Last time I made the mistake of lying on my left side so I could watch the heart monitor. This time I made sure I could peer up everyone else's skirts. (And if I could have taken a photo to post, I would have).

The exam involves baring your belly so that the thingies can be strapped on. Thus everyone has a solid opportunity to scope out how bad everyone else's stretch marks are and see whether they too are wearing absurdly unattractive underpants. And they were!

The skinny, well-dressed woman had the same ones as me but in a different color. But so did the woman in a dun-colored headscarf who had had arrived with neither ankle nor wrist on display. And so did the other girl, who had (rather sweetly, I thought) come in to check whether she was actually in labor (The answer was YES, that lucky bitch, whom we all ogled with fear and envy as she was escorted out in a cloud of encouraging incantations and breathing exercises). So, in case you were wondering, all nine-month-pregnant women wear the same underpants. Science, you're welcome.

And speaking of labor and other ungainly transitions, then there was this tree. I was walking down the hill from the clinic when I brushed shoulders with this fat cluster of leaves that was hanging from above, like a glow worm on a thread. At first I thought it was dangling near my head because some giant limb above was about to snap off (so, terror) but actually, it was just hanging on a 20-foot, noodle-like branch that was hanging from another saggy branch.

It was just a lazy ass branch. It couldn't be bothered to stand up, but it also couldn't let go. The image was as pregnant as a simile, and though I wasn't sure which I filmed it.

Lies, Damned Lies and Statistics

The big news today is that the Duchess Kate has pushed out a new heir to the British throne.  Well done, Kate. You spent your pregnancy skinny and attractively dressed, and now you've given birth before me. You, Kim Kardashian, my friend A-, and another lady whose pregnancy I've observed from the shadows of Facebook. All of you have babies. I have performance anxiety, is-my-baby-okay anxiety and swollen feet.

So far actual medical intervention is unnecessary. Thus the mature thing to do would be to relax, wait and enjoy what everyone keeps telling me are the last moments I will ever have to myself ever again for the rest of my life ever until we are all dead. 

Instead, I'm proactively implementing a boatload of tricks based on superstition and magical thinking. 

There is a lot of advice out there about how to get things going. In fact, from the moment you are pregnant the Internet tells you that if you so much as sneeze too lustily your baby might detach and fall onto the floor. I therefore avoided large quantities of raspberry leaf tea, rosemary, ginger (the list goes on) for the last nine months. In retrospect, that was stupid. 

It may not be scientific, but since we're talking about home remedies, I think my anecdotal evidence is at least as valuable as your double-blind study. 

It is therefore with great confidence that I can now reveal this list of Things That Do Not Induce Labor. 

1. Sex. People give all kinds of reasons why sex supposedly helps get the ball rolling, ranging from the prostaglandin in semen to all the bouncing to the oxytocin to the belief that orgasms might turn into contractions. It makes so much sense, right? Unfortunately, according to my careful research, this is all nonsense. Total bollocks. 

Sex causes pregnancy (I think, although I may need more data points). It does not end pregnancy. In fact, there is even real science to back up the fact that it doesn't end pregnancy. Sorrow. 

2. Rosemary.  I avoided rosemary tea for the last few months because I had some vague idea that this fine herb, when consumed in big quantities, induces labor. Yesterday I ate a branch of rosemary the size of one those pine boughs that you usually use to decorate your Christmas mantelpiece. Nothing. 

3. Ginger. See above. Also see above for pretty much every herbal tea except, like, lemon and mint. 

4. Magic birth tea made out of cinnamon, cloves, ginger and verbena. I'm on my fourth liter of the stuff, although at this point it's mostly because the bitter flavor is starting to grow on me.  Nary a cramp, though. 

5. Tampons dripped with evening primrose and clove oil. This one's great because the tip was accompanied by a warning to not try this right before I go to bed because "you don't want to have to get right back up an hour later!" I sort of felt like anything this counterintuitive and inconvenient would have to work, but sadly, no. 

6. Walking uphill and downhill. This one, along with "lifting things," is kind of like saying that life causes you to go into labor, which I suppose will always eventually be true.  

7. Eating spicy food. Last night we spent 50 euros on order-in Indian food. Nope. 

8. Trying to induce labor. I think I'm just going to have to give up and go with the flow. Unless medical intervention is necessary (and knock on wood it won't be!), this baby will come when it comes, right? Anyway, my midwife says being really relaxed induces labor.... 

Because I'd read YOUR blog

My due date came and went on Saturday, and despite the odd contraction, this child is showing no signs of wanting to be born. This total lack of initiative proves she is definitely our baby.

On the other hand, as the inspector at police headquarters told Alex and I today, maybe she's right to stay put. (It's a long story, but basically they've been ordered to investigate whether we have a so-called "Scheinehe", or a marriage for the sake of a visa. Pro tip: If you got married when you were eight months pregnant, chances are good that it wasn't for a visa.)  The world is so shit anyway, he explained. And once she comes out, he said, marking up our documents with  a highlighter and a great deal of disgust, she'd do better to just stay a child forever. 

"Alles, nur nie älter als sechs Jahr werden," he said. "Sechs. Bis dahin geht's grad noch." ("Do anything but get older than six. Six. Until then it's just about okay.") 

God, I love this country and the people in it. I'm serious.

The uncertainty about when I'll finally go into labor and what that will actually be like (sources say uncomfortable) makes me anxious and irritable, and my anxiousness and irritability are compounded by the heat and by the sounds of traffic down on Gumpendorfer Strasse, where we live, and by the fact that one of our two devil cats just peed in the corner again. Also, everyone keeps calling and texting to ask if I'm still pregnant, which is very sweet, and which is stressing me the fuck out because it means all I can think about all day is how very pregnant I am and that I am essentially waiting around to lay an egg. 

Also stressing me out is the long list of things I want to accomplish while I'm on maternity leave. This includes things like, "Be a good mother," although given the heat and my ill temper this has temporarily been downgraded to, "Give birth". One step at a time, right? 

Another thing on my list was to start a blog, because my understanding is that once you have a baby you finally have something worth blogging about. With this in mind, I forced Alex to join me in brainstorming session about what to name this blog (his suggestion: Naomi's Blog) and on the basis of that conversation I was thisclose to going with "Poo & Nipples," something I had previously discussed with another friend, but then I realized that maybe that's a little bit gross and essentialist and in any case I have no right to go around summarizing the experience of blogging about babies (and sundry) before I've even had a baby. I've spent the last week not blogging because I have been going back and worth about whether "Poo & Nipples," which is an awesome name, is maybe inappropriate and degrading, and I feel like it might be... ugh, it's all just so hard when you weigh nearly 100 kg and spend all your time crying and sweating. 

Anyway, so THEN I thought: Naomi, how about you pick any old freaking name and you can just reserve the right to change it any time in the event you manage to keep this up and can be bothered. 

Et voila, Life & Times on Gumpen Village Street. Enjoy.