she’s chubby because she’s a healthy one year old. me? well..
Today marked my 39th week of pregnancy, so theoretically I have one more to go. I haven’t felt any signs yet, besides some contractions here and there and I’m psychologically ready to stay pregnant for 3 more weeks. Hey at least I’m getting full nights of sleep, and I know that when Santiago decides to come and check out this cruel world he’ll be so not impressed he’ll find it hard to sleep 12 hours straight. How could he, with all that’s going on? He’ll probably be waking up every two hours fretting about pig flu, recession, war, pirates and trying to figure out if there’s a way back into my womb. And I think I will not blame him.
I’m still pregnant. YAY! (please sense the sarcasm). I’m seriously considering planting that apple tree Katie gave us, you know, to induce labor. I’m just too chicken shit. Anyway, I have theoretically 10 more days to go and I’ll resist, even if the fucking heartburn hasn’t subsided, even if I’m all fat and swollen and I can’t sleep well, even if I’m impatient like hell to hold Santiago.
The reasons I’ve been off the blog for a while are all worthy and let me get started:
1. The flea market:
Last Sunday my dear friend Chiara came over from Milan with a suitcase full of handmade scarves, Japanese silks and vintage kimonos and we joined the local flea market. It was a chilly day, business was scant, but we had fun and a god experience. I sold one of my make-up bags, one of my vintage tea-cup candles and one of my furoshikis. The whole thing prompted me to finally open my etsy shop as you can see.
I’m 10 days away from my expected delivery date, and the exhaustion is at top levels. I cannot climb a flight of stairs without verging on a heart attack. I’m HUGE so I refuse to post a picture of my fat self over here. I’d rather have you remember me as a hawt bitch. You’ll have to trust me. I’m guessing the first photo you’ll see of me will be one of me holding my baby, and probably my three chins won’t be in it.
Here he is taking Norah for a ride on the Bobby car. Norah’s daddy is polishing his lupara as we speak.
Damiano has a very nice collection of books, which were usually scattered around the house undermining my attempts of tidiness and never there when I wanted to sit down and try to keep him still for more than 30 seconds in order to read him something. Well finally I put an end to that anarchy.
Will he now sit on my lap calmly and let me do my thing? yeah, right.
Anyway, this is IKEA’s Ribba shelf.
I’ve been wanting to blog for several days now but I’m usually fried by the time I have the time to do so. Damiano has been reacting to spring and his energy levels are inversely proportional to mine. Lucky for me, the weather has been lovely so we’ve spent long hours in the playground going up and down the slides, back and forth in swings and in and out of sand pits. He loves it and so do I, because I don’t have to chase him that much any more. He’s such a big boy now, he can entertain himself autonomously 90% of the time. It’s been wonderful to see how he’s growing, how his vocabulary is growing and his understanding of how things work. It is impressive and a little sad, too… Soon he won’t be my little Damiano anymore. I’m guessing that sooner than I imagine he’ll be a grown up telling me what to do.
You are very much loved.
Yesterday at the playground we met a little friend of his from the playgroup. He’s a very sweet boy, a year older than Damiano. I had felt upon meeting him that there was something about the way he looked at things and people, some sort of restlessness and mistrust. He seemed very fragile yet very rambunctious. One day while I picked up Damiano, I saw him there with his mother, she was nervous, out of patience and was yelling at him. I felt sorry for him, wanted to cry. (yes, pregnancy hormones can do these things to you).
Anyway, yesterday at the playground I met his mother and basically she is a single mother, which is an extremely common issue around here, and she was there with her new boyfriend. The kid had just spent the afternoon with his father and now he was acting out a little.
And I wanted to cry again.
You are there at the playground and it’s not your father who’s cleaning the sand off your dungarees. It’s this other guy. I thought it was fucking sad.
I thought about our lovely weekend. We spent two days giving 100% attention to Damiano, and it was great. Especially for Michele, who works a lot during the week so he spends less time with him, and Damiano really enjoys his daddy’s attention. We had fun watching him, we felt lucky for having the chance to be parents to such a remarkable little person, we felt proud of being there for him.
Someone needs to be there with a camera ready for when you start harassing a cat, and be quick to shoot before your face gets slashed by such cat.
And then there are other children, who aren’t as lucky. And other parents. Who aren’t as lucky. And I thought about all what this kid is missing and well I feel like crying again now. I don’t know if this comes from a reflection of my own childhood or if I’m simply an oversensitive bitch.
Is there a greater joy for a woman than seeing her son and her husband walking hand in hand?
Well anyway, I’ve decided that in my heart I will adopt Damiano’s friend, and I hope that they stay friends as they grow up. Everybody needs a friend like Damiano.