An open letter to the boy

Dear baby boy,

It's time for you to come out now. Really. We mean it. There is so much for you to see out here. You think my uterus is great, and no doubt, it's sublime, but we think you'll find the outside even better. Out here we've got sheep and trees and rugby and ice cream. You haven't got any of that in there. OK, you have ice cream. But it tastes way better before it's filtered through that placenta. Trust us on this one.

Here's the thing: we moved to New Zealand so that we could do more hiking and camping and running on trails. We picked the south island because there is so much untouched wilderness to explore down here. But just as we were settling into our new jobs, finding our stride, WHAMMO! We were knocked on our butts with news you were on your way. Don't get us wrong, we were absolutely thrilled with the news! We had been hoping for you to come for almost 3 years. That was a really long time to wait. So it was great news, the best news we could have ever had. But waiting for you to get here has kind of delayed the exploration of our new home.

Which is fine, of course! The mountains aren't going anywhere. And now when we go see them, it will be even better because we can show them to you too. We really can't wait. Which brings us back to our first point: you really need to come out of there.

Other people are waiting to meet you too, people in America and the UK and here in New Zealand. You've got grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins. They've already given you heaps of gifts - you won't believe how many things you have already! Our friends B & K got you an awesome Kathmandu backpack so daddy can carry you on his back while we go hiking - we can't wait to try it out! And your grandma made you a beautiful quilt that we think you'll really like. (Please try not to pee on it.) We painted your room a nice green color, and put a tree on the wall. We hope you like green.

You're coming into a rather international family, which we think will be really cool for you. You'll be able to get passports from the UK and the US and New Zealand, just like Jason Bourne! Your friends will be super jealous. Not only will you be able to travel all over the place, when you grow up you can live and work in America, Europe, NZ, or Australia too. Not many people have those kind of options. You'll be very lucky. We hope you'll like to travel and see new things.

But maybe you'll decide that you just want to stay in Christchurch, and we're cool with that too. We'll be glad to have you nearby.

Of course, all that is a long way off. For now, you really just need to focus on one very short journey. We've got everything ready for you when you reach the other side: clothes, nappies, a place to sleep, your very own seat in the car. It's all ready and waiting for you. So as soon as you possibly can, please, please make your move. Send the hormones or punch through the sac or do whatever it is you need to do to get on your way.

So to sum up: you've been in there for 41 weeks. It's time to come out. You'll be glad you did.

We can't wait to meet you.

love,
mummy and daddy

p.s. please be gentle on your way out.

Autumn in the park

Still waiting for the boy's arrival... 4 days overdue now.

Went for a walk (er, waddle) in the park to pass the time this morning.

He's still not here.

A diner experience

We used to be big fans of going out to breakfast on weekends. We'd wake up, put a hat on over the greasy hair, and roll down to the Good Egg for an Old Pueblo Skillet or Breakfast Quesadilla. mmm droolllll. The food was good, the service was efficient, the coffee cup never empty, and the bill? $20 plus tip. Awesome.

We've tried to find a similar experience here in Christchurch. This led us to Drexels, an "American style" breakfast diner. We've gone twice now, once to the Riccarton location and once to the downtown location.

The first thing you notice about this diner is that it's way too nice to be a diner.

It's all modern and beautiful. Diners should be old and worn and a bit greasy. This place looks real nice and sleek.

The other thing about diners is that you should never have to plan to go there. When we showed up at the downtown Drexels this weekend, the hostess asked if we had a booking. A booking! Seriously, I almost guffawed. I thought, who would make a reservation to roll out of bed and come to breakfast? It wasn't Mothers Day or any other breakfast-heavy holiday. It was an ordinary Sunday morning in a diner. I would have felt really silly calling to make a reservation. Who would do that?? As it turns out, everyone in Christchurch would do that, and had done it. Everyone but us. They were booked solid for the next hour, she said. We sat to wait for a table to become available while family after family came in and told the hostess about their bookings. Unbelievable.

In the end, we only waited about 15 minutes before being shown to our very nice booth. A minute later, our waitress came and introduced herself. We got the impression she had been shown instructional videos on how to wait tables at an American diner, complete with an introduction ("Hi, I'm Susie and I'll be your waitress") and a quick rundown of the specials. But while she had been shown how to do it, she was clearly not very comfortable with it. We couldn't blame her. She knew, and we knew, there would be no tip in it for her. Tipping just isn't really done here.

We ordered coffee. ("Filter coffee or espresso?") This place offers a "bottomless cup" of filter coffee - standard in America, pretty much unheard of here. We were sorely disappointed after our first trip to Drexels, as our waitress simply refused to refill our coffee cups. We waited AGES. We made eye contact and pointedly slid the empty cups to the edge of the table. Still we waited. Thankfully, this second trip was much better. Several waitresses came by and filled our coffee cups. We were very glad for it.

It's the small things you miss, you know?

The thing about eating out here is that the menu prices are a bit of a shock at first. I ordered pancakes ($15) and Gareth ordered an omelet ($16.50). That seems a bit crazy expensive for eggs and buttermilk, but you have to remember that the prices include tax and you don't have to add on a tip. What you see on the menu is all you pay, nothing more. The bill is still more than it would be at an ordinary diner, but not quite as much more as it initially seems. You would think people go out to eat less because it's expensive, but apparently not. Apparently, so many people are going out to eat that you have to make a booking.

Our food was delicious. Absolutely delicious. We don't know what it is about food in New Zealand, but we have almost never had a bad meal here. (I would even include that pseudo-Mexican food we tried last year in this statement, as it was really good food, just not Mexican food.) There seems to be no bad food here. Maybe it's the fresh, whole ingredients, maybe it's chef know-how, maybe it's a combination of both. We don't know. We just know it tastes real good. My pancakes were thick and fluffy and perfect. Gareth's omelet came with incredibly good guacamole. We rolled out stuffed and happy.

Little things

Who'd have thought the sight of little tiny clothes would make me so giddy??

I kind of hope the neighbours didn't see me outside photographing our washing line...

And look at this:

It's the Baby Yoda sweater I've been knitting, nearly done now. So tiny. So cute. Tee hee!

Our neighbours

Cows graze in the hills above our house. Here they are yesterday morning, eating grass, mooing, and generally doing what cows do in hills.


They look super small and far away in these photos but seem much closer in real life. I guess that's because the zoom lens in our eyeballs is better than the one in our Nikon...

They're good neighbours, the cows. It's really nice when the windows are open to hear the occasional moo. It makes us feel like we're out in the country, when really we are just a 10 minute drive from the middle of the city. It's strangely comforting. Usually.

Two weeks ago it was extremely unsettling. Something was wrong with the cows. They were mooing like mad. Constant, agonising mooing. Our windows were shut but still we could hear them up there all evening and into the night. Our radio alarm clock went off in the morning and still we heard mooing. This went on for 2 or 3 days. We had no idea what had gotten into the cows. I asked my neighbour about it - she too had wondered what the heck was up with the cows. She had asked another neighbour, and this neighbour had a theory: the farmer may have taken the weened calves away from their mothers. The mama cows were crying for their babies.

Granted, I'm in a fragile state right now, but this struck me as quite possibly the saddest thing I had ever heard. Or at least, the saddest thing I'd ever heard about cows. Those poor mama cows, crying out in agony for their calves, filling the valley with their mournful moos.

Of course, they got over it in like 3 days, so maybe we don't have to feel too, too bad for them...

Happy mother's day :-)

Nesting

Only 2 weeks to go until our due date now. I finished up work on Friday and today is my first day of maternity leave.

What does one do on maternity leave before baby arrives? I suppose this is the time for me to start nesting. Cleaning the house. Doing laundry. Baking. Gathering twigs and leaves.

Our midwife delivered the birthing pool yesterday. We blew it up, put the liner in, and then took turns sitting in it.

I probably will not be smiling next time I sit in this pool...

Although the pool is called a "birth pool in a box" it actually came in a bag. Possibly the name "birth pool in a bag" had already been taken. It doesn't look terribly big in this photo, but that's probably just because I'm so big I dwarf the pool. It's actually quite big. Both me and Gareth can fit in it quite comfortably, if we want to. So now we have this huge pool in our living room. A constant reminder that the boy will be making his appearance any day now - if we needed any reminder. My huge belly and the little feet trying to push their way out of it are another constant reminder.

As I said, my maternity leave started today. I get 2 weeks of "special leave" to use before the baby comes. This is unpaid leave. I wasn't going to take it at all, but it was getting harder and harder to go into work every morning. I have no idea how other women work until they go into labour. Maybe they're doing it because they have to. I think that must be the only reason to do it. Most of the women in our antenatal class have stopped work already - many of them 3, 4, or more weeks before their due dates. That seems to be the way women do it here. This is a time to rest!

After the boy arrives, I get 14 weeks of paid leave. The pay comes from the government rather than my employer, and they do not pay my full paycheck but only part of it. Still, it's better than nothing. And it will be enough for us to get by on without having to dip too much into our savings. So all that is good.

Back to nesting...