Brittany

The Beginning of Our Story

“It is written.” That’s right. I’m going with a Slumdog Millionaire theme for this entry (which, ironically, I had never seen until my flight home from our India wedding). Curled up in my small airline seat, hungover on elation and exhaustion, I felt immediate sympathy for Jamal Malik as he went through hell and high water to be with Latika. My goodness, did I feel for him. While my love story didn’t have the violence and perilous-ness that Jamal’s did, I’m sure our hearts went through the same emotions.

This post began its slow formation on Christmas Day, when I was chatting with my cousin on Facebook, and he said, “The days are long but the years are short.” It was in reference, of course, to how fast Evelyn was growing, but it got me thinking back through the last several years. How fast they’ve all gone and how unbelievable it is that I’m here, and how, back when I was unmarried, each day seemed like a long, lonely struggle. I thought back through the all nighters with a sick infant, through the joys of watching Evelyn learn a new word or take a step, through the arguments and tears, through the 15-24 hours flights to and from India, through the tearful hello’s and goodbyes, through the “I love you’s” and “I miss you’s,” through the uncertainty, the heartache, the breakdowns, through Zac leaving the U.S., and finally meeting Zac for the first time. The year and a half we spent getting to know each other was a complete whirlwind. He was not an easy person to get to know, this mysterious Indian of mine, but he was so easy to talk to, and he was a great listener. I spent the initial months after meeting him pretending I was much cooler and more sophisticated than I actually was, but when I realized he would much rather watch “Rocky” and eat frozen pizzas with me, I heaved a huge sigh of relief, took my makeup off and threw on my sweatpants. And I never looked back. When he had to leave, amidst promises that he did love me and wanted to marry, I was utterly devastated. He called me from Newark International to say his final goodbye, and I collapsed on the stairs in the back room of Walgreens, where I worked as an assistant manager at the time. I don’t remember crying much, but I started to feel numb as my brain and heart were pulled in two different directions. My mind said, “You’ll never see him again. Once he gets assimilated back to his culture, he will drop you like a bag of dirt.” My heart, foolish thing that it was, said, “Don’t lose hope. You love each other. You will be together.” But how? How, how, how, how? – I kept wondering, and I had no answers. I had no plans. Nothing. I so very clearly remember, after he left the U.S. in August 2010, spending so many nights sleepless and in tears because I thought wishing and praying for a marriage to a man from such a traditional culture was hopeless. That he would turn around and marry a Malayalee woman who would bring money or gold or land or a successful career to the table, when all I could bring was my complete love and devotion (and sarcastic wit). But Zac is anything but traditional, and I am the most loyal person I know, so by God’s grace (and with the help of supportive family members and friends), here we are. I’m actually crying as I’m writing this because that was not a good time in my life at all. It was emotionally draining, and I don’t know how I did it.

Pretty sure many people thought I was crazy too. I could see it in the raised eyebrows and questionable looks when I would explain the situation – I have a sort of boyfriend/fiancé but nothing was or could be official because his culture is different from mine and those things are frowned upon without family approval. Crazy, indeed. I mean, I did EVERYTHING that Western culture tells you not to do when you’re uncertain about your relationship – I pretty much put my life on hold. I stayed in a job I didn’t like all that much to save as much money as I could for a wedding I wasn’t sure would actually ever happen, I devoted time every. single. day. for either writing to him or skyping with him. Good grief, this all sounds so pathetic in writing. Zac, for his part, did the best he could to be reassuring about everything. But time and space can do horrible things to your mind, especially when you’re alone, and that’s when doubt and hopelessness seep in. Zac also had cultural responsibilities weighing on his mind through this. He wasn’t sure how easy marriage to an American woman would be accepted, so he had to choose the right way to approach and the right time to ask. That’s something that I struggled with for a long time because I didn’t fully understand the Indian family dynamic. It was the opposite of what I did – I swept in to my parents’ living room, crying of course, and said essentially, “I love him, I want to marry him, and TOO BAD if you don’t like it.” (Side note – they’ve always liked Zac and heartily approved). I want to be clear though that I didn’t go through all this struggle because I thought Zac would make me happy. I went through it because I wanted my best friend always in my life. When I say we are the same person simply molded by different parts of the world, it’s not an exaggeration. We are both lazy, messy procrastinators. It’s a wonder we are both able to function properly in society, but we also push each other to be better people. We laugh at the same jokes, have the same basic desires (sit at home and do nothing), and we think the same things at the same times, it’s almost otherworldly.

He is and has been my greatest encourager. He has pushed me so far out of my comfort zone that I am certain I could accomplish anything the universe throws at me. He knows how much I’ve sacrificed to get this marriage in place. I can see it in his eyes when I catch him quietly watching Evelyn and me reading together. I can hear it in his voice when he insists we hire someone to cook or clean because I have done enough. I am enough. Sometimes, he simply tells me things like, “Life is good with you and Evelyn. I couldn’t be happier.” My husband isn’t a person who doles out the compliments either, so when he says it, he means it.

I stood in front of the Taj Mahal a little less than a month ago, in absolute awe of its pristine beauty. It’s the great testament of love, of course, that Shah Jahan had for his Mumtaz – the intricate designs of the marble and the symmetry and hidden meaning in every curve and arch, and the overall majesty of the place, make it very clear. It certainly pales to any “testament of love” I can give to my husband. This is all I can give, along with lots of hugs and kisses. That, through everything, my love and hope burned strong enough to keep me going, even when all logic suggested otherwise. I would do it all again and choose you a hundred thousand times over, Zac. I would not have changed anything because then we may not have been brought right to where we are now. It was written for us to be together. I have no other explanation for it. I made my choices to pursue marriage with you, but at the time, it didn’t feel like a choice. There was no other acceptable option for me. And I haven’t truly realized that until now. I hope you know how much I love you. And here’s to our fourth year of marriage and all the others that are to come.

A Passage Back to India

I almost didn’t come back to India on July 8, 2015. The car ride to JFK International is excruciating on its own, but then to have a toddler who can’t stand to be in a car seat for more than 20 minutes and unbelievable emotional turmoil inside my stomach, I almost postponed the journey – by two weeks or three weeks or a month or two months. I didn’t know. We stopped at Long John Silvers (of all places) to eat, and I managed to gag down some fish and a hush puppie or two, but then I puked it all back up when we were 30 minutes from the airport. Stuck in traffic, of course. I was a hot mess. And I was worried that the nausea wouldn’t go away. Could I handle a 20 hour plane journey with a 1.5 year old and constant nausea? Nope. And so I decided to call Zac and tell him I wasn’t going to leave that day. I stood outside a smelly Dunkin Donuts gas station and called my husband, who said he would completely support whatever decision I made.

And so, when we reached JFK, I left my bags in the car and marched through the doors, fully intent on convincing Kuwait airways to postpone my flight without charging me an arm and a leg. But as I looked at the queues and the suitcases and huddled families, I realized I wasn’t alone, and my nausea all but disappeared. I turned to my dad, who had come with me, and asked him what to do. Here’s the thing about my dad – he hates leaving his house for any length of time. Hates it. His idea of a vacation is to stay home, run every morning, and take naps. And mow the lawn. So I thought for sure he would be supporting the postponement idea. But he didn’t. He said, “Brittany, once you get on that flight, you’ll be fine. You can do this. If you postpone it by two weeks, a month, it doesn’t matter. You’ll have to go through all of this again, all the goodbyes, the long drive, everything.” I knew he was right, and I rushed out, got my bags, and checked in to my flight. Said the hardest goodbyes to my parents, who were both sobbing while I tried to be the strong one (didn’t work). And then I left, praying with each step, “Please, God; please, God; please, God.” Please, God, what? Please, God, don’t let me barf on the plane? Please, God, don’t let Evelyn scream for the whole plane ride? Please, God, don’t let me get stuck at Kuwait International Airport? Please, God, don’t let the plane fall in the ocean? Whatever it was, He knew my heart and answered those prayers. And a short 11 hour plane journey later, I was in Kuwait, and another short 9 hours later, I was hugging my husband inside Trivandrum International Airport.

And now I’ve been back for over a month and a half, and I’ve had time to reflect on exactly why I went berserk….inside myself. And I think most of it was guilt. Guilt of taking Evelyn away from my parents and extended family. Guilt of taking Evelyn away from a place where she had SO MUCH space to roam freely. Guilt of not having an answer on when I would be back to the United States again. And, most of all, guilt for not being that sad about leaving. Oh, sure, I was sad. I love my family dearly. I would and do miss them. And I would miss lots of other things – the television shows, the food, the easy peasy traffic, the fact that there just aren’t that many people in Sullivan County, Pennsylvania. The freedom to pick up and go wherever I want at anytime. But, much more than the sadness, I was anxious. Anxious to get the goodbyes done and over, anxious to get the plane ride over, anxious to see and touch Zac again. To see him smile. Hear him laugh. To get our life back together.

Therein lies the crux of the matter, I suppose. I didn’t feel that I felt sad enough about leaving. But if I allowed myself to feel split in half like I had the first time I left for India, then I don’t think I could have ever come back. I guess you could call it a survival mechanism. Or perhaps I’ve realized that it’s not the end of the world when you move abroad. There are airplanes, Skype, Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, and a myriad of other ways to keep in touch. It adds depth to my experience because I am forced to share the details of my everyday life here. I am forced to constantly examine how I feel about giving up the ease of my previous life and finding ways to add peacefulness and simplicity to this life in India. And I keep in better touch with my family now than I ever did when I was in the United States. I am forced to make time to chat with my parents so they can watch their granddaughter giggle. I am forced to take the extra 5 seconds and send Snapchats of my life to my brother, cousins, and aunts. You know, I was trying to find a good quote or two about to slam in here about being an expatriate, but so many of them are about wanderlust and being addicted to travel, and I don’t really think that’s me (except for going to see the Taj Mahal. My darling husband, if you’re reading this, make it happen). I am just a small town girl who happened to meet and fall in love and marry a foreigner, and then I had to move abroad. I am simply an American mom who lives in a non-American house. There is no wanderlust here. I didn’t move abroad because I wanted to be immersed in another culture or because I wanted to see the world. Those are just added perks. Anyway, I only found two quotes that I felt comfortable sharing. One by David Sedaris:

“LIFE MIGHT BE DIFFICULT FOR A WHILE, BUT I WOULD TOUGH IT OUT BECAUSE LIVING IN A FOREIGN COUNTRY IS ONE OF THOSE THINGS THAT EVERYONE SHOULD TRY AT LEAST ONCE. MY UNDERSTANDING WAS THAT IT COMPLETED A PERSON, SANDING DOWN THE ROUGH PROVINCIAL EDGES AND TRANSFORMING YOU INTO A CITIZEN OF THE WORLD. WHAT I FOUND APPEALING IN LIFE ABROAD WAS THE INEVITABLE SENSE OF HELPLESSNESS IT WOULD INSPIRE. EQUALLY EXCITING WOULD BE THE WORK INVOLVED IN OVERCOMING THAT HELPLESSNESS. THERE WOULD BE A GOAL INVOLVED, AND I LIKED HAVING GOALS.”

And one by Miriam Adeney:

“YOU WILL NEVER BE COMPLETELY AT HOME AGAIN, BECAUSE PART OF YOUR HEART ALWAYS WILL BE ELSEWHERE. THAT IS THE PRICE YOU PAY FOR THE RICHNESS OF LOVING AND KNOWING PEOPLE IN MORE THAN ONE PLACE.”

An absolute “yes” to both of these. Richness, overcoming helplessness, transformation, toughing it out. All of this has been my life so far. I would add humility to the list as well. Because nothing teaches you how very little you know about life and the world quite like living in another culture, especially a non-Western culture. Nothing teaches you better how to appreciate what you have and not be wasteful quite like seeing another human being who has absolutely nothing and nowhere to go. Nothing teaches you how to love your spouse more deeply quite like seeing headlines of young couples murdered because they fell in love and married. Nothing teaches you to hug your daughter more tightly better than knowing you’re living in country where they are still fighting to save the girl child. These, along with all the beauty of India, are part of the realities.

And, now, back to my reality. It’s been a pretty busy month and a half. The apartment was essentially a hazmat area when I arrived, and that was after Zac had hired a maid and she cleaned up a lot. So I immediately, jet lag and all, threw myself into cleaning and throwing away junk. I’ve also been packing because we’ve decided to move to a place where Evelyn and I will both have much more freedom to roam about. I have started making more Indian food – Kerala red fish curry, chicken biryani, aloo tikki, dosa, idlis, chutneys, various vegetable curries, rotis. It’s all gotten me in to a good routine, even a better one than before. I was a little worried that maybe I would be homesick or sad once I got back to India, but I haven’t been. There are things that make me rage every now and then – power cuts; the heat; our maid; the heat; cultural differences; the heat; the issue of NO ONE following traffic laws my goodness; the heat, dear Lord, THE HEAT. I sweat through every single piece of clothing I have. So, yes, there are moments and hours and even days of frustrations, but if I don’t dwell, it gets better. If I dwell, it gets worse. Anyway, I can assuredly say that I haven’t been been sad or depressed. How could I be? Our little family has been reunited. My physical home may be the United States of America, but my real home is wherever Zac and Evelyn are. I love them both so dearly. Plus, we live like 5 minutes from the beach. For real, how could I be sad? I get to watch Evelyn chase baby goats when we go for evening walks. I get to listen to Evelyn try to string together words and then hear Zac laugh at whatever she is trying to say. A few days ago, I ate the traditional Onam meal that is served on a banana leaf. I ate a meal on a banana leaf, people. How cool is that? Even if we’re just sitting at home, eating dinner and watching “Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade,” I am super aware of how much joy is in my life. I remember Zac telling me one time that he didn’t know what he did right in his life for God to be so gracious and give him such wonderful gifts (Evelyn and me). Well, I don’t know what I’ve done right either. But I am so grateful.

I am hoping to start blogging more now, but with a toddler who likes to make demands as soon as she sees mommy get comfortable, I’m not sure if it’s going to be possible. Hopefully, you guys will stick with on this chapter of our journey.

Our Baby’s First Birthday

Evelyn Grace, born January 18, 2014, at 1:12 pm.

You’re my honey bunch

Sugar plum

I read this great quote on motherhood the other day. I can’t remember the exact wording of it, but the woman said motherhood is like discovering a new room that you’ve never seen before in your own house. Really, that is just so spot on. I am the same person I always was, I still laugh at the same kind of jokes, I still like the same foods, I still like to go see new places. But before Evelyn came along, there were lots of things about myself that I never thought I needed to change. Now that she’s here, my self-examination has increased TO THE MAX, and I am trying so hard to become the best person I can be…for her. The kindest, the least selfish, the most joyful, the most forgiving, the strongest, the healthiest. I fail at many (all right, all of them) of these a lot of the time, but that’s okay. I’m improving each day. My darling husband likes to tell me that at least I know there are things about myself I can improve, most people never even get that far. It’s hard, and I think it’s been the hardest thing about being a parent, constantly wanting to improve yourself to be the best example to your child.

Pummy yummy yumpkin

You’re my sweetie pie

And, as for my husband, he and I both had our unspoken worries about our married life before Little Bean debuted. I don’t think either of us voiced our concerns until much later, when it was clear our marriage was stronger than ever. Sure things are different now. It’s hard for us to have normal conversations that we used to have all the time, our dinners out have decreased, our “us” time is just….less. And sometimes I miss the pre-baby marriage, the eating meals together, watching movies together uninterrupted, taking a weekend trip just to get away. I know those will all come back in due time. But you see the song lyrics I am posting on here, yes? Well, it’s Evelyn’s new favorite song that she has listened to approximately 3,572 times this week. And on one of the evenings, Zac sat with her and tried desperately to learn the lyrics as quickly as he could so he could sing it to her later on, and when the line “I want you to know/I’ll always be right here” he sang it and wrapped his arms around her, and oh my gosh, my throat tightened and my eyes filled up and nothing, NOTHING that made me fall in love with him in the first place compared to the intense rush of love I felt towards him at that moment. And it’s these moments that I hold on to and think of whenever the feeling of “Well, when have Zac and I had our last legitimate conversation?” gets me.

You’re my cuppy cake

Gum drop

Another thing I have caught myself remembering over the last year has been my own childhood. In fact, Zac and I have argued who had the better childhood. It was me, clearly. 😉 But I don’t have a single bad memory, not even when both of my parents had lost their jobs, they never let on that we were struggling for money. Never. Whenever I got sick of my parents, it was off to an exciting night at Gram and Gramp’s house or off to bother my cousin, Daniel, and my aunt, Deb, (who I still bother….a lot) for the day. My dad always took the time out of his week to take Daniel and me to a playground, or for a bike ride, or would just play a ball game with us. My mom always decorating for holidays and taking the time to build an atmosphere so special that I still get a warmth in my heart when I think of those days. The excitement building up in the days preceding a trip to Knoebel’s Amusement Park or just a day at Rickett’s Glen. Decorating sugar cookies at Christmas time. Blowing out candles on a birthday cake after hearing a waaay off-key “Happy Birthday” tune. I want Evelyn to have memories like I do; to be able to confidently think, “I had the best childhood. NO ONE had a better one than me.”

Snookums snookums

You’re the apple of my eye

And I’m really trying to give Evelyn the best childhood I can. So far, I have done things exactly the way I have wanted (labor and delivery excluded). I have breastfed for an entire year, something that, at times, I just didn’t think was going to be possible. I had no one knowledgeable about breastfeeding close to me, so I had to forge that path on my own. It was painful, confusing, tiring (especially in the first few weeks), and you would not believe how many variations of “Is your milk enough for her?” I heard. But I didn’t quit. My baby’s barely been sick in this first year of her life. Is that because of my milk? I’d like to think so, but I’m not totally sure. Something else I’ve done that people cautioned me against – I held my baby. Like, all the time. Because I wanted to, because she wanted me to, to stop her crying, etc. And ohhhh….there’s SO MUCH that people want to say about that! People are in such a rush for babies to become “independent” or so they “don’t trouble” the parents. I heard all the reasons – “She’ll get too used to your body heat,” “She’ll never learn to crawl/walk/be independent,” “Let her cry for a while, it’s okay.” Yeah, I never listened to any of that, and now she’s well on her way to walking, crawls around like Spiderman scales a building, and is so ridiculously independent sometimes that I even feel a little left out while she’s entertaining herself.

And I love you so

And I want you to know

The only time she’s not ridiculously independent is when she knows her daddy is nearby. Oh, is she a daddy’s girl. She always has been, ever since she was a tiny newborn. And she was so tiny. I remember, maybe when she was a month old, my husband asking me, with concern in his voice, how could we keep such a small thing alive? Now, here she is, a year old. A little girl whose wild hair won’t stay combed down, a little girl who says “Caw caw” whenever she sees an animal, a little girl who looks like she could burst from joy just from seeing me every morning she wakes, a little girl who gets excited, waves and blows kisses to her daddy when she sees him coming home from work, a little girl who prefers to crawl in dirt and play with dried leaves than any other toy she has, a little girl who has better rhythm than both her father and mother, a little girl who will try any new food at least once, a little girl who covers her eyes when you ask “Where’s Evelyn? Where’d she go?,” a little girl who hates the confinement of an airplane, a little girl who, when she’s standing at our gate on our front porch, looks like she wants to conquer the world…or at least the stairs.

That I’ll always be right here

And I love to sing sweet songs for you

And she’s conquered a lot in her short time here so far. We took her on a boat ride when she was less than two weeks old (Let’s not discuss the safety issues. It’s India, after all, just go with it.). She went to a US Embassy in Chennai to gain her US citizenship when she was three months old. She dipped her feet in the Arabian Sea when she was five months old. She’s bathed and touched an Asian elephant. She’s ridden a camel and has seen the Golden Temple. She went along for the ride, but not one of these things did she give two hoots about. All she wanted was her Daddy to hold her and play “choo choo” train or for her Mommy to nurse her to sleep.

Because you are sooo dear

For the past few days, I’ve been reminded of some song lyrics – I think it’s a song by The Killers – that I used to think of a lot when she was first born: “But don’t you let them tame you/You’re far too pure and bold.” I’m pretty sure the song it comes from has nothing whatsoever to do with raising a child, but I love these lines for Evelyn. I want her to not be affected by what our cultures, both Indian and American, expect for females. I want her to create her own path, to be bold and unafraid, in family, in love, in forgiveness, in confrontation, in pursuing her dreams. And even if she is afraid, which is totally okay, I want her to have the courage to do it afraid. So I encourage her to explore as much as possible, to see that the big world out there isn’t so scary, and it’s fine if she gets bumps or scratches or gets dirty along the way. Those things are temporary, but what she can discover about herself while exploring can last a lifetime. She’s our strong little girl, who I am so, so proud of already. I wish that I could truly express the joy and happiness that I have in my heart, but I can’t seem to do it to my satisfaction. So, I’ll end with this – Happy Birthday to our sweet Little Bean. God has blessed us so much by letting us be your parents.

Where Is the Time Going? AKA Why I’m a Terrible Housewife

Oh my word, I haven’t written since when….May? I see over the past 4 months or so, I’ve started three posts and never finished any. I just haven’t had time or the desire, honestly. Haven’t really had the time because of baby, but I also had the bright idea to fire our maid to save us money (and also because she stole some things). WHAT the hell was I thinking? I could barely take care of my musty old apartment in Johnson City, NY. In fact, I’m sure my parents will tell you, I could barely take care of my own room when I lived with them. And also – THIS IS INDIA where life, in general, is about five times more difficult than in the United States. And I’m a spoiled white lady – why did I think I could handle it with a baby on top of it? I’m a complete domestic failure! I skip sweeping for one day, and you should see the amount of dirt and bugs that show up. It’s unreal. And I can’t figure out why I’m so bad at it – there’s not all that much work to do. We have a smaller apartment. Is it because I didn’t have any practice with it before and after Evelyn was born? Is it because I’m just naturally messy and lazy, so it’s going to be a struggle forever? Because I totally thought I could do all the housework, the cooking, take care of Evelyn, maybe throw in a workout and once in a while, a blog entry. Yeah, I really thought that. And then the other day, “Sex and the City 2” was on, and it was a scene with two of the women (sorry, I don’t know their names) taking swigs from their cocktails while confessing things like “Being a mom is soooo hard! And it’s even harder without help!” And I am so ashamed to admit that I nodded in agreement. The thing is I know there are plenty of women who can handle it. My mom did, and she had a full time job then too. I am just not one of those women, at least not in India. It’s already tough enough living in a non-Western culture. So about two or three weeks ago, after caring for a sick hubby and baby and letting the house go to pot, I cried to my hubby and told him to hire a new maid. There’s going to come a time when I won’t be able to have a maid anymore, so I’m going to try and enjoy the help while I can.

And I haven’t really had a desire to write anything because how much can I write about parenting that hasn’t been said? I had started a post about differences between US and Indian parenting, from my perspective, but it was really just turning into me complaining about the aspects of US parenting that I felt were too cold and scientific and complaining about the aspects of Indian parenting that I felt were too based on old wives’ tales and superstitions. So I’ve decided to wait to write that post until I’m maybe a little less….ummm….emotional. Also – I’ve been soooo tired forever. Whoever said babies start sleeping longer once they’re on solids was a liar. Evelyn wakes more frequently now than she ever did. My baby went backwards – slept awesome in the beginning, not so much now.

That being said, failed housewife or not, I love being a mom. I think I have written something similar in every blog post since she was born. But it gets truer all the time. Evelyn is so much fun. As I am writing this, I have to keep grabbing hold of her diaper so she doesn’t somersault off her blankets and bonk her head on the tile floor, which she’s done a few times. She laughs hysterically at clothes pins and our terrace lamp post, waves hello and goodbye, loves to eat chicken and bananas and toast, wants to maul my husband’s mathematics books whenever she gets the chance, bounces up and down when “All About That Bass” is playing, and smiles and laughs when she looks at photos of herself. She’s becoming more of a person right before my eyes. For the last week or so, it feels like every night, when my husband and I are in the bedroom watching her sleep, one of us always says to other, “She is such a sweet baby.” I am so impressed with her. And I am pretty impressed with myself, quite frankly. I have learned how to master several tasks using only one hand and a baby in the other- cooking pretty much anything, loading and unloading the washing machine, carrying the laundry to the terrace to dry, showering, washing my face, brushing my teeth, sweeping the floor. I’ve also done some things that I’m sure I would be scolded for. Do I let her chew on the TV remote so I can drink my first cup of coffee in peace in the morning? ABSOLUTELY. Let her press buttons on my cellphone so I can get dressed in the morning? YES.

And I’ve been getting very homesick lately. It’s going on a year since I came back to India, and I will be going to the US at the end of March 2015. My dear husband is keeping a countdown for me, so I know there’s six months left. It’ll go by so fast, I know, and once I’m there, I’ll miss my husband terribly. But it’s little things that help cure my homesickness while I’m here. Like, we went out to eat at a European style cafe this weekend, and they were playing classic rock. I rocked out to Carly Simon’s “You’re So Vain.” And, this was my favorite thing about the whole place, they served me iced tea in a tiny mason jar. It was the best thing and totally what I needed. That’ll have to hold me over until I go home where I’ve made my mom save ridiculous recipes like “buffalo chicken lasagna” and “s’mores pizza rollups.” I’ve also requested her to buy and save as many pumpkin flavored foods as she can. And I plan on eating bacon EVERY SINGLE MORNING and taking Evelyn outside to toddle around my parents’ yard EVERY SINGLE DAY. Maybe all day. Because I can. Yes, I’m excited to go home for a visit, but at the same time, I want this year to slow the heck down. Evelyn will be well over a year old when I take her. I’m not ready for that! So for as much as I am looking forward to my trip home I do not want to wish this time away. It’s such an awesome privilege to be her mother. And, for as much as perhaps I’ve complained (?) in this post, it’s such a privilege to have this experience here in India, sharing it with my husband and Evelyn, in all its frustrating (at times) glory. I wouldn’t change a thing….except maybe I wouldn’t have fired our maid. 😉

Hmmm...what is that delicious thing you're drinking, Mom? — Hmmm…what is that delicious thing you’re drinking, Mom?

We Have A New US Citizen in the Family

Never underestimate your baby. Or would it be overestimate? Either way, I thought for sure after we were done with our little jaunt to Chennai I would have a load of tales about what an absolute nightmare it is to fly with a small baby (almost four months to be exact). My husband and I were preparing ourselves for the worst; we even discussed it before bedtime in the days preceding the flight. “She’s going to scream the whole time, you know.” “If she cries on this flight, imagine a longer one.” Cue the shudders. And then those two days came and went, and now I have sat down to write this, and I realized something. I have nothing to say about it. It was completely uneventful. I packed a gazillion diapers in the carry-on because I thought for sure she would have a huge poop blowout even though it was only an hour long flight. Didn’t happen. Thought she would scream and cry in the hotel room because it wasn’t home. Didn’t happen. Thought she would be miserable during our dinner out with Zac’s cousins. She was only a little miserable. Thought she would cause a ruckus at the US Embassy. She only caused a little ruckus until a nice lady pointed me in the direction of the nursing room. So, yeah, here’s another realization: We have a good baby. She put up with a lot of crap for those two days. Having to be covered while she’s eating, sleeping in a strange bed, waiting in the hot and humid Chennai weather because Mommy and Daddy went to wrong entrance first at the Embassy, having people, a lot of them, she doesn’t know come up and touch her. Or maybe that last one just made me feel weird.

The whole reason we went to Chennai was to get Evelyn’s US Citizenship, and that went off without a hitch too. I don’t know what US Embassies are like in other countries, but this one was impressive, and I’m not sure in a good way. It had high prison-like walls with a spiked fence on top of them. Indian security EVERYWHERE outside. Road blockades so people can’t park in front of the embassy. And in front of the blockades was curled barbed wire. There are two entrances, one for Indians and one for Americans. Zac’s cousins had warned us about the Indian entrance, telling us about the incredibly long queue and the people waiting in the heat and the sun. When we reached the embassy that morning at 8:30 am, there was already a long line of people waiting for their morning appointments, wearing their Sunday best and completely and totally soaked with sweat. They don’t have any shade to hide under; we don’t even provide them with some cheap chairs to sit on. I felt awful for those people. And then I felt worse once we got to the American entrance because there was plenty of shade on that side and several chairs.

They ushered us through security – I had packed three toys for Evelyn and was only allowed one. Actual words from the Indian security guy: “Do you really need all these?” By this time, I had a hungry, screaming baby, so when we entered the American Citizen Services office, I immediately received sympathetic looks from all the women, both American and Indian, behind the windows (everyone in there is behind walls and windows). I met a sweet little boy named Tarun, who loved dinosaurs and coloring. We discussed both of these at length. He told me his fave dino is the Spinosaurus; I told him mine is the Brachiosaurus. I asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up; he said “a dino specialist.” He showed me all the crayons he brought, and I asked him his fave color; he pointed to black. I told him my favorite is purple, and he looked at me with the saddest eyes ever and said, “I left the purple one at home.” Meanwhile, during all this, my poor husband was the one who straightening out the paperwork with one of the consulate workers.

I had felt both over-prepared and under-prepared for this whole thing. I had to prove I was physically present in the United States for at least five years, two of which had to be after I was sixteen. Well, everybody who knows me knows that I NEVER left the country until I went to India to be married (unless you count the time I spent 45 minutes in Quebec looking for a place to eat….long story).

Throwback Thursday/Flashback Friday/Sweet Memory Sunday? From our wedding in India. — Throwback Thursday/Flashback Friday/Magical Memory Monday? From our wedding in India.

They had asked for originals of all documents and paperwork, and we had originals for most things except for the extra proof of my presence in the US – my tax returns. I was soooooo worried about this. I was also worried that they weren’t going to believe Evelyn was ours, and that our marriage was a sham, so I made Zac print photos of us together from when I was still pregnant. I didn’t need any of the photos; they didn’t even ask. They didn’t seem to care that my tax returns were printed PDF files either. In fact, our “interview” with the consulate officer, who looked like he was my age, was just him having us sign the paperwork and telling us how long it would be to receive her passport and Consular Report of a Birth Abroad. I had been worrying and fretting for nothing. It was so much easier than I thought it was going to be. I had read horror stories online of people getting rejected or getting the third degree about their marriage/relationship. Maybe they’re the only people who write about their experiences.

And now our daughter is a US citizen. I thought I would feel very relieved because of this; I’m not sure why. I don’t really feel any differently. It’s not like being an Indian citizen is a bad thing; after all, I married one. It’s going to make things easier for us as far as moving back to United States and traveling around. We weren’t planning on getting her CRBA until a little later this year, but an unexpected trip has come up, and we needed a passport for her for next month. Maybe she’ll be well practiced at this flying thing pretty soon. Who am I kidding? Every parent knows that as soon as you think you have your kid figured out she goes and changes it all up. And that’s totally fine with me. It’s a new adventure in parenthood each day, even if the adventure is her screaming because she’s an overtired mess, and we have to come up with some new way to bounce her to sleep. Zac and I are learning so much from this little girl, including more about each other. Our marriage, I feel, is only stronger now after becoming parents. We’re four months into this thing, and I think we’re doing okay. Evelyn is dearly loved by us and many other people, that’s for certain.

And since it was Mother’s Day yesterday, here are my feelings lately on motherhood. Right now, I am in the throes of postpartum hair loss and realizing that, no, breastfeeding is NOT going to get rid of the rest of my baby weight, so I’ve been feeling a little self-conscious about my physical appearance. But when Evelyn looks at me, she looks at me like I am her entire world. She looks to me to teach her, feed her, comfort her, and her only gift she can give me is a smile and giggle, and it’s the most wondrous gift in the world. I am simply in awe of her capability of learning new things each day, of her tiny body getting stronger all the time. I have a feeling she’ll be an explorer when she can start moving because her favorite thing is to be carried over my shoulder so she can look at her new world. I hope she can sense how much I love her. Because sometimes it’s so overwhelming that it actually makes my heart hurt.

Ode to Deed

My Gram died on Tuesday morning. All of her children and my grandfather were there with her when it happened. The years of watching Alzheimer’s chip away at a woman who was once stubborn, strong-willed, and boisterous are over. Her death may have been expected, but it still doesn’t end the grief. I’m heartbroken that I’m not there to hug my grandpa and tell him I love him and how he did such a wonderful job caring for her these last few years. I’m sad that I’m not there to tell my dad and my aunts that I’m sorry they have lost their mother. So, what I’m left with here in India is to tell my daughter about the great grandmother she’ll never meet.

And what do I tell her? The first memory that came to me was the hundreds of times I must have made Deed sing Irving Berlin’s “Easter Parade” because of the way she sang the “On the avenue, fifth avenue” lyric. Do I start there? Or do I start with her life? How she experienced so many losses – her parents, when she was young, and her daughter, to a motorcycle accident. I should surely tell Evelyn how Gram survived polio, but it left her with difficulty swallowing and back and leg pain. But perhaps I should begin with how my grandmother affected me. How I saw her unshakeable faith in Christ keep her spirits up when things were tough, and it was that same faith that I know she credits with not only saving her soul but also her sanity here on Earth. How she’s the reason I love to wear bright colors, sequins, and gaudy jewelry. And she fueled my secret love of silly horror and science fiction movies. And she taught me to feel no shame in putting up my Christmas decorations in October. For real, kids would come trick-or-treating at her house, and her Christmas tree would be decorated for all to see.

I could tell Evelyn about how Gram’s house was decorated with fake flowers, photographs of her children and grandchildren, seashells, sandcastles, and lighthouses. How she grieved for her cat, Andre, for years after he died. She loved the beach so much that, even after she couldn’t walk, when we would go to the Jersey shore every summer, she would sit and watch the waves crash on the beach and do nothing else. How she loved McDonald’s food so much that it caused a long running joke in our family about how she would crawl up a mountain just to get a Big Mac (“Day One”). I would want to tell Evelyn about my grandparents’ marriage, and how it went backwards. They acted like newlyweds these last few years, after my grandmother’s stubbornness began to fade. Gram would giggle like a little schoolgirl whenever Gramp would say, “Di, you look so beautiful.” Those moments were enough to leave the rest of us completely speechless.

I could tell her all these things, but I still feel bad that she will never truly know my grandmother. She won’t witness her personality; that what she lacked in tact, she made up for in love. Even my husband, who had met Gram several times, didn’t get to meet the full Diane Serafini. They won’t meet the woman who, when asked a murky philosophical question, would bark out a black or white answer with a Bible verse to back it up. Evelyn won’t get to know, and laugh at, Gram’s tendency to exaggerate things (“Look at all these trees! How do they get so huuuuuuuge?”) But she will know as much as I can tell her.

I’m not sure how to end this post. My feelings are still raw and, at the same time, I feel like she died a while ago. We knew this was coming, and especially within the last week, it was just a matter of when it would happen. I suppose I could say that I have slowly said goodbye to Gram ever since she started losing herself piece by piece. In some ways, especially for her, those losses were a benefit. She was able to have a real marriage with my grandfather because they didn’t fight anymore. And she lost the ability to worry which was great because, boy, was she EVER a worrier.

I guess I’ll end this by saying that I have peace knowing that her faith in Jesus has served her well, and she is in Heaven, no longer in pain from her twisted back and leg. Here are the lyrics to her favorite hymn.

On a hill far away stood an old rugged cross,
The emblem of suff’ring and shame;
And I love that old cross where the dearest and best
For a world of lost sinners was slain.

So I’ll cherish the old rugged cross,
Till my trophies at last I lay down;
I will cling to the old rugged cross,
And exchange it some day for a crown.

Oh, that old rugged cross, so despised by the world,
Has a wondrous attraction for me;
For the dear Lamb of God left His glory above
To bear it to dark Calvary.

In that old rugged cross, stained with blood so divine,
A wondrous beauty I see,
For ’twas on that old cross Jesus suffered and died,
To pardon and sanctify me.

To the old rugged cross I will ever be true;
Its shame and reproach gladly bear;
Then He’ll call me some day to my home far away,
Where His glory forever I’ll share.

I’m an American Mom in Kerala

I am going to talk a little about giving birth in this post, and if you think you may be bothered by it, stop reading now.

I’m totally bragging when I say this, but she is the best thing ever, ever, ever, ever, EVER. I love her smell, I love her little squeaks, her scowls, her gurgles, her smiles, her toes, her nose, her lips, her chin. I love the way she cuddles up when lying next to me. I love the way the back of her head looks when Zac is holding her. I love absolutely everything about her. She’s completely stolen our hearts.

She was born two days after her due date and one day after I was supposed to be induced. I had gone to see my doctor on January 17, and she sent me home saying I wasn’t nearly ready to be induced. Fast forward to 2 am on January 18 – I woke up with very mild contractions, but I was TOTALLY convinced it was false labor, so I went back to sleep. Fast forward again to 6 am – I was jolted awake by much stronger, much more frequent contractions. I woke Zac and told him, and he blearily said, “Should we go to the hospital?” And I was like, “Ummmm…..I dunno.” So, I Skyped my mom and she, of course, told me to get going to have her granddaughter.

We got to the hospital around 8 am, and I was shuffled to the delivery room, which had three other miserable looking women in it, at about 8:30. Now this is where the fun starts – I had a fast and furious labor and delivery. It was horrible, agonizing, and humiliating, and anyone who says that the process of giving birth is a beautiful experience is a big fat liar. It’s not at all pretty until that baby comes out. And then you realize that you would go through that pain a million more times to keep seeing your baby. But, really, for me, labor was horrible. They hooked me up to a pitocin drip as soon as they could, and that resulted in there being ZERO breaks in between my contractions and me vomiting several times. I thrashed my head back and forth on the pillow so much that my hair was an afro. I had no reprieve for a good 3 hours. I kept begging the nurses for something, anything, to dull the pain just a little bit, but they had to wait for my doctor to come back. When my doc got there and checked me, she said I was too far along for any sort of pain medication – anything would slow down my labor, which, at that time, was almost over. But that didn’t stop me from almost crying and begging her to please just give me an epidural, PLEASE, for the love of God. Speaking of God, I even prayed to Him to just let me pass out until it was time push.

And, bless my doctor, it was around that same time that she asked if I wanted to see my husband. I’m almost positive I gave her the most pathetic, puppy dog look I could while nodding my head. Ten minutes later, Zac comes into the labor room wearing hospital scrubs and looking nervous. Even though I was so thankful for him being allowed in there, I can only vaguely remember him rubbing my head and telling me everything was okay, and I was doing great. I was doing so great, in fact, that it was only four hours into my hospital stay, and it was time for me to start pushing. The nurses rushed me into what they called the labor court and set me up in the stirrups and all. A big contraction hit, they told me to push, and I pushed while screaming really loud (I recall my thought at the time: “I’m either going to push her out or die, and I’m okay with either right now”). The nurse who was standing closest to my head told me, essentially, to shut up and use all that energy to give a good, strong push. And on the next contraction, with all nurses yelling “Pushpushpushpush!”, and with one nurse pushing down on my stomach, and a doctor waiting and pulling on the baby, out came Evelyn. And everything was worth it. All I did was stare at her purplish, yuck covered body as a nurse carried her out of the room to be cleaned; I had never loved anything or anyone more in one moment than I did her.

A nurse brought her back to me while I was getting stitched up. Her eyes were opened, and I touched her little face and said, “Hi, sweetie, I’m your mommy.” And her eyes went all wonky for a second before she finally, I’m not kidding, focused on me with recognition. It was beautiful.

We've been told this is our Prince William and Kate Middleton photo. I think that's my most favorite compliment ever. — We’ve been told this is our Prince William and Kate Middleton photo. I think that’s my most favorite compliment ever.

Now, she’s almost six weeks old. She’s already gotten her first piece of Indian gold (from Zac’s parents…lucky duck), she’s been on a boat (I was terrified the whole boat ride), she’s been massaged and bathed by a Keralite woman (Me too. It was weird), and she’ll probably be a world traveler by the time she’s a year old. She has started smiling and cooing regularly, and she imitates Zac whenever he makes funny faces at her. She’s amazing. I hold her as much and as often as possible, and if she cries, I am scooping her up in an instant. I know she’s not going to be this small forever – I cherish every second that I can kiss her head and still breathe in the newborn smell. As for Zac, well, I already knew he was going to be a fantastic father, but he’s even better than I thought. I’ll just let this photo sum it up.

Best Photo Ever. — Best Photo of All Time.

One of my favorite things is when I hear him singing “Jesus Loves Me” to her. The first time that happened was while I was showering while we were still in the hospital, and I almost cried. It was so sweet. When she gets fussy and is crying, his newest trick is to hold her over his shoulder and bounce around in a way I can only describe as a drunk chicken, and she stops crying. BONUS: her little head bobs around while he’s doing it, and it’s adorable.

We are totally smitten with this little gal and will gladly make jackasses out of ourselves to keep her happy. Whenever she starts cooing, Zac and I spend a good 5 minutes (or until she gets annoyed) cooing, gurgling, and making assorted baby noises back at her just so we can see her smile one more time. Right at this moment, she is sprawled across my Boppy pillow on my lap, sound asleep, after just getting done overdosing on mom’s milk. How lucky am I to be allowed to have this time with her?

Christmas 2013!

It’s December 29, 2013, here in Kerala, which means in three days, it will be 2014. And in 2014, I will be, God-willing, giving birth to a screaming, crying, pooping, sleeping, eating non-stop baby girl. I don’t know how it is for most women in my situation (LOL), but the fact that I will be a Mom in less than three weeks is way more exciting and terrifying than packing up and moving to India ever was. So, yeah, if you think these baby blog posts are ever going to stop now, you may as well just stop following my blog.

Since we have spent much of my husband’s hard-earned money on baby things, we had little money left over to do any big pre-baby vacations/trips/who-even-cares. Not that I really felt like it anyway because I feel like I’m carrying a small pony around inside me. But we did decide to do something “fun” on Christmas Day – we went to Varkala Beach and then had a five-course dinner at our favorite Trivandrum restaurant, Villa Maya.

,I am here to set the story straight about this beach trip lest you think it was something glamorous. Now, don’t get me wrong, Varkala Beach is beautiful. Probably the most beautiful beach in Kerala, if not the rest of India. It’s 98 percent clean (which is a huge deal; many beaches have loads of garbage), the water was gorgeous, and it’s absolutely not commercialized, meaning you don’t have to worry about people coming up and harassing you to take a speed boat ride (Zac and I have done this on Kovalam Beach, and it’s terrifying and dangerous and don’t do it). So, yes, Varkala is beautiful, and if you’re coming to Kerala for any reason, make a brief stop here. However, if you’re 8.5 months pregnant, don’t go thinking you can traipse through hot sand and climb up a cliff in the middle of a hot, sunny, tropical day, with no issues. Because there will be issues.

This beach is about an hour away from our house, so we left a little before 10 am and reached there around 11. After Zac courageously figured out the parking situation and I braved the “Pay & Use” bathroom, we were all set to explore.

One of the things we absolutely wanted to do was eat at Little Tibet, a tiny beach restaurant that was located somewhere on Papanasam Cliff. We asked a nice police officer where it was located, and he motioned for us to keep walking down the beach. Little did I know that he meant walk through two beaches and climb oodles of stairs.

This place looked like a backpacker's paradise. — This place looked like a backpacker’s paradise.

I was all nervous about taking a photo of these guys, and then I noticed a foreign couple standing directly in front of them, taking their photos.

At some point, we arrived at the northern end of the beach and holy foreigners! It was pasty skin as far as thee eye could see. Bikinis and speedos everywhere! Part of me felt relieved to see so many people who look just like me and another part was a little repulsed by all the display of skin. Personally, I was even a little uncomfortable removing my thin cardigan while we were there because I’m not used to showing off that much arm in public anymore. What’s happened to me??? Another thing I noticed about all the white people – they looked like they hadn’t showered in days. This was the first time I have realized how awful white people look when they come to India. No wonder we get stared at. I was so floored by my revelation that at one point I asked Zac if I looked like these people. And my dear, sweet husband stared at me in all my sweaty, pregnant splendor and said, “Well, you do a little right now.” Lesson learned.

To get to Little Tibet, we had to climb a bunch of stairs up a cliff.

Climbing those stairs was not my best idea. It was a really bad idea. Really, really bad. By the time we reached the top of the first set, my abdomen had tightened, I was short of breath, my knees were shot, my back was hurting. However, I am very stubborn, and I wasn’t going to let stairs get the best of me. So, we kept climbing despite Zac’s and Guram’s, his friend, protests. When we reached the top of the cliff, I was in such agony that I seriously felt like the dumbest person in the universe. But, hey, we had found Little Tibet! And we walked inside the entrance only to realize we had to go up one more flight of stairs.

The restaurant itself was okay. We had breakfast, which we didn’t think was anything too special. The juice I had was amazing, and the view from the top of the cliff overlooking the Arabian Sea was spectacular. Again, this place was all white people. Zac was the only Indian there.

Zac was also the only person that this cat slept on. Coincidence?

I don't want to exaggerate, but I'm pretty sure this lemon mint juice saved my life that day. — I don’t want to exaggerate, but I’m pretty sure this lemon mint juice saved my life that day.

After breakfast, we climbed back down the stairs, which was only slightly less painful for me. And then we made our way back to the car, stopping only so Zac could take some Baywatch photos of me in the water.

The water was so nice; I wanted so badly to just lie down in it.

And that was our trip to Varkala Beach. Next time, we decided to come either super early in the morning or in the evening because we hate the noontime sun. Lesson learned.

Christmas evening, we had booked a table at Villa Maya for their special Christmas dinner. Not just any table, but one of these:

I feel so fancy eating at this place. — We feel so fancy eating at this place.

Eating at Villa Maya is a totally different experience than what I am used to. I’ll start with the history – it’s an old palace that had been built for the maharaja’s wives. It had been empty for years before someone came along and thought it would be a great place to restore and turn into a restaurant. Sorry, a “fabled kitchen” (it’s their slogan). They have kept much of the history in tact, and on our first time there, we were given a tour of the place, explaining the historical significance of rooms and artifacts.

This pic is from our first time there. I was trying out maharaja-style dining, where you recline on the bed and the table is brought to you.

The little statues that are on the table were kept from the original palace.

In all of the little pools of water at Villa Maya, you can find tiny fish and frogs just hanging out.

The dining experience at Villa Maya is unbelievable as well. For the Christmas dinner, they had a five course meal planned. That wasn’t even counting the starter they bring out at the beginning which is usually some type of tiny hors d’oeuvre paired with an Ayurvedic drink, which I swear is designed to make you hungrier. For my Christmas dinner, I had the most Western style meal I could get – pumpkin bisque, roasted turkey with stuffing and cranberry sauce, and Christmas pudding. We also ate a bunch of appetizers (they were unlimited); I think some prawns, chicken tikka, and some fried mozzarella were included in there somewhere. The chefs and servers here seem to know how to give you just enough food and space it out just enough so that you can remain hungry for the whole meal. I’m getting hungry now just thinking about the food there!

I think I forgot to mention that they flambéed the Christmas pudding in front of us.

It was paired with ice cream. So incredibly good.

And that was our Christmas Day 2013. We also squeezed in a nap because 1.) We’re an old married couple now, and we like naps, and 2.) We know in a few weeks, naps and sleeping will be scarce. Hope everyone had a very Merry Christmas and will have a wonderful New Year!

A Time for Giving Thanks

I’m not exactly sure where I’m going with this post, so bear with me. I suppose you could consider it my Thanksgiving post. I encountered a woman last week who was begging for money. This is my first time since moving to Kerala (back in October 2012) that I have had someone approach me for money. As I was closing our front gate after letting Zac out with the car, I saw this woman out of the corner of my eye, staring at me. Being stared at is nothing new for me, so I kept about my business of shutting the gate. Then, I heard her saying something to me, so I finally looked at her, noticing she had her hand extended. I did what I’ve been told to do – I shook my head, avoided eye contact, and hurried to get in the car. The reason I’m telling this story is because while this woman was asking for money, I had an awful internal reaction to her. I got angry. I assumed she was asking me for money simply because I was white. Zac thought the same thing until we looked behind us and saw her approaching another woman to ask for money. I felt awful, and I don’t think I have even told Zac how awful I felt about it.

So, I’ve been grappling with this episode ever since – I have had to “re-check my privilege,” if you will. That woman, most likely, did need money, any money. And I wish I would have given her something. But at the time I had no purse on me, no pockets, and I was hot, tired, achy, swollen and sweaty. I got angry with her for an unjustifiable reason. So, I’ve been praying that God keeps my pride reigned in and my patience more enduring. Since then, I have been hyper-aware of things I am thankful for.

Zac and I are blessed enough to be living well in India. In fact, we are living in excess. We have a beautiful apartment, a maid/cook, a washing machine, a water purifier, a brand new car, no concerns on how we will afford our monthly expenses, two laptops, wireless internet, a new camera (for lots of sleeping baby photos), and a generator, which is thanks to our electrician landlord. Our maid is awesome. I was all huffy when Zac said he was going to hire a lady to help around the house because, well, pride? But now that I am getting further along in my pregnancy in a very hot and humid climate, I am incredibly grateful for the work she does. As for our washing machine, I could hug it every single time I do a load of laundry – I washed clothes by hand for seven months in Calicut. I was pretty bad at it. I ruined quite a few pieces of clothing. Having a water purifier means that neither Zac nor I have to boil our water before drinking it, which was something else we had to do in Calicut. And the generator means that I can still sprawl under the ceiling fan when the power inevitably goes off almost every single day. I am so thankful for that because the heat and humidity here are becoming increasingly uncomfortable for me the larger I get.

That was a list of material things, I know, but I would think it is pretty obvious that I am thankful for my husband. And he is for me. He is always saying to me, “Our story is the best.” And it is pretty unbelievable. He comes from a crowded city in India, and I come from a tiny borough in Pennsylvania, and God willing, we crossed paths, so to speak, in Binghamton, New York. And now we’ve been married almost two years. He is graciously kind and considerate, a good provider, and makes me strive to be a better human all the time. He’ll be an amazing father. I am pretty sure I have said that before on here, but it’s always worth saying again.

And now I come to Little Bean, who has the hiccups as I am typing this. I consider her a miracle, not just because she’s our baby, but because we weren’t sure if or when a pregnancy would ever happen. And, lo and behold, I had already been pregnant for two weeks or so when the doctor gave me some medicine to try to get pregnant eventually. Now, every kick and punch, every hiccup is so precious to me; it’s awe-inspiring. I am so thankful to be experiencing this. And I am thankful for the emotions that run through me about this pretty much all the time, every single day. I am both excited and terrified to be a parent. What if I don’t change her diaper often enough? How will I know when she’s hungry? What if she hates me? I ask Zac often if he is nervous about being a dad. The answer – nope. So, maybe these feelings are more of a mom thing. 🙂

I suppose that’s enough of baring my feelings to you all. I am thankful that there are enough people out there who seem to enjoy this blog. When I started it, I thought it would just be family and friends, but I can see from my number stats that it’s not. Thanks for reading this, everyone. And, if you’re in the US, have a great Thanksgiving!

Back in Kerala!

I’ve been back in Trivandrum for almost three weeks now. So far, I’ve readjusted to the humidity and heat and the fact that I will never be able to do anything with my hair here besides just letting it be a poofball. And it’s great to be able to relish South Indian food again. Thank goodness the repulsion didn’t last. Speaking of food, I don’t have to cook much anymore either. My husband hired a maid/cook for me so I can just live the life of (pregnant) Reilly. And it’s a good thing there was someone here to cook for the first several days especially because I was out of commission with jet lag. I blame that on Little Bean.

And I think Lil’ Bean has grown quite a bit. At least, I hope SHE has because my stomach has ballooned over the past couple weeks. So much so that Zac will sometimes look at my stomach in concern and say, “You still have a few months to go. Are you sure it’s not going to burst?” Personally, I think she had a growth spurt because I stopped eating bacon and macaroni & cheese and started eating fresh fish, veggies, and fruits again. Thanks, Indian food! My burgeoning belly has also caused me to start waddling a bit, especially at night when I’ve just given up for the day. I feel like I’m a little pathetic looking sometimes, but it’s all worth knowing she’s growing like a weed. And she kicks like a maniac now too. I am beginning to think she rarely sleeps, or hopefully, she sleeps when I do. When she is quiet during the day, our new favorite thing to do is lightly tap or talk into my stomach until she starts kicking in response. Love it!

Zac and I haven’t done much since I’ve been back. That’s partly because we don’t have car yet (next month!), I get tired too easily, and it’s just so convenient to stay home now that we have someone doing our cooking. However, there is a lot of stuff to do in Trivandrum, and I want to see and do as much as possible before Lil’ Bean comes around. I mean, I know I’ll still be able to do things once she’s here, but I have a hard enough time hauling my own self around India. I may just want to be under house arrest with her for a month or so. Who knows? Anyway, our new favorite place to go outside our house is Veli Lake and Tourist Village and Shankumugham Beach. It’s only fifteen minutes from our house. We discovered it thanks to one of Zac’s cousins, who we took there two weeks ago. It’s simply a picnic area that has lovely gardens, boating, a kiddie park, and a floating restaurant. We loved it so much we went back this week.

Maybe starting next month, we’ll venture outside more, but right now, we’re enjoying our new home and relaxing together. And don’t worry, I’ll keep you posted on any exciting stuff we do try!