Notes on Yashomati

As you can see below, the mountains at Yosemite were awe-inspiring. The last pic shows P. and Raina frolicking in the icy cold water (yep, that's snow you see in the hills beyond) of Lake Tenaya on our way to Tioga Pass. What you can't see are the gigantic mosquito bites P.'s back was covered with -- no one warned us about the bugs! We are so duh.

Also, what no one warned us about was how hot Yosemite Valley would be. We stayed in 90+ degrees in a wooden cabin (sans a/c, of course, this was our getting-away-to-nature fling), and the heat sapped away what little was there of my energy. As a result, we did a lot of Yosemite via a/c minivan -- very comfy -- and sympathetically watched folks in bicycles puffing up steep hills under a blazing sun. Then, there were the hikers, but never mind about them.

What we were warned about -- repeatedly -- were the bears, who apparently had a tendency to tear up cars that not only contained the processed food we cannot live without, but also innocuous boxes of Wet Ones. So P. hauled all our stuff to our wooden cabin, that looked flimsy but had to be sturdier than the tent cabins also at Curry Village. Sturdy enough to ward off a marauding bear -- that I did not know and was to spend sleepless nights worrying about.

You see, the first night we slept in our tres lumpy beds, I heard one. What I first heard were loud clanging sounds of people beating up pans. Being reasonably intelligent, I concluded that we had at least one bear on the prowl, and lay terrified, eyes wide open, the bedcovers clutched with tense fingers. Then I heard the growling. More clanging and more growls later, shots were fired, probably the rubber bullets that we read about in the Bear Aware fact sheet handed to us at check-in. Then silence. Then I hear this humongous being brushing past my cabin that shook like it was experiencing an earthquake. They say your life flashes before your eyes in moments of extreme fear, but all I could think was "F%$K!!!!!!"

And that was it.

It was probably just an half-hour of drama, but seemed like an aeon. And P. and R. slept through it all. P. was sore about missing all the action and lamented I should've woken him up. I think he's half-crazy. He didn't spend our remaining two nights there with the covers over his head. In the bloody heat, I should reiterate, because we slept with our windows soundly closed (yes, our windows were covered just by a mesh screen when the bear brushed by).

OK, so other than the heat and the bear episode, Yosemite was incredibly beautiful. It was a wonderful experience to sit on the deck outside our cabin enclosed by tall pines. No sounds of TV or music, just an occasional laugh from real live humans hanging outside their cabins playing board games or cards, or reading or watching the twilight fall softly around them, like us. The multitudinous squirrels darted around the pine cones, stopping to munch on some bug or nut. The night brought soft, cool air, scented by pine. We breathed in gulpfuls, and slowly headed out of Yosemite, making plans to be back someday.

Yosemite Pix As Promised

In Recovery

Returned last night and we're still in various stages of recovery. We covered 1,100+ miles in eight days, including Los Angeles, Fresno, Monterey, Solvang and trips to and within Yosemite. P.'s at the gym, R's sleeping, Pikey's in cat heaven and Mommy needs to hit the sack -- again. Will post pix as and when there's an energy influx.

Pilgrimage to Yashomati

Yep, that's how one desi friend touring Amreeka pronounced Yosemite, insisting that she had it on good authority (doubtless another desi touring Amreeka). After all, the pronounciation of Yosemite by a Cali resident was bound to be suspect.

Anyhoo, the family's off leaving Pikey to guard the silver. A bientot!

HUG

Raina and I were at the library recently, and while she hugged an awfully ugly grey stuffed mouse (whom she loves and regularly visits at the lib.), we cuddled together and read a board book called "HUG" by Jez Alborough. The book's about a little chimp who sees mama elephant hugging baby elephant, mama hippo hugging baby, mama lizard with baby, you get the picture. Each time, the chimp points to them and says, "HUG!" A few frames later, the chimp looks sad because everyone's hugging and he wants one too. Soon, he starts to cry "HUG!" Next thing I know, these big, fat tears are plopping down my arm. "He wants a HUG!" wails my 3-year-old. "Why is he crying?"

I am speechless. "Err, he wants to get a hug from someone who loves him," I stutter. "Where is his MAMA?" she howls. "Right here," I say relieved, pointing to the next page. Mama Chimp yells "Bobo!" Baby Chimp yells back "Mama!" And they run towards each other and hug, very hindi movie style. Raina chuckles through her tears. All the animals hug each other, yelling "HUG!" one last time for good measure. The end.

We checked out the book at her insistence. She read it again, cried again. The third time she read it, she gave the book a hug to comfort Bobo. I am still nonplussed -- should I have read a book that obviously made her sad? Why did she want to read it again if it made her cry? Can kids that little be that empathetic? Is it good for them? I guess the third time she read it, she didn't cry and gave Bobo a hug. Is that about learning to control emotions and take action?

Am scratching my head over it.

Of Nightmares

It's 5 a.m. and I've been up for more than an hour. What woke me up was a wonderful nightmare about being bit by a waspy-spidery-black thingy, which definitely is up there among the pantheon of night monsters, including serial killers (who've also been my bed buddies offlate).

So waspy-spidery-black thingy bit me and I woke up biting off a scream of pure yuckiness. Then the mindwheels began to churn, the hunger pangs hit, and further sleep being temporarily futile, I am up and blogging while downing a bowl of Kashi Go Lean with milk.

P's up too, only for him, it's usual. He actually wakes up early on some weekdays to go to the gym before heading to work -- a dedication and discipline I admire but have consistently refused to emulate. I love my bed usually and detach myself from it only with the greatest reluctance. Don't know what it is with pregnancy and nightmares. Yet another way for nature to prepare mommies for forthcoming sleepless nights? Nooooo, I am not even in my 3rd trimester -- still got a few months to go.

I see the first glimmer of light from my window. If I want to grab some zzz's, it's now or never.

It's a Boy...

...oh joy! Both P and I are really thrilled to eventually have one of each, and even Raina quickly reconciled to the idea of having a baby brother -- largely due to Mommy telling Naani Raina that she'll be free to teach him how to sing and talk and eat and take baths. She's especially glad to be able to teach him not to scratch or hit her like Nemesis Henry does at her preschool ("I'll just tell him, 'NO! That's not nice," Raina says emphatically). She's even promised to share ALL her toys with her baby brother! I can't ask for more.

It's interesting that a lot of friends and family reacted not only positively (which was expected), but by saying, "Now, your family's complete." What the heck does that mean? Wouldn't my family have been complete with the addition of a baby girl as well? Or if we'd decided to stick to one child only (and heaven knows we've contemplated that), would we have always been made to feel there was a spot vacant on the table of 4 so to speak? (OK, no one's counting Pikey The Cat, but then she has terrible table manners.)

Just odd little irritants on an otherwise joyful time which we largely spend contemplating boy baby names. :) Suggestions are welcome. The rules are, it's got to have no more than 2 syllables and be easy for non-desis to pronounce.

The Times of India

I got this e-mail and thought it was so funny, I had to share it on the blog:

OLD VERSION...
The ant works hard in the withering heat all summer long building his house and laying up supplies for the winter. The grasshopper thinks the ant's a fool and laughs & dances & plays the summer away. Come winter, the ant is warm and well fed. The grasshopper has no food or shelter so he dies out in the cold.

MODERN VERSION…
The ant works hard in the withering heat all summer long, building his house and laying up supplies for the winter. The grasshopper thinks the ant's a fool and laughs & dances & plays the summer away. Come winter, the shivering grasshopper calls a press conference and demands to know why the ant should be allowed to be warm and well fed while others are cold and starving.

NDTV, BBC, CNN show up to provide pictures of the shivering grasshopper next to a video of the ant in his comfortable home with a table filled with food. The World is stunned by the sharp contrast. How can this be that this poor grasshopper is allowed to suffer so?

Arundhati Roy stages a demonstration in front of the ant's house. Medha Patkar goes on a fast along with other grasshoppers demanding that grasshoppers be relocated to warmer climates during winter. Amnesty International and Kofi Annan criticize the Indian Government for not upholding the fundamental rights of the grasshopper. The Internet is flooded with online petitions seeking support for the grasshopper (many promising Heaven and Everlasting Peace for prompt support as against the wrath of God for non-compliance). Opposition MPs stage a walkout. Left parties call for "Bharat Bandh" in West Bengal and Kerala demands a Judicial Enquiry. CPM in Kerala immediately passes a law preventing Ants from working hard in the heat so as to bring about equality of poverty among ants and grasshoppers.

Lallu Prasad allocates one free coach to Grasshoppers on all Indian Railway Trains, aptly named as the 'Grasshopper Rath'.
Finally, the Judicial Committee drafts the Prevention of Terrorism Against Grasshoppers Act [POTAGA], with effect from the beginning of the winter.

Arjun Singh makes Special Reservation for Grasshopper in educational insititutions & in Govt. Services.The ant is fined for failing to comply with POTAGA and, having nothing left to pay his retroactive taxes, his home is confiscated by the Government and handed over to the grasshopper in a ceremony covered by NDTV.

Arundhati Roy calls it "a triumph of justice". Lallu calls it 'Socialistic Justice'. CPM calls it the 'revolutionary resurgence of the downtrodden.' Kofi Annan invites the grasshopper to address the UN General Assembly.

Many years later... The ant has since migrated to the US and set up a multi billion dollar company in Silicon Valley. 100s of grasshoppers still die of starvation despite reservations somewhere in India ... As a result of losing a lot of hard working ants and feeding the grasshoppers, India is still a developing country.

Happy 33 to Me!

Now that I've reached the ripe old age of 33, I think it's time to share some of the pearls of wisdom I've gathered in all these years. Without further ado, here they are:

1. There's no God, just a deep need to believe in one.

2. Lower your expectations of others; increase your expectations of yourself.

3. Blood isn't always thicker than water.

4. The best parent is a patient one.

5. Say what you feel, and make it count.

6. Solitude keeps me sane -- and abject laziness.

7. Take the mundane with the marvelous.

8. Just say "Om."

9. Be irreverent, not irrelevant.

10. And the last pearl: Worship your body, if you want others to follow suit. :P

Making A Move

P's company recently set up a big deal collaboration with a pharmagiant, which means that he's likely to stay employed (woohoo!) for the next three years. The past few months, we've been thinking that if the deal came through, it would be a great time to move. And now that it's a done deal, we've begun seriously thinking about it.

There are quite a few pros for moving: We've been at our present home for 5 years, exactly how long we'd hoped to be when we first bought our house. Our space needs have grown, thanks to the humongous amount of Stuff that having Raina's brought. And with a new kid on the way -- which translates to More Stuff -- our space needs are just going to grow. We have more time now to deal with selling our home -- making minor repairs and renovations -- and more time to look for a new one. If we wait till the baby's here, I know I'm not going to want to deal with the stresses of moving until six months after at least.

Now the cons: Though it'd really be nice to have more space now, it's not a pressing need. We have a three-bedroom home. Raina's had her own room since she was 6 months old, and the baby's going to be in our room until that age too. That leaves one extra room for guests, which we'll need if the in-laws come for the delivery. It'll be a full house, but doable. That means we would postpone the moving process for one whole year.

The biggest con is the pregnancy, of course. I know lots of people who dealt with the stresses of selling a home while pregnant, and they did OK. But I also have one close friend who, when pregnant with twins, went into labor at 6 months and lost both babies -- a tragedy she blames partly on the stress of moving to a new home the week before. Obviously, she is against our moving, warning me that if something happens to the baby, the guilt would just drive me insane, the way it almost did her. I know that twin pregnancies are a greater risk, but really, after my miscarriage, shouldn't any pregnancy of mine be considered a great risk? Would I be indulging my generally optimistic nature too far by considering a move? Or would I be realistic not to consider it?

So I'm confused and bothered -- and frankly, already a little stressed. Anyone have any thoughts on this one?

Boy or Girl?

In less than a week, our family will find out if the newest addition is going to be a boy or a girl. Of course, we'll also find out how healthy s/he is, and I am so terrified, yet hopeful, that all will be well. I received the Fifth Disease results, and it appears that I don't have the virus. But before I could celebrate (without throwing another party, am so partied out after last week), I was told the results meant one of two things:

1. It's too early to know for sure, so re-testing is required.

2. I am not immune to the virus, so I could be exposed in the future, only this time (hah!) I wouldn't know I was.

OK, I am not even going to bother about scenario 2; scenario 1 is scary enough. Blood for the re-testing was sucked out on Monday, so I should know the results soon.

Anyhoo, moving on to the much more pleasant daydream of what sex our second child will be... I think P. would like a boy, just to have some more testosterone on his side. And since I am a good wife and acknowledge his struggles in our girly household suffused with baby dolls, bottles and cuddly stuffed animals, I wish we have a boy too. Also, it would be nice to have one of each. But both of us would equally enjoy another girl. We just want a healthy child.

Raina, on the other hand, isn't quite so ready to accept whatever fate may thrust her way. When told about her upcoming role as Big Sister, she stated unequivocally that it was going to be a girl because she wanted a baby sister, not a baby brother because "I don't like boys." While her daddy beamed ear-to-ear, I darkly reminded him that she wasn't a teenager yet, and believe it or not, her sentiments may undergo a sea-change at some point.

Meanwhile, Miss Cindy, Raina's preschool teacher, has been informing Raina "that daddy was a boy too." Raina just looks at her like she's off her rocker: Her daddy could never have been as annoying as Henry who always makes a beeline for her to tug her ponytails or grab her doll or push her around. Or like Robert and Adam who're always yelling and wrestling each other.

We might have to work on reconciling her once we know for sure. Until then, this mommy is conserving her energy for more immediate battles.

First Flutterings

Past couple of weeks, I've been noticing some activity in the belly area, which feels kind of like the bubbles Raina loves to chase. I would've passed it off as gas, but the other day when I was indulging in some chocolate mousse, I was kicked so hard, it's got to have been caused by a tiny thing high on sugar. Maybe this one will like chocolate like Mama; Raina dislikes it intensely.

The one thing that always got Raina going in my belly was bhangra. This was a Punj babe from the get-go. She'd bounce around happily "bale-bale-ing" when the bhangra beat was turned on at parties. She had a favorite CD, I kid you not. I'd play that CD in the car while commuting to work, and sit back on my seat to enjoy the party within. Don't know where that CD is these days. Got to dig that up to see if she still likes it.

Right now, Raina's into Hindi movie tunes bigtime. Her current favorite is Swades' "Yeh tara," which, thanks to her, we're heartily sick of. She has to hear it half-dozen times a day. She's also just discovered the Devdas soundtrack and makes me sing "Bairi Piya" before she goes down for a nap. No rocker chick, this girl. Her dad is very pleased, doubtless looking forward to the day he will introduce her to his favorites Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan and Ghulam Ali. But her mama's been making attempts to expose her to some non-desi music. So far, she seems to be fond of Red Hot Chili Peppers, exclusively because of their "California" song. (She is aware she's a Cali gal and that Schwarzenegger is the governor.) And she really likes Lighthouse's "You & Me" and sings along every time the radio plays that. C'est tout. Two minutes later she's begging me to play "Yeh Tara" again.

Wonder what music this baby will like? No matter -- he/she'll probably have to bow down to the taste of Big Sister and suffer through innumerable repetitions of "Yeh tara" like the rest of us poor folks.

Two Down, One to Go

Raina's birthday was on Wednesday and to commemmorate the occasion, the weather turned out a 98-degrees-in-the-shade day. The same day, the road we take to Raina's preschool was shut down for some construction work, which meant that we had to park elsewhere and trot under a blazing sun, laden with cake, pizzas, paper plates and assorted cutlery, goodie bags, juice boxes, balloons, one balloon pump. By we, I mean myself and my husband, who'd thankfully taken the day off. Truth be told, I just carried the cake and my growing belly; he carted the rest.

We were greeted at the preschool by a very excited Raina and her assorted medley of buddies, who were behaving as if it were their birthdays too. Everyone was running around and yelling. So began a rather intense couple of hours. Miss Cindy, Raina's teacher, had decided to have the party in the backyard. Thankfully, she had a tent put up, but it was still stifling hot when we handed out juice boxes, slices of pepperoni and cheese pizzas and chips. Kids have an amazing capacity to eat, giggle, push and ask weird questions at the same time.

The husband was asked by precocious 5-year-old Grace if he was Raina's dad, and if so, did that mean he was married to Raina's mom? At one point, Raina got up to possessively stake claim by plonking on Daddy's lap. A few boys made up their minds that running around was more fun than eating. They had to be deposited on high chairs to curtail their activity. One boy amused himself by trying to eat pizza without using hands.

The sun began to pound away at me, and I made an escape to the cool indoors, where I was regaled with an unending monolog by Miss Cindy on her daughter's softball game the night before. Especially fun, since I don't much understand softball. Finally it was time to cut cake, which we did indoors. That was the best part. Everyone sang "happy birthday to Raina" and it was all worth it just to see her face. Games followed, then opening presents. By this time, Raina was close to reaching the end of her tether. She was exhausted. We wrapped up as quickly as possible and were home by 1:15, with the prospect of a raucous party to look forward to in the evening.

The evening party turned out surprisingly mellow--maybe because a whole bunch of folks decided not to show up after RSVPing aye. It was just weird. But Raina had a blast anyway, as her best friend Kiran was present. The terrible twosome decorated their hair and face with carrot cake, giggled a riot, chased balloons and bubbles and kicked up a ruckus.

The desi party's scheduled for tomorrow and preparations for that are on full swing. I can't wait for this week to be done, but at least I can be sure this has been one of the most fun weeks of Raina's life. Happy 3rd, Raina!

Sick Week Rants

Starting last Saturday, this has been a ghastly week and am glad to finally see the back of it. It began with the cramping after prenatal yoga class (see last post). But that ended soon, and I began the work week happily coasting along. Then on Wednesday, I get a call from my dear friend and also preggie neighbor, V. "OK, I wouldn't panic, but..." I can't think of better words one can design to ensure a person does precisely that. Moving along the narrative, sometime last week another neighbor's preggie friend had brought her kid over to play. All the kids were running around in the front yards, and the mas were yakking away. Apparently, preggie friend had a rash on her face, but the doctor had told her no biggie, wasn't contagious, blah, so obviously she wasn't taking any precautions.

Her blood test results came back Wednesday, and guess what? All was not well and dandy. Poor preggie lady had Fifth Disease. That sounds calamitous, but it's usually a rather benign virus. Except when one is preggie, when it can cause miscarriage. And it's airborne, so yep, it was contagious as heck. Poor lady told her friend who told my friend who told moi. And of course, we all pregnant women panicked. I told my nurse who sent me for a blood test pronto. Apparently, the results take a couple of weeks, so that's a nice little Damocles sword dangling over my head.

Then on Thursday I began spotting. Again! Big groan. I tottered to the nearest couch and called the husband. I promised to take it easy. A promise I broke the very next day when Raina threw a huge tantrum, refused to go time out and had to be grabbed by furious moi and dumped on time out chair. As soon as I attempted to straighten up, I knew something was wrong. I couldn't. So now I've messed up my back. Just a few days before Raina's multiple birthday parties.

But the week's over. There's a silver lining to every cloud. So everyone says.

Prenatally Yours

Went for my first prenatal yoga class yesterday at Blue Raven Yoga. The poses were different from the usual Bikram's series (downward dogs, yuck!!!!), because Blue Raven practices Ashtanga/Iyengar. But as I hadn't been to yoga in months, it was great to do something. Anything.

Ever since we began trying for another baby post-miscarriage last August, I've been too afraid to move. And once I found out that I was pregnant, that's it: I became as static as a humongous rock. Now that the first trimester's thankfully behind us, I feel the need to rediscover motion again. But maybe I should have started small, by getting used to walking again first. You know, baby steps.

Yesterday's class was fun as heck, and it was great to be in the company of a bevy of big round bellies. After yoga, the family and I went to pig out at Madras Cafe, our favorite Indian food joint, where for the first time in months, I felt justified in stuffing my belly with the best rasam in SoCal, yummy sambar, idlis and dosas and some rather exotic-looking veggies and dals. (A quick but worthwhile segue here: I highly recommend Madras Cafe to local residents. No Indian food joint we've ever visited in the area comes close to the original ingredients and high quality of the chow here. And their desserts, of which they always have two on their lunch buffet, are the best ever -- never too sweet, just on the right side of delicious.)

Anyhoo, a good day was had by all. But I had some cramping last night which was a little scary, and this morning I woke up to a myriad of aches and pains in muscles I'd forgotten existed. Jeez. I feel as alive as a dying duck. So no yoga classes for a couple more weeks. Will walk around the trails near our home for a bit, maybe do some yoga at home using Shiva Rea's prenatal video (no downward dogs!!!). And maybe in a few weeks, I'll feel better prepared to be a pregnant yogini.

Grumpy (or How Many Birthday Parties Does a 3-year-old Need for Crying Out Loud??)

Am grumpy as heck. That by itself is nothing new. The hormones are working overtime these days and it doesn't take much to bring a scowl on my face anyways. But I swear, Raina's upcoming birthday's making that scowl more or less permanent. As if multiple grey hairs weren't enough, now I am going to be wrinkly as well.

The problemo is we're looking at a minimum of 3 birthday parties for the kiddo -- one for each of her years on the planet. First, the preschool party, where we have cake, pizza, a game or two, return gifts. It would be great if I could just drop all of the stuff on Cindy and Ms. Perez, Raina's teachers, and have them do the party thang. But of course, my presence is required.

Then, probably the same day, we're going to do a party at home for neighborhood kiddos and all our non-desi friends kids. (More to come on desi friends.) There, we're looking at around 2 dozen kids, sans parents. More pizza, cake number 2, games, more return gifts.

Finally, it's the desi party on the weekend of the birthday. This is what really gets my goat. Pourquoi a separate desi party? Why can't desis just mingle with non-desis and be part of the great US of A, instead of pretending to be in India? I've grumbled endlessly to my husband about this, and he just laid it down for me: We go to other people's desi kid parties, ergo, we have to give desi kid party. No one at desi parties even pretends that this is about the kid. It's all about the parents and their social life and eating good biryani and bitching about the US and Indian cricket. Of course, now that I've eaten another's biryani, I need to make my own. Quid pro quo, what. So that's that.

It's hardly any wonder I want to bury my head in the nearest sandbox and wait for the birthday tsunami to pass me by. At least Raina'll have a memorable birthday. And it's about the kid, ain't it?

Rainisms

Blogging for the first time from my new iMac! It's delicious, but it needs a wee bit of getting used to after a decade of PC use. Anyhoo, have been wanting to note down a few Rainisms uttered a few days ago by our household 3-footer. (She isn't even 3 yet, but she's already over 3 feet tall!) The following wise words came out of the mouth of the babe:

1. Friend's 14-year-old son: (mock seriously) Raina, what do you want to be when you grow up?
Raina: (after a thoughtful pause) I want to be RAINA!

2. Friend's 19-year-old daughter: How old are you going to be on your birthday?
Raina: I'm going to be three years old and I'm going to have three blue birthday candles on my blue birthday cake and I am not going to sing "happy birthday" to myself.

3. Raina: I love you.
Raina's Ma i.e. Moi: I love you too.
Raina: (eyes wide) Grown-ups really like it when someone says I love you.

:) Smartass!

The Search for the Perfect Sandals

The skies threatened to rain, so I loaded up Raina in the minivan and decided to check out this new Marshalls in our neighborhood. I am a big fan of Marshalls since my pre-mommy days, when I discovered two wonderful bronzes of Nataraj and Ganpati fairly cheap. So when one opened up in our area, I went with somewhat high hopes.

You see, I was on a quest. For years and years, I'd been scouting for the Perfect Summer Sandals. In fact, this quest dates to 1997, when I saw a pair of luscious sandals at my cousin's home in Iowa. Unfortunately, they belonged to said cousin, and short of filching them, all I could do was gaze wistfully and vow that one day a pair will belong to moi.

You may think these must be some gorgeous sandals to inspire such emotion in me. Description: Brown strappy leather with a low heel. The leather straps are braided. That's it. Sounds ordinary, but when I put them on, my feet were so happy! They looked pretty and comfortable. In short, perrrrrfect.

My cousin had purchased her pair at Sears. So of course I checked out every Sears store in every town I've lived and visited since 97 (which are really quite a few). No luck, not even in India, where a lot of American shoes now are manufactured.

Recently, I saw a pair at a shoe store that came close. The price tag? $45. Nooooo! One shouldn't have to pay so much for such simplicity. So off I went to Marshalls today, with aforementioned high hopes.

Of course I had no luck. What's the world coming to these days that one can't find a simple pair of comfy, strappy sandals for summer?

Memories of a C-Section

Read this post on Mad Momma's blog a couple of days ago http://themadmomma.blogspot.com/2007/03/and-we-have-time-and-date.html
It brought back a cascade of unpleasant memories of my own C-section almost three years ago. So I responded to the post, and later thought, dang, I need to record this for posterity so I can emotionally blackmail my daughter when she's 14, wearing black eyeshadow and yelling that time-honored phrase, "You don't understand!" So here it is, Raina, just for you...

"Your post brought back all the not-so-fun c-section memories of my own. I have an almost 3-year-old, and when I was pregnant with her, I knew exactly what kind of birth I wanted to have: no epidural, completely natural. I had a detailed birth plan drawn up, with copies for my ob-gyn and for nurses at the hospital.

Well, I went a week over my due date, and to cut a very long story short, had to have the doctor break my water because I'd been laboring for 48 hours with zero dilation. I was exhausted when I acquiesced to my first epidural; when that wore out, I got a second which did not work at all. At which point, I began screaming. Finally, I was wheeled into the OR where I got much-needed relief from a spinal block.

The doctor operating on me was my least favorite ob-gyn from the practice; she and the others chatted unconcernedly about their weekend plans while they cut me up and got my baby out. My husband, who was thankfully next to me throughout this ordeal, got to see the baby first. This is soooooo not fair, I still get mad when I think about it! Then I saw her, muttered a few deranged words and that was it for the next couple of hours. It was maddening! Husband disappears, baby disappears and I'm left to be stitched up.

I had months after the birth to feel and re-create the disappointment of not having the perfect birth experience. But if I hadn't had such high expectations, I wouldn't have been so disappointed. Because, all in all, the C-section by itself wasn't so bad."

Hmm, maybe I should edit out the last line. After all, I was exhausted, did succumb to an infection and generally was miserable for the next few months. So there you are, munchkin. Now I can assume the mantle of the All-Suffering Mom (ASM) and reply to your rant with my own time-honored phrase, "After all I've done for you..."

Frances Mayes' Under the Tuscan Sun

I am on page 10 of this book and am already gritting my teeth. So far in this travelogue on life in the somnolent Italian countryside -- a New York Times bestseller -- Mayes has already talked about visiting remote but picturesque towns where you can "see olives the first day they are olives." She gets "very pleasantly lost" driving on the gravel roads between Umbria and Tuscany, on the way tasting the softest Brunello and the blackest Vino Nobile.

The above is why I don't understand how travelogues do so well. I don't want to vicariously experience a country! What possible fun is there in that? All I feel is green with envy -- hence the gritted teeth. I guess I can always tell myself that I'll make it there -- someday -- and reading about it is like reading a guidebook.

More likely, if I finish this book, I may have no teeth left.