Pregnancy and the City

It's an interesting thing to be so obviously pregnant in a city. We live in a place where public transportation is the norm, sidewalk conversations are how we do business and I literally bump into people all the time. Sometimes it’s irritating, but oftentimes, it is sweet, funny and all together unexpected. Here are a few snippets from life as a pregnant woman in DC.

The bus—I love the bus and ride it regularly. The Metro is a 15-minute walk away, but the bus doubles as a "poor man’s taxi". In fact, my beloved H1 bus picks me up one block from my house and drops me off one block from my office—not bad for $1.35! The bus is also a traveling community. I can tell time by the woman with the red coat. If she's at Q Street, then I'm on time. If she's not there, I'm late. And then there is the woman who wears the same decorative blue dress every day in the summer. I knew it was time for fall when she arrived one day wearing a red version of the same dress. But there is also a courtesy on the bus because we see each other too often. Now that climbing up bus stairs is a little tougher, the bus driver always lowers the bus for me. The woman with the red jacket commented about how well I look (and she knows since she sees me most days). But most happily surprising, someone always gives me their seat and I don't even have to ask.

The other day, two young men in suits quickly got up and offered a seat. Women and men of different ages regularly insist that I take their seat. But sometimes there are funny or endearing moments. One afternoon a few weeks ago, an older woman asked a younger woman to give her seat to me (which she promptly did). I gratefully accepted the seat and fellow passengers were probably happy they wouldn't have to see me try and stay upright during the ride. But the real gem of the ride happened once I was seated. A much older Latina woman sat beside me. That afternoon, the Tiniest Gibson was really active and each time, she moved, my stomach also visibly moved and the lady laughed. I felt that as she watched me, she became a young mother right in front of my eyes—remembering her own pregnancies. She then said, "kicking?" and we both laughed as we shared the moments my belly continued to move.

The sidewalk—Sidewalks make for funny snippets. Today an older man, who looked a little crazy, stopped in front of me, looked at my obviously large belly and said, "I told you when you eat watermelon you are supposed to spit out the seeds" and then kept walking, leaving me stopped laughing in my tracks.

I don't ride the Metro enough to comment, but the few times I have ridden it, I've either found a seat or have asked and people have politely given me a place.

But besides just giving up seats, I regularly get fun questions, bits of advice and/or comments like "Oh I have one at home". More often than not, these random moments with strangers remind me that children are a big deal—and everyone is at least a little invested in them.

I won't lie, climbing 63 stairs to get to our place isn't my favorite part about city living and pregnancy, but I'll happily keep trekking up those stairs in exchange for the chance to feel that a lot of people care about the Tiniest Gibson.

Still making it up those stairs,
sPg

From Paris to Parenthood

I wrote my last blog entry in early 2008 as we were re-adjusting to life in DC after a seemingly surreal whirlwind adventure in Paris. Our return to DC and the ensuing year and a half have has been reasonably uneventful, so I wondered if my time as a blogger had drawn to a close. Maybe it was the reduction in wine consumption, but life seemed more ordinary here and not quite worth justifying adding my voice to the crowded blog-o-sphere.

But, just as we were hardly the first idealistic Americans to unpack our hopes and dreams in the middle of the City of Lights, we are now joining the ranks of idealistic Americans who are happily rearranging life as we know it to become parents. And, just as our Paris adventure inspired me to write, the imminent arrival of our little one has sparked the writer in me. So, without further ado, "His and Hers Parigi" has a new subtitle: "From Paris to Parenthood."

As I was laying in bed the other day, propped up by a series of pillows that would make any systems engineer pleased, it occurred to me that picking up and moving to a foreign country does have a few potential similarities to becoming a parent. And so, in vignette style, I offer a few humble observations and hope that ultimately parenthood turns out to be even more fabulous, unbelievable, slightly ridiculous, sometimes confounding, occasionally difficult, fulfilling and shockingly unexpected than our last blog-able adventure.

As I prepared to move to France, these were the things that were on my mind, which really mirror many of the thoughts I have as we prepare to welcome our little one in just about six weeks.

1. I don't deal well with lack of sleep, I wonder how bad the jetlag will be.
2. I've read about what the next year is supposed to be like. I’ve learned a few tips in advance about how to survive. I signed up for this adventure willingly. It seems like this should be a smooth transition, but something tells me I have no idea what awaits me.
3. I wonder if I'll be lonely or overwhelmed or learn things about myself I didn't want to know.
4. I wonder how Josh and I will adjust to our new roles.
5. I hope our families visit and really get to see the new me.
6. I hope I am flexible enough, strong enough and open enough so I don't miss a minute of the grand adventure we are about to embark on.
7. I hope I can find a way to make sure I can still get my hair done on a regular basis—I'm not ready to be openly gray.
8. Is there any way that we can prepare for all the unexpected logistics and costs?

You get the idea. I "get" that parenthood is a really big change. I even get that parenthood makes moving to a foreign country look like child's play (no pun intended). But, I'm daring to be hopeful that there are at least a few lessons to be learned from turning your life upside down in one way that might be applicable to the next time you sign up to turn your life inside out.

We'll see. I could be wrong. But at the very least, this seemed blog-able. So stay tuned for musings, rants and hopes from a soon-to-be-mother (and perhaps from a soon-to-be-father, who is still deciding if the writing muse is calling his name).

With love, waffles, milkshakes and Tums,
sPg