topotales

My husband started praying for a colicky baby this morning as part of his latest campaign to torture me with heavy/black metal.  I’m pretty sure the title of this post sums up why baby calmed down.  After he found some random Italian article about a Norwegian couple, here’s the email I got:

here: basically the baby had a 14 weeks straight of crying madness due to colic. The parents were going crazy and, as all good parents do, they tried everything, even Rammstein they said, with no success. Until they found the right band for the baby: black metal act “Satyricon”

I am on amazon now buying the whole discography.

GUEST POST BY PNUT

Funny. It’s always very hard to start writing. You’re there, knowing what to write and thinking restlessly on the best way to express your views, and the problem always is: how to start.

So, I decided, to cut introductions and life complications by keep it basic and by starting from the very beginning:

A: Air. Something I am gonna probably need after I finish writing this. Going through the emotions of a pregnancy from the point of view of a father-to-be and, especially, trying to share these emotions with somebody other than my brain. In case you were wondering is a complicated business for someone like me. Air hopefully coming in a metallic box bottle-shaped, possibly soon since I fell I might need some very soon.

B: baby. In case you were about to ask that’s what we are going to have, a bundle of joy on the shape of a two-legged, two-armed, ten-fingered, ten-toed combination of TopoT and myself (hopefully… just kiddin’).

C: C-Section. I guess both T and I kinda fear it. And also don’t approve the new American trend of going for the Cesarean when not medically appropriate. But, hey, your belly, your choice. I am sure I‘ll have the chance to explain our view later but I guess we both would love to avoid a major surgery for something as natural as birth. Granted, if there is no medical urgency.

D: diapers. Holy-Mother-Of-All-The-Choices is complicated!!!! Disposable diapers, cloth diapers, G-(Gee) diapers…cost vs comfort vs environmental impact vs convenience vs availability vs parents mental sanity (sani-what?). What to do? What to chose? Who to listen to…? HELP!!!!!!!!!!! For anyone out there who as the ultimate answer, please share it. I don’t need lessons, comparisons, descriptions. No. I NEED AN ANSWER!!

E: Escherichia coli. According to Wiki:” is a Gram-negative rod-shaped bacterium that is commonly found in the lower intestine of warm-blooded organisms (endotherms). Most E. coli strains are harmless, but some, such as serotype O157:H7, can cause serious food poisoning in humans and are occasionally responsible for product recalls”. This is what my beloved T-positive Topo-shaped wife is handling in class during her microbiology lab lessons now, 7 months preggo. I am saying this because there’s a chance she told you she was working with Ebola, so I wanna set the record straight, and because it’s kinda scary to think of her elbow-deep in bacteria cultures while pregnant of our first child (btw, if this was or second I am sure I would definitely not mind).

F: here we go: Father. That’s what I am going to be. Soon. Scary? A bit but I guess excitation is prevailing. It is super fascinating to see how your mind works for you during these 9 months of wait. You have to do nothing. Just sit there and relax, your mind does it all.

I think I went through the panic OH-MY-GOD OH-MY-GOD OH-MY-GOD period during our first pregnancy, the one that ended up in a miscarriage a little over 8 weeks after conception. I guess I wasn’t really ready. And I feel a bit guilty, to think about it, because in some ways I used that awful experience to get ready and it was only at the time we got pregnant again that I realized that this can be done without major personal crisis. So…yes, I am super excited to be a daddy. I just hope I’ll be a good one and a cool one too!!

G: Gender. A little girl but with light blue basinet sheets. Something tells me she is in for a road of confusion.

H: Hotel. Where I am gonna be living if I keep on leaving the toilet seat up. Sorry folks, just a personal reminder on the hardship of marriage…

I: Isola (la). The Island. Lido, where I am from. I can’t wait to stroll around there with my Topo and the little one, showing them off to all the 10 people that still live there. Did T. ever mention that I grew up in a tiny, sad, remote fisherman island off Venice…?

J: Jersey (New). Where our little one is going to be born. Weird.

K: Kudos. I love this word, don’t you?

L: Love. Unconditional.

M: mother. Or, which is better, Topo-mommy. She is going to be the best. You can already tell she has this mix of love, sweetness and curiosity that will make our little one very happy of her mother. I think      (and I am not discovering anything new here…) it’s impossible to foresee how you are going to raise your kid, but the reason I know TopoT is going to be a great mother is because she knows very well where she is coming from.  And that’s enough for me to know she’s going to be the best.

Speaking of motherhood, pregnancy and big bellies: sometimes I call her during the day expecting her saying with in a annoyed tone:” I am studying some very boring genetic stuff, what’s up?” and instead I get:

T:“hihihihihi(giggle)

P:”hey babe, how’s goin’?”

T: “hihiihihihi (giggle) me belly is moving”

P: “really? And what are YOU doing?”

T: watching it move hihihiihihih (giggle)

P:Since when were you watching her move?

T: since 9 o’clock this mornin’ (it’s 3 in the afternoon)

Isn’t it cool? Isn’t it fantastic that you can actually see and feel your growing kid moving and doing all sorts of things…inside you? I am actually kinda of jealous of not being able to feel that. Really. I know, it’s obvious…, it’s not easy and it is very, very uncomfortable but from the point of view of a future mother must be 100 times more exciting and intriguing then from the father side. I mean….you have your baby growing in you, moving and doing all sort of shit, how great is that!?! ( a screaming voice in the background: “NEXT TIME YOU HAVE THE BABY!!!!!”)

N: Nieces & Nephews. Both my brother and T’s brother are having babies this year (well….my brother just did). Awesome, a full on herd of little cousins spread in two continents, originally coming from 3 continents…something tells me that these babies will be flying quite a lot.

O: OOOOOHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!: It all starts from there, right?

P: parents. Mine (sorry Topo…). I lost my mother when I was 12 and my father when I was 22 so the concept of “parenting/ parents” is not too imprinted in me. I guess the idea of becoming one is (awesome) exciting but put me a bit out of balance because I haven’t had one in a long time. The only thing I have to do, I know, is sit back and relax (see letter F) ‘cause my mind is going to do all the hard work and hopefully she’ll show me the way.

Q: Quality of living. People say your life if gonna change after a baby arrives. That nothing is going to be the same. True, I am sure it is. But you’ll eventually get an extra buddy for all the adventures you have in mind: fishing, canoeing, climbing, camping….I mean, when I was a kid it was rare that my father would bring me to hikes or fishing…but when he did, it was the best thing in the world and he was the very best daddy E-V-E-R!!!

Of course, who knows if our little one is going to enjoy all the things T and I do with our free time…but…chances are (and if genetics actually work the way they say…) that she will. And we have a whole word to explore.

R: REM-Rapid Eyes Movement. Again, according to Wikipedia: “is a normal stage of sleep characterized by the rapid movement of the eyes. (…) REM sleep is physiologically different from the other phases of sleep, which are collectively referred to as Non-REM (NREM sleep). Vividly recalled dreams mostly occur during REM sleep.” . Now, I have a question for all you parents out there. It is known that a new parent does-not-sleep. Ever. When did you start having a decent night sleep again? (If you say: “ when she’s at Grandma’s” you are banned for life from this site)

S: uhmmmm…well…I wanted to talk about that. You know….kinda like with letter O but before this all ruckus called pregnancy (and…well…as a result of which there is one)? Anyway….as of the S-leep…: when? WHEEEEEEN???

T: Tazzybu. The topo of my life (as I never fail to remind her).

U: ugly. Sorry, I was thinking about Berlusconi and this word came out. Now it’s too late and I can’t take it back…nothing to do with pregnancy stuff but that man is ugly and a criminal and I have the right to say it if I want to. How many curses are there in English language starting with the letter U? Ulcer-face, ugly dumb fuck, Ultra piece of shit….

V: vomit. A lot, on the first 4 months of T’s pregnancy. If it’s true that morning sickness makes for a healthy baby ours is going to be a super-baby.

W: writing. I have been instructed by you-know-whom to write something about pregnancy from the point of view of a father to be. I probably didn’t stay in topic 100% but I hope that, by reading this, you get a bit of an idea of what goes around  my mind during this exciting period. I am not a good writer and if you want to know more about it, please come to our place with a bottle of good red wine and we can talk all night. And if you also bring some good meat you’ll be my new best friend.

X: I admit I have difficulties finding a relevant world starting with X. After all, how many points you get at Scrabble  by using the letter X?

Y: “You’ll see. Having a baby is a whole new level of gear”. To the good friend of ours who once said this, I can now answer: “Yeah, no shit!!”. But, seriously?? Do we really need all of that?? It’s insane and annoying to see how much of a business childbirth and childcare is. Besides the infinite gear choices you have (most of it, I am sure, kinda useless…) but, the prices!!! Insane.

Z: zzzzzzzz ( sound of someone sleeping like a log according to my childhood’s favorite comic book) zzzzzzz.

Tomorrow I will be 27 weeks pregnant.  The little girl in my belly, however, measures around 29 weeks.  My midwife says I’m “growing a nice baby in there”; presumably, “nice” means “large”.

Pre-pregnancy, I had a lot of assumptions about what a pregnant topo would be like.  For example:

1. I have a few climbing friends who’ve had babies now.  Most of them could be seen harnessed in and moving upwards well into their third trimesters, and some of them were running multiple miles with baby on board.  I assumed that I too would be unable to leave my climbing/athlete status behind to sit on a couch and incubate a baby.
2. “Cravings” are just an excuse for lazy people who don’t want to eat right during pregnancy.  I’m going to eat the same healthy diet as usual.
3. Your relationship with your partner changes in this way: now you’re a team working for a third party.  This must be incredibly depressing - where’s the romance?  Pnut and I will work hard to keep our relationship how it is.
4. People will be kind to big-bellied ladies- now I’ll finally be where I always belong- at the front of the bathroom line.  I am going to enjoy this.
5. Babies are boring.  Bellies are even more boring.  I hope I make it to when this kid can talk.

One of the most important things that pregnancy has taught me is something I already knew.  When I’ve traveled or moved to a new country, for example, I knew - the key to really learning or experiencing anything important is handing yourself over, mind body and soul, to the experience.  You have to go with the flow.  Your experience is not going to be the one you read about in a Henry James or Hemingway novel, no matter how hard you try to emulate a fascinating character.  Pregnancy is handing control over your entire life to the universe: you’re on a journey, like it or not.

So no, I haven’t been climbing or running.  The extent of my current athletic prowess is hiking with Pnut, or cross-country skiing, once or twice a week.  I generally make it about 500 meters before it feels like the baby is growing in my lungs instead of my uterus and I have to stop for air.  I can barely pull up my own pants and I certainly can’t see my feet let alone tie my own shoes (thank you, Ugg boots, for your laceless wonderfulness) so I won’t be wearing a harness or working my feet into climbing shoes three sizes too small anytime soon.

Cravings?  Cravings are a real thing.  I’ve been eating all sorts of stuff that I usually disdain as crap, because they are crap.  You know that feeling when you’re really dehydrated and thirsty - I mean, you’d give ANYTHING for a sip of water?  It’s like that, only you HAVE to have a FUCKING POWDERED DONUT NOW RIGHT NOW RIGHT NOW GOD PLEASE SOMEBODY JUST HAND ME A DONUT!!!!!  Yep, donuts.  And chocolate-covered peanuts.  And toasted everything bagels with cream cheese and onions and tomatoes and lox.  And Ritz crackers spread with Nutella.  Oh, did you say ICE CREAM?  And yesterday I cried all over Pnuts sweater because he told me we were out of Coke and why couldn’t I just drink juice instead.

My relationship with Pnut has changed, and it is all about the baby.  But guess what - it’s the most romantic fucking thing EVER.  I don’t presume it’s like this for everyone.  Just reading all the baby-forum posts about crappy partners confirms that.  But this baby has brought Pnut and I closer than we have ever been.  Because, like everything he undertakes, he’s so invested in the magic that’s happening in my belly.  And every time I look at him I feel waves of love and gratitude that he is the person I have by my side, and that the little girl in my belly is going to have the most loving, incredible father, and that finally somebody besides me is going to really know and love this stupendous human being who is my partner.  And every perceived or real slight or fight or annoyance or misunderstanding we have ever had is utterly meaningless garbage.  The only real thing is how much we love each other, how lucky I am, and how fundamentally good he is.

As far as strangers being good to pregnant chicks?  Not so much.  Maybe times have changed, but I haven’t skipped a bathroom line yet.  Also, strangers seem to think that they own a bit of you when you’re pregnant.  Like they can say anything to your belly with impunity.  You get a coffee and they inform you how many milligrams of caffeine they think you can have.  Or they tell you how far along you SHOULD be, considering your size and how big their daughters were while THEY were pregnant.  Or they tell you that you’re an ass for thinking you can use cloth diapers* because THEY couldn’t do it.  Or they tell you your house is too small, despite the fact that it’s twice as large as the apartment you and your brother were raised in.  This list goes on and on.  It’s what I’m least looking forward to about being a parent - this constant judging on how I’m doing things.  I’m learning that it’s going to be a struggle, parenting without having to justify every little thing to everybody else, and allowing myself to make my own mistakes without having an audience tsk tsk over them.  It’s next on my life lessons of momitude - not caring enough to respond to your opinion of how I should be doing it.  So let me say now - if I need it, I’ll ask for your advice; otherwise, just smile and nod and let me fuck it up, thanks.

As far as babies being boring?  Well, I can’t really comment yet.  Other people’s babies still seem boring to me, though I now have an appreciation for why they find them so interesting.  You spend 10 months (why do people still insist pregnancy is 9 months?  40 weeks = 10 months, do the math!!) looking at your belly (that’s almost a year!), thinking about all this crazy shit, rearranging your life and body, buying pacifiers and breast pumps all the while thinking WTF HAVE I DONE!?, feeling the baby move around, hanging fuzzy ultrasound pictures on your fridge, taking breathing classes, going through the throes of labor, and it all seems surreal.  Then, suddenly - a real live baby appears FROM YOUR VAGINA!  Seriously, think about it - how fucking weird is that?  After all the mental masturbation: “I’ll do this, I’ll do that, I’ll never, I’ll definitely”, “she’ll do this, she’ll do that, she’ll never, she’ll definitely”… and then seemingly miraculously, from an orifice of your body, there comes an actual flesh and blood and tears and poo and vomit and no more time to think HUMAN.  And I’m certain it will seem mysterious to me why nobody else cares that this idea of a baby is suddenly manifest in reality.  Which is why, again, I’m glad I have Pnut - the only other person who will care exactly as much as I will!

I should note here that one of the reasons for my long absence is the communion I’ve been having with my belly.  I spend a lot of time on the couch talking to my belly and watching it move, poking at it and watching it poke back (again, WEIRD!), and going to strange places in my mind (imagining the little girl in there as aware of me as I am of her, whipping out flip turns against the sides of my uterus, kickboxing, raising her hand in microbiology and wondering why the prof doesn’t call on her).  Also, I’ve been writing a journal for this little girl.  A journal with with as few boring platitudes (”your life will change”, “you don’t know love until you’re a parent”) and as much real introspective honesty as I wish another woman could have shared with me about this experience.

And now I’m going to go play with my belly.

*cloth diapers: a personal choice Pnut and I have made with primarily environmental concerns in mind: plastic diapers are made from oil (The Corporation I used to work for was partially a plastics manufacturer), plastic diapers add 40 lbs. of landfill waste per baby per week, and each takes hundreds of years to degrade.  We are fully aware that we may be changing our minds along with changing 10-20 of these a day, but it makes sense FOR US, to at least TRY to use the smart choice rather than the lazy one.  I’m sure you’ll be hearing all about how and if they actually work for us, because I couldn’t find any good personal experience information other than what I’ve already written here, and corporate stuff with an agenda.

1. I am taking an Anatomy exam on Thursday which will involve many half-dissected cats spread out with numbered pins stuck into their vessels and organs.  Did I mention yet that my debilitating morning sickness comes with a side order of meat disgust?  I hope there aren’t points-off for vomiting into body cavities.
2. Pnut and I have been discussing what we will call this baby if it is a boy.  I have an affinity for names embedded with X’s, Z’s and V’s, but since I couldn’t think of any actual names with these letters, I started replacing the letters in regular names and suggesting them.  Like Joaquin becomes Xoaquin.  Very cool, right?  Pnut doesn’t think so: “If you’re just going to start making this shit up, then I say we just call him Parrrrrakannastuuur.”  Which, now that I think about it, actually wouldn’t be too bad if you changed it to Xaravanaztor…
3. The number of Italians in Jersey is most apparent from behind the wheel of a car.  Things like stop signs, yield, lights, and one-way streets are just GUIDELINES.  Also, the grassy median of a highway is just an unlabeled, efficient road from the local highway to the express highway.
4. There may be aliens on the road here… and if there are, this guy is going to find them first!  Either that, or his car gets better programming than my house.

5.  Edited this post to add that on Sunday we went out to lunch at a local pub.  Pnut asked the waitress if he could please have his hamburger without the bunnies.  It took us all a few minutes to realize he meant without the bun.

If I haven’t yet mentioned that I’m pregnant, now’s probably a good time to do that.  I haven’t been avoiding writing about it, I just haven’t had anything nice to say about it so far.  This go around, I’ve spent a lot of time (like a good two hours a day) with my face in the toilet while my ever-growing tits are probably hanging out somewhere in the next state (I don’t know for sure how far they extend, because I can’t see them with my face in the toilet - I just hope they’re in a wine bar, the lucky bastards).  Somebody asked me last week if I were “enjoying” the pregnancy so far.  Let me set you straight, people - only a total fucking masochistic lunatic would enjoy this (and I had my crazy FIXED last year, remember?).  At least the that’s my impression so far.

Remember how for the last pregnancy Pnut wanted to book us international flights so that I could enjoy the thrills of epidural-free childbirth in the third class section of an airplane while staring at a stranger in a hawaiian shirt?  Well, this time he wants baby to come into the world in a shower of pyrotechnics at a Rammstein concert.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m looking forward to seeing Rammstein live - especially since this is their first and only show in the US since 1991.  But I was thinking about seeing it from the comfort of a SEAT.  Here’s what Pnut had to say:

Pnut and I get on the plane to Venice tomorrow.  Besides throwing a bunch of stuff into a backpack, here’s the extent of my preparations:

me: Oi ciao recion come ti sta?? Zio beco che merda!!6:37 PM Paolo: me: Paolo: where did you see those??? me: http://nonciclopedia.wikia.com/wiki/Truzzo_veneziano 6:38 PM Chetasboro to nona zogava! Paolo: nonono wait a second this is campagnolo not real veneziano6:39 PM sorry…me: what’s zio beco? Paolo: 6:40 PM God cuckold makes no sense in english me: AWESOME! Paolo: but it’s a good one in veneziano not to be said on the streets though me: Oh, I am SO GOING TO USE IT! Paolo: you are going to get arrested.6:41 PM me: pah. I’ll just say you told me it meant “good morning”6:42 PM me: GESBORRO! Paolo: too many RRRs me: GESBORO, ZIO BECO! Paolo: 6:43 PM me: … maybe you should bring some bail money… just in case… Paolo: I leave you there, wtf me: Fine by me. It’s probably nicer than Jersey…6:44 PM Paolo: better than a Jersey jail…that’s for sure.6:45 PM me: …and without all the fist-pumping… Paolo: just fist fucking. big fists the venetians, you know!6:46 PM me: Oh. my. god. Go back to work.

UPDATE: Pnut made me come back and change all the D’s in this post to Z’s.  Apparently, it really is a big deal.  Sheesh.  Why make up a swear word if you can’t ever use it?  Bloody Italians.

Five intensive weeks of Anatomy & Physiology are finally over!  Huzzah, I pulled an A!

To celebrate, Pnut and I headed to Findlay, Ohio (what, not your idea of a party town? pshaw.) to meet up with my dad’s side of the family.  Eight hours each way in the car, as usual, resulted in some very bizarre conversation.  Here are my favorites…

(On the way to Ohio)

topo: (singing) On top of spaghetti, all covered in cheese… I lost my poor meatball when somebody sneezed…  It rolled off the table and onto the floor, and then my poor meatball rolled out of the door…

pnut: Stop it topo!  Oh, please stop singing!  It makes me so sad!

topo: Uh, it’s not a sad song.

pnut: Yes it is, it’s a horrid and terrible sad song!  The saddest song ever!

topo: Uh, it’s about spaghetti and meatballs.

pnut: I know, but the poor kid doesn’t get to eat his meatball.

topo: Riiiiggghht.  That would make you sad, wouldn’t it?

(On the way back from Ohio)

topo: (singing) … spagheeeeeeeeettttiiiii….

Pnut: nooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!

topo: (singing quietly) …cheeeeeese…..

Pnut: Poor, poor little meatball!

topo: Babe, I think maybe the guy gets to eat the meatball at the end.  Just because it fell on the floor doesn’t mean he didn’t eat it… maybe he picks it up off the floor and just pops it in his mouth.

Pnut: I hope so!  That’s what I would do!

topo: I know.

And then I felt really bad for making my husband so sad, so I looked up the end of the song online.  And it made Pnut’s entire day that indeed, the kid gets to eat his tasty if slightly mushy meatball… PLUS he gets a meatball tree in his back yard.

Anyone want to take a roadtrip with us?  Lyrics to the song can be found here.

Our trip to Mexico was a load of fun.  It can be summed up with two basic conversations that Pnut and I had in variations over the course of five days.

Conversation n°1: The Travel Snobs

topo: Gawr, more drunk obnoxious Americans.  How hard is it to treat people with respect in their own country?  I am so ashamed.

Pnut: I think the crazy one is actually Canadian.

topo: Canadians are just Americans without guns.

Pnut: You have to admit, they’re more fun than British on holiday.

topo: Americans are just loud Brits without tea.  We are never doing an all-inclusive again.

Pnut: Have you seen my flippy-floppies, muthafucka?*

[*note: this is the consequence of introducing an Italian to Lonely Island]

Conversation n°2: Pacific Topo

topo: (underwater screaming, sounds of swallowing water, thrashing noises to the surface) OH MY GOD!  OH MY GOD!  Did you SEE THAT FISH?  It was right by my face!  RIGHT BY MY FACE!

Pnut: topo, settle down.  It’s not interested in you.

topo: But it could TOTALLY have BITTEN ME!

Pnut: It doesn’t have teeth.

topo: Well, I don’t want it rubbing its fishy gums all over me either.  And I swallowed half the Pacific!

Pnut: Put your mask back on, I’ll hold your hand.

topo: Like that’s going to keep the sharks away.

–(five minutes later)–

topo: (muffled by snorkel mask) BARRACUDAAAAA!!!!  BARRACUDAAAAA!!

Pnut: Nobody can hear you screaming underwater, you know.

topo: (mask removed) AND I GOT STUNG BY A JELLYFISH!  Oh my god!  It hurts! It hurts!  OW!  I just got stung by another!  OW!  AND ANOTHER!  OW!…

Pnut: Are you SURE you were a swimmer?

topo: WE PRACTICED IN A POOL!

Yup, that was us in Mexico.  Pnut did convince me to try scuba in the end, and I loved it.

In case you haven’t noticed, I love music.  I LOVE MUSIC.  So does Pnut.  Between the two of us, we own four bookcases full of CD’s.  At 180+ CD’s per case, we’re close to opening our own shop.  That said, our taste in music is pretty damned different.  His heavy metal shelves (all twenty of them) sit side by side with my folk/country section. Yes, we organize by genre.  He tends to prefer male singers, and I have a definite love for women’s voices.  We tease each other a fair amount about the various artists we obsess over intermittently, but usually respect for each others differences.

Over the last few years, I’ve developed a somewhat unhealthy obsession with Maria Callas.  Carmen is my favorite opera, and Callas’ development of the role both musically and theatrically is, for me, simply unquestionably perfectly untouchable.  Which is why Pnut knew exactly what he would do to my mind when he came home from work yesterday and pithily questioned “Did you know that Celine Dion has the same vocal range as Maria Callas?”.  Has anybody seen my mind?  I miss it.

It MAY be true.  I can’t really imagine it being true.  Please, tell me it’s NOT TRUE!  This is the difference between using your powers for good versus using your powers for picking the pocketbooks of a massive following of teary-eyed Canadian women.

Canadians (try not to throw up):

(The indomitable) Callas (try not to explode with wonder):

Do you have a favorite female voice?  I’d love to hear it (unless it’s Celine Dion, in which case you should probably seek the help you need elsewhere).  Leave me a link in the comments.