...why our newsletter output is so poor, blame it on the baby. Yes, you read that right: the baby. Not that the baby has done much since taking up residence in Betty. Though he is already proving to be a craftly little bugger.
Around six weeks in, we thought he'd up and left. Instead of going to see a doctor to confirm that he'd REALLY gone, we consulted Dr. Google Dr. Bing, who said, "Yes, it appears so." And so, with blessings and advice from zero health professionals, we boarded a plane that very day: a 24-hour flight to Europe, where we boozed and raw-cheesed our way through Paris, Biarritz, La Rioja, and finally Bilbao to celebrate a friend's wedding, complete with champagne, cocktails, rare steak, raw oysters, and rigorous dancing. On the way home, we missed our connection in Qatar and spent a wonderful ten-hours at the Mövenpick hotel in Doha, the poor man's Dubai. This hotel is listed as having 5 stars. Evidently they have Kmart in Doha, and said Kmart sells stars. Doha is a real dump. But we digress.
When we returned from Europe, Betty went straight to the doctor to get some answers. Why had the morning sickness worsened? Why was she still tired all the time? Sure, pregnancy hormones stayed around after a miscarriage, but it had been two weeks! Not once did it occur to us that Betty could still be pregnant, only that something was wrong.
Miscarriages, like babies, come in all shapes and sizes. Betty's was the "threatened" variety, which meant that what felt and looked like a bona fide miscarriage was, in fact, not.
"I'm sorry to tell you," said the ultrasound technician, "but your baby is alive and well."
We were jubilant for about ten minutes before we remembered the rare steak and fine French boozes. What followed was about a month of nail-biting, Sci-hub researching, doctor-and-specialist-visiting days and generally sleepless nights. In the end a cheery Irish doctor told us, more or less, this happens way more often than you would think, don't worry about it.
So here we are today, four months and three weeks pregnant with an as-yet-unnamed* boy who, when he comes of age, will likely appreciate a fine Rioja. And probably fois gras.
Betty is due November 3rd and spends her days thinking about writing the newsletter, and writing in general, but mostly is rediscovering old feel-good movies on Netflix (e.g.
About a Boy). Tom is working somewhat hard to "refill the coffers" which are supremely depleted due to the move and will continue to deplete since, who knew, babies are expensive and pregnant women eat a lot!
Our apartment is coming along nicely, as evidenced below. We finally got a coffee table (not pictured), and are waiting for Tom to come to his senses and throw out his DVDs. Though as these things go, by the time we finally get the whole place furnished to our liking, it'll be time to fill it with baby stuff!
As always, thank you for reading.
Tom & Betty
*Tom has so far vetoed Betty's top choices for names: Harrison, Benjamin, and Barry. "Harrison Ward is dumb", "Benjamin' is a fat kid's name", and "Barry? We're not Jewish," says Tom.
A 3-Stop, Too-Brief Visit Stateside
The last two weeks of May we went back to the good ol' U.S. of A., namely for a friend's much-anticipated wedding in upstate New York. We are big morons and missed our flight on the way out, but neverthess one day late we were reunited with our farthest and dearest. We happily revisited the days when a friend who lived a bit "far" meant having to change subway trains to see them (cough Greenpoint, what a dump). And while Sydney is a diverse city, it was nice to see a large-and-in-charge TSA agent shouting at someone to get out of her way as soon as we landed at JFK.
Tom's parents met us up in the city and together, we Amtraked to D.C. for a too-short three nights with Tom's family. We then flew to Orange County to spend some brief albeit quality time with Betty's family before heading back to Oz.
The trip wut wayyy too short for all the travel involved. The thought of doing this next year with a baby in tow is daunting, but we're 100% going to stay longer.
Aussie slang of the week:
UP THE DUFF
Appropriately, this is a rather rude term for being pregnant. It has a storied, meaning stupid and British, etymology: duff sounds kind of like dough, which is another word for pudding, which is a British term for dick, which implies pregnancy. As far as we could find, the term was first referenced in writing in a guide to Aussie slang from the 1800s, which we feel qualifies it as Aussie.
Photo is a famed British tart with one "up the duff".
Pregnancy Brain is a real thing!
According to What to Expect, a reputable website for pregnant people, pregnancy brain (aka Momnesia, mommy brain, etc.) - the phenomenon of simultaneously becomming pregnant and delightfully ditzy - is a real thing! For instance: Betty forgot to check the mail for a month and when she finally did, left the key in the mailbox. Tom has now taken over mail duty, and finally has the bimbo of his dreams.
Help! I'm on the no-fly list for my in-flight drunken rampage! What can I do??
Fret no more! For just $8600 you can ride in style on a freighter ship! Guzzle some grog, grab a selfie with Somali pirates, and relax relax relax, for about 25 days of fun each way from the west coast, or 35 days from the east coast.
MEAT PIE OF THE WEEK As "our pregnancy" - as Tom insists on calling it - progresses and Betty's cravings run between "something Asian" and "Shin Ramen", Tom's meat pie explorations have turned to "keeping it real". Hence, "Party Pies", Australia's Pizza Rolls. Are they good? Sort of. Are you currently drunk?
That's all for now! If you missed our last newsletter, find it here!
The "Vivid Sydney" festival. They spent $8 million promoting the festival, and this light-up bridge is pretty much the whole of it. Truly the San Francisco of festivals.