Life according to Cherry

Ummm, I have three private students requesting choreographies from me. Have they not heard me when I said that I have never completely a choreography that I've made for myself? I mean, I've completed the making of it, I've just never executed it. I've also begun a choreography in my intermediate class today to a song that is...five...minutes...long. We're about 1:30 into it. Ehm...why do I do that to myself? Then private student with two choreo requests. Then met up with Oz cause we're finally making good on our vow to do "something" together. And although I believed that it would be a looser choreo because we're both strong soloists, loosey goosey it is not.

Here's to working out the choreography muscle!

Another thing I know that I didn't know I knew. Life stops when your child gets sick. I don't know if that will always be the case, but I suspect that's how it goes until they are at least teenagers. Now that I'm a mother, I recall all of the things my mother did for me growing up that I didn't realize were sacrifices, in a way. If ever I was sick, she'd be sure to come home from work early or even take the day off to take care of me. I know that's sort of standard mommy-ness but you don't really appreciate it until you find yourself doing it for your own child.

On Saturday Bom-bom woke up a 10kg ball of heat. BD noticed it first and when I took his temperature, sure enough he was running at about 101 degrees. He'd been pulling on his left ear for some time and BD mentioned that we should get it checked out but I didn't think it was such a big deal (you will notice this trend) and he wanted to get some ear drops from the doctor. I had to go to work so BD took him to the doc. BD's Japanese is practically native so it's better that he do things where understanding Japanese is crucial anyway. When I got home from class, the verdict was in, the start of an ear infection. So I began thinking back on all the things I'd done that contributed to his present state of agony, like putting him to bed right after having a bath, letting him float on his back in the tub and thus submerging his ears in warm water, ignoring the itch. Growing up, I had ear infections a lot. So much so that I had tubes put in my ears to help them drain. Twice. This meant that I couldn't get my ears wet and as a kid in Hawaii, that translated to beach time on the beach, not in the surf. I didn't even learn to swim until I was seven, in a state where swimming lessons are only for the townies. In my late teens and early twenties I began going to a naturopath in efforts to rely less on pharmaceuticals to deal with my allergies. Along the way I read that dairy products for people who are sensitive to milk could aggravate allergy symptoms and in children contribute to ear infections. Flash back to the dinner table with my grandparents when drinking that tall glass of milk was mandatory. I'd drink it as soon as it was poured, all at once, because I couldn't stand the taste of it as it moved toward room temperature. As an experiment, I gave up all dairy products to see if my allergies at least got a little better. After a couple of months, they did! I also lost about 5 pounds. I asked my mom when my ear infections started and she said when I was a toddler. When I began drinking milk? Yes, she said. My baby formula was soy based. So when I had a baby, I swore he would drink only breast milk for at least the first year of his life and he would probably never drink the milk that is intended for calves. And yet, at eight months, there I was mixing up some antibiotics for my feverish baby's ear infection. I could easily sympathize with his pain, but kicked myself for assuming that just because he's only drinking breast milk (the best stuff there is!) that he'd be immune to everything.

For the next couple of days, Bom-bom slept most of the time. Waking up to complain or to eat. The antibiotics gave him diarrhea so we were constantly on the change. Just as he seemed to be getting better, though, I started feeling sick! Runny nose, sneezing, and a fever. Crap. Bom-bom followed suit. No fever this time, though. Taking care of a sick baby while being sick is NO FUN. Even if I wanted the drugs, I can't take them while breast freeding. BD is a champ and I got better in 24 hours, but the poor babe is still sneezing and fussy. And there went the week!

I feel well enough today to dance tonight and tomorrow. I have so much to do for upcoming performances that I just want to puke at the thought of it. I have some ideas for things but nothing becomes reality without actually dancing and working it out. Every morning when Nev and I go for a walk, I put some songs on my iPod that I want to dance to "someday" and hope they stick. Now I just need some quality alone time in front of a mirror.

Nev started pulling himself up on the back of the sofa a little more than a week ago. As of three days ago he is addicted to pulling himself up on anything. The hamper, the printer, the bookcase, whatever could potentially fall over. I'm still his favorite prop though. See?





Sorry I leaned out of that photo taken just now as I'm typing this. I've got serious Mom-Hair happening that does not need to be documented, especially not on the world wide web. He'll pull himself up on something and then look around to see if someone is watching. Like, "Check this out, I can do what you guys do!" And we praise him to no end, of course.

Tomorrow I dance at Harem again! I can't wait to be pampered. I can't wait to dance without having to scope out the audience for potential party-time dancers. I'll wear the new coin that Ozma made. It debuted last week at Istanbul and it was a hit. I love the weight of it, it actually makes chest articulations easier to do over rhythmic layers, which was an unexpected surprise.

In other news, we're bringing a Turkish style dancer up from Osaka for workshops and a show at the end of August. It's our first time hosting something from within Japan but I think it's a great idea! She's a lovely dancer with chops and I think Tokyo seriously lacks Turkish instructors. I also just want to take the workshops myself. That's the beauty of hosting these things...I get to pick the workshop topics.

Update:

June 19: Cafe Cairo vol. 6 rocks my emotions. Loved Kazumi's musicality and expression. Loved Take's psychedelic Eman "Oyoun." Some big names in Tokyo bellydance in the crowd gives me the jitters for the first time in a long time. Lovely feedback from Masumi Nenuphar, her eyes welled up as she spoke to me after the show. I'll never forget it.

June 20: Nev's two bottom teeth emerge. Only visible when he's laughing his head off or crying his face off.

June 24: Nev receives a gift from Tita Joe, a Snoopy Chair-on-wheels! 7 months old and already driving. He now wheels himself over to the guitars in their stands to pluck and strum.

June 27: My beginner's workshop introduces a man dancer to me. My first man dancer teaching experience. I got an e-mail the night before asking if it was okay for him to come. Zizi's control and grace inspired him to seek out bellydance on YouTube. He found Tito. Can I teach him to dance like Tito? Ummmm, maybe! Come to class and we'll see!

June 27: New restaurant in Ginza. Tiny but nice. I change in the hallway behind the kitchen. The chefs ask me to be quick because it's roasting and they want to keep the door open. I shimmy into my newish matcha green Eman and knock on the metal door. They practice their English with me and tell me that they have heard of me but never seen me dance. Post performance thumbs up from the Turkish chefs. Perhaps it's time to get more expensive.

June 28: We're late for the small gathering at Anna's. After class I come home, lie down with Bom Bom for a feeding and we both crash out for a couple of hours. It's raining but we venture out anyway for a little socializing. Ozma and I exchange coin costumes. My old Tahiya for a new shiny and seriously heavy set. I love it, I can't wait to wear it. Evening meeting with Take and a gang of bellydancers about a corporate party we're doing in August. Should. be. interesting.

July 2: My partners (business partners) and I head to the competition venue for a meeting. It's very typically Japanese for the place to call a meeting over the fact that we want to extend our contracted time for 30 minutes earlier. Our question is simple: Can we and if so, how much will it cost? This cannot be done over the phone. Instead I must pump two bottles of milk which takes a total of four hours (not consistently, but you have to wait for the milk to come in). We are three women. They are six men. They talk to us like children and second guess every decision we've made. All the while, I watch the clock worried about my child's food supply. The final straw comes when we are leaving and one of the men insists that we go back into the theater to look at the stage. The option we've selected is too small for bellydance, he says. Ummm, are you a bellydancer, sir? "This stage is fine," I keep saying over and over. "Good luck," he says. Who does he think he's talking to, I wonder. Have we not paid for this space? Do what I f-ing tell you to do! Two hours is not enough time to set up for the show in the evening, everything must be set in the morning, he continues. I worked in catering for four years in college. I know how long it takes to move chairs, set up some tables, (not that they're moving at all) and to plug shit in. If it takes your professional sound and lighting technicians TWO HOURS to plug shit in, then they are overpaid and under qualified. My boyfriend could do it in fifteen minutes. Plus, he's better looking and speaks English. We're irritated and filing a complaint. So there.

On the plus side: I got to see the place for the first time and realized that there is waaaaay more vending space available than I originally thought. The hall itself is gorgeous. People are out of their minds if they don't come to this show. We found a potential hotel just down the street for our guests. And a cute cafe too.

I've been scrolling through friends posts and have decided that I shall try to post something at least twice a week. I notice how my dear friend Peanut, despite her busy schedule, posts at least a little blurb every few days and it's nice. Also, there are things happening with Nev all the time that I'd like to document. Like yesterday, he found his tongue. He would chew on it and poke it out, it was so funny! I also saw Anna and Dom for the first time since I've been back yesterday. Coffee on the river turned into beers at our place and SYTYCD on YouTube.

I have three classes today. I started an intermediate level class at a rental studio in Yoyogi last week. I'm also teaching two semi-privates after that class today. It's nice to know that my students from before have been waiting for me to come back. I find that my maximum away time (note: MY, not Nev's) from le bebe is about 5 hours. That's usually at night though and he won't go to sleep without me. So when I come home he's fussy and tired and I feel kind of bad. I have to make sure there's enough milk pumped in the fridge and then I don't worry about it too much. Right now we still have a mini-fridge so having a stocked up freezer full of milk isn't really an option yet.

Settling in is taking time. There's only so much you can do when the babe is awake. And we're trying to find room for my stuff in an apartment that was previously made for one. Nev is almost crawling now! So when he's awake, I'm on constant baby-proof patrol. When we got here he was barely rolling over and now he's doing the army crawl from one dangerous object to the next. We Skype with my mom almost everyday. When she says hi to Nev he lunges at the computer screen. No kidding. I wish we could just go over there on the weekend or something. It's hard but that's life.

So, I'm back in Tokyo! Yay for reunions with baby daddy :)

Baby on the plane was a champ! The flight from Portland to Tokyo is non-stop and 10.5 hours. Tack on two hours before for some fuel pump trouble and lavatory problems. And then another hour for quarantine inspection after landing. No swine flu on my plane. There were lots of missed connecting flights, though. I held him in my lap most of the time and he even watched some Madagascar on the tiny plane screen. I came prepared with five or six toys, two new ones he's never seen before, and we didn't even need them. He was just as amused with the plastic coffee/tea cup on my veggie meal tray. He laughed and flirted with passengers and flight crew, nursed on take off and landing to help with the air pressure changes (and like nine times in between), and slept in the seat beside me at bedtime. What more can you ask for?

Nev sat in what I call the Kanga pouch as we went through immigration. I pushed my overweight bags, carry-on, and diaper purse through customs. Daddy picked us up with two friends, we smooched, and made our way home. Nev sleeping on his dad was the cutest thing I've ever seen. If I weren't downright exhausted I could have gazed at them the entire way home.

Arriving in Tokyo went well but leaving Portland is hands down the hardest thing I've ever done, emotionally. I had NO IDEA how difficult it would be to leave my family with this baby. My mom had been trying to keep it together for days before we left, my step dad who is not even biologically connected to this kid was a quote "bowl of jelly," and my brother who has never shed a tear for me, his sole sibling, actually welled up watching us go through the security check. I can't say that I'm not conflicted.

I've only been here a few days and discussions have been had about returning to Portland. Baby Daddy is ready for a change of scenery and our connections in Tokyo will bring us back regularly enough. The Tokyo traffic outside the apartment is good white noise for when the babers needs it, but I doubt it can compare to some real Oregon greenery.

I'll keep you posted, of course. I'll be back in the saddle this Friday at Istanbul.

Best album for the restaurant dancer. Classics at 3 - 5 minute lengths. Some unexpected gems and old favorites. I could have done without Sahra Saiidi AGAIN, but otherwise nice solid album. And I like Sadie's hips on the cover. I can spot those things a mile away.

Wow, there's a lot going on that I could post about. The most significant of this particular morning, however, is that my five month old baby fell asleep in the very baby wearing contraption that used to elicit screams and tears as if nails were being pulled. I'd say teeth pulling actually, but he doesn't have any. So my lesson to those with babies on the brain and in the groin, buy lots of types of baby carriers. Register for them at your baby shower (I hadn't thought of that. Then again, I had no idea what to register for). If your baby doesn't like it, keep it for a while cause he may grow into it, in a sense. Slings, wraps, long pieces of jersey knit fabric, backpacks, frontpacks, babies like them all. They just like being on you, somehow.

The best thing about this carrier is that I can wear him on my back, which makes for easy typing and probably easier napping for him since he can't be distracted by what I'm doing in front of him. I also like that it straps around the hips rather than the middle or upper back, it's much more comfortable and doesn't squish my back flab down to muffin top over my jeans. I have a strong back so no matter where the weight is placed, I'm fine. Then again, my baby is still small. The popular baby bjorn brand, just doesn't look right to me. The weight is put right in the middle of the back. It has a weight limit of 25 lbs., too. My mom bought a knock-off one with a weight limit of 20 lbs. and Nev likes it a lot. He can face out from my chest and he chews on the front soft flap. The baby bjorn has this weird lumbar support pad that looks like a codpiece when you wear it in front, too. I just can't rock that. I mostly prefer the look of this hip-hugging kind. As I sway here and type, I do think it's better on your body. This carrier has a weight limit of 45 lbs. I carried my friend's two year old around in it the other day and she loved it. She got to watch Noggin TV and ride the Auntie Heather bouncing butt mobile.

Here we are. Blogging/napping.

Some quick updates.
-Bom-bom discovered his feet last week. He grabs for stuff with his left hand. But with his feet, it's always right hand to right foot.
-We play peek-a-boo now and it cracks him up. He's very verbal and animated for a near five month old.
-The goddess of seamery is adding length to my "custom ordered" Eman. I ordered it at 36" long and it came, seven months later, at 33" at best. I tried selling it and ended up keeping it. I pick it up tomorrow!
-I have two nights at the funky Moroccan next month. The Eman will debut.
-I attended my first Samba class last week. The instructor says I'm a natural. She wants me to dance in her troupe. Only if I get to wear a feather bikini, I say.
P.S. Samba is much easier than bellydance. Much much much. It's just quicker and always a big phat party, which is why I like it.

Today I went to Razia's workshop. She taught some of what she's learned from Hossam and Serena Ramzy across the pond in London. She's delightful and took us through some exercises in listening to music and ways to interpret it. Their method is much more precise and strict than I'm used to, but it makes total sense. I don't really believe that there is a "way" to music interpretation. But I'm always down to learn how people approach it. Especially such a power couple like the Ramzys. We focused on Arabic melody. Among the new technique I learned, I also learned that it's extremely difficult to implement new technique on music you already know inside and out.

Driving home from the herb shop last week, I passed by a restaurant with some Arabic script on the sign. The sign said, "Middle Eastern Lounge," and the building looked like it could have been a former furniture store. I guess that's what you get out in the burbs when you're looking for culture. Just down the street from there is a Chinese place in a funky old 1970's motel building. You know the kind with the covered drive-thru check in? Anyway, I've been getting the itch to perform lately. I know that when I get back to Tokyo that expectations will be high. I really feel like I've got to deliver. It's one thing to move to a new city and start dancing there, no one knows you. But I have students and dance colleagues. My stamina is not what it used to be and no amount of practice can mimic the energy required to dance, think without thinking, entertain, and keep your cool. I could run ten miles on a treadmill and, while it wouldn't hurt, I don't have to emit any emotion on a treadmill. Who am I kidding...I've never run ten miles, anywhere.

I was tempted to stop in and leave my card. But, not feeling so cute at the moment, I decided to go home and e-mail a dancer here to see if she has any goss on the place. As it turned out, that lounge was being boycotted by dancers when it first opened. Apparently there was a known sex offender on staff that one dancer was creeped out by. I had also found the restaurant's website and despite it's large red "LOUNGE" sign above the door, it had a warm vibe inside. Less lounge and more living room, I'd say. Maybe they inherited some left over furniture from its former business. We chatted about rates here (ridiculously low) and she told me that Marakesh, a Moroccan place known for having bellydancers four nights a week, had their audition/student night the following day. If I was interested, she'd call the organizer and I could go dance for eight minutes. I agreed to. It would be good practice at least.

So last night, I rushed downtown feeling a little silly wearing false eyelashes and driving in traffic. When I got parked and inside the restaurant, I felt right at home. Restaurant dancing is restaurant dancing no matter where you are. Okay, there's substantially more space to travel, stretch out, and spin (and fall, for that matter). I was shown to the basement where the dancers were getting ready. They were all very friendly and I was told I'd go on third which was a relief. I was worried that it would be getting late and Bom-bom would be getting hungry and/or tired. Not to mention that my boobs swell up another half size with no nursing for two or more hours. My costume wouldn't be able to contain them and we'd have a completely different kind of show. I watched the dancers get ready with some curiosity and nostalgia. I tried not to come off as seasoned as I noticed two or three dancers "cramming" music from their iPods. If you don't know your music by the night you're dancing, you're better off having a glass of wine, taking some deep breaths, and trying to get into a good head space so that you can enjoy yourself. I'm pretty sure that I step-touched and drop-kicked my way through the first song, hitting a few accents along the way, but I was concerned with making some eye contact, generating some smiles, and just spreading warm vibes around the rooms before getting too complicated.

That brings me to showtime. If you've ever tried to create an 8 minute set, you've probably run into the same problem I had. Sets are at least 10 minutes. Songs are typically between 4 and 5 minutes. Drum solos can be around 2. Exit music, 2. Two 4 minute songs and a drum solo already gets you to ten minutes. I found two short pieces that I wouldn't normally put back to back, and a drum solo. I nixed the finale, just planning to finish the drum solo near the exit. Okay so let's cut to the chase. I'm rusty. My moves were things right out of Bellydance for Beginners, just more polished and comfortable. Things weren't coming naturally and I didn't know what to do with my arms. I felt way behind the music. I could feel myself starting an arm pattern and quitting halfway through. My veil piece began nicely and ended in a twisted mess that I tried to mask by tossing it around one-handed. The drum solo was fine, it's one I've done a hundred times, except that I had to try to make my way across the room so that I could exit immediately. On the plus side, I saw a couple of familiar faces and got some applause and looks of surprise from the audience. Restaurant dancing in the U.S. is definitely different. People ignored me completely in the beginning. I didn't know where to look because every table was engrossed in their own conversations and food. It's like they were making a point NOT to see me. That's all fine, but Japanese people at least acknowledge you and pay attention for the first couple of minutes. It's backward here, you have to earn the attention of the audience. I can respect that, I guess. They must watch out of the corners of their eyes or something. My legs are not as strong as they used to be. I stayed away from level changes, which just breaks my heart when people are sitting on the floor. That said, the owner took my card and made sure he had my U.S. phone number. We chatted a bit when he asked if I'd just moved here. I'm not holding my breath.

When I got home, Bom-bom was ready for a bath and to hit the sack. We splashed around the tub for a bit. When he's really tired he cries bloody murder while getting dressed for bed. Lights out and he was asleep in ten minutes. It was really sweet to come home to him. My dancing wasn't great, but performing felt good. I feel like myself when I perform, is the thing. Not that being a mom isn't part of who I am now, but knowing that I can be both is really satisfying. I can envision what it will be like to be back in Tokyo, this time with baby and baby daddy. If that's not having it all, I don't know what is. Now to practice.

I find myself laughing more and more lately. Nev has discovered that we have dogs and that they are a different kind of funny than Mommy. They are hilarious, Mommy is silly. He seldom squeals at anything I do. The dogs do little more than wag a tail at him and he's delighted. When he laughs, I laugh at him laughing but I also get to rediscover the funny in life. Puppets are funny too, by the way. I guess I just forgot.

Yesterday my best friend, her three kids, Nev and I went to a Mommy/Baby Cafe called "Me, Too!" Of the four offspring between us, her two toddlers played in a supervised area while we ate cobbler, drank coffee, and bounced our babies on our hips. I never in a million years would have expected that I'd enjoy a place so much. It seems that we've been talking through her kids since I came home. You know, we don't say much directly to each other, but in code like, "Why don't you ask Mommy if she's ready to go for a walk," rather than just asking her myself. And she'd reply, "Go see if Auntie Heather wants to help you put the blocks away," because she knows I can't refuse her three year old. We've been best friends since the sixth grade and our lives have followed different paths since high school. She stayed here, married her first love, had some kids, etc. I left here and vowed never to marry or have kids. Despite that, we've remained closer than sisters and since I've been here, she has been going through a difficult divorce. We watch what we say around the two girls that understand us (ages 2 and 3) so we don't talk much about the seriousness in her life right now. Yesterday while the girls spread their wings in the kid-safe play area, we had a lot of time to talk. She has had one boyfriend her entire life so it's impossible for her to imagine loving or being loved by anyone else. My mother always told me that you have to kiss a lot of frogs to find a prince. A phrase she preached but hadn't practice as she married her first boyfriend, too. She wanted me to learn from her mistake, I suppose. In reality, her mistake is not that she didn't kiss enough frogs but that she married a toad. Following that advice came relatively easy for me anyway (in hindsight, of course) and now all that I can do is reassure my best friend that love will find her again. And that it will be better than she ever knew possible. She has no experience to support the things I say, but I feel that I have enough for the both of us. Love is a squirrely thing. It breaks my heart to watch her in pain, putting on a happy face for her adorable kids, asking herself the unanswerable questions beginning with, "Why..." but I think that fate brought us back together for this crucial time in our lives. Even though we now both have kids, it feels like we're still twelve years old when we're together. As kids, she was far more outgoing, popular, pretty, and confident than I. I'm glad I've been here to remind her of that.

There's a puppet show at Me, Too next week. I'm so there.

Wow, what a difference a month makes. Nev's sleeping habits are more predictable these days. He loves taking a bath and gets excited anytime grandma undresses him because he knows mommy's waiting for him in the tub. After splashing around for a bit and lounging he's ready to eat and go right to sleep. The whole ritual begins around 8:30 and he's asleep by 9:30. If I don't fall asleep while nursing him, this means I have time to stretch and decompress. He wakes up at 8:30 a.m., on. the. dot. I used to try to squeeze every last ounce of sleep out of the night, but for the last few days, I've gotten out of bed an hour or more before the baby. I salute the sun a few times and get right to drilling. I have a lot of material to work with that I need to apply before I lose it completely.

Today Nev is still sleeping and it's 10:15. My left eye is growing a sty to which I'm applying a warm tea bag while surfing the net. Yesterday was President's Day so my mom had the day off. About 45 minutes from here is an outlet mall. In that outlet mall is one Cole Haan store. Cole Haan makes leather bags and shoes in a price range that I normally avoid when strolling through Nordstrom. Cole Haan, however, is owned by Nike, which means that we get 50% off because my mom works there, including more because of the outlet price and whatever in store sales are going on. Post-baby life means I need a purse that can contain more than my wallet and lipstick. Namely, three diapers, a container for baby wipes, an emergency change of clothes for baby, and snacks for me cause I get hungry making all this milk all the time. It's appropriate then, that I bought a bag called "the lunch tote." It was around $90 (originally $245) and two pairs of shoes. One flat, one wedged, both sassy and after all was said and done, I got them both for $60. Score! Living in Tokyo, I know how important comfy shoes are. If I'm going to be in heels and look good walking in them, they better be well made.

Back to baby who is now nursing as I type left-handed. He's 3.5 months now! He can see everything and likes talking to people. He has talked to daddy on Skype which just melts my heart. My nickname for Nev is Bom-bom for two reasons. One, he's a big boy and Bom-bom sounds large. But really, he loves to be bumped. If you rock him, he'll fall asleep with a rhythmic bump on his toosh. Now that he's nearly 20 lbs. we put him in the umbrella stroller and roll it back and forth over the edge of a bath mat to get him his bumps so he can fall asleep. Hence the, "bump-bump, bump-bump, bump-bump." Bom-bom likes going for walks for the same reason. The cracks in the sidewalk lull him to sleep. If the walk is long enough, he'll wake up and look around but not without a nap first. Bom-bom can get fussy if there's a lot of activity going on around him. Life is overwhelming when you're 3 months old. Hell, it's overwhelming when you're 28 years old, too. Often, he just needs a nap. Which of course means, that he needs some bumpage.

Greetings from the winter wonderland! After nearly two solid weeks under a foot of snow (not exaggerating), I emerge with a two month old smiley baby. It's amazing how different he is from when we first brought him home.

Due to the weather, I wasn't able to make it to baby's six week check up. So we went in at seven weeks and he weighed a whopping 13.5 lbs. The bicep in my left arm can testify to that as well. We're sleeping through the night longer and longer these days. Breastfeeding is a life saver. If you have babies, do breast feed them. It's not only the healthiest thing for the baby and nice down time for you, but just a whole lot easier than mixing up a bottle while a baby screams at you. Not to mention that there is nothing cuter than a smiley baby on the boob. Strange, but true. Lately I've taken to rolling over on my side and plopping a nipple in the babe's mouth when he's hungry in the middle of the night. Often, he just wants a couple of squirts and is back to sleep, which means I'm back to sleep without the rigamarole of sitting up, lifting him, turning a light on, getting in position, and disrobing. Then it would be putting myself back together, getting him comfortable again, blah blah blah. Imagine doing all that and going to the kitchen in the middle of the night, warming up a bottle, only to discover that he doesn't want more than a sip.

It seemed like I'd never see then day when the baby would lie by himself for more than a minutes without wanting to be picked up. The first month is ridiculously busy. And it's impossible to figure out why you're so busy when the baby isn't doing anything! It's important that the baby be next to your body most of the time, so adjusting to life with a single limb is a big part of it. Making the mental adjustment that you're no longer on your own time contributes to that as well. That first month, getting a shower or doing a load of laundry seems impossible. When you do have some down time, all you want to do is stare at the baby! There is nothing better than a sleeping baby lying on you either. So any opportunity to put the baby down and do something was quelled by my desire to sleep with the baby or stare at him. I realize yet again how lucky I am to be with my mom. She knows just what to do and kept me well fed during the first month. Considering that it takes 2000 extra calories a day to make breast milk, it's extremely important to get enough to eat and drink. My midwife told me to have someone bring me a big glass of water every time I sat down to breast feed. I've added 50 kegels to that rule of thumb. I must do around 500 kegels a day. And you know I'm doing them to Middle Eastern rhythms. Haha!

I began taking the baby out with me at the one month mark. I had this baby sling that I'd put him in and he'd just sleep as I walked around. He still needed to eat every couple of hours, so I knew my window of time was an hour and a half at best. Still, it was nice to be able to take him places. I should say, it was nice to actually get dressed and be out in the world. Unfortunately the sling I had was a little small for me once my milk came in, so as he grew, it became too small for him. Then I learned that this baby doesn't like to be bundled because his body is so hot, so the sling thing, which is all about the bundle, wasn't working anymore. He'd prefer to be carried, which is what I do these days. He'll sleep in your arms all day if you just carry him. Hence my biceps. I didn't buy a stroller (or, as my boyfriend calls them, Baby SUVs) because Tokyo life doesn't allow for one. Besides, nothing says frumpy more blatantly than a fluffy beige pram loaded down with primary colored dangling things. I'm in search of the perfect baby carrier. I think I found one, the Beco Butterfly Baby Carrier. I'll let you know how that goes.

Occasionally I have those, "Holy shit, I don't know why you're crying," moments. Again, my mom is good for that. I remember a particularly frustrating night when I was extremely tired and he was just wailing. It was every thing I tried just pissed him off more. I had no idea why. He had eaten, he had burped, his diaper was changed. I held him, rocked, bumpy rocked, walked around the house, hummed in his ear, I could NOT get him to stop. My mom came out of her room and said, "Here let me try," and told me she'd bring him to me and to go to sleep. She had him sleeping in less than an hour. She told me that sometimes babies just need to cry and you have to let them. I, on the other hand, took it extremely personally. It is so frustrating to not be able to soothe your own baby. I realize now that it's not about "getting" him to stop, but just letting him get to sleep on his own time. And through whatever process that takes. These days, I practice footwork and hip isolations while rocking him to sleep. I have a particular bump/shimmy sequence that seems to make sleep come quicker. So whether that means fifteen minutes or an hour, it's something that takes my mind off how far from sleep he may be. Babies can be screaming one minute and cooing at you the next though, so that stressful ten minutes or so is wiped clean from the memory pretty easily.

Which brings us up to date. Nev now makes those cute baby sounds. He says, "a-goo, a-ga, hoo," and some indefinable other sounds that I assume are Mandarin Chinese. He smiles responsively and finds polka-dotted things funny and entrancing. The other day he jabbered on to a wall of glasses frames at Binyons. Call me conceited, but I think he thought it was a wall of mommies. Or, as my midwife put it, a breast milk buffet. There's a song I sing sometimes when he's eating that always makes him smile. He doesn't know yet that Mommy can't really sing, so that's sweet. Most days he stays in his pajamas because they're warm and cover his feet but today was special. Why, you inquire? Because this morning he laid a royal poop that climbed up out of his diaper and onto the inside of his pajamas. What better time than to try on some new camouflage pants? Hey, when life gives you lemons...you know the rest. Until next time, a-goo-ba-goo.

that having a baby changes your life completely. Everything is different: your perception of time, of will, of energy, of love. The constant, and I mean CONSTANT, Okay, so they DO tell you that. In fact, people told me that all the time while I was pregnant. "Things will never be the same," they said. And, "You will be blown away at the amount of love you can have for someone." Both true. Both vague.

It's been about three weeks and I haven't had enough free hands to type. I can hold the baby and click, yes, but I type I cannot. I've been feeding him every two hours for twenty-three days. Sleep deprivation, apparently, is something you can live with. Who knew? I'm a sleeper. Furthermore, I'm a napper. Or, I was. He's great at letting me know that he needs something. And right now those needs are limited to food, diaper change, burps, and snuggle time. But really, we are constantly snuggling. I've ventured out into the world with him a few times. I have a couple of baby slings that I put him in and he loves it. They keep him right next to my body which probably reminds him of being in the womb. As an added bonus, he's a hot body and keeps me pretty warm in return.

My body is getting back to normal. I had a couple of small tears from pushing him out, but nothing that needed stitches. I'd say that peeing through an open wound for a week was far worse than labor itself. A friend of mine reminded me what a wuss I had been while getting my tattoo. So I'd say that labor and pushing out a baby is less painful than having a needle poked into you repeatedly for forty-five consecutive minutes. My belly still has that dark brown line down the center. Apparently it could be there for a few months! And my belly button is a bit stretched out. Otherwise, I have no complaints for three weeks. My hips are a couple of inches wider which means the brand new Eman I bought is no where near covering the booty. You may see it on Bhuz soon. Not to mention the girls. Oh the joys of breast feeding and my size D girls! I don't think any of my costumes can accommodate them right now. I wonder if they will remain this big as long as I breast feed. Oh well, the silhouette is bodacious.

He's here! After 42 and a half weeks of growing into one gorgeous baby, on November 7th he came out weighing 8 lbs. 9 oz. We named him Nev.

I met my midwife for a prenatal visit on the 5th. After the first week past my due date, I felt the same as I had in the two weeks prior. The questions about what I was going to do about being "late" were beginning to irritate me so I stopped answering my phone and making efforts to see people. The baby and I were feeling fine and healthy. I'd gradually begun feeling more and more pressure in my lower abs and pelvis. Some pinching sensations told me that my cervix was thinning out, and the lovely mucus was starting to show. I knew things were progressing as they should, slowly and gently. Most doctors won't let you go more than a week past your due date before induction by pitocin, something I wanted to avoid at all costs. I knew I was in the right hands as my midwives reassured me that two weeks past is pretty normal. Nonetheless, I went to bed each night hoping my labor would start and woke up each morning a little disappointed when it hadn't. On top of that, I missed my boyfriend more and more and wondered if my emotional stress wasn't keeping my labor from starting. By the 5th, I was feeling pretty ripe. In a few more days I'd be three weeks past my due date. My midwife again reassured me that everything was fine but if I wanted to get an ultrasound for my own peace of mind, that she would order one. I asked about things we could do to shake the tree, so to speak, because this fruit was ready. She suggested a cervical sweep and castor oil if I was up for it. I agreed.

The following day we met up around 2:30 p.m. A cervical sweep (also called sweeping the membranes) is when the cervix is separated from the bag of waters. Basically, a finger goes into the cervix and circles its perimeter just inside the uterus. Sounds gnarly, but it's quick and no more uncomfortable than a pap smear. I understand now why they tell you to have sex to bring labor on. Aside from the prostoglandins in semen that helps soften the cervix, I imagine that the repetitive knocking on the door may coax the water bag off the cervix as well. The cervix needs to be a little dilated for the sweep to work. Luckily, I was already two centimeters open and my midwife stretched me a bit to three. The bag of waters is left in tact, I should add. Sometimes a sweep is enough to jump start labor. My mom was hesitant about me drinking castor oil and suggested we wait another day to see if the sweep would do it. But I just couldn't wait.

If your body isn't ready to go into labor, drinking castor oil will only work on your intestines. The bad news is, it still works on your intestines. Basically, castor oil gives you diarrhea and stomach cramps. The contractions in the intestines induces contractions in the uterus. That's always true, by the way, not only when you're pregnant. I made sure to eat a good breakfast that morning so my body would have some calories to work with. Following my midwife's instructions, I waited until after sundown to take the first dose. Two ounces every two hours. Three doses total. Yum. Two ounces is a double shot. I mixed it with soy ice cream and soy milk and tried not to let it sit on my tongue as I drank it down. A tall glass of lemon water chased that. Aside from weirding me out, the first dose had no affect on my body, it seemed. I tried eating spicy food the day before and found that I have the stomach of a billy goat. Could I be immune to castor oil too? My boyfriend and I Skyped for a couple of hours. By the time I took the second dose, my toilet time had begun. I'll spare you the details but let's just say that I had envisioned early labor differently. You know, dancing between contractions, lots of time in child pose, cooing lovingly over Skype with my boyfriend. The stomach cramps worsened and I couldn't tell if I was having contractions or not. I took the third dose around 10:30 p.m. and was convinced that I was in labor but I couldn't time the contractions because it all seemed like one long menstrual cramp. Around 11:30 I wobbled down the hall and grunted to my mom to call my midwife. I composed myself and explained that I couldn't tell the difference between the contractions and the cramps. Forcing myself to talk sweetly actually lessened the pain. We agreed to meet at the birth center in an hour.

Labor usually slows down when you change your environment. Especially when you are in transport. Our monkey brain needs for things to be safe and calm in order for labor to progress so it's no wonder that when women show up to the hospital in labor, that it all comes to a grinding halt. My labor, however, regulated in the car. The diarrhea had stopped and the lack of noise and dogs seemed to help. I leaned the seat back and focused on each contraction. I moaned involuntarily but found it hard to speak or pay attention when spoken to. The contractions were about a minute apart for one minute long each. Twenty minutes later and we were at the birth center.

By this time, the contractions required my undivided attention. The assistant midwife came downstairs smiling softly. I lead the way up the stairs and into the center, I just wanted to get in the tub. Between the two women, my vitals stats went quickly. I was pulling my clothes off with the thermometer in my mouth. The room was beautiful and dim. They didn't talk to me in excess or ask any questions that required more than a yes or no. As soon as I hit the warm water, my focus intensified while my body relaxed. My poor mom wanted so badly to do something for me. She brought me my favorite snacks, Pirate's Booty, and held the water cup to my mouth. I asked her to massage my feet at one point. I labored by myself most of the time, though. I could tell the contractions were less than thirty seconds apart. Though I was alone in the bathroom, I knew the midwives were nearby and that they could hear me. Knowing that they trusted me allowed me to be more confident and in tune with what was happening. Every fifteen minutes or so they would check the baby's heart tones with a doppler. Instinctually, I really wanted to be on my knees, but my time on the toilet was making that pose a little difficult. At some point, I decided to try it anyway. I rested my head on the tub, hands between my knees and sitting on the tops of my feet. I stayed in this position until the baby came. One set of contractions later, my water broke. It felt and sounded like a balloon popping under water! A surge of adrenaline kicked in and my arms started to shake. It was getting primal in there. My mom stood at the doorway and I asked her to get the midwives. These contractions were twice as intense as what had been going on previously. I'd equate those contractions to hard core menstrual cramps, but these were a completely different animal. I couldn't believe it, but my body was ready to push. I told my midwife that I was feeling wide open and ready to push. She said that it was fine and to do so if it felt good. And it felt so good! I didn't even have to try, I just had to let it happen. Within two pushes, the baby's head was crowning. I reached down and touched his wrinkly skin. Another push and his head was almost there. Suddenly, a burning sensation around the top of the opening came on. I was worried about tearing so I tried to take my time. My midwife could tell from my face that I was in some pain and said, "if it feels like burning, just let your body push by itself and his head will come out on the next contraction." And she was right! After that I was feeling no pain, honestly. I reached down and tried to savor the moment. I felt something squishy on his head and asked if that was the umbilical cord. She reached in and said, "I feel an ear, and some lips," and smiled at me. I laughed and felt again. She told me that on the next contraction that I could push the rest of him out. So I did. He came shooting out, floating. I grabbed him under the armpit and slowly turned him over. As I pulled him out of the water, I just cried and laughed and cried and laughed.

Smiles were everywhere, my mom crying, my boyfriend on the phone crying, the baby crying a little so daddy could hear him I think. Within fifteen minutes I tried nursing him in the tub. He sucked a little and that helped to clear his throat. I couldn't believe how much like his dad this baby looked! Hence the laughter. We stayed in the tub until the placenta came out. That took another forty minutes, I think. Man, they don't call it an afterbirth for nothing. That thing was three quarters the size of the baby! We left his cord attached so his body could soak up the remainder of his blood. By this time, one more assistant midwife had showed up. She said she was disappointed that she'd missed my birth and didn't think it would go this quickly. Honestly, I've never done this before, but it seemed quick even to me. We got there at 1 a.m. and I had a baby at 2:48 a.m. I pushed for about twenty minutes. They helped me out of the tub and I told them I loved them. My midwife said, "We love you too. You are such the goddess to us right now," and I knew she meant it.

I just wrote this long long post about my struggles with due dates. I may post, I may not. I had to leave my house before I finished and, as I decompressed throughout the day, I got home and wasn't in the mood to dwell on it anymore.

In brief, I'm just waiting for this baby to come! Any...minute...now...

Then again, who'd want to get off THIS roller coaster?

A couple of months ago, bellydance supporter and promoter Craig Nine in Tokyo e-mailed me about an interview for the launch of his newest bellydance website, bellydancer.jp. I met Craig just before leaving Tokyo. He's been in the entertainment business there for years and has taken bellydance on as the new hot thing to promote. He's a blessing for dancers in that he's doing a lot of the work for us. He has planned his own events and does not discriminate from studio to studio when deciding which events to attend. When I told him I'd be coming back to the U.S. he suggested an interview that could help show that bellydancers are women with professions, families, and bling, too. We originally spoke about a video interview but didn't have time before i left. The site went live this month and yours truly talks about dancing while pregnant. When Craig asked me to do the interview, I knew I needed some shots of my belly in costume. Thus, the green bananas shoot :)

Ironically, the site has some English pages, but not my interview. So I'll post what I said here. Or you can practice your Japanese at www.bellydancer.jp



1. It's been a few months how are things in the States?

Things here are nice. I don't mind being away from Tokyo in the summer months, it's much cooler here. Adjusting to a slower paced lifestyle was difficult for me. So I fill my time by going to dance classes and I began teaching a bellydance class here as well. Of course, it's nice to be around my family.

2. We'd all like to congratulate you on your pregnancy, how many
months are you currently?

I'm currently 32 weeks (out of 40)! I just found out that it's a boy!

3. Can you still shimmy (joking) but do you still practice, or
perform?

Yes, I still practice. I can also still belly roll which always gets a laugh. The shimmy is relaxing and is a nice massage for the lower back if done in correct posture. That was not something I anticipated! So yes, I still shimmy quite a bit. I have not performed since I've been back in the U.S. I'd love to, though.

4. I remember from talking to you, you really being conscious about
your health, do you have any advice for those dancers who are planning
to have a child in the near future?

My advice is to trust in your body. Dancing while pregnant has been the most moving and beautiful experience of my life. Bellydance has prepared my body very well for carrying and growing a baby. As always, listen to your body. Don't let other people tell you what you "need" to do (or avoid doing) when you're pregnant. You're the one living in your body so you're the expert on what feels right and what doesn't.

5. What are you missing from Tokyo the most?

My boyfriend! And my friends, students, and dance community. I miss performing and being in the studio. And okonomiyaki.

6. What would you like to say to your many friends & students who
can't wait to see you again?

I miss Tokyo much more than I expected! I can't wait to see the progress my students have made when I get back. I'm on Mixi, so I'd love to hear from you if you'd like to e-mail me. Nihongo mo daijoubuyo (I need the practice).

We're getting down to the wire in baby-making land. My due date is officially Monday and although I've been forecasting that he comes on the 28th, recent belly movements south may indicate otherwise. The last week or so has seen the demise of my beloved aluminum Powerbook G4 and the arrival of its replacement, a newish MacBook in black, Tokyo black. I don't function well without technology at my fingertips. Thus, the silence.

I wanted to post some photos from the baby shower a couple of weeks ago before I forgot. So here you go! Enjoy :)








Magidah





Henna artist Gina was busy!





That's my mommy on the right.



And my brother on the left.



My little iPod.



Funny.

When I decided to come back to the U.S. to have this baby, I knew there'd be a possibility that Baby-Daddy would not be there during the birth. At the time, we both agreed it would be better for me to be in a place where I didn't have to work all the time, catch trains, or speak to doctors in Japanese. I have since had several, "I think I F-ed that up," moments. Neither of us predicted how agonizing it would be to be apart and once I began to really grow and feel movement, I missed him even more. Plus, I felt like a real selfish jackass for denying him the experience of watching and feeling his baby move inside of me. In attempts to make up for this, I make movies of our wiggling shrimp. And again, thank god for Skype. In hindsight, I wish I'd stayed.

On the other hand, had I not come back I wonder if I would have learned as much about pregnancy and birthing as I have. I have a tremendous amount of resources here and have found a beautiful birthing center with awesome midwives (www.waterbirth.net). I've been stress free, eating well, and reconnecting with my family. I've made my mom ridiculously happy. Ironically or not, Baby-Daddy and I have grown closer by being further apart.

The issues we faced in him coming here were all visa related. Why does one need a visitors visa to the U.S., you ask? Because Baby-Daddy is not a citizen of a rich American-friendly country, but rather a small island nation in the Caribbean. We don't let just anybody in these days. As a non-Japanese citizen in Japan, applying for an American visa can take up to three months. As a person who needs to travel to Hong Kong frequently for work, having a hold on your passport for more than a week doesn't really work. In July, Baby-Daddy traveled to London for the first time in several years to visit family. His father was seriously ill and after staying for a ten days, he returned to Tokyo anyway. He planned on going back in September after discussing things with work. We found that if he applied for his visa in London, it would take no more than eight days and we knew he wouldn't be asked to travel for business while there. He planned an around-the-world ticket with a stop in London for a few weeks, a stop in the Caribbean, and a stop here before returning to Japan. Things were looking up. I began fantasizing about showing him around Portland and spending quality time in the tub with him. He bought some Birkenstocks to mark the occasion. What a crack-up.

A few days after arriving back in London, BD's father passed away. I'm really grateful that he was able to be there and that he is surrounded by family. It didn't shock him, but he did intend on taking his father to the Caribbean one last time. BD hasn't been since childhood and I know he was looking forward to reunions and the tropics. That leg of the trip got cancelled. Instead he booked the earliest date for a visa interview as possible, October 6th. We were both surprised that the dates were full until then (this being mid-September) but you take what you can get. It felt like we were both just waiting around to see each other. What torture! The night of the 5th, I slept uneasily and occupied myself with stupid computer games waiting for the phone call that all went well at the embassy. Government offices make me uneasy, even my own. I just know the red tape is there for nothing but to pretend things matter that really don't. Around 10 am he called and his tone of voice was far less than genki. His visa application was denied. Non-UK citizens cannot apply for American visas outside of their home country. Since he works in Japan (technically Hong Kong), he has to apply there. I should note that there is no indication of this on the US Embassy website. At this point, with my due date ten days away (not that I'm counting or anything), it's impossible for him to get back to Japan, re-apply, and make it here in time. I tried not to sound too disappointed on the phone, but I wanted to cry some fat wet tears.

The gray chilly weather did little to lift me out of the funk for the rest of the day. We Skyped and tried to make each other laugh. At least we'll have Skype during early labor so I can make owee-faces at him.

Speaking of early labor, not that this qualifies, but I'm having some serious pinching sensations right now! Aww yeah! Move it down baby, let's get you out of there.

In other weekly news, Ozma was here last week! She arrived on Wednesday from Seattle so I picked her up for dinner. I regret that we hadn't taken any photos. It's probably because we were both without our Japanese cell phones.

Ozma stayed with one of her Matts who now lives in the swanky Pearl District of Portland. We headed a few blocks up to Marrakesh to see Jewels dance and attempt to eat five courses of Moroccan/American decadence. Ozma and Jewels know each other from Bhuz and I met her for the first time at Aziza's workshops this summer. She's lovely. We ordered the course because we didn't know there was any other choice. A la carte is an option they do not encourage, those sneakies. We made it to course three, or so and gave up. The deep fried Moroccan chimichangas made yummy breakfasts. Yes, it took me two additional days to eat them. Ozma and I chatted about life and such. We talked more about the magnificent amount of space Jewels would have to dance in. At how since people sat on the floor and along the walls that your veil would fly effortlessly over the heads of customers. Oh, the possibilities! When Jewels came out, blinged up, we sighed and sat back to relax. It has been a while since I've been able to just enjoy a show. I love bellydance.

From there we headed across town to It's a Beautiful Pizza. We met back up with Jewels. Magidah was also there in her pinky pink fabulousness. I was too stuffed to move but Ozma got up to shake it around and help herself digest. It amused me at how little Ozma looked on the dance floor here. We're used to being the larger dancers on the floor in Tokyo. I believe The live band at Pizza is great. Portland is really lucky to be able to watch bellydancers with live music weekly for only $5 at the door. We are totally spoiled here and now I know it. Of course I was excited to see Tiffany (www.tiffanybellydancing.com) and I wanted Oz to see her cause I knew she'd love her. She's even better than I remember. The table of Turkish(?) people showed her their love too. And then left immediately after her set. I guess we knew why they came! There are some serious diamonds in the rough in this town. I felt bad for the dancer to follow because half the audience left after Tiffany. Granted it was already past 10:30 p.m. on a school night. The next dancer, whose name I wish I could remember, danced with such confidence and old-school technique that I couldn't take my eyes off her. Her costume, on the other hand, I wish I had never been witness too. I got over it quickly though. Her expression, wisdom, grace, and sincerity reminded me that there is much to learn over time and experience. Young dancers don't dance like that. Magidah informed us that she is one of the aunties of bellydance in Portland. I love bellydance.

Ozma and Portland are a natural fit. It's interesting how comfortable it felt for her to be here. I mean, I guess we're both American. It's not just that though. Madison and Portland are sister cities, it seems. Wisconsin, huh? Really? Anyway, Friday we met up with a friend of mine at Al Amir. Al Amir holds a special place in my heart because I used to go there specifically to watch Aziza. I learned a lot about dancing in restaurants from watching her those nights. At that time, I didn't realize I would ever come to apply those things. Restaurants aren't the best venues for bellydance viewing but she was there every Friday. Aziza + hummus + after hours bar-top dancing = guaranteed night of fun when you're 22. I also appreciated that people dressed up to go there. And I don't mean in the "wear your nicest Columbia Sportswear jacket" kind of way. I went there so much that the staff at Al Amir treated me like their little sister. It's nice to know that some things never change. Now that I'm sporting the baby bump, complimentary falafel and dessert made its way to our table that night. Another Portland dancer, Claudia, now dances there. She's a former student of Aziza's though I never knew her personally. She's a great dancer and has the cutest face (www.claudiabellydance.com). My god, she is a DOLL. Her show was entertaining and very fast paced. We were a little confused that a drum solo followed the intro. And then two pop songs. You can't argue with her dancing, but for bellydancers, we want the whole classic set thing, you know? Is this how restaurant shows in the U.S. are now? We had no time to breathe, relax, and just enjoy. I don't know if the manager or owner prefers this kind of show or what...but we were all a bit puzzled. Nonetheless, I love bellydance.

After taking yet another meal to its limit, I dropped my dear Ozma off. Until Tokyo, darling!