STILL here

This is what people keep saying to me at the office.

"You're STILL here?!"

I'm still here.

Betty and our dear family friend Pat were both sure August 2 would be the day. They both had this feeling.

So I woke up yesterday morning looking for signs. Nothin'. All day, hopeful. Nothin'.

I'm still here.

Several people have suggested it'll happen on the full moon, which is the 6th. Apparently a lot of women go into labor on the full moon.

On the downside, maternity wards are packed. The ER is full of crazies. And people come into the hospital with all kinds of bizarro stuff.

From what I hear.

On another downside, my friend Eileen - who I haven't seen in 18 years! - is coming on Friday for the weekend. She's lives in CA and will be out here for work.

Would be awesome if he arrived just a wee bit before, so she could meet him. Or right after. But obviously, so not under my control.

David thinks it'll happen at 4 pm on Friday.

A lot of my friends keep saying they're sure it'll happen soon. Some have specific days.

Others remind me of the fact that first babies tend to go to term, if not past it.

And yes, I have scheduled an induction for the Friday the 14. My OB is at the hospital on Fridays, and I felt like just past due date is fair.

I know there are good reasons to just wait. I know it ups your odds for a C-section.

There are people who think the induction is a Very. Bad. Idea.

(Also, I'm pretty bummed about the idea of spending the night of my 40th birthday in the hospital with Cervidil in my hoo-ha.)

I feel like if I get to next Wednesday and feel like I can keep waiting, I will cancel it. But otherwise, that's the plan.

Because I'm one of the few people who seems to be really concerned about the possible ginormity of my progeny. I suppose because it's all, um, closest to home for me.

Which is why I've posted this picture, taken on our honeymoon. As a reminder. Nick, AKA The Father is twice my size, if not bigger. Before I got pregnant, he was twice my weight, plus some.

His bones, they are enormous. All his people are giants.

This makes me so not inclined to be all, "Stay in there and fatten up as long as you like, my pretty!"

So now you know we are not only lame tourists, but terrible people

Nick and I are bad tourists.

What I mean is this. We had a number of things we really wanted to see - we took the above photo at the Topkapi palace, which was amazing - but we didn't pack our days seeing stuff. We did a lot of drinking of Efes beer and wandering and whatnot.

And then when we were sightseeing, we'd get distracted.

For example, we spent a whole 20 minutes following this Japanese couple around. Because they had a camera on a stick.

It was really compelling.

They had this pole that was maybe four feet long. And they could perch the camera on the end, pose, and then push a button to take their picture. Ingenious! Self-picture taking without the stretched out arm and awkward contortion because of it!

We saw them do it, but didn't move fast enough to get our camera out.

And so we wasted the next 20 minutes hoping they'd whip it out again. We'd follow them and then when they stopped, we'd take out our camera and say things like, "Oh! This is so beautiful! I definitely have to get a picture of this!"

In case they didn't speak English, we made sure to sound really excited. "Oh! Let's take one of both of us!"

To no avail.

I am still sorry we don't have a picture of them.

And then! Mere hours later! We spotted the woman above. We weren't following her and her family at first, but we kept running into them. And started referring to her as the New Jersey Turkish Woman.

(Apologies to my friends from New Jersey. None of the NJ women I currently know would dress in sequins and sparkly pointy boots and such.)

We took her picture because, well, partly because we missed the Camera on a Stick people. But also because while we saw a number of women with head scarves, she was the sparkliest. Not the least modestly dressed - because we saw a lot of women with tight clothing, wearing nothing to suggest they were in a Muslim country.

But she, she was fully covered, modestly dressed, but still expressing her individuality. Out of deference and caution, we only took a picture from the back. But there was a lot lot lot of bling and decoration. Sequins down the front! Sequins on the scarf! And pointy boots! With more sequins!

We loved it. I wanted to get a better shot of the boots, but we had to be really furtive about this.

See what terrible people we are?

So far, so good

Today we successfully arrive at one month of married bliss.

Also, pretty soon we'll have known each other a year. Ha.

We got to Dulles super early when we left for our honeymoon. It was a United/Lufthansa codeshare, and we asked if we could get an upgrade. Which, at least historically, was not a problem on United. We figured we'd use miles. Or money. Or whatever.

And the Lufthansa woman said there was no way to do it. We should've applied two weeks prior. But she'd see if they could give us a courtesy upgrade.

We asked if the fact that we were on our honeymoon helped.

Nick was all, "We really did just get married on Saturday! Want to see pictures?"

We had Nick's BlackBerry with us, and that morning people had emailed us a few photos, most notably the one above. Which was taken by a guest and is one of my absolute favorites.

He was dying to show them to someone.

And really, what is a woman behind a counter going to say when such an enthusiastic guy beams at her and offers her pictures?

She looked at the pictures appreciatively.

And then we waited.

Of course we were still reliving all the tiny moments in the wedding. So then we sat in the waiting area, huddled over his little screen, all ooey gooey.

Then we waited some more. Was this a good sign? A bad one?

I looked up from scrolling through pictures and said, "I sure hope this works out."

(Thinking, crap, it's a long flight to Germany with a man who is going to take up part of my seat.)

He took my face in his hands.

"I'm absolutely sure it will."

(I love this confidence! In the face of complete uncertainty!)

"How can you be so sure?"

"I just know."

"But how do you know?"

(Me, I have no faith in airlines. Even good ones.)

"I just have complete certainty. I know how much I love you. And I know how well we communicate. And..."

"Oh, sweetie. I meant the upgrade."

"Oh. That. I give that 50/50."

The Romance Reduction Plan - three easy steps

You may, at some point in your life, find yourself with too much time and romance on your hands.

Maybe you're on your honeymoon. Maybe you're on a holiday. Something of the sort.

Bear in mind that the ternary Romance Reduction Plan (RRP) I'm offering would be practically impossible to orchestrate in advance. I can't imagine how. So in case of too much romance, you will probably have to be creative. But I offer these as suggestions or guidelines.

Because maybe at first your vacation is perfect. It's all hand holding and sightseeing and fun. The weather is perfect, travel is great, you're getting along amazingly. This goes along for an idyllic week.

Say, however, you're one of these people who gets tired of too much sweetness and romance. Enough, at some point, is enough. What do you do?

I am here to tell you that bringing it to a screeching halt? Easy. Very easy.

Step one: Contract violent diarrhea. Accompany it with a fever and chills, if you like.

I am pretty sure that when Nick proposed he never, ever imagined that one day the petite blonde he fell in love with would be capable of the kind of putrescence he now realizes I can produce. And it wasn't just the paint-peelingly malodorous kind of diarrhea, but the kind that sings with a sound that reaches under doors and through walls to make sure it is heard by your companion and at least three passing birds.

In other words: the humiliatingly hellacious kind.

And not once. But all. Day. Long. For two days. Well, three, but the third day was a lot better.

The improvement on the third day was lucky for two reasons. One, that was the only day we could go to Ephesus, and I wasn't about it miss it, even if I had to dehydrate the shit out of myself (no pun intended) and crawl on my hands and knees to see it. And two, it improved just in time for step two of the RRP.

Step two: Begin menstruating.

This needs no explanation. Could you feel less sexy ever than with the diarrhea and your period?

I think not.

Step three, which is superfluous, but never hurts, when the goal is Reduced Romance: Contract a cold.

You should try to do this just as the diarrhea is pretty much under control and period is in full swing. This little trick will ensure that at no time are fewer than two of your orifices incredibly busy. It's enough, I assure you. Plus, all three together would be too much of a test for the strongest among us.

Other than that, it's all been a Turkish delight - really and truly spectacular.

Although on a side bar, Turkish Delight, while a gorgeous name, is a sweet I truly dislike. If I were naming it, I'd call it Turkish Dread. But that's probably an example of poor marketing.

So anyway.

We fly tomorrow, laden with carpets, evil eye amulets, bags full of filthy clothing, about 87 gajillion digital photos, and incredible memories. Getting sick sucked ass, but as for the rest of it, I couldn't have asked for a better holiday.

And here we are, a little bit exhausted in Istanbul

The Internet room at the hotel is in hot demand. Also, it's hot. And moist. And the connection is slow. So I will be brief.

First, thank you all for the nice comments. It was very fun reading through them. I can't wait to see all the wedding pictures and write about the weekend. It was such a great time.

So.

Istanbul? Is amazing. It's beautiful and historic and stunning and exhausting all at the same time.

I will say this. It's a fantastic trip, but if what you want to do is relax after you get married, you shouldn't come to Istanbul. Particularly not with me. I think Nick has walked more in the past three days than in the last year.

Walking itself is a bit of a challenge, as everything requires a shove through a crowd. And there are 80 gazillion people everywhere. Plus, it seems like at least half of them want you to look at their rugs. Or try their delicious fish.

"Excuse me. Where are you from?"

This is how it begins. And it ends with you being walked to a rug shop. Or offered a menu. Nick doesn't mind it but it makes me very tired.

I must mention that people have been incredibly kind and friendly, and the shopkeepers are quick to offer you tea while you sit and look at their rugs. Even if you don't buy anything, they are unfailingly hospitable.

The second night we were here, we wound up spending a couple hours in a rug shop that Nick wanted to go to. I was so tired, and while it was interesting, was just genuinely too exhausted from the wedding weekend, the travel, and the jet lag to think about making a purchase.

The salesman pushed, but not too hard. He was a great reader of people, at at a certain point, he just stopped. Very friendly, but wasn't going to push me past my limit.

I said I was tired and he said, "You look a little bit exhausted."

That's what I was. A little bit exhausted.

I offered, as explanation, "We just got married on Saturday."

And in my mind I was thinking about all the planning and work and preparation and nervousness leading up to it. And the fun of Friday night, and the running around of Saturday, the fantastic night, and the dancing, and all the wine and champagne and then beer on top of it all, and the staying out till 3 am Sunday morning. And the slogging through the hangover and the packing and the long plane trip and the jet lag.

But you could so clearly see on his face the reason he thought I was tired.

He beamed at us. And said, "Usually, after people get married, it is the man who is tired!"

And I have slept so much better ever since

We have tickets to and from Istanbul. And that's still as far as we've gotten.

We have not yet worked out where we're staying in Istanbul, or for how long, or which other cities (beyond Ephesus, which is supposed to be extraordinary) we want to visit while we're there.

We do, however, have one piece of the trip firmly under control.

While we were at Nick's parents' house a couple weeks ago, we were talking to his dad about our honeymoon travels. He asked where we were connecting. Nick said he thought Frankfurt.

It turns out his dad, in his years of travel for work, has gone through that airport a million times. They started talking details - what time we're getting in, how long the layover is, etc.

While this detailed exchange was going on, Betty and I got into a far more interesting conversation with his mother about Turkish rugs and crafts.

At some point Nick interrupted. And said, "Sweetie! My dad knows exactly where we should have lunch on our layover!"

Big sigh of relief. Lord knows we wouldn't want to miss a meal.

The honeymoon. Or, where the eff are the Orkneys?

We've started talking about The Honeymoon.

As soon as we got engaged people started asking us where we were going to go. And we had no idea. We were both still stumbling around in the delighted bewilderment of being engaged. But now we've realized that actually, it's not that far off. We need to make a plan.

But first we need to agree.

For any of you familiar with our divergent taste in furniture or just about anything, you probably have some sense of where this is going.

"I'm dying to see Angkor Wat!"

Nick (having only vaguely heard of the place), responds, "Sure, honey. That could be interesting." He says this not very convincingly.

He then exclaims in delight, "Or! How about the Orkneys?"

"Where the fuck are the Orkneys?"

In case you, like me, had no idea, it turns out the Orkney Islands, which incidentally look beautiful, are part of Scotland. You go to the northern northest, and did I mention north part of Scotland. And then go north. These islands sit where the Atlantic meets the North Sea.

Brr.

And being rather profane, with a profound loathing of the cold, I continued on this eff-bomb extravaganza.

"Look how far north they are! The North Sea! Why the fuck would we go to the Orkneys?"

"It's beautiful. And desolate. We could go backpacking. The scenery is spectacular!"

"It would be really, really cold. I don't want to be cold on my honeymoon." (Nor, I might add, do I want to backpack.)

"It might be a little cold. But so beautiful!"

"The last time I went backpacking was in Nepal. It was the most gorgeous experience."

"See?"

"Part of the trek was also so cold that I didn't take off my clothes for a week. At night I would unhook my bra and take off my hiking boots. And that was all I took off."

"Huh."

"And the only time I unzipped my pants? Was when I used the latrine."

Brief pause.

"So. . .where's Angkor Wat?"