The Expectant Mother

Lucy’s early pregnancy was probably one of the worst kept secrets in Dubai; ordering a cranberry juice at a brunch one Friday raised everyone’s eyebrows and Sally caught her mooching around the top floor of Dubai Mall with traces of Cinnabon decorating her top, muttering excuses about ‘looking for that bookshop that sounds like a sushi bar…’  Fortunately for Lucy, no one caught on at work too soon.  However she was a bit put out that no one thought it abnormal for her to eat a whole packet of Jaffa Cakes in one sitting and the cleaner no longer gave her a cheery ‘morning ma’am’ after she was forced to vomit into the bottom drawer of her desk.

She didn’t waste any time however in getting herself on the books of Dubai’s most popular gynaecologist, Dr Schmidt; a terrifying Austrian woman who often got her name wrong and regularly gave her a hard time about putting on weight.  “Pregnancy izz a state not a sickness daahlink” she purred, while slapping Lucy’s behind and smiling in a way that reminded Lucy of that scary lady with the Dalmatians from her youth.  Nevertheless, the doctor seemed happy to go along with Lucy’s very precise Zen birth plan. She also felt justified in her selection when she saw Dr Schmidt at a particularly high-society baby shower but was a touch concerned to witness the good doctor down two glasses of bubbly and then dash off to complete “another blaaady C-section”.

Lucy’s ante-natal classes did nothing to soothe the nerves regarding the fast-approaching labour.  They were led by a forthright young midwife, who mumbled under her breath that she had never given birth before confidently telling the group that labour was ‘an entirely natural experience’ and that pain relief should only be considered as a last resort for those who couldn’t cope.  The group were then shown a ‘birth-movie’ in which a woman who, given her personal grooming, looked like a regular at Glastonbury in the 70s, puffed and squeaked a few times before a baby appeared.  Lucy’s heart sank as her husband, who had appeared an hour late and spent most of the session reading his blackberry, turned to her and laughed, “Well that looks like a walk in the park babe!”  They fell out in the car on the way home when she pointed out that one of the husbands had been taking notes.

Now it’s June, the heat is intolerable and Lucy is so large she’s struggling to get in and out of her 4x4 without using the steering wheel as an anchor.  She’s sick and tired of every shop assistant asking ‘Boyorguurl?’ while pointing at her ever-increasing bump and one unfortunate coffee barista nearly had his head slammed on the counter when he suggested to Lucy that caffeine was ‘bad for baby’.  She’s been scanned more times than a bar code and, as a result, beginning to feel like she’s invading her baby’s privacy. The only thing she is able to do now is wallow in an overly warm swimming pool (she gave up on Prenatal Yoga when the instructor, who was 8 months pregnant herself, managed to tuck her ankle behind her head…  show-off) and waddle around the malls. However, this usually makes her depressed as she’s constantly reminded how much cheaper all the baby gear is back in her own country.  So keen is she to be on the other side of pregnancy, that she’s beginning to wonder whether she should have ordered the Caesarean option after all.

Dedicated to B

Dubai Summer Part III: The Abandoned Husband

Andy is a WAN*ER and he couldn’t be more excited about it (Wife Away No Kids Eat Rubbish). His wife, Beth, is about to return to their home country for the summer with their 3 children, leaving him on his own in Dubai for a month.   A month!  Beth is trying to be supportive but can’t help but roll her eyes as he giggles like a girl on the telephone with his mates, making plans for the weeks ahead.  Suddenly Mike, Doug and Stuart, three quite respectable and reserved family men, have turned into ‘Big Mig’,  ‘Doogie Howser MD’ and ‘The Germinator’ respectively.  (Beth has been careful not to ask where Stuart’s name comes from; his wife is a close friend of hers)  Behind all the protestations that their wives are cruelly abandoning them, they appear to be busy planning the stag they never had.  Andy sees his wife and the kids off at the airport and Beth swears she hears his tires squeal as he pulls away with glee, ignoring his youngest who waves and whispers ‘Bye bye daddy’.

The plan for the month is ambitious; a mixture of party hard, play hard and become close friends with the delivery guy.  Andy can’t wait to finally get the lads over to play on the Wii, the first time he’s been able to since he bought it for his eldest last year.  He insists on practising before they arrive and a particularly enthusiastic manoeuvre results in the first breakage of the ‘holiday’.  He doesn’t think Beth will notice the absence of her mother’s vase.

Their first weekend involves a messy trip to the ‘Dark Side’, aka Deira, which involves electric blue drinks, sticky floors and, Andy seems to remember, a midget doorman.  This is followed swiftly by an antipodean-style brunch which sends ‘Big Mig’ into a temporary state of decline when, having been encouraged to leap on the table by a hen group nearby, promptly breaks said table in two, sending bottles of fake fizz flying over the surrounding parties.  His blues are remedied by a trip to a classy establishment known as Snakebite, where the boys cut some shapes on the floor (including Doug’s favourite robot dance) and sing along, eyes-shut, hands over hearts, to a Philippine tribute bands’ version of Living on a Prayer.  Andy’s firm belief that his wife has never really appreciated his fashion sense is verified when a particularly friendly eastern European woman can’t stop complimenting his ACDC Live at Donington t-shirt. There is a minor embarrassment the next morning when the maid discovers Andy fast asleep on the sofa with some pepperoni glued to his forehead and the TV remote still in his hand.

After that weekend, there are a few games of indoor cricket and some insufferable rounds of ‘suicide golf’ where the four men try to putt while the sweat drips into their eyes and off the end of their noses.  There are no further nights out; Andy swaps the electric blue fizz and dancing for bottles of water and box sets.  He is only mildly disturbed to find himself in tears after a particularly gruelling episode of Grey’s Anatomy.  His wife is right: that Dr Shepherd has such great hair!  After over-hearing two colleagues in the office discussing how difficult it is to get an appointment at the clinic in September for a before-the-wife-returns ‘cleanse’, Andy is horrified.  He’s on Skype that evening, chatting to Beth and the kids and plotting his earlier-than-scheduled trip to see them.