Nesting

Apparently this is supposed to be my “nesting week.” According to my pregnancy book, many women feel a desperate urge to clean under shelves and behind cupboards and need to be restrained.  Thankfully this is convenient timing as there is a lot of work to be done on our new house.  Finally, our kitchen is unpacked and kashered, you can walk from the front door to our stairwell without having to dodge boxes and our bedroom is habitable.  Now we just have to find a way to eradicate the cigarette smell that hits you as you walk in.  I think we may have to start burning incense.

Unpacking stuff is actually quite fun (don’t laugh, I have never done this before) and whilst I was thrilled to see my cadburys drinking chocolate, Jojo was really happy to see his cot.  In fact he snuggled up with his stuffed animals and went straight to sleep.  Poor thing hasn’t been very well, with 3 days of fevers.  I went along for my checkup with crusty gynacologist and mentioned that he hadn’t been well.  The Doc took one look at me, decided I clearly wasn’t the nervous jewish mother type and marched Jojo off to the paediatrician next door.  He seemed to think I had enough on my plate without the extra worry and has clearly encountered women who subconsciously delay their labours as they are concerned about their families needs. Very common, apparently.

Happily, Jojo was given the all clear, and was even more cheerful when he got to spend his evening in an outdoor sushi restaurant with our hosting friends.  A result all around as the waitresses were all very happy to babysit, and were thrilled when Jojo picked them flowers from the pavement and handed them over whilst smiling, bashfully.  I am really impressed at how quickly he has taken to flirting.  No idea where he picked up his skills.

Yesterday we attempted to shop for some basic furniture items that our new apartment lacks.  The service in Office Depot was beyond appalling.  I have NO IDEA how anyone makes any money in this country.  You actually have to beg them to serve you.  There is no “madam, can I help you? Would you like to see it in the mahogany?”  You have to wait until an assistant brushes past you, and flag them down like a New York taxi.  If anyone tries to cut in front of you then you have to literally shove them out of the way.  In the end, whilst navigating the enormous labyrinth that is  Home Centre we sat down by the desk we had chosen to buy and demanded that they serve us immediately.  By which point I was so exhausted from walking around the place looking for an assisstant that my friend ended up pushing me to the service desk in an office chair.  A couple of people tried to tell us off but we smiled blankly and pretended we didn’t speak hebrew.  One has to be cheeky in this country, and besides, at nearly 38 weeks, I was past caring.