Ugly Americans

We are in the home stretch of our time here in Turkmenistan, which is to put it bluntly, awesome . So awesome in fact, that I want to do a little happy dance every time I think about it. As you can expect, we have been preparing for our departure. This involves me going through our belongings and tossing the things we don't want or need before people come by to inventory our stuff for the movers. That is ostensibly, what I have been doing for the past month. Yet somehow this place still looks like I haven't tossed anything out. Which isn't true- I have about five trash bags filled with shredded papers, and two bags of clothes destined for the trash. There are small electronics I still need to toss (broken VCR, broken vacuum sealer- I see you) as well, but there's still more tossing to do. All our remaining consumables (save for the spices and select dry goods) will not be coming with us. The car supplies (oil) won't be going with us. Neither will the remaining bag...

[Author's note: This entry was originally written in January 2012. It was originally sent to a smaller circle of family and friends on Facebook as a way of explaining in one go what happened at the end of my pregnancy. However I have decided to publish the original draft on my journal since Facebook is not the best way to present, locate, or archive long postings.] Since Facebook updates are best for bite-sized portions of information, I have decided to explain why I've been scarce lately. I include a tiny disclaimer- everything that happened in this story is true, however I might have a few things out of order due to circumstances beyond my control. Memory is funny that way. For 37 weeks, I had what most people would describe as a normal, uneventful pregnancy. I'd been taking my vitamins regularly, eating as varied a diet one could manage in Ashgabat, and keeping busy. Everything was fine, and nothing was out of the ordinary. I'd picked out my OBGYN back home...