Writing about pregnancy is idle, there is tons of material on the net, in books, from friends and mothers. Just so you know, I too had to throw up, for four months and yes it did stop suddenly and yes good months followed. Those that came after were more arduous, anticipating a bit of an old-woman feel. We knew the first 12 weeks were dangerous, we still had to talk about it.
My cell cluster was soon given the name thingamabob. Wine? Oh no, whatchamacallit, oh yes. A bit like a fake, when nothing can be seen yet. But that came with the vision and took on proportions that were previously unimaginable to me. Yoga, swimming, walking, thrift stores, language classes, friends, friends and family, and always on the go. Italy, Germany, Italy, Germany, Italy, Germany. In between ultrasound: it’s a girl! The joy was great – although it would have been just as great with a boy. Somehow it doesn’t matter and somehow it’s nice to know what’s in store for you. A girl then. Naming. Huiuiui. Anna, Lisa, Maria, Elsa, Helena, Clara, Chiara, Sarah. No. Smilla. Gianni practiced and struggled. Torturing Italians with two consonants that directly follow each other and together form a sibilant was already a nasty thing to do. So we just dropped the S and it stayed Milla. Milla. Milla. Milla. A handshake followed and that sealed it. The Italian grandmother began to knit, so from now on there was no turning back. The German grandfather still tried to shorten it to one l, but that was out of the question. Milla. Item. Whether the world wants it or not.
