Bath Bun in the Oven

Right, so that's one of many future jokes that we now-Brits will surely make and you otherlings won't get. Welcome to my daily existence in England! Life is a series of head-scratching jokes, of nodding and pretending I fully get the jocularity spake by one of my new countrymen.

Bath buns are rich, sweet rounds of dough with lumps of sugar baked into the bottom and more crushed sugar sprinkled on top after baking. Dating back to 1763, and introduced to accompany the Bath waters as part of a regimen healing ailments from gout to impetigo, they are still made and consumed daily here in Bath, at famous institutions like Sally Lunn's.

But all this, really, is to say that the Davidson-Rothmans are expecting a new addition to the family! That's right, I'm knocked up. Expecting. In the Family Way. I'm just about 17 weeks, which puts Le Deux's ETA at April 25. That's right - the first little Taurus in the combined Rothman-Davidson clan (right...? thinking fast thinking fast). Yes, I'm fairly sure that's right.

AnyWHO (see, pregnancy brain has already set in) it's been a weird few months, as the British health care system is a bit, shall we say, laissez-faire compared to either the French or American systems. Since we arrived in the UK six months ago I've been happily trotting in and out of doctor's appointments, by myself or with Josie - never signing anything, never paying anything. This is all well and good until you're nearly 38, possibly pregnant and desperate for answers. After peeing on several sticks at Club Med, sort-of-seeing-faint-lines-but-not-sure, we landed back in England in early August and I gleefully booked a blood test at the clinic down the street. However, when I arrived the lovely midwives goggled at me like I had just asked to be injected with meerkat poo. Blood tests, they informed me, are not routinely performed, but I was welcome to pee on stick #14, then "carry on" and they would see me back at week 8.

Being a neurotic New Yorker that was simply unacceptable, so fast-forward through 6 days of frantic phone calls, stalking of mysterious obstetricians (not routinely seen here as part of early pregnancy either) to week 7 when I was able to obtain an early sonogram and see that li'l beating heart. That breathtaking day would carry me through five weeks of knocked-down-by-a-lorry exhaustion and why-did-I-do-that-tequila-shot-after-three-beers-and-six-Vodka-Collins nausea.

But now, happily settled into my second trimester, I'm feeling terrific (though "carry on" will never be my favorite medical philosophy). My energy is back, I've enrolled in prenatal yoga and started wandering the cute shopping streets of Bath for all the necessities I will have to re-purchase because our darling and perfectly preserved bouncer, swing, Bumbo seat, activity mat and the rest are huddled dejectedly in our attic in Nyack. In three weeks or so we'll find out whether Le Deux is a BGR2, or a BBR. Woohoo!

Josie is taking this news, like everything else in her life (we're moving to Paris! eat this, it's called a crepe! we're going to go everywhere on something called a Metro! hey, this is your new music preschool! we're moving to England! put on these special shoes called Wellies! try this, it's Marmite!) in stride. We picked the perfect moment –at the Neston Farm Shop, where a mother piggy foraged with her 6 little piggies for lunch – to tell her she was going to be a big sister. "Wow," she said. "Can I go play on that wooden tractor?" (Road Runner sound effects)

Yup, that's pretty much how Mommy is feeling these days.

We've actually been getting out and enjoying lots of nature this fall. Our trip to Neston's Farm Shop was followed by last weekend's delightful afternoon at Horse World. A home for rescued horses and other farm animals, Horse World boasts all the best aspects of British family fun. Live animals. Interactivity. An indoor playground. Cafeteria with tea and fattening treats. Check, check, and check! The staff are terrific and really let the kids participate in feeding and grooming. Josie loved bringing lunch to "her" horse, Gracie.

Hey, are those Cheerios? Do you maybe feel like sharing?

Gracie is one of the worst neglect and cruelty cases Horse World had ever encountered. After hearing a softened version of Gracie's story, Josie wanted to "help her." Luckily, Horse World offers an adoption program, so Josie's Chanukah contribution will help feed and take care of Gracie for at least a little while this year!

I can't wait to adopt you. Do you want to sleep in my room? Do you like Snow White?

After feeding Gracie, trucking through a freezing and mucky "family nature trail," meeting a ferret, and eating a traditional British lunch of "jacket potato" and baked beans, it was off to the indoor play area, complete with GIANT SLIDES! To her father's delight, and my chest-clutching terror, the girl has no fear.















Speaking of fear, another Hallowe'en came and went, celebrated in style with spooky fun for kids and parents alike. Thanks to my friend A, who counseled with games and decorations, we made spooky hand puppets, did a cake walk, a treasure hunt, ate a ton of sugar and finished with a dance party. Josie dressed as Peppa Pig, though for the girl who loves to live in costume, she surprisingly only wanted to wear it for about ten minutes. We can only think the additional weight encumbered her search for treasure and speed during the cake walk.

Peppa and the Very Hungry Caterpillar

Having now hosted two parties in Bath, I've learned to skip the foie gras, save the fancy cheese, forget the fondue. What do the Brits go nuts for chez nous? Seven-layer dip! "What is this heavenly concoction?" they inquire. All allegiances to chutneys, curries, and the like go right out the window the second they sample that perfect bite of beans, cheese, olives, tomatoes, guacamole, creme fraiche (you can take the girl out of Paris...) and scallions. There – if you didn't have the recipe, now you do! Just don't try to dip in for yourself whilst any Great Pulteney Street residents tarry about – you could lose a finger.

The weather here is finally transitioning into what portends to be a long, chilly, and damp winter. However, if the thermometer inches above 40 we remain determined to spend weekends enjoying the beautiful English countryside. You'll likely sense a theme here; this past weekend we took advantage of a sunny if brisk morning to explore the Bath City Farm, a working and completely open farm inside Bath's City Limits. You can hunt for eggs in the chicken coop, pet the goats, even help muck out the pigpen (um....pass). I do think we have a real animal lover on our hands....


Next weekend we're off to Paris for our first return visit (can't wait!); and the following weekend our American-Parisian friends the Bells and Gagnon-Joneses (and their 4 children) are coming for a belated Thanksgiving. Hilarity will surely ensue, so check back for preggo pics, Midwestern cheesy potatoes, and many wacky anecdotes along the general theme of overeating/undersleeping.

I know, ma chère... it's so easy to fall in love with an ass.