T-4 (weeks)

Here we go... Baby Boy Rothman is due to be born four weeks from today. Of course, it could be sooner... or much, much later (if God really wants to test that charming saw about "that which does not kill you..."). But when the midwife stuck watermelon seeds on her forehead and started calling out dates (sorry, just a little British laissez-faire medicine humor!), 25 April was the last one standing/sticking, so I'm running with it. Am I a tad freaked out? A Tad. Baby Tad. It helps a bit that we have been making the most of these last few weeks as a family of three.

I had barely unpacked from our Spain trip when it was time to hop back on a plane to Paris for a blowout 40th birthday celebration for one of my oldest and best friends M. OK, given her wing girl couldn't drink, eat any raw vegetables or soft cheese or stay awake past midnight, and fell down every seven minutes or so – not due to one lemon drop shot too many – M might question the descriptor Blowout. We shopped for purses, ate tartines, sampled macarons, shopped for coats, did a walking tour of the Marais, more macarons, shopped for shoes... you get the idea.

M's birthday present to herself (and, by extension, ME) was the dedication of every Starwood point she accumulated in the last eleven years to a gorgeous room at the Westin right at Place Vendome. That's right, yours truly went all Right Bank on your ass, parking said sizable back porch just blocks from Paris' fine jewelry sector – and overlooking the Tuileries, where the billowing tents of Fashion Week loomed romantically.

Without further ado, the Top Ten moments of my Lost Girls' Weekend in Paris:

10) Finally sampling the hot chocolate at Angelina's –despite the cigarette smoke-soaked ladies' room, I see what all the fuss is about!
9) Spending a slightly obscene sum on a truly gorgeous, truly Parisian purse (so I bought my own push prize! so sue me!) by Vanessa Bruno.
8) The moment that first rose macaron (yes, there were six or seven) from Pierre Herme passed my lips.
7) Having the cute Israeli waiter at L'As du Falafel tell me to "finish those fries next time!"
6) White chocolate soup with passionfruit ice at Bistrot de l'Oulette
5) Dinner with my best girls at Willi's Wine Bar, complete with paparazzi photog.
4) Trying desperately to hang nonchalantly with the cool cats at the bar where John Galliano was busted making racist remarks, only to have our firmly barking dogs (new shoes) refuse to carry us there.
3) Paying homage to Colette, Chopin, Edith Piaf, Moliere, Gertrude Stein, and – of course – the late, great Jim Morrison, at the Pere-LaChaise Cemetery.
2) Chortling into our early morning lattes as two models – sharing both a green tea and a vague grasp of the English language – stumbled in and out of Starbucks, ostensibly still partying from the night before, using the bathroom but no toilet paper (I was clearly the first, moments later, to use the facility for the purpose for which it was actually intended) and accosting frightened Parisians on the street in search of God knows what (cigarettes? sensible shoes? John Galliano?).
1) Toasting my girl's fortieth year – surely her most stylish and successful yet – in our mutual favorite city.

Virginia Mom and AMIP at Willi's (no, John Galliano is not standing behind me!)

Birthday Girl and Tower (look how she has the Parisian Scarf Thing down)

Birthday Dinner in glam new outfits (yes, I'm practicing my best
– as it turns out, unnecessary – La Perle look)

I returned to a Mother England beginning to show the first signs of spring – crocuses, then daffodils, then SUNSHINE by God. We took Josie to her first musical, Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, which was either the best or worst decision we've made in some time as she's taken to strolling around Bath belting "I look handsome, I look smart, I am a walking work of art..." "JA-COBBBB! Jacob and sons!" etc. We also embarked on perhaps our most important British pilgrimage to date – to CostCo! – to stock up on baby gear, Ziploc bags, and the like (trying not to make our Parisian pals foam TOO profusely in seething jealousy here).

We made what was probably our last jaunt to London for awhile, to see my Parisienne pal C launch her beautiful and amazing Beg Bicycles at the Country Living Spring Fair. C has been working like mad on this venture for over a year, and we're incredibly proud of her!

Is this a bike you'd beg for, or what? Gorgeous.

After the fair, we schlepped over to Golders Green in the Jewish Quarter for pastrami sandwiches, sweet and sour pickles and a little Passover shopping. We're now fully stocked on matzoh, turkey pastrami, and Manischewitz – bring on the locusts! famine! boils!

The oh-so-appropriately-named New Yorker Deli, where we lunched and
I inappropriately requested sour cream with my latke (kosher much, Davidson?)

Josie seems to be sufficiently excited about the impending arrival of her baby brother, whom we call Meatball and she's determined to name Oscar, and conveniently, she has a baby in her tummy as well. But her baby is a girl named Vanessa, after my gorgeous new Parisian tote. When strangers-on-the-street ask her if she's looking forward to having a little brother, she coolly informs them that her granny is bringing her Ariel Mermaid and her sisters, with bathing suits that change color in the bathtub. JoRo earned rave reviews in yet another Nursery performance, this time a Nursery Rhyme Challenge, in which she and petite copine JoJo really rocked the boat.

Oh, and in other Fine Arts-related hilariousness, I also signed up for an Introduction to Painting course to help pass the remainder of my confinement. Being the only American, I was also the only student in the class to have never picked up a paintbrush, wielded a charcoal pencil or squeezed a tube of watercolor. Despite the instructor's best efforts to lend remedial help, the results were hilarious. Below, my final project: an abstract based on a nighttime NYC scene.


To Picasso, Miro, Rothko, and every great modern name-ending-in"O" artist about whose work I've declared, in classic Olivia-esque fashion, "I could do that in about five minutes," I humbly, humbly apologize.

Well, that about catches us up, mes amis. I'd like to say I'll be back before the Blessed Event, but only the Watermelon Sage can say for sure. We're one-third through our prenatal class, have several potential names and the requisite three strollers (it's Britain!), sorry, pushchairs, so we're really ready for him to arrive any time!

Yours till the Jewels Crown, BJD xx

Andalusional

Here in the U.K. we have a period of time anxiously awaited by some and dreaded by others: half-term. Half-term is the week dropped in the middle of the school trimester and designed to give children a break and send parents scrambling for some type of activity or voyage. We chose the latter. I chose Spain.

I have always wanted to visit Seville, but my desire to see Andalucia and, in particular, the Alhambra palace and compound, began with a historical novel I read last year about Queen Catherine of Aragon (first wife of Henry VIII), who grew up there before being shipped to England to marry Hank. Moorish palaces, fountains, mosaics... it all sounded so romantic. So, for our last family trip as a party of three -- who were also hankering for some warmer and un-rainy weather -- I thought it would be the perfect choice.

Now 30 weeks along, I was fairly wrought with anxiety about the trip. Having read horror stories about EasyJet tossing heavily pregnant women off planes, even stranding them in faraway lands. I did procure, according to the EasyJet website, a "fit-to-fly" certificate from my doctor, and stashed photocopies throughout our luggage. Of course, I made it through three check-in points and safely onto the plane without anyone even noticing I was with child. In fact, the flights were smooth in both directions, making us – for the moment – EasyJet fans. No snacks, reading materials, or perks, but it was Easy, and it was a Jet. Not sure what else we could expect for 70 quid a ticket!

We landed in Malaga, where Jeff was thrilled to find the Volkswagen Golf I'd reserved upgraded to an Audi A4, very similar to the car we're renting here in Bath. Too similar for Josie, who claimed the car was "stinky," and made her sick, and then threw a giant fit every time we approached the vehicle for a leg of the voyage.

Unfortunately for Josie, this holiday was a string of long car trips; fortunately for all of us, the visuals were stunning. Having only been to Madrid and Barcelona, I was completely unprepared for the raw beauty of the Andalusian countryside! We had two hours to marvel at snow-capped mountains and endless olive groves before approaching the very urban Sevilla. Our hotel, the clean, lovely, and centrally-located Vincci La Rabida, parked our car and checked us in promptly.

Josie on our balcony at the Vincci La Rabida

We spent a lovely two days exploring Seville -- lots of tapas (read: savory choices mostly forbidden to pregnant women and repugnant to three-year-old palates, but served with a smile by adoring Spaniards), lounging around plazas having coffees, and touring landmarks. My favorite was the Real Alcazar (Moorish palace), while Jeff favored the Minaret (former Mosque tower, up which he pushed Josie 34 flights) and Josie looooved the Flamenco Museum, with its movies and paintings of "Flamingo Girls."

The incredible Real Alcazar

The Minaret / Cathedral

Then, it was on to our next destination, Ronda – which would become home base for the rest of the trip. Because I know you'll all want to visit Andalucia after reading this, I'll keep the travel tips coming: Hotel Fuente de la Higuera is a don't-miss.

We couldn't decide which was the best feature: the Scandinavian white-washed decor, the enormous, comfortable (rare for European hotels) bed, the gorgeous mountain views, or the stellar, French-trained chef who nightly prepared four-star, three-course meals. OK, actually it's easy. The food was the best part. And since it was low season, and our villa-mates were largely vacationing couples who preferred to eat out in Ronda every night, we largely had the dining room to ourselves.... kinda like having our own private chef. The staff were all lovely, especially to Josie -- keeping her entertained with doodling materials and happy with kid-friendly meals every night.

We spent a couple of afternoons exploring the town of Ronda itself – an artsy, colorful place immortalized in Hemingway's Spain-based works like The Sun Also Rises and A Farewell to Arms. Jeff and Josie loved the storied, famous bullfighting ring and museum, and I loved the historic old churches, stunning views, and great shopping!

Charge!

Then, with the guidance of Javier, our hotel's cute and friendly concierge, it was off to explore the "Pueblos Blancos", about a dozen whitewashed villages set into the various hillsides and plateaux that dot the area. Navigating steep curves over death-defying drops, we hit the tiny, beautiful Grazelema, the tinier, charming Zahara, and the lovely Olvera, famous for both its olive oil and Moorish fortress. We climbed thousand-year-old ruins, ate Spanish pastries and more tapas, and drank in the incredible landscapes.

Looking back on beautiful Grazalema

Breathtaking Andalusia

Atop a Moorish fortress in Olvera

Finally, it was time for the pilgrimage that inspired the entire trip -- Granada and its sprawling, magnificent Alhambra, a palace, fortress and compound built and ruled peacefully by the Moors until it caught the eye of Spanish monarchs Ferdinand and Isabella. This was a sight I'd put right up there with the town of Pisa – just as imposing and fantastical as I'd expected. The architecture, the Mosaics, the pools and fountains, and the rich history made this truly the visit of a lifetime!

Just one of the Alhambra's magnificent arches and courtyards

Turkish Baths

Our last big day trip was to Jerez de la Frontera, a beautiful, cosmopolitan little town made famous for its production of a blended wine called Jerez, which – after the English had a sip and fell in love – became known around the world as "sherry." The town is equally famous for its Andalusian Dancing Horses and Royal Equestrian school, so we made sure to watch the famed horses practice their high-steps before hotfooting it (literally - somehow we almost missed the tour twice) to Tio Pepe for a fun and informational tour and tasting!). The sherry we tasted was actually quite dry, and meant to be drunk with tapas or a meal and finished quickly (i.e. not sitting in your cupboard for decades for cooking and serving to Aunt Mildred). The tour had something for everyone – Jeff got to relive his college days and Josie was fascinated by the little ladder and glass left for the cellar's mice.

Bring on the Dancing Horses

Jeff and "Uncle Juan" as he was really named

Mousie Happy Hour (shiver, gag)

We spent our last day in the Spanish countryside sunning in the 70-degree sun on our balcony, reading, traipsing around Ronda for last souvenirs, and sampling local delicacies (oxtail, for me! tastes like brisket!). It was more than a tad bittersweet as I realized this would be our last journey as a party of three – especially as Josie had been such an amazing traveler during the entire trip.

I know this won't be our last European Vacation (and certainly not the last to lampoon!) but it will always be a special memory for me! If anyone's planning a visit, I have lots of tips and tricks to share – primarily, Arriba, Arriba!

Adios, mes amis.