Last night we hosted what was probably the most happening Shabbat dinner party in all of Ramat Eshkol. We were ten around the table, and as international a crew as you could find outside of Brad and Angelina’s house. We had our American contingency, of course, which included a native Memphian and an Iowan, and we also had an Aussie, two Brits and an Israeli. What amazed me was that despite the myriad of backgrounds (as well as levels of Jewish observance), everyone had a total blast. There was much laughter and banter batted across the table and amazing connections made over the most random of subjects, from favorite farm animals to the importance of radio broadcasting for Anglos in Israel. I realized when Chava asked me that I had never hosted such a large group before, so I was very excited that it turned out to be such a success. As I’ve said before, I love having a table where anyone who wants to come is welcome and is made to feel that way. I’m learning now that there is an art to finding the right mix of people. You nail that, and all you have to do is sit back and watch the sparks fly.

Unfortunately, our happy evening was followed by an almost sleepless night. Poor Yonah has a very bad rash on his tush that was burning him the whole night, and his short spurts of sleep were interrupted with long bouts of painful crying. Shuie and I alternated staying with him in between diaper changes and liberal applications of Desitin. We all woke up late this morning, but I am happy to report that Yonah was in much happier spirits today. His father and I, however, felt like we’d been trampled by a herd of angry bison, so most of our day was spent catching up on much-needed sleep. I cannot tell you how happy I was that we had not invited anyone for lunch today so we could eat at our leisure, in our pajamas.

I have tried not to be that annoying pregnant lady who whines about nausea or exhaustion or any of that stuff, but I am giving myself permission to do so, just once, right now. I am now 14 weeks along, and I had thought that the insidious morning sickness–that name is misleading, by the way; it’ll get you any old time it feels like–was starting to pass. It has not been an easy ride thus far, but I tried not to make a big deal about it because it means my body is doing what it’s supposed to. Anyway, this week I was finally climbing my way back to the land of normalcy where the sight of vegetables wasn’t making me retch. Until last night, that is. After our guests had all gone, my stomach decided to start salsa dancing and has not stopped since. Even now, I am writing this blog entry partly to postpone eating my dinner. Can I just say it sucks feeling like this all the time? I’m ready for that high-energy, ethereal mama-to-be phase where everyone says you’re glowing and wants to touch your belly. I am tired of walking around looking like a voodoo priestess and feeling like my intestines are going to make a break for it at any second. But that’s the beauty of having babies, I guess. You go through nine months of nausea, exhaustion, swelling, weight gain, mood swings and anxiety, followed up by a full-scale pain marathon that you could never fully explain to anyone who hasn’t gone through it. But the minute you see your kid, all that not-so-great stuff you went through fades away like smoke. After a while, the idea of going through the whole thing again seems like a great idea. Which it is.

Okay, time to eat something. Wish me luck.