Magnificently Insignificant Waves

After the two of us had been sitting side by side in silence and shock for about ten minutes or so, my husband took in a breath then turned to me, "Well...Happy Mother's Day!" I laughed a very nervous laugh. It was, in fact Mother's Day, at least in the US, and not even one hour earlier, I was calling out "babe!" from the bathroom, in something akin to confused terror, looking at a very dark pink line that, in spite of having taken the test because of the very real possibility, I did not actually expect to see. I took another, since I happened to have it on hand. Maybe I had let the first one sit in the...liquid...too long. I wasn't totally familiar with these particular tests where you have to carefully dip the thin, fragile strip like a scientist in a lab, but that's what they gave me at the pharmacy. Another positive. Although a little faint this time. Fast forward to about three hours and one trip to and from the pharmacy ...

Two weeks ago today, I had my latest prenatal doctor's appointment. We found out we're having a boy. We haven't made any public announcements. We've just told family. And this would have been the case if it had been a girl, too, I think. My own personal reasoning for this is simply that I don't want my child's gender to be at the center of their identity.  But, I will be honest. I was hoping for a girl. Sounds hypocritical right? To have a gender preference and not want my child's life to be defined by gender? But, it's not that I wanted a feminine child. It's not that I wanted a child who wears pink, does exclusively ballet, and grows up to be a homemaker. And, in the same vein, it's not that my fear in having a boy is that he will be a masculine boy.  I did want a girl for the fact that I am a girl and I feel like I know better how to relate to girls. But more than that, I was afraid to raise a boy. And possibly, not for the reasons...

One of the most surprising responses I have gotten so far from more than one person since announcing my pregnancy has been something along the lines of "is it difficult being pregnant here/there (meaning in Rwanda)"? My automatic thought is..."uhhh I don't think it's any different than being pregnant anywhere else." Although I have no other frame of reference. So this blog post might be a lot less exciting than you were expecting. BUT I have been watching so many video blogs and reading so many forums that, now, I feel like I want to write about what it has been like for me so far. Just to warn you...it's probably pretty boring stuff.  Numbered lists always make things more fun to read so I'll do it this way: My top 10 things funny things about being pregnant [in Rwanda] so far. And how about this? For each point I will give you a takeaway (which may be useful or may not be relevant to you at all). 1.  Morning sickness was not what I expecte...

In the US, the phrase has become a cliche.  It's synonymous with "The Land of Opportunity".  It was on a poster in at least one of my teachers' classrooms every year of grade school. It's every baby-boomer parent's dream for their child. It's the millennial battlecry.  "Be Yourself"  (or "bee yourself" when the poster had an illustration of a bee on it). I grew up to this mantra playing on repeat in the back of my mind. I continually strove to live up to this no-standard standard. I never tried to be trendy, and, as a matter of fact, I tried to be as un-trendy as possible. I always spoke my mind. I never pretended to be happy if I wasn't. I admitted proudly to others that I didn't like meeting people. To clarify, I didn't just happen to be that way out of nowhere. Much of this attitude came about because I was picked on in elementary school, and I quickly realised that popular, trendy kids were not going to like me. It...

Lesson No. 2: Living outside your home country can bring out the best in you -- and the worst. I keep restarting this one. It keeps turning into this giant mush of self-pity, and that is not at all what I am intending to get out of writing this. What I would really like to come from this post is for people to see that no matter who you are, where you come from, or what your background is, it is freaking difficult to live outside your home country, and you don't have to feel bad if it's hard. I know in the heading I mentioned the best first but I will save that -- the best -- for last... I have always had this sense like certain things were harder for me to cope with than for others. I think everyone gets that feeling now and then. For some, it's paying attention in class. For others, it's noticing the emotions or nonverbal expressions of other people.  For me it's keeping my cool in just about any social interaction beyond my circle of absolute closest friend...

One whole year! That's how long I've been living in Kigali. Technically I arrived on November 1st last year, but I didn't actually stay on my own (well, with my husband, that is) until we got married, and our Anniversary was two Mondays ago.  One year living away from home can teach you a lot. It can teach you a lot about your surroundings and other people within them, but, I find that even more than that, it can teach you vast amounts about yourself. I wanted to write a post about all the main lessons I've learned in a year of being here, but as I began writing (like two weeks ago) I found that each point kept expanding. So over the next few weeks I will enlighten you one lesson at a time about my one year as a Rwandan Honey! Lesson No. 1:  No matter how much advice people give you or how wise said people may seem, "the one", "Mr./Mrs. right", your future spouse/partner, etc., will rarely be found by anyone's set of rules -- even your own. ...

So...I lost it. Totally lost all of my cool. In public. Loudly.  I've heard from a number of experienced expats, read a handful of blog posts, even seen it first hand with a close friend, how living abroad can affect someone over time. And because of that, I thought I was prepared for the worst.  Nope. I have never heard any stories quite similar to my giant temper tantrum yesterday. Maybe no one tells those stories. Or maybe I am just the total worst at this. But all of this is to say...if you are going to live abroad some time in your life, definitely be prepared for some of the best days, but also, be prepared for your absolute worst days. Days that might look a little like this: I moved here November 2015. So I have been here close to a year. That's about the time frame that a majority of people I have heard from say they hit their breaking point while living abroad. For me, though, the first month was extremely difficult. I had come here because I had married some...