As you might expect, this inaugural blog post is coming to you from Starbucks in Doha, because, well, there's coffee here. Quite strong coffee. I'm not sure that the rest of the world is onto the difference between drip coffee and espresso. Other than that, you couldn't tell that this isn't an American Starbucks - jazz, couches, pictures of random yoga-inspired color things on the walls - except that the entire clientele is currently a) me, and b) 10 or so be-thobèd Qatari men. 

Doha thus far, with no clear order to my thoughts:

• Class. The top of the food chain are the Qataris; you know them because they're speaking Arabic, have ambiguously defined "jobs," and wear either the thobe or abaya, the latter of which is often, but not always, accompanied by a niqab or half niqab. The thobe is always dazzlingly white and the abaya always jet black; the magic fairy star wand is optional.
• After Qataris come such Western expats as Rosko and me. We are addressed to our faces in the third person as "sir" and "madam," as in, "Where would madam like to be dropped off?" Because, of course, the drivers are in the third class, which is 
• South Asians and some other nationalities, almost all of whom are workers either in service or labor. They work hard. And everything about this system, I tell you, runs 100% against American sensibilities. (Also Christian ones, but that's for another post.) Most Americans I've talked to express some level of discomfort with the culture of service here, as much as they also get used to it. Overall, I like to think that that's to our credit (pats American self on American back), but there's something there that we don't see, or at least, don't like to acknowledge - those class divisions are part and parcel of a system that does, for better and for worse, provide jobs that are better than what a lot - but not all - of these workers would get back home. 
• Example: Our "office assistant." (This is what that little paper clip that used to pop up in Microsoft Word docs was called, yes?) She is Filipino and has, I believe, three children, and is employed by Georgetown/Qatar Foundation (more to follow, someday, on what that is) to...I just don't really know yet, but I believe it entails making coffee and other drinks for people in the office, as well as washing and putting away dishes afterwards. There is a sign above the sink in the office pantry that reads "If you use mugs, glasses, etc. after the office assistant has left for the day, please rinse before leaving in the sink." No no - don't wash the mug yourself, you aristocrat, just rinse. 
• See? Offensive. Except that...
• It's her job; it's what makes her salary not charity but something earned. And now she's losing it to budget cuts. 
• Well, that was chipper! Let's move onto nicer topics, like last week's ER visit. 
• Most importantly, everything looks fine! I had panic attack #[don't even know] of [TBD] of this pregnancy because the baby had suddenly gotten way less active. (As an aside, part of the reason for the 12-ounce espresso this morning is that she's back up and kicking and dancing and, like, knitting a blanket in there, so sleep isn't happening. But I'll take it.) Anyway, other notes:
• Rosko and I went to the public hospital with a guardian angel otherwise known as the Health & Wellness coordinator at Georgetown, and also known as "your mother" to the hospital staff. Didn't bother correcting that one. (There was a whole lot of navigating the system that she was allowed to do on my behalf. Good thing they didn't notice that she's Australian and I'm not.) 
• The public hospital has a separate women's hospital where all Ob-Gyn stuff is handled. Rosko wasn't allowed even into the waiting room; he spent the entire 5 hours in the lobby of the main hospital. Gold star for husbandry. As it were. 
• The waiting room chairs had black marks on them from abayas. I was alone, along with guardian nurse angel, in Western gear.
• Forgive the repeat info, because I think I've told everyone who might possibly read this blog about this, but the entire day - ER visit, baby heart monitoring and a complete ultrasound - put us back approximately $30. This is when we decided to move to Qatar to give birth to every baby.
• Ok, onto the superficial! Western hotels.
• This is where ex-pats hang out and also can drink without a liquor license. Yes, liquor license. They are fancy, fancy, fancy. I've been to the St. Regis and Grand Hyatt so far. That's, I mean, enough. Not that I don't love spending $80 on an unmemorable lunch, because I do, but...well, these things exist in 'murica, too. We're hoping to spend more time in the authentic, down-and-dirty Arab culture hangouts. So, Bahrain.
• Our home!
• Samrya Gardens apartment compound, where a lot of Westerners live, and which few taxi drivers or delivery guys are aware exist. (Our first night here we tried to order shwarma. Two and a half hours and at least five phone calls from the delivery guy later, we got our shwarma.) 
• We have a small grocery story, a lovely pool, a gym, and so much air conditioning. And as of yet, no car. Which is to say, we haven't gotten out a lot just yet. But the apartment is lovely and huge and eventually I'll post pictures. 
• Our shipment of goods from home has been held up either stateside or here numerous times, so we're still lacking in a few items. Most are entirely unnecessary, but we could really use: 
• Our books. (You can only reread Life at Blandings Castle so many times.)
• My spices. (Yes, I know, we live in the Middle East. But I packed them; I don't want to buy new ones...)
• Our knives. Turns out, this is not included in the "furnished" part of "furnished apartment." Good thing Carlos has a pocket knife. Yes, that's how we're cooking. When we don't use butter knives to chop vegetables.
• Georgetown
• Finally, something from home. Except for how it's not like Georgetown at home at all. Like the part where I have an office. It's surreal; I wonder if this is what having a job is like. (Not any sort of job I'll get, but I hear some people get offices?)
• So far no word on what my job will be. Probably TAing for Comparative Government or International Relations, but as I understand it, it's very rare for a class to have discussion sections, which means that I won't have to stand up in front of a group of 25 students who all know the material better than I do and pretend to teach them something. Grading, sitting in lecture; I think this might be - fingers crossed - the extent of my job here.
• Oh. And finishing my dissertation.
• And having a baby.