Sunday, December 13, 2015
Tuesday, November 17, 2015
comme un lundi
So last Tuesday a co worker asked me, ça va [how's it going]?
To which I replied: On fait aller [We make it go].
She smiled at my expression. One she thought outdated so I asked her, what are the kids saying these days?
She considered this and replied, well if it's Monday you could say "Comme un lundi"
[like a Monday]. And Friday you could say "Comme un vendredi" [like a Friday].
I left that Tuesday after work to start my long weekend. Wednesday was a holiday and I had taken the Thursday and Friday off.
Wednesday I prepared the apartment for my in laws, who would be in Paris on Thursday for an André Rieu concert at the Zenith to celebrate the 80th birthday of my husband's grandmother.
After my in laws left that Friday morning I dropped off my daughter at the day care center and went into Paris with my husband. We went into the 8th district to eat noodles for lunch. In search of dessert afterwards we ended up lounging on green fauteuils in the Jardin de Tuileries with Angelina's hot chocolate in hand. We chatted on and off under the blue skies and warm sunshine. Afterwards I went shopping and bought great boots.
Comme un vendredi.
Until of course we realized when we got home the events that were unfolding in the Paris we were roaming around only hours ago.
I hugged my daughter extra hard that night.
Saturday and Sunday we were glued to the t.v., trying to make sense of everything. We were quick to realize that we too indulged in behavior that put us at risk. Thursday we had been at a concert. Friday we were sitting outside having a drink. Had the terrorist chosen a different day, a different time, a different target to hit that could very well have been us, and we too, would have lived or died based on chance.
After sheltering myself in the apartment over the weekend, I, like most people, would have to step out of my sanctuary and into a world that had clearly changed.
I stepped out of the apartment that Monday morning, like most other Monday mornings, to take my daughter to day care. Everything looked the same but felt different. Normally meaningless deviations from the norm took on potential dark meaning.
People wearing black; did they lose someone close to them? A woman that sometimes takes the bus the same time as me but not today; did she die? A man running past me and out of the metro; running away from danger?
The normal greeting of bonjour a joyous proclamation that the person in front of you is ok. The bisous a reassuring warm contact with the living. And what do you say, when someone asks, ça va?
Comme un lundi.
To which I replied: On fait aller [We make it go].
She smiled at my expression. One she thought outdated so I asked her, what are the kids saying these days?
She considered this and replied, well if it's Monday you could say "Comme un lundi"
[like a Monday]. And Friday you could say "Comme un vendredi" [like a Friday].
I left that Tuesday after work to start my long weekend. Wednesday was a holiday and I had taken the Thursday and Friday off.
Wednesday I prepared the apartment for my in laws, who would be in Paris on Thursday for an André Rieu concert at the Zenith to celebrate the 80th birthday of my husband's grandmother.
After my in laws left that Friday morning I dropped off my daughter at the day care center and went into Paris with my husband. We went into the 8th district to eat noodles for lunch. In search of dessert afterwards we ended up lounging on green fauteuils in the Jardin de Tuileries with Angelina's hot chocolate in hand. We chatted on and off under the blue skies and warm sunshine. Afterwards I went shopping and bought great boots.
Comme un vendredi.
Until of course we realized when we got home the events that were unfolding in the Paris we were roaming around only hours ago.
I hugged my daughter extra hard that night.
Saturday and Sunday we were glued to the t.v., trying to make sense of everything. We were quick to realize that we too indulged in behavior that put us at risk. Thursday we had been at a concert. Friday we were sitting outside having a drink. Had the terrorist chosen a different day, a different time, a different target to hit that could very well have been us, and we too, would have lived or died based on chance.
After sheltering myself in the apartment over the weekend, I, like most people, would have to step out of my sanctuary and into a world that had clearly changed.
I stepped out of the apartment that Monday morning, like most other Monday mornings, to take my daughter to day care. Everything looked the same but felt different. Normally meaningless deviations from the norm took on potential dark meaning.
People wearing black; did they lose someone close to them? A woman that sometimes takes the bus the same time as me but not today; did she die? A man running past me and out of the metro; running away from danger?
The normal greeting of bonjour a joyous proclamation that the person in front of you is ok. The bisous a reassuring warm contact with the living. And what do you say, when someone asks, ça va?
Comme un lundi.
Sunday, August 30, 2015
sucker baby
So when my sister came to visit her niece she remarked that she was a sucker baby.
I wasn't familiar with this term so she explained that it was the baby that was so good it suckers you into having another one only the next one turns out to be a nightmare.
Never heard of it, I thought, but ok. I was a new mom and maybe this was mom termology. I had also been out of the country for almost 8 years so it was very possible this was new slang and I wasn't up to date (like a whip is a car?).
It was a handy term and I used it whenever people asked me how things were going with my daughter. I even taught to to French people.
Then I got called out.
Friend: Wait, what did you say?
Me: She's a sucker baby.
Friend: [blank look]
Me: You know, when a baby is so good she suckers you into having another one...
Friend: Is that a French thing?
Me: No...
Friend: Ok, I'm going to have to stop you right there. That's not a thing.
Me: Sure it is.
Friend: No it's not.
Me: Yes, it is!
Friend: [takes a survey from people all around us. Nobody has heard of it]
Me: It's a thing! My sister used it.
To settle it we asked the all knowing one. Google. No hits.
I had to conceed. So I called my sister over to 'splain herself. She called over her husband from whom she heard this term to 'splain himself. Maybe I made it up he admitted.
So now I have no way to describe my baby. The term is so useful I may just keep on using it. Just wait, it'll be a thing.
I wasn't familiar with this term so she explained that it was the baby that was so good it suckers you into having another one only the next one turns out to be a nightmare.
Never heard of it, I thought, but ok. I was a new mom and maybe this was mom termology. I had also been out of the country for almost 8 years so it was very possible this was new slang and I wasn't up to date (like a whip is a car?).
It was a handy term and I used it whenever people asked me how things were going with my daughter. I even taught to to French people.
Then I got called out.
Friend: Wait, what did you say?
Me: She's a sucker baby.
Friend: [blank look]
Me: You know, when a baby is so good she suckers you into having another one...
Friend: Is that a French thing?
Me: No...
Friend: Ok, I'm going to have to stop you right there. That's not a thing.
Me: Sure it is.
Friend: No it's not.
Me: Yes, it is!
Friend: [takes a survey from people all around us. Nobody has heard of it]
Me: It's a thing! My sister used it.
To settle it we asked the all knowing one. Google. No hits.
I had to conceed. So I called my sister over to 'splain herself. She called over her husband from whom she heard this term to 'splain himself. Maybe I made it up he admitted.
So now I have no way to describe my baby. The term is so useful I may just keep on using it. Just wait, it'll be a thing.
Sunday, July 19, 2015
got milk?
So before I had my daughter and people asked me if I was going to breastfeed I naturally said yes, because it's only beneficial and mostly because I couldn't see a reason why not to.
I didn't know what I was getting myself into.
First there's the milk coming in. The way it's stated it sounds like the milk knocks on your door and then it comes in for a nice cup of coffee. The way it actually feels is that the milk knocks on your door, you open and realize the milk is huge and won't fit in the living room let alone the door but it's too late and it forces it's way in anyways.
Then you have to keep your milk supply up by nursing regularly. Except your baby maybe has other ideas, ideas you agree with like sleeping through the night.
Yes, in the beginning my daughter slept through the night but I had to wake her up to nurse, otherwise I was at risk of not producing enough milk or losing it all together.
Ever wake up a sleeping baby? When you put a baby to sleep you're the hero. When you wake up a sleeping baby, you're the asshole.
Then there's the actual act of nursing. The recommended rhythm at first is to nurse every 2 hours during the day and every 4 hours at night and to nurse each breast for 10 minutes. The clock starts at the beginng of each session so theoretically you have 1 hour and 40 minutes free time in between.
Theoretically. What actually happens is usually this (for me at least).
8:00: Start
8:10: Finally get baby properly positioned and latched. Commence sucking.
8:15: Baby falls asleep. Stroke baby's check to wake her up as to not remove latch.
8:20: Doesn't work so remove latch and play with baby to wake her up
8:25: Finally get baby properly positioned and latched. Commence sucking.
8:30: Time to change breast only baby has fallen asleep again. Change diaper to wake baby up.
8:40: Baby poos in between diaper change so much that she's swimming in it. Have to change everything
8:55: Finally get baby properly positioned and latched on other breast. Commence sucking.
9:00: Baby uncomfortable. Starts to cry. Comfort baby.
9:05: Try a different position but unable to latch properly. Baby gets fustrated. Cries. Hysterical.
9:00: Give up.
Of course it's not always like that but I would say if you have an hour and fifteen minutes between feedings you're lucky.
And that is your life. Your 24 hour days cut up into rhythm slices of 2 hours. I remember whenever I had finished one feeding, in my head the clock would start ticking in which I had to get something done before the next feeding, like in an episiode of 24. Tick, tock Tick, tock Tick, tock...
And that's actually when feeding your baby beastmilk is easy. Enter going back to work.
See, when you think about it feeding a baby breastmilk is simple. Milk goes from breast to baby via the nipple to the mouth. Of course this means mother and baby need to be in the same place at the same time.
When this isn't the case things get complicated. Very complicated.
First you have to extract the milk from the breast by a means other than the baby's mouth. A breast pump.
To simulate a baby's sucking, you have a machine with a motor, tubes, suctions, valves, and containers.
Once the milk is extracted you have to keep it cold or frozen up until the moment the baby drinks the milk.
So in order to give breastmilk to your baby at a distance instead of 3 things (breast, nipple, baby's mouth) you now need at least 15:
Breast pump + accessories, milk containers, cooler bags, ice, refrigerator/freezer, milk freezer bags, baby bottles + accessories.
AND you have to clean everything all the time because milk and bacteria go together like peanut butter and jelly.
If I have one recommendation for a mother who wants to continue breastfeeding when she goes back to work I would say this. BUY THE SAME BRAND FOR EVERYTHING. If you're going to use a medela breast pump buy medela baby bottles and nipples because the cute discrete bag to keep the milk cold when you're carrying it around is designed only for one type of bottle shape. Don't be like me, who's baby is already used to avent nipples so it's avent bottles it is except my pump is medela with it's own bottles to extract the milk so in order to be able to carry around all types of bottles need to feed her baby she has to use a cooler bag filled ice making her look like a paramedic transferring organs.
Most French women go straight to formula.
I don't blame them one bit.
I didn't know what I was getting myself into.
First there's the milk coming in. The way it's stated it sounds like the milk knocks on your door and then it comes in for a nice cup of coffee. The way it actually feels is that the milk knocks on your door, you open and realize the milk is huge and won't fit in the living room let alone the door but it's too late and it forces it's way in anyways.
Then you have to keep your milk supply up by nursing regularly. Except your baby maybe has other ideas, ideas you agree with like sleeping through the night.
Yes, in the beginning my daughter slept through the night but I had to wake her up to nurse, otherwise I was at risk of not producing enough milk or losing it all together.
Ever wake up a sleeping baby? When you put a baby to sleep you're the hero. When you wake up a sleeping baby, you're the asshole.
Then there's the actual act of nursing. The recommended rhythm at first is to nurse every 2 hours during the day and every 4 hours at night and to nurse each breast for 10 minutes. The clock starts at the beginng of each session so theoretically you have 1 hour and 40 minutes free time in between.
Theoretically. What actually happens is usually this (for me at least).
8:00: Start
8:10: Finally get baby properly positioned and latched. Commence sucking.
8:15: Baby falls asleep. Stroke baby's check to wake her up as to not remove latch.
8:20: Doesn't work so remove latch and play with baby to wake her up
8:25: Finally get baby properly positioned and latched. Commence sucking.
8:30: Time to change breast only baby has fallen asleep again. Change diaper to wake baby up.
8:40: Baby poos in between diaper change so much that she's swimming in it. Have to change everything
8:55: Finally get baby properly positioned and latched on other breast. Commence sucking.
9:00: Baby uncomfortable. Starts to cry. Comfort baby.
9:05: Try a different position but unable to latch properly. Baby gets fustrated. Cries. Hysterical.
9:00: Give up.
Of course it's not always like that but I would say if you have an hour and fifteen minutes between feedings you're lucky.
And that is your life. Your 24 hour days cut up into rhythm slices of 2 hours. I remember whenever I had finished one feeding, in my head the clock would start ticking in which I had to get something done before the next feeding, like in an episiode of 24. Tick, tock Tick, tock Tick, tock...
And that's actually when feeding your baby beastmilk is easy. Enter going back to work.
See, when you think about it feeding a baby breastmilk is simple. Milk goes from breast to baby via the nipple to the mouth. Of course this means mother and baby need to be in the same place at the same time.
When this isn't the case things get complicated. Very complicated.
First you have to extract the milk from the breast by a means other than the baby's mouth. A breast pump.
To simulate a baby's sucking, you have a machine with a motor, tubes, suctions, valves, and containers.
Once the milk is extracted you have to keep it cold or frozen up until the moment the baby drinks the milk.
So in order to give breastmilk to your baby at a distance instead of 3 things (breast, nipple, baby's mouth) you now need at least 15:
Breast pump + accessories, milk containers, cooler bags, ice, refrigerator/freezer, milk freezer bags, baby bottles + accessories.
AND you have to clean everything all the time because milk and bacteria go together like peanut butter and jelly.
If I have one recommendation for a mother who wants to continue breastfeeding when she goes back to work I would say this. BUY THE SAME BRAND FOR EVERYTHING. If you're going to use a medela breast pump buy medela baby bottles and nipples because the cute discrete bag to keep the milk cold when you're carrying it around is designed only for one type of bottle shape. Don't be like me, who's baby is already used to avent nipples so it's avent bottles it is except my pump is medela with it's own bottles to extract the milk so in order to be able to carry around all types of bottles need to feed her baby she has to use a cooler bag filled ice making her look like a paramedic transferring organs.
Most French women go straight to formula.
I don't blame them one bit.
Thursday, April 16, 2015
london calling
So my parents weren't comfortable going to London alone so it was decided that I would accompany them. I toyed with the idea of taking baby with us but then I remembered how the other day there was so much diaper poop leakage she was basically swimming in it. Probably not the best scenario when you're on the go.
It would be my first time away from my daughter for such a long period of time. I was actually ok with this. My boobs on the other hand, felt differently.
See, when you think about the baby boob relationship it seems simple: baby needs boobs. This is true. What's also true is that the boobs need baby. Otherwise boobs are going to explode. It's a reciprocal relationship. One needs to be filled, the other emptied. Without each other there is imbalance and suffering.
Enter the breast pump.
There's something scandalous about pumping breast milk. To encourage let down (releasing of milk) it's suggested that you think about your baby, going so far as looking at her picture and smelling pieces of her clothing as you pump...
Anyways I had already been expressing milk so I wasn't worried she'd go hungry. However the thought of taking along the giant breast pump with it's long tentacle like tubing and trying to use it in London bathrooms didn't seem appealing.
So I went out and bought a handheld one. It only pumped one boob at a time but it was small and light. When I got home I realized it took triple A batteries. Only three of them.
Those were my choices. Heavy and clunky but fast? Or small, and discreet but very slow? I opted for the later.
The second obstacle I had was my dad's foot. It always happens that when car-used-to suburbanites visit me in Paris they have issues with all the walking. My parents fall into this category and a month into their visit my dad had developed severe pain on his achilles heel. When I sugguested he take it easy he responded that it needed to be excercised to get better.
Two days before London he was visibly limping.
He assured me he was ok but I know better than to try and navigate my way around London on the tube going down as far as 58.5 meters deep least there be ecalator problems with aging parents with foot problems so I booked the Big Bus. Not the cheapest option but I was ready to throw money at this impromptu London day trip.
That night Husband made us a dinner of savory crepes as a send off. I got sick and spent the good part of my night in the toilet.
Armed with quick acting ibuprofen (for my dad), breast pump, and a baguette (in case I couldn't stomache any real food) we headed to London bright and early.
On the train we were seated two by two and face to face. Traveling with three people is an odd number and I wondered who would be the lucky person who would be seated with us and across from my mom. It was a guy. A big guy.
He squeezed into the seat next to me and the window and awkwardly placed his long legs in between my mom's who obliviously was unaccomodating to this giant man. He tried to sleep despite my parents talking loudly in front of him.
I tried to sleep as well until I started to sense a lot of movement in front of me. My mom was shifting around.
What is it? I inquired.
I dropped my pill, she replied as she slide her hand under her butt trying to check her seat.
Maybe it fell on the ground suggested my dad before he got on all fours to check. The man woke up. Sorry, I said explaining the situation. In response he got up and took all his belongings with him.
I don't think he's coming back, I remarked.
All the better, said my mom.
Found it! said my dad shortly after, pill in his hand.
We arrived in London and my mom took twenty something pictures in between getting off the train and the exit to the station (Make sure you get the clock so we can remember what time we arrived! she demanded).
I decided I needed a coffee for what I assumed would be a very long day.
It would be my first time away from my daughter for such a long period of time. I was actually ok with this. My boobs on the other hand, felt differently.
See, when you think about the baby boob relationship it seems simple: baby needs boobs. This is true. What's also true is that the boobs need baby. Otherwise boobs are going to explode. It's a reciprocal relationship. One needs to be filled, the other emptied. Without each other there is imbalance and suffering.
Enter the breast pump.
There's something scandalous about pumping breast milk. To encourage let down (releasing of milk) it's suggested that you think about your baby, going so far as looking at her picture and smelling pieces of her clothing as you pump...
Anyways I had already been expressing milk so I wasn't worried she'd go hungry. However the thought of taking along the giant breast pump with it's long tentacle like tubing and trying to use it in London bathrooms didn't seem appealing.
So I went out and bought a handheld one. It only pumped one boob at a time but it was small and light. When I got home I realized it took triple A batteries. Only three of them.
Those were my choices. Heavy and clunky but fast? Or small, and discreet but very slow? I opted for the later.
The second obstacle I had was my dad's foot. It always happens that when car-used-to suburbanites visit me in Paris they have issues with all the walking. My parents fall into this category and a month into their visit my dad had developed severe pain on his achilles heel. When I sugguested he take it easy he responded that it needed to be excercised to get better.
Two days before London he was visibly limping.
He assured me he was ok but I know better than to try and navigate my way around London on the tube going down as far as 58.5 meters deep least there be ecalator problems with aging parents with foot problems so I booked the Big Bus. Not the cheapest option but I was ready to throw money at this impromptu London day trip.
That night Husband made us a dinner of savory crepes as a send off. I got sick and spent the good part of my night in the toilet.
Armed with quick acting ibuprofen (for my dad), breast pump, and a baguette (in case I couldn't stomache any real food) we headed to London bright and early.
On the train we were seated two by two and face to face. Traveling with three people is an odd number and I wondered who would be the lucky person who would be seated with us and across from my mom. It was a guy. A big guy.
He squeezed into the seat next to me and the window and awkwardly placed his long legs in between my mom's who obliviously was unaccomodating to this giant man. He tried to sleep despite my parents talking loudly in front of him.
I tried to sleep as well until I started to sense a lot of movement in front of me. My mom was shifting around.
What is it? I inquired.
I dropped my pill, she replied as she slide her hand under her butt trying to check her seat.
Maybe it fell on the ground suggested my dad before he got on all fours to check. The man woke up. Sorry, I said explaining the situation. In response he got up and took all his belongings with him.
I don't think he's coming back, I remarked.
All the better, said my mom.
Found it! said my dad shortly after, pill in his hand.
We arrived in London and my mom took twenty something pictures in between getting off the train and the exit to the station (Make sure you get the clock so we can remember what time we arrived! she demanded).
I decided I needed a coffee for what I assumed would be a very long day.
Wednesday, April 8, 2015
unrealistic expectations
So when I found out my parents hadn't planned their trip at all I knew it would fall on me to fill their time with things to do.
My mother wanted to try some french ice cream. So I took her to my favorite ice cream place, Amorino. We got in line and when it was our turn I asked her what she wanted in terms of flavors.
Whatever just no fruits, vanilla, or chocolate.
Ok, so I ordered caramel.
No, she protested, too sweet!
I began to wonder if she wanted to pay five euros for an empty cup.
....
I tried to probe my parents about when they wanted to visit their friends but to no avail. Then one day my dad said he wanted to go to Belguim. Tommorrow.
So I dropped what I was doing to find them direct train tickets at a reasonable time except they were not guaranteed seats and it would cost them 300 euros.
What? exclaimed my dad, bewildered, I saw tickets for 35 euros.
Not for the next day I explained. They decided to wait a week.
....
One day my mother asked me if there were any interesting places to visit close to the metro.
Plenty, I replied where do you want to go?
Anywhere I don't care, she replied. Just no metro changes.
....
My mother doesn't like the "messiness" of hotels so she wanted to go on day trips.
How about Sweden? she suggested.
We decided on London instead.
My mother wanted to try some french ice cream. So I took her to my favorite ice cream place, Amorino. We got in line and when it was our turn I asked her what she wanted in terms of flavors.
Whatever just no fruits, vanilla, or chocolate.
Ok, so I ordered caramel.
No, she protested, too sweet!
I began to wonder if she wanted to pay five euros for an empty cup.
....
I tried to probe my parents about when they wanted to visit their friends but to no avail. Then one day my dad said he wanted to go to Belguim. Tommorrow.
So I dropped what I was doing to find them direct train tickets at a reasonable time except they were not guaranteed seats and it would cost them 300 euros.
What? exclaimed my dad, bewildered, I saw tickets for 35 euros.
Not for the next day I explained. They decided to wait a week.
....
One day my mother asked me if there were any interesting places to visit close to the metro.
Plenty, I replied where do you want to go?
Anywhere I don't care, she replied. Just no metro changes.
....
My mother doesn't like the "messiness" of hotels so she wanted to go on day trips.
How about Sweden? she suggested.
We decided on London instead.
Tuesday, April 7, 2015
six weeks
So due to some scheduling conflicts my parents ended up coming to see their grandaughter in March. They also ended up coming and staying with us for six weeks.
Don't worry said my sister, they plan to travel a lot. They'll probably only be with you guys for like a week.
When they came I casually worked into the conversation their plans.
Oh we want to visit some friends in Denmark and Belgium and then go on a cruise. Have you booked yet? I enquired. No, they replied unconcerned.
I tried to solidify some plans but they were more interested in unpacking the rice bowls and chopsticks. Next they unpacked our gifts which included a pink piggy tissue box holder (Um, ok. smiled Husband), fake flowers from Vietnam (Is that salad? asked Husband), and a giant American girl doll (She's creepy, whispered Husband).
I discreetly put these things away and out of sight.
That evening the smell of fish sauce filled the apartment and we all sat down for my mom's homecooked dinner of rice, tomato farcé, grilled fish, and shrimp vegtable soup. The sound of chopsticks clinking against plastic bowls filled the air.
The next day I woke up to breastfeed and ran into my mom, bright and early.
Good morning! greeted my mom with a big smile. I greeted her back and made my way to the baby's room. After feeding I reached over to grab a tissue to wipe off some drool and there she was, the pink piggy smiling at me from the tissue box.
My mother, apparently, had been busy.
A bit disconcerted I continued on to breastfast only to find there, on the center of the dining room table, stood the fake flowers.
Craving some distance I moved to the couch to watch the news and there, next to the t.v. was American girl doll staring straight at me.
Yes, she had been busy indeed.
Don't worry said my sister, they plan to travel a lot. They'll probably only be with you guys for like a week.
When they came I casually worked into the conversation their plans.
Oh we want to visit some friends in Denmark and Belgium and then go on a cruise. Have you booked yet? I enquired. No, they replied unconcerned.
I tried to solidify some plans but they were more interested in unpacking the rice bowls and chopsticks. Next they unpacked our gifts which included a pink piggy tissue box holder (Um, ok. smiled Husband), fake flowers from Vietnam (Is that salad? asked Husband), and a giant American girl doll (She's creepy, whispered Husband).
I discreetly put these things away and out of sight.
That evening the smell of fish sauce filled the apartment and we all sat down for my mom's homecooked dinner of rice, tomato farcé, grilled fish, and shrimp vegtable soup. The sound of chopsticks clinking against plastic bowls filled the air.
The next day I woke up to breastfeed and ran into my mom, bright and early.
Good morning! greeted my mom with a big smile. I greeted her back and made my way to the baby's room. After feeding I reached over to grab a tissue to wipe off some drool and there she was, the pink piggy smiling at me from the tissue box.
My mother, apparently, had been busy.
A bit disconcerted I continued on to breastfast only to find there, on the center of the dining room table, stood the fake flowers.
Craving some distance I moved to the couch to watch the news and there, next to the t.v. was American girl doll staring straight at me.
Yes, she had been busy indeed.
Friday, March 20, 2015
motherhood
So I take a lot of pictures of my daughter. There's just something in that moment I try to capture but when I look at what I've taken it's just not the same. So I try again and again but I never get it. Not exactly. I have the same problem with sunsets.
When my parents came my mom warned me not to hold her too much. You have to train her to be easy! They only get heavier she warned.
I know she's right but sometimes after nursing instead of burping she falls asleep against me, her head nestled against my shoulder and neck, her entire body limp and melted against mine. I let her stay feeling her body expand and contract with every breath, little puffs of warm air against my neck. It's the closest thing I have to her being a part of me again.
I take in these moments because I know how easily they slip away just as the days when I could feel her move inside me are long gone. They say they grow up but I feel like the grow away, each day getting a little further as they make their way to independence.
When my parents came my mom warned me not to hold her too much. You have to train her to be easy! They only get heavier she warned.
I know she's right but sometimes after nursing instead of burping she falls asleep against me, her head nestled against my shoulder and neck, her entire body limp and melted against mine. I let her stay feeling her body expand and contract with every breath, little puffs of warm air against my neck. It's the closest thing I have to her being a part of me again.
I take in these moments because I know how easily they slip away just as the days when I could feel her move inside me are long gone. They say they grow up but I feel like the grow away, each day getting a little further as they make their way to independence.
Saturday, February 14, 2015
48 hrs
So one week before the move Husband packed up everything in the apartment, meaning that for one week two sleep deprived adults and one 3 week old baby lived like this in a 36 m2:
It was a hot mess and I was anxious for it to be over. Unfortunately due to circumstances beyond our control, the moving in and out process had to take place all within 48 hours.
Day 1:
10:00am: The notaire
We had to sign with the notaire before we could get the keys to the new apartment so we packed up baby and headed to the notaire's which was about an hour away by car. Fortunately Husband's parents could come along to watch baby during the signing.
As I was breastfeeding and she was nursing every two hours my plan was to feed her before and after the signing.
But of course she didn't care about the plan and refused to wake up to nurse before our appointment. By the time the notaire got to page 21 of the 50 something page document all I could think about was my exploding boobs.
After we signed we rushed back to the car so I could breastfeed and change the baby before heading back to Paris so we could have lunch before continuing our very long day.
2:00pm: The bank
There's this weird thing were there's a percentage of the total amount of the apartment that has to be paid by a cashier's check and we needed this check in order to get the keys. And the day before, the bank called to let us know that the check wasn't ready because they needed at least 48 hours to get it done (the banker in charge of us couldn't start the process on the day we told them we would be moving into the new apartment because she had taken the day off).
Yes a bank that can't write a check.
I would be surprised except this was the same bank that one time couldn't make a deposit for me at the counter. Yes, they couldn't take money and put it into an account. Come on people, it's a bank. That's the basis of their work.
So yeah I wasn't surprised this bank was having a hard time doing basic bank things like producing a check. They told us they would try to get the check emergency expedited but until that morning we still weren't sure if the check was ready. They were closed for lunch and re-opened at 2pm which co-incidently was at the same time as our appointment for the walk through of the new apartment.
We dropped Husband off at the bank so he could see about the check and I went to the new apartment to stall the guy doing the walk through knowing full well that it was very possible moving wasn't possible.
Fortunately the bank did pull through and we got the check.
2:30pm Etat des lieux of new apartment
So I really couldn't participate in this as I was busy doing things like breastfeeding on the toilet and diaper changing in the shower. Husband took care of everything and we finally got the keys and became official homeowners.
4:00pm The moving van
We didn't have much time to celebrate because Husband had to go pick up the moving van so he could move everything out of the apartment. I stayed behind in the new apartment to take care of the baby.
I tried to get some rest and later woke up to the realization there were no lighbulbs in the apartment when I opened my eyes to completely darkness.
Breastfeeding by cellphone light ensued.
8:00pm: Moving in
Husband finally arrived with requested lamp on priority so I could finally change the baby. While I was doing this in the shower the rest of the people who were helping out with the move begin to appear. As where I was was the only area with actual light in the apartment everyone came to me like a moth to a flame.
It would be the first time most people would see the baby, half naked, stinking of a loaded daiper, my hand on her ass. Quite an impression.
10:00pm Pizza
Everyone was famished so we ordered pizza which came very quickly except it wasn't the right order. After 15 minutes of convincing the guy he had the wrong address the right order finally appeared but one hour later.
Stuffing of faces ensued.
12:am: Sleep
Day 2:
9:00am: Moving out of old apartment
Everyone woke up early so they could go back to the old apartment to clean up the place and make sure everything was in good condition so we could get our deposit back (the walk through was at 5pm).
I stayed behind to take care of the baby and enjoy the natural light in the apartment.
5:00pm Etat des lieux of old apartment
Husband's parents picked up me and the baby so I could see the apartment for the last time before we handed back the keys.
When I got to the apartment it was strange to see it empty and it's walls bare, It looked so small, this place where I had spent the last four years, or perhaps I had simply outgrown it.
We waited while the guy inspected the place and then handed him the keys. That was it, we were officially moved out.
Day 3:
We convinced Husband's parents to stay an extra day so his father could install a temporary kitchen sink for us (I couldn't imagine having to wash dishes in the bathroom sink for too long).
Before leaving he told us to be careful as he accidently reversed the hot and cold water pipes in the sink.
Must have been the exhaustion.
It was a hot mess and I was anxious for it to be over. Unfortunately due to circumstances beyond our control, the moving in and out process had to take place all within 48 hours.
Day 1:
10:00am: The notaire
We had to sign with the notaire before we could get the keys to the new apartment so we packed up baby and headed to the notaire's which was about an hour away by car. Fortunately Husband's parents could come along to watch baby during the signing.
As I was breastfeeding and she was nursing every two hours my plan was to feed her before and after the signing.
But of course she didn't care about the plan and refused to wake up to nurse before our appointment. By the time the notaire got to page 21 of the 50 something page document all I could think about was my exploding boobs.
After we signed we rushed back to the car so I could breastfeed and change the baby before heading back to Paris so we could have lunch before continuing our very long day.
2:00pm: The bank
There's this weird thing were there's a percentage of the total amount of the apartment that has to be paid by a cashier's check and we needed this check in order to get the keys. And the day before, the bank called to let us know that the check wasn't ready because they needed at least 48 hours to get it done (the banker in charge of us couldn't start the process on the day we told them we would be moving into the new apartment because she had taken the day off).
Yes a bank that can't write a check.
I would be surprised except this was the same bank that one time couldn't make a deposit for me at the counter. Yes, they couldn't take money and put it into an account. Come on people, it's a bank. That's the basis of their work.
So yeah I wasn't surprised this bank was having a hard time doing basic bank things like producing a check. They told us they would try to get the check emergency expedited but until that morning we still weren't sure if the check was ready. They were closed for lunch and re-opened at 2pm which co-incidently was at the same time as our appointment for the walk through of the new apartment.
We dropped Husband off at the bank so he could see about the check and I went to the new apartment to stall the guy doing the walk through knowing full well that it was very possible moving wasn't possible.
Fortunately the bank did pull through and we got the check.
2:30pm Etat des lieux of new apartment
So I really couldn't participate in this as I was busy doing things like breastfeeding on the toilet and diaper changing in the shower. Husband took care of everything and we finally got the keys and became official homeowners.
4:00pm The moving van
We didn't have much time to celebrate because Husband had to go pick up the moving van so he could move everything out of the apartment. I stayed behind in the new apartment to take care of the baby.
I tried to get some rest and later woke up to the realization there were no lighbulbs in the apartment when I opened my eyes to completely darkness.
Breastfeeding by cellphone light ensued.
8:00pm: Moving in
Husband finally arrived with requested lamp on priority so I could finally change the baby. While I was doing this in the shower the rest of the people who were helping out with the move begin to appear. As where I was was the only area with actual light in the apartment everyone came to me like a moth to a flame.
It would be the first time most people would see the baby, half naked, stinking of a loaded daiper, my hand on her ass. Quite an impression.
10:00pm Pizza
Everyone was famished so we ordered pizza which came very quickly except it wasn't the right order. After 15 minutes of convincing the guy he had the wrong address the right order finally appeared but one hour later.
Stuffing of faces ensued.
12:am: Sleep
Day 2:
9:00am: Moving out of old apartment
Everyone woke up early so they could go back to the old apartment to clean up the place and make sure everything was in good condition so we could get our deposit back (the walk through was at 5pm).
I stayed behind to take care of the baby and enjoy the natural light in the apartment.
5:00pm Etat des lieux of old apartment
Husband's parents picked up me and the baby so I could see the apartment for the last time before we handed back the keys.
When I got to the apartment it was strange to see it empty and it's walls bare, It looked so small, this place where I had spent the last four years, or perhaps I had simply outgrown it.
We waited while the guy inspected the place and then handed him the keys. That was it, we were officially moved out.
Day 3:
We convinced Husband's parents to stay an extra day so his father could install a temporary kitchen sink for us (I couldn't imagine having to wash dishes in the bathroom sink for too long).
Before leaving he told us to be careful as he accidently reversed the hot and cold water pipes in the sink.
Must have been the exhaustion.
Wednesday, February 4, 2015
bye bye batignolles
So when Husband found
out I was pregnant, one of the first things he said was: We have to move.
Me: Why? I
love this apartment.
Husband: It’s tiny.
Me: It’s charming. Look at the French windows.
Husband: It’s drafty.
Me: The neighborhood’s great. You can see the Sacré Coeur from the street.
Husband: There’s no natural light.
Me: Won’t you miss hearing the opera singer doing
his vocal exercises in the morning?
Husband: The insulation’s terrible. With the baby our neighbors will hate us.
He made some good
points so we started to talk about it and decided maybe it was time to
buy. So we started looking and realized
that we both had very different ideas of the ideal place. After much discussion we whittled down our
criteria to what was the most important for both of us. Me: metro
accessible. Husband: big.
If you consider our
budget and the fact that the average price per meters square in Paris is 8,000
Euros, achieving both criteria is extremely difficult. Nay, almost impossible.
I gave up pretty
quickly (as I was the least motivated between the two of us) but Husband forged
on.
Husband: I found something.
Me: Ok…
Husband: It’s huge.
And it’s new.
Me: Ok…
Husband: It’s in the suburbs but it’s metro
accessible.
Me: Ok… and we afford it?
Husband: Yes because you’re pregnant.
Turns out the fact
that I was pregnant gave us some advantages if we bought something new. The first was that the interest rate for part of our loan would
be zero. The second was a reduction in the sales taxes we had to pay. 5.5% instead of the usual 20%.
We went the very next
day to check the place out. It was the
exact opposite of our current apartment.
It was big and modern. The
neighborhood was “up and coming”.
Basically what it lacked in Parisian charm it made up in practicality.
I was reluctant. Was I really ready to move out of the city
and into the suburbs?
I felt the baby move
inside me and knew that this maybe was not the right decision for me but it was
the right decision for us. As a family.
We decided to go for
it.
Friday, January 23, 2015
Thursday, January 22, 2015
transition
So at around 1am the midwife came by and said I was about 9 cm dilated. Hearing this I felt relieved and excited that the end was near.
Except I continued to wait. And wait. And wait. 2am. 3am. When the midwife did finally come around again she explained to us that there were 6 other women in labor and the two on call doctors were pre-occupied with more difficult cases and she preferred that at least one of them was available before we began. Don't worry she assured me. The baby's heartbeat is very strong and there's no rush.
This made sense but at this point I had been having contractions for almost 24 hours and had been confined to a hospital bed for almost 12 hours. I was exhaused and my patience was wearing thin. I was ready for it to be over.
Finally at around 4am the nurse came. We're ready to begin she informed me. I was relieved but filled with anticipation. This was it. This was the big moment.
I waited as she proceeded to transform my hospital bed into a bed suitable for delivery, lifting up the bed and folding out the leg stirrups. I was moved into position. It felt a little like a stage setup for a big show. Expecially when they pointed a giant spotlight right where the star of the show was expected to appear.
I was told to push with each contraction.
Unfortunately in this particular position my contractions weren't very strong. I could hardly feel them at all. Maybe I had overdone it with the epidural.
The midwife told me when to push. I did. She told me it wasn't good enough.
I wanted to kick her.
Get angry! she told me.
Using my anger against her I pushed to the point where I was sure I was going to give myself an aneurysm.
Not good enough! She informed me. I wanted to cry. It was like seeing the finish line but as hard as I tried I just couldn't get there.
We continued for a while, me pushing and her telling me it wasn't good enough until she admitted the baby seemed stuck. She brought in the gynecologist.
So they changed players in the middle of the game. The gynecologist ready to catch the ball and the midwife by my side to assist. She massaged my abdomen to feel for contractions except she couldn't feel them either. I was convinced after all that time my contractions got tired of waiting, called it a day and left.
They had me push anyways and still nothing.
Then someone brought up the C word.
C-section.
I couldn't believe it. The thought of coming all this way just to have a c-section gave me renewed motivation.
I must have made some process because they decided to try the vaccum. I pushed and could feel the head come out. I pushed again and felt the shoulders and eventually the sensation of something quite large leaving my body.
Curious I looked at the gynecologist and immediately knew something was wrong when I saw the look on her face. She was staring down and concentrating intently on something.
Plus there was no crying. Then I felt some liquid splatter on my face and there it was finally. The sound of a baby crying. I was filled with relief.
They placed the baby on my chest. I looked at this strange creature. It looked like it had gone through a lot. I could relate.
What is it? Asked the midwife as we had waited to know the sex. The midwife maneuvered the baby so we could all have a look. It's a girl! she exclaimed.
So there she was. My little baby girl who had somehow gotten the umbilical chord wrapped around her neck not once but twice (It was blood splatter I felt on my face when the gynecologist quickly cut the chord).
She's already mischievous remarked her dad.
And how.
Except I continued to wait. And wait. And wait. 2am. 3am. When the midwife did finally come around again she explained to us that there were 6 other women in labor and the two on call doctors were pre-occupied with more difficult cases and she preferred that at least one of them was available before we began. Don't worry she assured me. The baby's heartbeat is very strong and there's no rush.
This made sense but at this point I had been having contractions for almost 24 hours and had been confined to a hospital bed for almost 12 hours. I was exhaused and my patience was wearing thin. I was ready for it to be over.
Finally at around 4am the nurse came. We're ready to begin she informed me. I was relieved but filled with anticipation. This was it. This was the big moment.
I waited as she proceeded to transform my hospital bed into a bed suitable for delivery, lifting up the bed and folding out the leg stirrups. I was moved into position. It felt a little like a stage setup for a big show. Expecially when they pointed a giant spotlight right where the star of the show was expected to appear.
I was told to push with each contraction.
Unfortunately in this particular position my contractions weren't very strong. I could hardly feel them at all. Maybe I had overdone it with the epidural.
The midwife told me when to push. I did. She told me it wasn't good enough.
I wanted to kick her.
Get angry! she told me.
Using my anger against her I pushed to the point where I was sure I was going to give myself an aneurysm.
Not good enough! She informed me. I wanted to cry. It was like seeing the finish line but as hard as I tried I just couldn't get there.
We continued for a while, me pushing and her telling me it wasn't good enough until she admitted the baby seemed stuck. She brought in the gynecologist.
So they changed players in the middle of the game. The gynecologist ready to catch the ball and the midwife by my side to assist. She massaged my abdomen to feel for contractions except she couldn't feel them either. I was convinced after all that time my contractions got tired of waiting, called it a day and left.
They had me push anyways and still nothing.
Then someone brought up the C word.
C-section.
I couldn't believe it. The thought of coming all this way just to have a c-section gave me renewed motivation.
I must have made some process because they decided to try the vaccum. I pushed and could feel the head come out. I pushed again and felt the shoulders and eventually the sensation of something quite large leaving my body.
Curious I looked at the gynecologist and immediately knew something was wrong when I saw the look on her face. She was staring down and concentrating intently on something.
Plus there was no crying. Then I felt some liquid splatter on my face and there it was finally. The sound of a baby crying. I was filled with relief.
They placed the baby on my chest. I looked at this strange creature. It looked like it had gone through a lot. I could relate.
What is it? Asked the midwife as we had waited to know the sex. The midwife maneuvered the baby so we could all have a look. It's a girl! she exclaimed.
So there she was. My little baby girl who had somehow gotten the umbilical chord wrapped around her neck not once but twice (It was blood splatter I felt on my face when the gynecologist quickly cut the chord).
She's already mischievous remarked her dad.
And how.
Thursday, January 15, 2015
active phase
So as soon as I was admitted, the midwife asked me if I wanted the epidural right away (apparently everyone in France gets the epidural).
I had mixed feelings about the epidural. Ideally of course I wanted a completely "natural" birth and I wasn't exactly keen on a long needle being inserted near my spine. Then again I had no delusions about my ability to deal with a lot of pain.
Still at this point, although painful, I could still deal so I decided to wait.
Then I got to 4 centimeters and the contractions came much harder and much faster and my coping ability was wearing thin. In between contractions (which seemed to be coming 3 minutes apart) I considered all I had read about labor. How I had a good 6 centimeters to go. How on average it's one centimeter per hour. How at the end contractions are so close a part that one feels there's no break in between them at all. How if I did choose to have the epidural the needle would be inserted in between contractions because you are under no circumstances suppose to move.
Short version: It f-in hurt. It was only going to get worse. I had a long way to go. Staying still while needle is being inserted near spine is probably easier now than later.
I asked for the epidural.
It honestly really wasn't that bad. The worse part is the anticipation and fear that you're going to freak out during the injection but it was fine. Didn't hurt at all.
And afterwards active labor is a piece of cake. You almost get bored.
At midnight we welcomed 2015 just the two of us in the labor room, Husband and I, knowing the big change awaiting us in this new year.
I had mixed feelings about the epidural. Ideally of course I wanted a completely "natural" birth and I wasn't exactly keen on a long needle being inserted near my spine. Then again I had no delusions about my ability to deal with a lot of pain.
Still at this point, although painful, I could still deal so I decided to wait.
Then I got to 4 centimeters and the contractions came much harder and much faster and my coping ability was wearing thin. In between contractions (which seemed to be coming 3 minutes apart) I considered all I had read about labor. How I had a good 6 centimeters to go. How on average it's one centimeter per hour. How at the end contractions are so close a part that one feels there's no break in between them at all. How if I did choose to have the epidural the needle would be inserted in between contractions because you are under no circumstances suppose to move.
Short version: It f-in hurt. It was only going to get worse. I had a long way to go. Staying still while needle is being inserted near spine is probably easier now than later.
I asked for the epidural.
It honestly really wasn't that bad. The worse part is the anticipation and fear that you're going to freak out during the injection but it was fine. Didn't hurt at all.
And afterwards active labor is a piece of cake. You almost get bored.
At midnight we welcomed 2015 just the two of us in the labor room, Husband and I, knowing the big change awaiting us in this new year.
Friday, January 9, 2015
latent phase
So after a ride with the world's most callous/dense taxi driver (He seemed to have no reaction whatever to the fact that there was a woman having contractions in his cab heading for the hospital except for "That'll be 15 euros please. Thanks and have a nice day") we were at the hospital.
During the taxi ride my contractions became irregular again and not that strong. Concerned that it was in fact false labor I headed to the consultation section and followed protocol for a normal appointment which was to take a number, wait to be checked in by the receptionist, and then wait to be called by the doctor/midwife.
Except this time with my contractions and my bags I looked like a woman in labor so I probably looked like an asshole sitting there waiting my turn. Everyone was staring at me (I don't blame them). I looked at the number I had drawn. Two people ahead of me. I looked at the woman next to me. She looked concerned. I put on a smile that hopefully communicated: Don't worry a baby is not going to pop out next to you. Promise!
Fortunately we arrived late so the midwife came out and called for me without having to check in.
Her; Madame Orange?
Me: HiyesI'mhereformyappointmentbutI'malsohavingcontractionsbutthey'renot regularor5minutesapartsoIdon'tknowwhattodo!!!!!!!
Her: How long have you been having contractions?
Me: Since this morning.
Her: Ok I'm going to admit you to the maternity ward.
At the maternity the midwife did an internal exam. I was two centimeters dilated which is apparently not a lot so they decided to put me on my side to measure the baby's heartbeat and contractions for one hour.
An hour later the midwife came back and confirmed that my contractions were indeed not regular (not that this was news to me) but she would do an internal exam to see the state of my cervix. 2.5 cm dilated.
Not bad, she concluded. She told me we would wait another hour to see where we were. She suggested I take a walk around.
So we did (How about a coffee? suggested Husband). I quickly realized 4 things:
1. Most places are closed New Year's eve even if it's not eve yet.
2. My contractions are very strong and frequent when I'm completely vertical.
3. Walking requires being completely vertical.
4. When searching for a place open you walk a lot.
In a way I was glad because the last thing I wanted to do was go to back home and then have to come back in again. Hopefully the contractions were doing their work.
We finally found a café open where I could discreetly have contractions without bringing attention to myself by pretending to cool down my very hot tea. Yes it was very hot indeed, the hottest tea in the world.
So there I was sitting in a café having contractions on New Year's eve and drinking very cool tea.
This is crazy remarked Husband. I had to agree.
When we got back the midwife did another internal exam. A good 3 cm. She admitted me.
Bam! I totally nailed that exam.
During the taxi ride my contractions became irregular again and not that strong. Concerned that it was in fact false labor I headed to the consultation section and followed protocol for a normal appointment which was to take a number, wait to be checked in by the receptionist, and then wait to be called by the doctor/midwife.
Except this time with my contractions and my bags I looked like a woman in labor so I probably looked like an asshole sitting there waiting my turn. Everyone was staring at me (I don't blame them). I looked at the number I had drawn. Two people ahead of me. I looked at the woman next to me. She looked concerned. I put on a smile that hopefully communicated: Don't worry a baby is not going to pop out next to you. Promise!
Fortunately we arrived late so the midwife came out and called for me without having to check in.
Her; Madame Orange?
Me: HiyesI'mhereformyappointmentbutI'malsohavingcontractionsbutthey'renot regularor5minutesapartsoIdon'tknowwhattodo!!!!!!!
Her: How long have you been having contractions?
Me: Since this morning.
Her: Ok I'm going to admit you to the maternity ward.
At the maternity the midwife did an internal exam. I was two centimeters dilated which is apparently not a lot so they decided to put me on my side to measure the baby's heartbeat and contractions for one hour.
An hour later the midwife came back and confirmed that my contractions were indeed not regular (not that this was news to me) but she would do an internal exam to see the state of my cervix. 2.5 cm dilated.
Not bad, she concluded. She told me we would wait another hour to see where we were. She suggested I take a walk around.
So we did (How about a coffee? suggested Husband). I quickly realized 4 things:
1. Most places are closed New Year's eve even if it's not eve yet.
2. My contractions are very strong and frequent when I'm completely vertical.
3. Walking requires being completely vertical.
4. When searching for a place open you walk a lot.
In a way I was glad because the last thing I wanted to do was go to back home and then have to come back in again. Hopefully the contractions were doing their work.
We finally found a café open where I could discreetly have contractions without bringing attention to myself by pretending to cool down my very hot tea. Yes it was very hot indeed, the hottest tea in the world.
So there I was sitting in a café having contractions on New Year's eve and drinking very cool tea.
This is crazy remarked Husband. I had to agree.
When we got back the midwife did another internal exam. A good 3 cm. She admitted me.
Bam! I totally nailed that exam.
Thursday, January 8, 2015
water break
So my water broke on December 29th. Well sort of (I woke up to a soaking wet bathroom and it turned out to be due to the broken water heater). The plumber couldn't come to fix it till the 31st which already was really inconvienent seeing as how it was December and freezing (coldest day of winter they were calling it on the news).
It became even more inconvenient as on the 31st I woke up to contractions. By the time it was 10am the contractions were coming every 10 minutes (we were told only to go to the hospital if they were 5 minutes apart for at least an hour). The plumber came around 11. Husband was in the shower.
Plumber: [Ring, ring]
Me: [Gets up from couch, opens door] Bonjour.
Plumber: Bonjour.
Me: My husband's in the shower but won't be long. Would you like a coffee while you wait?
Plumber: Yes please
Me: [Gets coffee] Here you go [Contraction] [Almost drops cup]
Plumber: [Takes cup] Thanks. [Stares at me]
Me: [Stares back. Why isn't he drinking his damn cup? Oh right... ] Do you take milk? Sugar?
Plumber: Sugar please.
Me: [Gets sugar]
Plumber: [Takes sugar. Stares]
Me: [What now? Drink your damn coffee! Oh right. Gets spoon. Hands him spoon] Here you go.
Plumber: Thanks. So, blah blah blah blah...
Me: [Contraction] Oh really? [Continuing contraction]
Plumber: Blah blah blah blah blah blah...
Me: Uh huh... [Continuing contraction]
Plumber: Blah blah blah blah blah blah...
Me: Right... [Continuing contraction]
Plumber: Blah blah blah blah blah blah...
Me: [Considering how freaked out this man would be if I told him I couldn't chat because I was having contractions]
Plumber: Blah blah blah blah blah blah...
Me: [Probably pretty freaked out enough that he might bolt and my future baby won't have any hot water right away] I see...
Plumber: Blah blah blah blah blah blah...
Fortunately at this point husband came out of the shower so I could go back to the couch and discreetly have contractions while the plumber did what he needed to do.
He finally left around noon at which point my contractions had gotten irregular. They even stopped for about an hour around noon (had I become so French that even my contractions were taking a lunch break?)
Coincidentally I happened to have an appointment with a midwife at the hospital at 2pm which raised the question if I should go or wait at home till my contractions were regular and 5 minutes apart.
We called the hospital and they recommended we come in. We then had to decide if we'd take the metro or taxi it with the packed bags.
Husband thought we should metro and leave everything at home and he would come back and get everything on the off chance I would be admitted. You're so irregular it's probably false labor he concluded.
I got up to get ready to go and that's when the contractions hit harder and faster. 5 minutes apart. I looked at husband dead in the eyes. Take the bags and call a taxi I said.
We were on our way to the hospital.
It became even more inconvenient as on the 31st I woke up to contractions. By the time it was 10am the contractions were coming every 10 minutes (we were told only to go to the hospital if they were 5 minutes apart for at least an hour). The plumber came around 11. Husband was in the shower.
Plumber: [Ring, ring]
Me: [Gets up from couch, opens door] Bonjour.
Plumber: Bonjour.
Me: My husband's in the shower but won't be long. Would you like a coffee while you wait?
Plumber: Yes please
Me: [Gets coffee] Here you go [Contraction] [Almost drops cup]
Plumber: [Takes cup] Thanks. [Stares at me]
Me: [Stares back. Why isn't he drinking his damn cup? Oh right... ] Do you take milk? Sugar?
Plumber: Sugar please.
Me: [Gets sugar]
Plumber: [Takes sugar. Stares]
Me: [What now? Drink your damn coffee! Oh right. Gets spoon. Hands him spoon] Here you go.
Plumber: Thanks. So, blah blah blah blah...
Me: [Contraction] Oh really? [Continuing contraction]
Plumber: Blah blah blah blah blah blah...
Me: Uh huh... [Continuing contraction]
Plumber: Blah blah blah blah blah blah...
Me: Right... [Continuing contraction]
Plumber: Blah blah blah blah blah blah...
Me: [Considering how freaked out this man would be if I told him I couldn't chat because I was having contractions]
Plumber: Blah blah blah blah blah blah...
Me: [Probably pretty freaked out enough that he might bolt and my future baby won't have any hot water right away] I see...
Plumber: Blah blah blah blah blah blah...
Fortunately at this point husband came out of the shower so I could go back to the couch and discreetly have contractions while the plumber did what he needed to do.
He finally left around noon at which point my contractions had gotten irregular. They even stopped for about an hour around noon (had I become so French that even my contractions were taking a lunch break?)
Coincidentally I happened to have an appointment with a midwife at the hospital at 2pm which raised the question if I should go or wait at home till my contractions were regular and 5 minutes apart.
We called the hospital and they recommended we come in. We then had to decide if we'd take the metro or taxi it with the packed bags.
Husband thought we should metro and leave everything at home and he would come back and get everything on the off chance I would be admitted. You're so irregular it's probably false labor he concluded.
I got up to get ready to go and that's when the contractions hit harder and faster. 5 minutes apart. I looked at husband dead in the eyes. Take the bags and call a taxi I said.
We were on our way to the hospital.
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