2016

So it's the end of 2015 and I'm sitting outside on a terrrance of a café in Paris.  It's 60 degrees and I'm enjoying a cigarette with a cup of hot coffee.


Simple yet extraordinary given the times.


I hadn't had a cigarette since spring of 2014 when I found out I was pregnant and since my daughter's birth drinking coffee, hot, has become a luxury. 


The trickle of warm coffee down my throat followed by a puff of nicotine afterwards helps me to relax as I consider how sitting outside in a terrance can cost you your life. And 60 degrees outside? 


It's freaking end of December.


Has the world always been this f-ed up or do I simply pay attention more because I'm responsible for another life? 


My parents recently came to Paris.  They're retired now, the house paid off, children married.


They seemed different to me, almost like runners who have crossed the finish line of a marathon: happy to have done it; fatigued from the effort; serene that the hard part is past them. 


I recently saw that 2016 when upside down and backwards looks like joie, the french word for joy.

Here's to hoping. 

pancakes and epicea

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  One she thought outdated so I asked her, what are the kids saying these days?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.

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.  

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.  

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.  

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.