Mom in France

Bad Parenting Day

I lost it. The evening is the hardest time for me in general and even more so with the pregnancy.  By the time I get home from work and picking up Boo from the nanny around 6pm, I'm exhausted, hungry, and know that I need to fix dinner, play with Boo, do a bath, etc.  

Boo wants to play, play, play, and last night the tiredness got the better of us both.  He cried.  I cried.  He cried some more.  I was angry - at him, at me.  I felt guilty. And still there was the tiredness, the dinner.  I tried to call my husband - get home QUICK.  Couldn't reach him.  He made it home just slightly later than ususal and was awesome in that he took one look at the situation and took over. 

He got Boo into the bath.  I ate a bowl of cereal and went to bed.  Seriously.

This morning, we did it all over again with him refusing to get in the car (which NEVER happens) and then crying on my shoulder when we arrived.  So un-fun.

The advice from the nanny:  Simply explain what's going on.  And that it's NOT HIS FAULT.  Duh.  The poor kid sees me getting upset and he things it's all him. And then he wants me even more, at precisely the moment that it's difficult.  A nasty spiral was starting.  I was teary coming to work and realized that whatever was happening between us was happening to both of us. I was trying so hard not to get mad at him but not being able to take his clingly whining cry-over-nothingness, and yet getting mad anyway.  So ... lessons learned:

• Time to start talking to Boo about the new Boy in a regular way, whether he fully understand or not.

• Make sure that he knows that my changing state is not his fault and that he's still totally awesome.

• Cook less during the week - make some yummy things ready to go on the weekend.

• Make sure E is around as much as possible to run interference as needed. Let him do a little more in the evening, which is his up-time.

• Hope for the best.

My Bilingual Child

Boo finally said his first English words (and first verb)!  "Cooking" and "pasta": a child after my own heart.

I admit it, I was getting worried.  E and I began to discuss if we should change our approach in languages.  He and I speak English together, I speak English to Boo and he tends to speak French or some sort of mix depending on the situation and if I'm in the room.  Boo is adding more and more words.  Yesterday I finally figured out that he's been saying "croissant" and "les oiseaux" (birds) for ages and I just didn't understand him.  Which I guess is normal but try that toddler-speak in a foreign language, even one that you speak and it adds an interesting dimension.

Mentally, I am prepared for my bi-lingual child, and proud.  I think he's so fortunate to have that, and we are fortunate to live in a place where bilingualism is almost the norm - many schools run sections in other languages or are "international." There is such a huge population of expats on the Riviera from all over that being multi-lingual is not unusual.  As such, I've been able to ask a lot of questions of other parents at work and I've learned from them that Boo will grow up primarily speaking French, and will even respond to me in French when I speak English to him.  So he will perfectly understand.  His use of language will be situational - with American family for instance.

Before Boo was born and when he was an infant I asked colleagues a lot of questions about how they handle the multiple languages.  The advice & shared experience:

1. Choose the approach and Be Consistent (#1 parenting rule in general). It was generally advised that E and I each speak our native language to Boo, and that we keep on speaking English together as a couple and carry that over into the family.
2. Your child will mix languages.  Because he will be immersed in French, he will most likely respond to you in French even as you are speaking English.  Try to remain consistent and not switch to French when he speaks to you.

Emotionally, as I watch and help the language develop, it's hard to not see myself reflected.  I'm such a word person and he's not using my words!  Language is the first instance of culture and it's long been a concern of mine of how to share my native culture with Boo without us living in the US. How do I raise not only a bi-lingual child but also a bi-cultural child?

I have memories of my own- moving from Tennessee to Northern California when I was 10 and my mom bringing home flour and peanut butter on trips as if these things weren't available at Safeway (not the same, she would say).  I sometimes recognize this cultural dislocation in myself but for the most part I'm never homesick.  I'm also lucky :  my family visits regularly and brings a bag of online ordered stuff.  There is the wonders of Amazon and internet communication.  Occassionally there are expensive purchases at international grocery stores (but rarely, I mean, this is France after all). 

But I'm not shrugging off my American culture to become French either - I like having both.  I don't want shove it down Boo's throat, but I wonder:  How to share literature, history?  How to teach him to write in English? Should we consider (expensive) international schools? Or take advantage of France's good school system?

I found some online resources which, in the end, basically come down to the first point above, however, it was reassuring to see that there are so many people wrestling with this (and there are many for whom 2 languages are not enough!):

• Multiligual Children's Association
• Bicultural Family Network
• Enfants Bilangue (in French)

These still haven't totally answered my questions, and I guess with this issue, like so many others, we will have a see-as-we-go approach.

It's a Boy! Now what?

Last week we went for the 4th month check-up with Dr R, my OB/GYN.  Unlike many doctors he has an ultrasound in his office.  It's not the big, fancy 3D ultrasound used for major diagnosis, but it allows him to do a basic check and us a monthly glimpse at our little one. 

He waved his wand across my now-tightening belly (maternity jeans been in action since Christmas - much earlier than last time!) and we could see such a difference in just a month.  There is real head, feet, hands, legs.  There was a lot of movement.  All is well.

"Do you want to know the sex?" Dr R asked. Definitely, yes!  People are of two minds about this - they either want to know or don't.  For me, knowing the gender allows me to think of the growing fetus as a someday real baby and person.  It allows me to imagine it as something real, not just this thing inside.

He waved another, more precise wand.  His little 12-inch black and white screens are very grainy and of course to our untrained eye all we couldn't see anything. However, Dr. R made a couple of small marks on the image with the ultrasound computer & looked at me:  Definitely a boy.

Our Friday appointment was around lunch and Dr. R's office is not far from one of the old villages so we went for lunch, taking in our news.  Somehow knowing made it seem more real, like the first time we heard the heart-beat made the pregnancy seem real.  With Boo I really really really really really wanted a girl.  I grew up in my family as the only daughter and granddaughter on my Dad's side.  E is one of 3 boys.  When I found out Boo was a boy I shed a little tear.  You're not supposed to care; I did.  Afterward, he turned out so marvelous and just who he is that I can't see him as anyone else. 

I was reassured, and with this pregnancy I cared less.  A mix would be good - different.  But when I heard it was a boy I could only think of the advantages.  We already have all the stuff!  They will share a room and it will be easier to decorate and they can share for longer before we have to figure out single rooms. Boys are known. Less propensity to diaper rash.  We already have a list of names.

I think E was a little sad.  He was hoping for a girl to dote over, a princess.  So definitely it's a good thing.

Pregnant and in Lourdes

Being pregnant again has me reflecting about the 1st go-round.  Married 3 weeks, we were on vacation in the Pyrenees at the B&B, aka E's parents' place.  My brother was due to arrive in a couple of days for a week's stay and trip into Spain backpacking.  I was looking foward to getting into my summer sporty routine - running, rockclimbing, hiking - and arriving home in mid-August tan and fit.

Instead, I was 5 days late.  I went to the pharmacy one day and the next took the home pregancy test that I snuck into the house (and out again). Positive!  WHOO-HOO!! E and I were so excited and then, for me at least, the question occurred to me, "Now what?"  Could I be sporty? Could I rock-climb? Jog in the fields? Carry heavy backpack? Drink wine? What's coming?

I called my doctor back on the Riviera and left a message.  He was actually nice enough to call me back.  He said, basically, to take it easy.  Don't do anything life-endangering. I took this to mean no climbing.  Fine.  Still, I had a million questions that I couldn't even formulate and it would be 3 weeks until I went to see him.  I felt cut off: in a house with no internet and where my cell phone didn't work unless I walked up a hill half a mile and waved my phone around in the air.  I needed info!  I might have begun to be a little crazy.

All of the sudden all plans were up in the air.  I would lie awake during those first nights and think about, come April, there would be something new. I couldn't make any decisions.  Should we cancel our trip to Spain (decided no after much discussion, but with an abbreviated itinerary).  Should we tell E's parents (decided no)? What about my brother (decided yes).  I insisted that we try to find an english bookstore somewhere.  We were not on the Riviera where English is spoken just as much as French, and all the major towns have an English book store.  I didn't want go into the town and use the internet cafe to order something from Amazon:  Like Veruca Salt, I wanted that book now.

E did some yellow-pages searching and found that there is an English book store in Lourdes.  We'd never been but off we went, not to see the Virgin and the holy waters but in search of a pregnancy book.  Lourdes is Catholic-land.  The city center is given over to a huge basilica and the city streets are lined with shops and stalls selling the normal tourist crap, all Mother Mary-themed.  Salt shakers and spoons.  Statues and icons of all time.  Souvenir vestments for pilgrim clergy.  We located our bookstore and sure enough, the stock was primarily religious.  There were no pregnancy books in sight.  However, in the health section there was a copy of my friend Fawn's book on work and depression, Working in the Dark.  And in the literature section there was a copy of Vanity Fair which somehow escaped my victorian novel phase.  I bought that and read over the rest of our vacation.

I guess like some of the less healthy pilgrims that come to Lourdes, I left without what I came to seek.  We ended up at one of the mega-bookstores and I bought a French book which was interesting in that it had a whole chapter on quitting smoking while pregnant and just a mild warning against drinking too often.  I finally ended up with my copy of What to Expect When You're Expecting when I arrived in Washington, DC a month later on business. 

Our Town

 

I had a Madness "Our House" kind of moment early this morning driving down to our village for my monthly blood test.  It's one of those they do things differently in France things:  I have to be monitored for toxmoplasmosis (lucky me) with a blood test once a month.  However, you don't have them at the doctor's office but rather you receive a perscription and must go to a lab to have it done.  Results in 48-hours and you must go get them in person.  No mailing or phone calls allowed.  So, instead of having one trip, I get to have three: one to the doctor for the checkup and new perscription and two to the lab.

Fortunately, the lab in my village opens at 8am.  In the freezing morning I drove down and pulled into the lot.  Yay for January - plenty of spaces!  The sun was rising on the snow-covered hills.  Walking through the parking lot, the children and their parents were arriving for school, delivery men were making deliveries and the shopkeepers were opening.  Everyone was giving cheerful hellos and at least making pleasant signs of recognition.  Since I go to the lab once a month (for the 2nd time) the people there recognize me.  Same for the owner of the bakery, with whom I shared a friendly hello.  

Pulling out of the parking lot, with the pink hills in my rearview mirror, I witnessed the Gendarme who monitors the school crossings in the morning share a hello kiss in the middle of the street with one of the parents. 

I can't explain such friendliness on a chilly Monday morning, but I arrived home, croissant in hand, ready to face the day.

I *heart* La Pharmacie

I'm out of the haze of the 1st trimester and end of year craziness.  Somewhere along the line, and through the fog of exhaustion and guilt of not getting everything done I realize I was just doing too much.  Work was becoming even busier, with my team expanding responsibilities and personnel - something nearly impossible working 4 days a week.  Christmas was coming, I was (and still am) doing career development, and we were suffering the 1st round of winter illnesses.  All I wanted to do was sleep, sleep, sleep.  The bright spots were family visits.

It really hit home that this period is past over the weekend when I delivered a duvet cover I'd made as a favor for a friend's son.  It was over tea and cakes with other friends and one asked me how I managed - with work, a toddler, pregnancy, and holidays - to find time to make it.  I almost answered: I didn't!  And yet, there it was, completed, and with a smiling little boy with his cute new bed cover.

With winter illnesses and pregnancy I've been going to the pharmacy often.  While I enjoyed the convenience of the 24-hour CVS in Boston, I love the ambiance of the pharmacies in France. 

Our local pharmacy is relatively small with sliding glass doors that swish open when you approach.  Inside, there are small kiosk-like counters where the staff and pharmacists assist customers.  If I don't walk up directly, then someone is quickly at my side asking if I need help.  They take their consultation seriously, and are experts on everything they sell.  The medicines are kept in the back and downstairs and are delivered via dumb-waiters which I find really quaint.  Even over-the-counter medicines or homeopathy needs to be taken off the wall shelf by a staff member who will kindly explain the dose and when/how to take it.

There are no aisles of candy or magazines, rather fancy skin-care that one might find in an upscale department store, some cosmetics and, in the summer, a raft of sunscreen and related products.  With the exception of the cheap or free medicines, the pharmacy is expensive.  But I love the feeling of being taken care of there, and the whole store being dedicated to my well-being.  Recently I went to a large pharmacy that has dedicated skin-care counter and the discussion I had with the conseilleuse on moisturizer seemed like a graduate course.  Still, she was smooth:  I bought more than I intended!