Five days in hospital for the new mother and daughter, five days of climbing up and down les Pentes de la Croix Rousse for the new father. My routine was fairly fixed. Get up, have breakfast, brisk half hour uphill walk in glorious sunshine to the hospital, rest of day getting to know the new arrival, walk back home again in the evening (minor deviation from routine on Tuesday, with an evening in the pub to watch the brave boys in yellow beaten by the Barca ball-hogs. Least said about that the better). The routine for mes deux bien-aimées was more varied, with la petite calling the shots; her and sundry midwives, students, baby care auxiliaries and doctors. Principal aim of the week: both parties learning l'allaitement. The path to complete mastery was far from smooth, and rather painful at times for the food source. But, with the help of a kindly auxiliary specialising in nursing, the pair of them got it more or less sussed by the end of a week of largely sleepless nights.
La bienheureuse recovered well from the operation, la petite coquinette's glugging technique was good enough to start putting on weight again, and on Saturday both were given the all-clear to go home. Via a stop at the pharmacy to collect sundry prescriptions, and another stop at hospital administration to collect birth certificate and livre de famille, la petite famille were finally fully reunited at home sweet home early on Saturday afternoon. From here on in, we were on our own…
