A century of days has come and gone in an instant. And ten days of maman back at work have passed quickly and fairly painlessly. Tous les trois are slowly getting used to the new routine, which is hardest for la bienheureuse as she only gets to see her petit coeur for an hour at either end of the day. The pain of separation was eased slightly by an afternoon off last week, and a bank holiday Monday this. The three day weekend came and went in the usual blur, even if the major activity was but the usual afternoon perambulation along the river bank.
In the big wide world, a couple of stories recently distracted from the usual diet of tragedy and disaster. Police in north-eastern France stopped a car they spotted driving erratically last week. Inside they found a lorry driver and his ten year-old son. The former was more than two times over the legal limit. Silly man, you might think, driving with a child in the car while drunk. Not so. He knew he would lose his licence if he was caught, so he hit on the brilliant idea of getting his son to drive him home. Yes, the driver of the vehicle was the 10 year-old boy. His father lost his licence anyway.
Meanwhile, former president Chirac caused a stir over the weekend by declaring that in next year's presidential elections he would vote for François Hollande, one of the potential socialist candidates. Chirac's fellow UMP member and current president Sarkozy deigned not to comment, but is assumed to be unamused. Hollande quickly passed it off as a joke, and Chirac eventually did a day or two later. That won't stop people believing it was a joke with a message. Chirac's autobiography was published a few days ago. His descriptions of the two other men are revealing: political rival Hollande is described as statesmanlike, while political 'friend' Sarko gets cast as overambitious, nervous, rash, overconfident and doubting nothing, least of all himself. All is fair in love and war...
15 juin 2011
08 juin 2011
New extremes
Monday, day one of the new regime: la bienheureuse back at work after a four month absence, papa and bébé left to amuse each other at home all day. No prizes for guessing who it was toughest for. La petite was a proper little angel on day one: drank all her milk, slept contentedly when she was put to bed, made only minimum demands on dad when she was awake.
Day 2: completely different story. Little terror awake before 6.30am, grouchy and grizzly, demanding attention all day, didn't sleep as long as normal. Only thing she did right was gulp down all her food. Sa bien-aimée was forced to leave work early to effect a rescue. We put it down to something bothering the little mite, probably a bunged up rear end which was eventually uncorked late last night and fully evacuated this morning.
Day 3: day 1 reprised, la petite even more angelic than ever so far. Down for her lunchtime nap as I type. Long may it continue…
Day 2: completely different story. Little terror awake before 6.30am, grouchy and grizzly, demanding attention all day, didn't sleep as long as normal. Only thing she did right was gulp down all her food. Sa bien-aimée was forced to leave work early to effect a rescue. We put it down to something bothering the little mite, probably a bunged up rear end which was eventually uncorked late last night and fully evacuated this morning.
Day 3: day 1 reprised, la petite even more angelic than ever so far. Down for her lunchtime nap as I type. Long may it continue…
04 juin 2011
Extremes
From summer to winter in 24 hours. The hottest spring on record was immediately followed by the coldest June 1st in living memory. The thermometer barely hit 9 degrees here, and some alpine resorts had over 40cm of snow, which was ironically the heaviest single snowfall so far this year. And for the start of the Ascension bank holiday weekend, holidaymakers on the Côte d'Azur shivered beneath umbrellas while those on the Channel coast basked in warm sunshine.
One day of rain did nothing to alleviate the drought that is causing great concern in France. Water levels even lower than in the famous drought of '76; restrictions virtually country-wide; arable farmers not allowed to irrigate crops; cattle farmers forced to use stocks of winter feed to keep their herds alive. And the E-coli outbreak is only making things worse. Vegetable sales in France have dived despite there being no case here that's not associated with travel to Germany. The words extreme and irrational come to mind...
Bringing up baby sometimes produces similarly perplexing behaviour. All the sleep training of the last 3 months seems to have paid off handsomely recently: la petite gets tired, we put her to bed, she immediately starts screaming, we shut the door and it's like flicking a switch - instant silence. Marvellous, even if it may be partly because she's just discovered where her thumb is. Less wonderful are her moods when she's particularly hungry, sometimes getting so wound up and intent on screaming that even even shoving a teat in her mouth doesn't distract her. The only thing that stops the screaming is to get up and walk around with her, and then she'll quickly become calm enough to feed. Other times, when she's fed in time, she'll grin and giggle enough to melt the coldest heart. We're learning slowly, very slowly...
One day of rain did nothing to alleviate the drought that is causing great concern in France. Water levels even lower than in the famous drought of '76; restrictions virtually country-wide; arable farmers not allowed to irrigate crops; cattle farmers forced to use stocks of winter feed to keep their herds alive. And the E-coli outbreak is only making things worse. Vegetable sales in France have dived despite there being no case here that's not associated with travel to Germany. The words extreme and irrational come to mind...
Bringing up baby sometimes produces similarly perplexing behaviour. All the sleep training of the last 3 months seems to have paid off handsomely recently: la petite gets tired, we put her to bed, she immediately starts screaming, we shut the door and it's like flicking a switch - instant silence. Marvellous, even if it may be partly because she's just discovered where her thumb is. Less wonderful are her moods when she's particularly hungry, sometimes getting so wound up and intent on screaming that even even shoving a teat in her mouth doesn't distract her. The only thing that stops the screaming is to get up and walk around with her, and then she'll quickly become calm enough to feed. Other times, when she's fed in time, she'll grin and giggle enough to melt the coldest heart. We're learning slowly, very slowly...
31 mai 2011
On the back foot
Never underestimate the people's belief in their right to break laws that don't suit them, particularly when they're behind the steering wheel. That's the lesson the French government learned after their attempt to tighten up road safety was roundly condemned by the populace and, more importantly, members of their own party. A revolt by UMP deputés last week resulted in a swift bit of back-pedalling. The announced removal of signs warning of speed cameras was 'suspended'. They may or may not be removed later, or may be replaced by 'pedagogical' speed traps - ones which warn the motorist he is exceeding the limit without punishing him. Clear as mud then. And following 'discussion' with manufacturers of speed camera warning systems, the government announced that they would be 'modified' into systems warning of dangerous stretches of road. Hmm, plus ça change...
Meanwhile the shadow of DSK still looms large. Georges Tron resigned yesterday from his post as government minister, though curiously not as mayor of Draveil, the position of power he allegedly abused to sexually abuse two former female employees. Said abuse is alleged to have involved foot fetishism which progressed upwards while one of his female deputy mayors allegedly performed fellatio. You couldn't make it up, though that is exactly what Tron is claiming. One of the victims said she was inspired to bring a complaint by a mere chambermaid being brave enough to do so against the head of the IMF.
Back in our personal mundane sphere, things trundle along much as normal, though there is another break today in what is officially the hottest spring since records began at the turn of the last century. The feeding, playing, sleeping routine for la petite continues with more playing and interest in objects, which in turn leads to being more easily distracted when feeding, and getting more readily bored when there's nothing to entertain her. Growing up fast...
Meanwhile the shadow of DSK still looms large. Georges Tron resigned yesterday from his post as government minister, though curiously not as mayor of Draveil, the position of power he allegedly abused to sexually abuse two former female employees. Said abuse is alleged to have involved foot fetishism which progressed upwards while one of his female deputy mayors allegedly performed fellatio. You couldn't make it up, though that is exactly what Tron is claiming. One of the victims said she was inspired to bring a complaint by a mere chambermaid being brave enough to do so against the head of the IMF.
Back in our personal mundane sphere, things trundle along much as normal, though there is another break today in what is officially the hottest spring since records began at the turn of the last century. The feeding, playing, sleeping routine for la petite continues with more playing and interest in objects, which in turn leads to being more easily distracted when feeding, and getting more readily bored when there's nothing to entertain her. Growing up fast...
27 mai 2011
Walking out
Life in Lyon with added small person continues in a routine of sorts: feed, sleep, play, feed, sleep, feed, play, walk along the river in the sunshine, feed, sleep, sleepy feed, big sleep. Minor disruptions from time to time, particularly in recent times and particularly towards the end of the afternoon when cranky moods are only resolved with food. Major disruption in just over a week when la bienheureuse is forced to return to earning a living for three. Apprehensive we are, all three…
Medical life resulted in another routine visit to le pédiatre yesterday. Another jab in the thigh, though this time la petite screamed before rather than after. Babies, laws unto themselves. Satisfactory growth observed, 1kg heavier, 2.5cm taller, brain circumference 1.5cm larger.
Sporting life in Lyon received a needed boost last night with victory in the Champions League final for Olympique Lyonnais, female version. Their male counterparts have not done so well, and the not-so-sporting public at Gerland have let them know it. On Saturday evening I trudged along to the last home match of the season, a singularly uninspired 0-0 draw with Caen, which leaves 3rd place in the league and a qualifying spot for next season's Champions League in the balance until the last game of the season on Sunday. Regardless of the result, the fans made their displeasure known before, during and after the match. The self-styled Bad Gones, the lower tier hard core in the Virage Nord, unveiled sarcastic and critical banners and chants (mostly targeting coach Claude Puel - example: 'Puel, the man who transforms a formula one car into a pedal car') throughout the match. Or rather until the 69th minute, when they walked out en-masse (the local paper put the number at 500) in protest at the way the team has performed this season. Talk about supporting your club through thick and thin…
Media life in France is still dominated by l'affaire DSK, which continues to rumble along in the background of every news bulletin, now providing context for two other stories: firstly the candidature of Christine Lagarde to replace DSK at the IMF, and now there is now another sex scandal to share the headlines. Government minister Georges Tron has been accused of sexual harassment by two women who worked under him in the mairie at Draveil, where he is mayor. He denies everything and denounces a far-right plot designed to bring him down because of disagreements he has had in the past with the sister of the leader of the Front National, pointing at the fact that the lawyer for the two alleged victims is a close friend of Marine Le Pen. The latter is in turn threatening to sue Tron for defamation. All good dirty political fun.
Medical life resulted in another routine visit to le pédiatre yesterday. Another jab in the thigh, though this time la petite screamed before rather than after. Babies, laws unto themselves. Satisfactory growth observed, 1kg heavier, 2.5cm taller, brain circumference 1.5cm larger.
Sporting life in Lyon received a needed boost last night with victory in the Champions League final for Olympique Lyonnais, female version. Their male counterparts have not done so well, and the not-so-sporting public at Gerland have let them know it. On Saturday evening I trudged along to the last home match of the season, a singularly uninspired 0-0 draw with Caen, which leaves 3rd place in the league and a qualifying spot for next season's Champions League in the balance until the last game of the season on Sunday. Regardless of the result, the fans made their displeasure known before, during and after the match. The self-styled Bad Gones, the lower tier hard core in the Virage Nord, unveiled sarcastic and critical banners and chants (mostly targeting coach Claude Puel - example: 'Puel, the man who transforms a formula one car into a pedal car') throughout the match. Or rather until the 69th minute, when they walked out en-masse (the local paper put the number at 500) in protest at the way the team has performed this season. Talk about supporting your club through thick and thin…
Media life in France is still dominated by l'affaire DSK, which continues to rumble along in the background of every news bulletin, now providing context for two other stories: firstly the candidature of Christine Lagarde to replace DSK at the IMF, and now there is now another sex scandal to share the headlines. Government minister Georges Tron has been accused of sexual harassment by two women who worked under him in the mairie at Draveil, where he is mayor. He denies everything and denounces a far-right plot designed to bring him down because of disagreements he has had in the past with the sister of the leader of the Front National, pointing at the fact that the lawyer for the two alleged victims is a close friend of Marine Le Pen. The latter is in turn threatening to sue Tron for defamation. All good dirty political fun.
18 mai 2011
Thunderclaps
The long hot spring-summer broke briefly at the end of last week. A thunderstorm worthy of mid August lit up the Lyon night sky on Wednesday. Thursday was cool and wet, and the following weekend was a mixture of sunshine and showers. Proper spring weather. The early summer was back on Monday. 27C sunshine today and hotter weather on the way. Reservoir levels are at record lows and there is deep concern about what is looking like the worst drought since 1976.
Meanwhile, a political thunderclap and three letters have dominated headlines in France since Saturday: DSK. The french love an acronym, and the downfall of the head of the IMF has been a gift for headline writers. The main reaction here has been one of shock, not so much by the fact that the frontrunner for the presidential elections next year has been accused of rape, but more so by the way he was treated by the American judicial system. The images of Strauss-Kahn handcuffed and appearing in court, banned in France, have shocked the nation and generated a certain amount of sympathy for the alleged rapist. My own straw poll of opinions in the jewellers I visited yesterday (changing watch batteries, I hasten to add) produced a split result. The jeweller said he'd never sell an American made watch again, his wife thought DSK had it coming, and the client thought it was all a plot. She's not the only one - a newspaper poll this morning suggested over 50% of the French think it's an anti-French conspiracy.
The winners and losers are fairly clear. The Socialists have been left reeling, and the ruling UMP have been rather smugly refraining from any comment that might look like gloating. Polls had DSK a fairly clear winner against Sarko in the elections next year; Sarko against other socialist candidates would be much closer affairs. Meanwhile, Marine le Pen is almost openly rubbing her hands with glee…
Before the news broke on Saturday, French minds were occupied by the road safety changes announced recently. No more road signs warning of speed camera placements; speed camera warning systems made illegal; stiffer penalties for drink driving and excessive speeding. The outrage was almost as widespread as a couple of weeks recently, when parking fines went up from 11 to a whole 19 euros.
On the domestic front, la bienheureuse et la petite survived 30 hours without papa on Sunday/Monday, while he made a final pilgrimage of the season to watch another abject performance. Least said about that the better. The trip was made worthwhile by lunch with le grand chef et la petite beaucoup in the pub before the match, in the company of an old schoolfriend, who is as good as me about keeping in touch - 35 years since we last laid eyes on each other. Funny how little we've changed, and how much we've changed. Grey hair and wrinkles, but still the same old school mate...
Meanwhile, a political thunderclap and three letters have dominated headlines in France since Saturday: DSK. The french love an acronym, and the downfall of the head of the IMF has been a gift for headline writers. The main reaction here has been one of shock, not so much by the fact that the frontrunner for the presidential elections next year has been accused of rape, but more so by the way he was treated by the American judicial system. The images of Strauss-Kahn handcuffed and appearing in court, banned in France, have shocked the nation and generated a certain amount of sympathy for the alleged rapist. My own straw poll of opinions in the jewellers I visited yesterday (changing watch batteries, I hasten to add) produced a split result. The jeweller said he'd never sell an American made watch again, his wife thought DSK had it coming, and the client thought it was all a plot. She's not the only one - a newspaper poll this morning suggested over 50% of the French think it's an anti-French conspiracy.
The winners and losers are fairly clear. The Socialists have been left reeling, and the ruling UMP have been rather smugly refraining from any comment that might look like gloating. Polls had DSK a fairly clear winner against Sarko in the elections next year; Sarko against other socialist candidates would be much closer affairs. Meanwhile, Marine le Pen is almost openly rubbing her hands with glee…
Before the news broke on Saturday, French minds were occupied by the road safety changes announced recently. No more road signs warning of speed camera placements; speed camera warning systems made illegal; stiffer penalties for drink driving and excessive speeding. The outrage was almost as widespread as a couple of weeks recently, when parking fines went up from 11 to a whole 19 euros.
On the domestic front, la bienheureuse et la petite survived 30 hours without papa on Sunday/Monday, while he made a final pilgrimage of the season to watch another abject performance. Least said about that the better. The trip was made worthwhile by lunch with le grand chef et la petite beaucoup in the pub before the match, in the company of an old schoolfriend, who is as good as me about keeping in touch - 35 years since we last laid eyes on each other. Funny how little we've changed, and how much we've changed. Grey hair and wrinkles, but still the same old school mate...
10 mai 2011
Hot visit
The hottest weekend of the year greeted the third baby-visitors of the year. Le beau-frère et la belle-soeur arrived on Friday. The visit soon took on a routine - spend the nights sweating in a hotel room with non-functioning air conditioning, spend the days cooling in the apartment and chilling with their new and unique niece. In between the eating, drinking, playing, and afternoon strolls along the river, there was just about time for a chocolate-buying visit to Les Halles on Saturday morning, a stroll through the craft market and an ice-cream on Sunday morning. All too soon Monday afternoon came round, and it was time to return to their own children, canine variety.
And then there were three once more. La petite continues to grow, grin and occasionally grizzle. Sleeping through the night also continues, with just the occasional hiccup, though coming between 5 and 6am, they aren't really hiccups to complain about.
On the field, ignoring painful events across the Channel, the French championship retains the interest. The battle of the Olympiques on Sunday produced a dramatic game. Les Gones went 2-0 up after les Marseillais were wrongly denied an opening goal, the visitors then got it back to 2-2 before a late winner sent Gerland into rare raptures and just about kept OL in the title hunt. Next round over the next two days...
Elsewhere, the French football quota storm is starting to blow itself out. Coach Blanc (ironic name) appears to have survived taking part in the alleged discussion on limiting numbers of dual nationality players. His faux-pas came when talking about the 'style' of player required in French football academies - favouring those with 'technical' qualities over those who are just 'big & strong' - subtext (rightly or wrongly inferred): big, strong and stupid. Whichever, the sports minister has just given Blanc the all clear.
On the political field, the countdown to the presidential elections next year has already started. Today is the 30th anniversary of the ascent to power of the only socialist president of the Cinquième République, one François Mitterand. And it's being given the full treatment in the media - nostalgic articles in the left-wing press, somewhat more bitter commentary in the right-wing press. Battle lines already drawn in the sand of 2012…
And then there were three once more. La petite continues to grow, grin and occasionally grizzle. Sleeping through the night also continues, with just the occasional hiccup, though coming between 5 and 6am, they aren't really hiccups to complain about.
On the field, ignoring painful events across the Channel, the French championship retains the interest. The battle of the Olympiques on Sunday produced a dramatic game. Les Gones went 2-0 up after les Marseillais were wrongly denied an opening goal, the visitors then got it back to 2-2 before a late winner sent Gerland into rare raptures and just about kept OL in the title hunt. Next round over the next two days...
Elsewhere, the French football quota storm is starting to blow itself out. Coach Blanc (ironic name) appears to have survived taking part in the alleged discussion on limiting numbers of dual nationality players. His faux-pas came when talking about the 'style' of player required in French football academies - favouring those with 'technical' qualities over those who are just 'big & strong' - subtext (rightly or wrongly inferred): big, strong and stupid. Whichever, the sports minister has just given Blanc the all clear.
On the political field, the countdown to the presidential elections next year has already started. Today is the 30th anniversary of the ascent to power of the only socialist president of the Cinquième République, one François Mitterand. And it's being given the full treatment in the media - nostalgic articles in the left-wing press, somewhat more bitter commentary in the right-wing press. Battle lines already drawn in the sand of 2012…
03 mai 2011
Summer quota
Two shocks this morning. 4.40am and the sounds of a grizzling baby woke us up. First interrupted night in over two weeks. Knew I shouldn't have tempted fate. Then, after la bienheureuse had done her duty and la petite had allowed us a whole further 45 minutes sleep, I opened the curtains and the sky outside was grey. After a month of almost unbroken sunshine and temperatures of 25C plus yesterday, perhaps it was tempting fate again to assume that summer had arrived early. Then again, maybe it has - Evelyn the weather girl remarked last week that the weather pattern in the first four months of this year is exactly the same as it was in 1976, that other long, hot summer.
Almost two months gone by since the family era began, time for the second visit to the baby doctor. Another measuring session (2.1cm taller, 650g heavier 3 weeks on), and more tests of motor, visual and auditory function. The old boy declared the young lady to have the development of a 4 month old. Bet he says that to all the girls. Then he jabbed her twice in the thigh. First vaccinations, first real screams of pain. Soon calmed with a cuddle. More torture by injection in four weeks.
Life beyond baby is slowly beginning to resurface. Last week I made an evening trip to Gerland to watch OL rather undeservedly overcome Montpellier to keep hopes of the title alive. Said hopes were then virtually extinguished over the weekend with defeat at Toulouse. Five games left, seven points behind Lille. Similarly hopeless position to that in which mon équipe preferée somehow found itself before the weekend. Tempted to avoid watching the big match on Sunday, in the end I decided it would be disloyal not to go to the pub. Happy decision, even if it was rather a pyrrhic victory over the evil red empire. At least it puts a spoke in their supposed coast to the title. At the moment, blue somehow seems the lesser of two evils.
Elsewhere in the footballing world, more scandal this side of la Manche with the leaking of minutes of a meeting at the Fédération Française de Football, which suggested the imposition of a 'quota' to limit the number of players of African origin in football academies. After initially denying everything, the FFF was eventually forced to admit the minutes were genuine, but claimed it was only a discussion about reducing the number players with dual nationality who, having been brought up and received their football education in France, then later opt to play for their other country of origin. Whichever, the minister of sport wasn't happy and promptly suspended the French technical director of football pending an inquiry. Just what French football needed after the World Cup fiasco...
Almost two months gone by since the family era began, time for the second visit to the baby doctor. Another measuring session (2.1cm taller, 650g heavier 3 weeks on), and more tests of motor, visual and auditory function. The old boy declared the young lady to have the development of a 4 month old. Bet he says that to all the girls. Then he jabbed her twice in the thigh. First vaccinations, first real screams of pain. Soon calmed with a cuddle. More torture by injection in four weeks.
Life beyond baby is slowly beginning to resurface. Last week I made an evening trip to Gerland to watch OL rather undeservedly overcome Montpellier to keep hopes of the title alive. Said hopes were then virtually extinguished over the weekend with defeat at Toulouse. Five games left, seven points behind Lille. Similarly hopeless position to that in which mon équipe preferée somehow found itself before the weekend. Tempted to avoid watching the big match on Sunday, in the end I decided it would be disloyal not to go to the pub. Happy decision, even if it was rather a pyrrhic victory over the evil red empire. At least it puts a spoke in their supposed coast to the title. At the moment, blue somehow seems the lesser of two evils.
Elsewhere in the footballing world, more scandal this side of la Manche with the leaking of minutes of a meeting at the Fédération Française de Football, which suggested the imposition of a 'quota' to limit the number of players of African origin in football academies. After initially denying everything, the FFF was eventually forced to admit the minutes were genuine, but claimed it was only a discussion about reducing the number players with dual nationality who, having been brought up and received their football education in France, then later opt to play for their other country of origin. Whichever, the minister of sport wasn't happy and promptly suspended the French technical director of football pending an inquiry. Just what French football needed after the World Cup fiasco...
25 avril 2011
Sunshine cousins
Babies: miraculous and demanding. And when baby's aunt and nearly grown-up cousins come to visit, it leaves even less time for the trivialities of life, such as blogging. That's my excuse anyway. La soeur et les nièces arrived 8 days ago and left yesterday. In between early morning trips to the airport at either end, it was perhaps not the most exciting of trips abroad for a pair of teenagers but that wasn't really the point. The main attraction was obviously their six week-old niece and cousin respectively
Activities of various sorts were organised during the course of seven days otherwise crammed with vying with each other to feed baby, leaving the parents to deal with nappy changing, helping with the shopping, and pram-pushing on the daily afternoon walks:
Monday: a walk in the park for everybody in the warm afternoon sunshine.
Tuesday: the rest of us leave la bienheureuse at home with baby while we climb les Pentes de la Croix Rousse, walk back down through town and then have lunch on les Berges du Rhône, where mother and baby join us in the warm afternoon sunshine.
Wednesday: the breastfeeding pair are once again left behind as I lead an expedition on a two-river cruise in the warm afternoon sunshine: down the Saône past the new Confluence development, up the Rhône, and back again.
Thursday: niece number two kindly gives me the evening off cooking duties and prepares finger-licking fajitas.
Friday: back to the touristing as we hire Velo'vs and cycle down the river to Parc Gerland and back in the warm afternoon sunshine. Quite enough exercise for the week for some.
Saturday: finally time for the visitors to do their duty with a bit of gift shopping for friends and family back home. Meet up with mother and baby for a final walk along the river in the warm afternoon sunshine.
And then there were three. La petite has just spent her first night in a room of her own. And carried on the happy recent habit of sleeping through the night. Long may it continue...
Activities of various sorts were organised during the course of seven days otherwise crammed with vying with each other to feed baby, leaving the parents to deal with nappy changing, helping with the shopping, and pram-pushing on the daily afternoon walks:
Monday: a walk in the park for everybody in the warm afternoon sunshine.
Tuesday: the rest of us leave la bienheureuse at home with baby while we climb les Pentes de la Croix Rousse, walk back down through town and then have lunch on les Berges du Rhône, where mother and baby join us in the warm afternoon sunshine.
Wednesday: the breastfeeding pair are once again left behind as I lead an expedition on a two-river cruise in the warm afternoon sunshine: down the Saône past the new Confluence development, up the Rhône, and back again.
Thursday: niece number two kindly gives me the evening off cooking duties and prepares finger-licking fajitas.
Friday: back to the touristing as we hire Velo'vs and cycle down the river to Parc Gerland and back in the warm afternoon sunshine. Quite enough exercise for the week for some.
Saturday: finally time for the visitors to do their duty with a bit of gift shopping for friends and family back home. Meet up with mother and baby for a final walk along the river in the warm afternoon sunshine.
And then there were three. La petite has just spent her first night in a room of her own. And carried on the happy recent habit of sleeping through the night. Long may it continue...
09 avril 2011
Shorts
Time is short and life looking after baby is busy, so a few short stories to resume the last two short weeks:
La belle-mère came and went, her time filled with sewing, holding and feeding her petite-fille a bottle or two when she was allowed, taking lots of photos, going for walks along the river, and browsing family history and camera websites. She promises to return soon…
La petite coquinette continues to guzzle and grow. One month old already. The statutory visit to the pédiatre on Thursday produced a weight gain of 300 grams in a week and a height gain of 4cm in a month. The bluff old doctor pronounced her in perfect health, 'belle et intelligente', a future Nobel prize winner. It's official then…
The milking machine has been put into temporary retirement. A visit to the baby care centre yesterday produced a new routine to follow: back to normal breastfeeding supplemented with formula if necessary. La petite doesn't care where the milk comes from as long as it's getting into her mouth.
At the other end, nappies continue to be filled as though they were going out of fashion, though not so often with the smelly stuff in recent days. Two stories to tell there, which I'll try to keep brief out of regard for those of a delicate disposition. Marvellous piece of technology, the modern disposable nappy: leakproof and foolproof. Well, almost. The one catastrophic failure occurred when the little angel was sitting on my lap. The rear end explosion projected material (which I've seen fairly accurately described somewhere as the colour and consistency of French mustard) some distance. Result: complete change of clothing for both of us, and a quick shower for me. Ma fille smiled beatifically through the whole palaver.
Second toilet story is slightly more mundane but perhaps instructional. As babies get older, their bowels mature and movements become less frequent and regular. After three days sans caca, we were beginning to wonder if all was right. The paediatrician assured us it was completely normal, and sure enough, that evening the missing material appeared all at once. This time the nappy did its job, though it's a mystery to me quite how such a large volume was contained in such a small space. In two such small spaces in fact…
Meanwhile, the flow of presents for la petite appeared to have ceased a week ago, but has resumed near flood proportions in the last few days, including a second offering from une copine de la bienheureuse, who visited yesterday. Seems women find it hard to resist buying clothes for little girls. A very spoilt young lady now has a different outfit for every day of the coming year. Thanks to one and all.
In between the nappy changes, feeds and sleeps, I was afforded time last weekend for a first trip back to Blighty in three months. Fine trip it was too, apart from the main event. Least said about football the better, but the day in London was redeemed by a lovely curry at the Masala Zone in Upper St and a pint or two of beer. On the social side, I found le grand chef and mademoiselle beaucoup in fine form, and eager to celebrate the new arrival with champagne on our return to Cambridge. Could hardly refuse, could I?
Finally, the weather in Lyon has been positively summery in the last few days. Full sunshine and temperatures in the mid-twenties. The shorts are on to stay.
La belle-mère came and went, her time filled with sewing, holding and feeding her petite-fille a bottle or two when she was allowed, taking lots of photos, going for walks along the river, and browsing family history and camera websites. She promises to return soon…
La petite coquinette continues to guzzle and grow. One month old already. The statutory visit to the pédiatre on Thursday produced a weight gain of 300 grams in a week and a height gain of 4cm in a month. The bluff old doctor pronounced her in perfect health, 'belle et intelligente', a future Nobel prize winner. It's official then…
The milking machine has been put into temporary retirement. A visit to the baby care centre yesterday produced a new routine to follow: back to normal breastfeeding supplemented with formula if necessary. La petite doesn't care where the milk comes from as long as it's getting into her mouth.
At the other end, nappies continue to be filled as though they were going out of fashion, though not so often with the smelly stuff in recent days. Two stories to tell there, which I'll try to keep brief out of regard for those of a delicate disposition. Marvellous piece of technology, the modern disposable nappy: leakproof and foolproof. Well, almost. The one catastrophic failure occurred when the little angel was sitting on my lap. The rear end explosion projected material (which I've seen fairly accurately described somewhere as the colour and consistency of French mustard) some distance. Result: complete change of clothing for both of us, and a quick shower for me. Ma fille smiled beatifically through the whole palaver.
Second toilet story is slightly more mundane but perhaps instructional. As babies get older, their bowels mature and movements become less frequent and regular. After three days sans caca, we were beginning to wonder if all was right. The paediatrician assured us it was completely normal, and sure enough, that evening the missing material appeared all at once. This time the nappy did its job, though it's a mystery to me quite how such a large volume was contained in such a small space. In two such small spaces in fact…
Meanwhile, the flow of presents for la petite appeared to have ceased a week ago, but has resumed near flood proportions in the last few days, including a second offering from une copine de la bienheureuse, who visited yesterday. Seems women find it hard to resist buying clothes for little girls. A very spoilt young lady now has a different outfit for every day of the coming year. Thanks to one and all.
In between the nappy changes, feeds and sleeps, I was afforded time last weekend for a first trip back to Blighty in three months. Fine trip it was too, apart from the main event. Least said about football the better, but the day in London was redeemed by a lovely curry at the Masala Zone in Upper St and a pint or two of beer. On the social side, I found le grand chef and mademoiselle beaucoup in fine form, and eager to celebrate the new arrival with champagne on our return to Cambridge. Could hardly refuse, could I?
Finally, the weather in Lyon has been positively summery in the last few days. Full sunshine and temperatures in the mid-twenties. The shorts are on to stay.
Inscription à :
Articles (Atom)