And so the learning curve continues. Another appointment and weigh-in with the nice lady at the child care centre showed stable weight - not ideal in a 2 week old baby. So a new regime was instituted. Automatic milking machine hired, installed and duly put into action - a quite fascinating process, which may not be much fun for the milk provider but provides a certain amount of titillation for her husband. Thereafter, breast feeds supplemented with expressed milk and formula as required. Two days of pumping later, weight up by a hundred grams, and a further hundred at today's weighing. Back at birth weight. Marvellous.
Meanwhile, la nouvelle grand-mère arrived on Wednesday to meet her first grandchild. The family threesome set off for the airport to meet her, and got as far as the garage round the corner. Failure to freewheel and a grinding noise at first led me to suspect an old problem, seized brakes, but with passersby pointing at the front offside wheel, it eventually dawned that we had a flat tyre. It being lunchtime our friendly local garage was closed, but fortunately I only had a couple of minutes to demonstrate my total lack of competence in tyre changing (which I put down to inexperience - first puncture in 30 years of motoring) before la bienheureuse spotted someone in the garage. Of course, asking French workmen for help in their lunch break is often a risky exercise, but a sweet smile convinced the nice mechanic to change the wheel for us.
Dodgy spare thus installed in a matter of minutes rather than the hour it would have otherwise taken we set off and arrived at the airport only about half an hour late, to introduce la belle-mère to her petite-fille. One way introduction, as la petite slept through the whole adventure. However, she woke up later and immediately ignored the stranger in favour of a good suckle. As well she should, but they've got to know each other since. Amidst the full time job of feeding, nappy changing, bottle washing, pumping, cooking and shopping, sightseeing for la belle-mère this week has been restricted to strolls along the river with the pram in the glorious sunshine we had during the first few days of her visit. Spring is here even if it's raining now…
28 mars 2011
21 mars 2011
Family home
Two weeks, a lifetime. Our first few days as a threesome went fairly well, though la petite hadn't read the book about newborns not being able to stay awake longer then ninety minutes or sleep less than sixteen hours a day. Stress levels rose somewhat during the latter half of the week - feeding & sleeping pattern became a bit more random. Like all enfants, la petite coquinette seems to like playing up during the evening, just when her parents are dying on their feet. Then the weighing at the local centre on Friday suggested negligible weight gain since leaving hospital. Could all be due to differently calibrated scales, but questions still chase themselves round a parent's head: is she getting enough milk, is she sucking properly, is she getting enough sleep? etc, etc. Such are the preoccupations of debutant parents. Judging by the quantity of pee and poo production, there can't be much wrong with the feeding technique. On verra…
Today patterns have been rather more regular, so maybe we're getting there. The star of the show even slept through the lunchtime visit of a pair of amies de la bienheureuse. More gifts to add to the avalanche.
Life beyond the little girl wonderland seems somehow less tangible, but goes on. I went out on a chilly Saturday evening to watch les Gones fiddle away on a 1-0 lead, against the 10 men of championship rivals Rennes for the last 20 minutes, and duly concede a last minute equaliser. The punters were not happy. Much like my mood six hours earlier while attempting to watch a dodgy stream and look after baby at the same time. Still, a draw after being 2-0 down didn't seem quite as bad as it might in other circumstances.
And in the wider world yet, local elections took place in France yesterday, resulting in a strong showing for le Front National. Mainly due to mid-term discontent with the government, and the second round next week should put them in their place, but inquietant all the same...
Today patterns have been rather more regular, so maybe we're getting there. The star of the show even slept through the lunchtime visit of a pair of amies de la bienheureuse. More gifts to add to the avalanche.
Life beyond the little girl wonderland seems somehow less tangible, but goes on. I went out on a chilly Saturday evening to watch les Gones fiddle away on a 1-0 lead, against the 10 men of championship rivals Rennes for the last 20 minutes, and duly concede a last minute equaliser. The punters were not happy. Much like my mood six hours earlier while attempting to watch a dodgy stream and look after baby at the same time. Still, a draw after being 2-0 down didn't seem quite as bad as it might in other circumstances.
And in the wider world yet, local elections took place in France yesterday, resulting in a strong showing for le Front National. Mainly due to mid-term discontent with the government, and the second round next week should put them in their place, but inquietant all the same...
12 mars 2011
Patient routine
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…
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…
08 mars 2011
New life
A lot can happen in a week. A new life begins and two other lives are transformed. Notre fille finally made her appearance at 7 minutes before 7 in the evening on the 7th of March, and kept us in suspense right until the end. A day earlier, la bienheureuse reached 10 days past her due date, which meant packing a bag and heading for the hospital. More tests and monitoring followed before she was shown to her shared room. After a largely sleepless night (room mate apparently won the snoring contest) the big event was set in motion early the following morning. By early afternoon contractions were strong enough for her to be taken up to the birth rooms on the 3rd floor. While I waited anxiously, an epidural was installed, and then we waited together. Finally, in the early evening the midwife deemed it time to push. Half an hour of hard labour later la petite coquinette was still being shy so the doctor was called. The doctor and about ten other assorted medical staff. An attempt at mechanical extraction (with me once more ejected - procedure deemed too upsetting) failed, so a cesarean it was.
Ma bien-aimée was wheeled away and I was consigned to another anxious wait, fortunately short. Barely ten minutes later I was called to set eyes on notre petite merveille for the first time. And I got to cuddle her while sa mère was stitched back together again. But at last, la bienheureuse got to hold sa fille for the first time. And treat her to a first tétée. Finally, they were both wheeled away to their room and I staggered home, emotionally and physically exhausted at the end of a long but ultimately miraculous day.
Ma bien-aimée was wheeled away and I was consigned to another anxious wait, fortunately short. Barely ten minutes later I was called to set eyes on notre petite merveille for the first time. And I got to cuddle her while sa mère was stitched back together again. But at last, la bienheureuse got to hold sa fille for the first time. And treat her to a first tétée. Finally, they were both wheeled away to their room and I staggered home, emotionally and physically exhausted at the end of a long but ultimately miraculous day.
02 mars 2011
No action
Excitement about having a TV crew in the street outside proved ill-founded. Having reserved the parking both sides of the street the length of the block for the whole day, three large vans full of equipment eventually turned up in the afternoon. Technicians got out and then sat in the back smoking and watching the world go by for the next three hours. Eventually a flurry of activity: equipment unloaded and carted off. Less then an hour later everything was packed up and the vans were gone. Seems any filming that took place was in the street around the corner. Much ado about nothing.
Excitement about the new arrival continues unrequited. Five days past due date and still counting. Another checkup at the hospital this afternoon. Everything in perfect order, even the blood pressure of maman, with la petite treating the monitoring machine to one of her gymnastic specials.
Something that was resolved last week was the mystery of the missing parcel. Three visits to the nearest branch of the post office failed to throw up any trace or clue of how to find it. Last throw of the dice: try another branch further away. Nice lady there scans the bar code on the slip left by the postman and immediately tells us the parcel is at another branch, even further away. Why the fonctionnaires at the first branch couldn't have done the same, only they know. Faith in La Poste partially restored. Grumble.
And while I'm at it, another grumble. This morning I felt like a man missing all of his brain rather than just the more useful part: our internet connection went down. First time in a couple of years it has to be said, but the problem was that the phone is on the same cable connection, which meant using a mobile to call the hot line. After nearly half an hour of expensive waiting, the call was eventually answered. The man on the other end diagnosed the problem as either a faulty modem, or a problem with the network in the building. Then came the good news: the first time a technician could come round to sort it out was next Tuesday.
A week without internet, unthinkable! Fortunately, you've guessed it, the connection reappeared half an hour later. Faith in Numericable partially restored.
Excitement about the new arrival continues unrequited. Five days past due date and still counting. Another checkup at the hospital this afternoon. Everything in perfect order, even the blood pressure of maman, with la petite treating the monitoring machine to one of her gymnastic specials.
Something that was resolved last week was the mystery of the missing parcel. Three visits to the nearest branch of the post office failed to throw up any trace or clue of how to find it. Last throw of the dice: try another branch further away. Nice lady there scans the bar code on the slip left by the postman and immediately tells us the parcel is at another branch, even further away. Why the fonctionnaires at the first branch couldn't have done the same, only they know. Faith in La Poste partially restored. Grumble.
And while I'm at it, another grumble. This morning I felt like a man missing all of his brain rather than just the more useful part: our internet connection went down. First time in a couple of years it has to be said, but the problem was that the phone is on the same cable connection, which meant using a mobile to call the hot line. After nearly half an hour of expensive waiting, the call was eventually answered. The man on the other end diagnosed the problem as either a faulty modem, or a problem with the network in the building. Then came the good news: the first time a technician could come round to sort it out was next Tuesday.
A week without internet, unthinkable! Fortunately, you've guessed it, the connection reappeared half an hour later. Faith in Numericable partially restored.
28 février 2011
Still waiting
The suspense continues. Still no sign of the long awaited arrival, still no trophy with red and white ribbons. Last Friday was due date: another appointment with our now familiar friends the mid-wives at the hospital. Mother's blood tests and pressure: fine; baby's heart and activity: perfect; signs of abdominal contractions: nil. Another appointment arranged for this morning. Quick visit this time, only checks for the mother's BP and baby's heart. All still fine, contractions still conspicuous by their absence. Another checkup in two days.
Yesterday evening another wait continued less happily. Another trip to the pub, another disappointing finish to a final. Sigh…
More waiting in the street outside this afternoon. Filming for a French TV cop series is taking place. Or will take place sometime today. The lorries and technicians turned up in the middle of the afternoon. Three hours later they are all sitting around smoking and waiting. I know how they feel.
In the wider world, the foreign minister known as MAM finally paid for a series of Tunisian indiscretions with her job. Michèle Aliot-Marie 'was resigned', as they say here. Monsieur le Prèsident finally decided the woman who took her holidays in a country in the middle of a popular revolution and accepted free flights from an associate of the soon-to-be toppled dictator had to go, and replaced her with a man who was convicted of misusing public funds seven years ago.
Yesterday evening another wait continued less happily. Another trip to the pub, another disappointing finish to a final. Sigh…
More waiting in the street outside this afternoon. Filming for a French TV cop series is taking place. Or will take place sometime today. The lorries and technicians turned up in the middle of the afternoon. Three hours later they are all sitting around smoking and waiting. I know how they feel.
In the wider world, the foreign minister known as MAM finally paid for a series of Tunisian indiscretions with her job. Michèle Aliot-Marie 'was resigned', as they say here. Monsieur le Prèsident finally decided the woman who took her holidays in a country in the middle of a popular revolution and accepted free flights from an associate of the soon-to-be toppled dictator had to go, and replaced her with a man who was convicted of misusing public funds seven years ago.
23 février 2011
Pantomime routine
Familiar Monday morning routine: visit to l'Hôpital de la Croix Rousse; blood tests, blood pressure checks for la mère; heart monitoring for le bébé. All A-okay, blood pressure even slightly lower than normal. And one contraction detected. Ooerr, not long now…
Back at home, frustration. La Poste has managed to lose a parcel containing a vital means of support. They tried to deliver last week when we were at the hospital, so left a note telling us to collect it from the nearest branch. Next day, try to pick it up: "not here yet." Following day, try again: "can't find it, we'll try and find out where it is and call you." Three days later, still no phone call, so go back and ask. "Sorry, can't find it, won't find it, nothing we can do without a tracking number." Grr…
Yesterday evening I was spoilt by a second live match in a week. The richest team in the world were the visitors to Lyon and, for a seventh match in a row, they failed to beat little OL. They did manage to avoid defeat at Gerland this time, thanks to les gones' inability to turn a first half superiority into goals. Still, I enjoyed myself roundly booing some old favourite pantomime villains. Seems Greedybayor has been taking diving and whinging lessons from the Step-over nancy boy and the Special Bore. The latter replaced two attacking midfielders with a defender and defensive midfielder in an attempt to shut up shop when the royal madrilènes scored midway through the second half (relying on an ex-lyonnais to give them the lead), handing the initiative back to OL. Tactical genius.
Back at home, frustration. La Poste has managed to lose a parcel containing a vital means of support. They tried to deliver last week when we were at the hospital, so left a note telling us to collect it from the nearest branch. Next day, try to pick it up: "not here yet." Following day, try again: "can't find it, we'll try and find out where it is and call you." Three days later, still no phone call, so go back and ask. "Sorry, can't find it, won't find it, nothing we can do without a tracking number." Grr…
Yesterday evening I was spoilt by a second live match in a week. The richest team in the world were the visitors to Lyon and, for a seventh match in a row, they failed to beat little OL. They did manage to avoid defeat at Gerland this time, thanks to les gones' inability to turn a first half superiority into goals. Still, I enjoyed myself roundly booing some old favourite pantomime villains. Seems Greedybayor has been taking diving and whinging lessons from the Step-over nancy boy and the Special Bore. The latter replaced two attacking midfielders with a defender and defensive midfielder in an attempt to shut up shop when the royal madrilènes scored midway through the second half (relying on an ex-lyonnais to give them the lead), handing the initiative back to OL. Tactical genius.
20 février 2011
Expectant
Another week down, another to go. And perhaps another…
Little change in the wait for the little-big arrival. Two more blood pressure checks for la mère, while la fille performs more Alien-like acrobatics in her current world. Meanhwile le père had a couple of brief diversions from kicking his heels by going to watch some men kicking a ball. In a packed pub on Wednesday, I watched the glorious Gunners beat the 'best team in the world', and then on Friday watched some live football for the first time in five weeks. Having put four past the local enemy last week, OL did it again in the warm-up for the visit of Los Galacticos next week. Can't say it was a totally inspiring victory against Nancy, apart from a stunning overhead goal by Jimmy Briand, but eight goals in a week will put les gones in good heart as they attempt to maintain a 100% record against Real Madrid in their last three meetings at Gerland.
Little change in the wait for the little-big arrival. Two more blood pressure checks for la mère, while la fille performs more Alien-like acrobatics in her current world. Meanhwile le père had a couple of brief diversions from kicking his heels by going to watch some men kicking a ball. In a packed pub on Wednesday, I watched the glorious Gunners beat the 'best team in the world', and then on Friday watched some live football for the first time in five weeks. Having put four past the local enemy last week, OL did it again in the warm-up for the visit of Los Galacticos next week. Can't say it was a totally inspiring victory against Nancy, apart from a stunning overhead goal by Jimmy Briand, but eight goals in a week will put les gones in good heart as they attempt to maintain a 100% record against Real Madrid in their last three meetings at Gerland.
14 février 2011
Impatiently waiting
Another Monday, another check-up for expectant mother and baby-to-be. Latter still squirming with energy, former still has slightly high blood pressure, which means yet more checks. Seems the next ten days are all about waiting: waiting in one waiting room or another while waiting for la petite to make an entrance…
Outside the cosy world of the unborn, the weather in Lyon has finally broken. After a month with virtually no rain, most of it with virtually uninterrupted sunshine, today it's raining. We took advantage of the afternoon sun yesterday with a stroll round the crowded park, where the zoo is suffering a run of bad luck. After the theft of four monkeys last week, this week the elephants have been put in quarantine after being diagnosed with TB. All this follows an incident last year when a lioness drowned after falling into the moat round the big cat enclosure, and the sudden death of four zebras a year previously.
Not a good time to be a zoo animal in Lyon, or to be part of that other zoo in French life, politics. Monsieur le Président treated us to another of his marathon TV appearances on Friday evening, spending two and a half hours replying to questions posed by a panel of ordinary French citizens. At least he was supposed to be replying; as far as I could see (though we only lasted ninety minutes before exhaustion got the better of us) he spent most of the time appealing to base emotions and posturing about when he would do for the country, without directly answering anything. Sarko refused to see anything wrong with his prime minister and foreign minister accepting free holidays in Egypt and Tunisia respectively, the latter at the height of the Jasmine revolution, though he has now effectively banned foreign holidays for government ministers. No apology either for the ill-chosen words about a highly publicised murder, which sent almost the entire judiciary on strike in protest last week. Plus ça change…
Outside the cosy world of the unborn, the weather in Lyon has finally broken. After a month with virtually no rain, most of it with virtually uninterrupted sunshine, today it's raining. We took advantage of the afternoon sun yesterday with a stroll round the crowded park, where the zoo is suffering a run of bad luck. After the theft of four monkeys last week, this week the elephants have been put in quarantine after being diagnosed with TB. All this follows an incident last year when a lioness drowned after falling into the moat round the big cat enclosure, and the sudden death of four zebras a year previously.
Not a good time to be a zoo animal in Lyon, or to be part of that other zoo in French life, politics. Monsieur le Président treated us to another of his marathon TV appearances on Friday evening, spending two and a half hours replying to questions posed by a panel of ordinary French citizens. At least he was supposed to be replying; as far as I could see (though we only lasted ninety minutes before exhaustion got the better of us) he spent most of the time appealing to base emotions and posturing about when he would do for the country, without directly answering anything. Sarko refused to see anything wrong with his prime minister and foreign minister accepting free holidays in Egypt and Tunisia respectively, the latter at the height of the Jasmine revolution, though he has now effectively banned foreign holidays for government ministers. No apology either for the ill-chosen words about a highly publicised murder, which sent almost the entire judiciary on strike in protest last week. Plus ça change…
09 février 2011
Waiting patiently
Seems like we've been at one hospital or another most of the week. Two hours up at the Croix Rousse this morning, learning about what's likely to happen when the big day finally arrives. Yesterday we were there for even longer - 3 hours in the morning, for the weekly checkup, then another hour in the afternoon for another scan. La bienheureuse's blood pressure is still on the high side, but the cause is still apparently in fine form. Estimated weight now 3.2kg and still growing. Doctor and midwife both suggested the sooner the big entrance the better…
Monday it was ma bien-aimée's turn lend support while I was poked and prodded. There follows a detailed description of exactly what undergoing a colonoscopy involves. The squeamish should look away now…
C-day minus 5
start low-fibre diet. No fruit and veg, no food with roughage for the next 5 day.
C-day minus 1
1900: ingest first dose of laxative; lemon-flavoured, reasonably palatable.
2000: enjoy last (supposedly light) supper - grilled chicken and mash. Overdo helping size somewhat to compensate for it being the only food for the next 24 hours.
2000 - bedtime: imbibe at least a litre and a half of clear fluid.
2200: first ominous rumblings within heard.
2230: visit toilet and experience something akin to an inverted version of a famous geyser in Yellowstone Park.
2230 onwards: Old Faithful erupts on average once every 66 minutes. I experience intervals more irregular but not much longer on average. Consistency of ejecta becomes more and more liquid. Manage to get some sleep in between trips to the toilet.
C-day
0700: ingest second dose of laxative.
0700 - 0930: imbibe at least a litre and a half of clear fluid.
1030: rear end eruptions finally cease.
1245: we arrive at the hospital and are directed to the 3rd floor where we wait 15 minutes before someone in the reception area deigns to see me. Short interview - told we're on the wrong floor.
1300: arrive in the correct reception area. Another wait in an orderly queue before admission formalities are swiftly carried out. Directed to another waiting area just across the corridor. There we wait, and wait. One by one, the other patients are taken away to their rooms, and then wheeled away to the operating theatre in turn. Finally, there's just me left. Last in the queue to have a camera inserted up my rear end, due to having gone to the wrong place to start with. Should have read the bumph properly and not relied on a witless ground floor receptionist.
1515: finally shown to my room, where ambivalence about the colour of my last squirt (yellow or brown? Wasn't sure how to say light brownish-yellow in French) results in me having to self-administer a small enema so that the nurse can verify the state of my excrement (yellow and entirely liquid, in case anyone is interested).
1545: wheeled away to the operating theatre by a chatty orderly. La bienheureuse finally leaves my side and goes to get something to eat and do a bit of shopping.
1600: anaesthetic (described as a strong sedative) sends me to sleep in seconds.
1640: wake up in the recovery room feeling fine apart from a grossly inflated abdomen. Nothing a bit of enthusiastic farting can't solve. And for once I didn't feel the need to apologise.
1700: duty anaesthetist deems vital signs sufficiently normal for me to be wheeled back to my own room. La bienheureuse returns a minute or two later.
1715: food! Only bread & cheese and a yoghurt, but it tastes lovely.
1730: doctor pays me a visit. Hallelujah! He's smiling. My colon is clear of polyps and he compliments me on its pre-operation cleanliness.
1830: I'm finally let out.
1930: home and enjoying my first full meal in 24 hours, and first fruit and veg in nearly a week.
C-day plus 2
first satisfactory bowel movement in 72 hours finally arrives. Only another 5 years before I have to go through it all again.
Monday it was ma bien-aimée's turn lend support while I was poked and prodded. There follows a detailed description of exactly what undergoing a colonoscopy involves. The squeamish should look away now…
C-day minus 5
start low-fibre diet. No fruit and veg, no food with roughage for the next 5 day.
C-day minus 1
1900: ingest first dose of laxative; lemon-flavoured, reasonably palatable.
2000: enjoy last (supposedly light) supper - grilled chicken and mash. Overdo helping size somewhat to compensate for it being the only food for the next 24 hours.
2000 - bedtime: imbibe at least a litre and a half of clear fluid.
2200: first ominous rumblings within heard.
2230: visit toilet and experience something akin to an inverted version of a famous geyser in Yellowstone Park.
2230 onwards: Old Faithful erupts on average once every 66 minutes. I experience intervals more irregular but not much longer on average. Consistency of ejecta becomes more and more liquid. Manage to get some sleep in between trips to the toilet.
C-day
0700: ingest second dose of laxative.
0700 - 0930: imbibe at least a litre and a half of clear fluid.
1030: rear end eruptions finally cease.
1245: we arrive at the hospital and are directed to the 3rd floor where we wait 15 minutes before someone in the reception area deigns to see me. Short interview - told we're on the wrong floor.
1300: arrive in the correct reception area. Another wait in an orderly queue before admission formalities are swiftly carried out. Directed to another waiting area just across the corridor. There we wait, and wait. One by one, the other patients are taken away to their rooms, and then wheeled away to the operating theatre in turn. Finally, there's just me left. Last in the queue to have a camera inserted up my rear end, due to having gone to the wrong place to start with. Should have read the bumph properly and not relied on a witless ground floor receptionist.
1515: finally shown to my room, where ambivalence about the colour of my last squirt (yellow or brown? Wasn't sure how to say light brownish-yellow in French) results in me having to self-administer a small enema so that the nurse can verify the state of my excrement (yellow and entirely liquid, in case anyone is interested).
1545: wheeled away to the operating theatre by a chatty orderly. La bienheureuse finally leaves my side and goes to get something to eat and do a bit of shopping.
1600: anaesthetic (described as a strong sedative) sends me to sleep in seconds.
1640: wake up in the recovery room feeling fine apart from a grossly inflated abdomen. Nothing a bit of enthusiastic farting can't solve. And for once I didn't feel the need to apologise.
1700: duty anaesthetist deems vital signs sufficiently normal for me to be wheeled back to my own room. La bienheureuse returns a minute or two later.
1715: food! Only bread & cheese and a yoghurt, but it tastes lovely.
1730: doctor pays me a visit. Hallelujah! He's smiling. My colon is clear of polyps and he compliments me on its pre-operation cleanliness.
1830: I'm finally let out.
1930: home and enjoying my first full meal in 24 hours, and first fruit and veg in nearly a week.
C-day plus 2
first satisfactory bowel movement in 72 hours finally arrives. Only another 5 years before I have to go through it all again.
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