Firsts

A quiet week back in the bosom of the family home, following our return from Blighty. Quiet, at least, for the two of us lucky enough not to have to go out to work. The past few days have, however, been notable for a couple of 'firsts' in the life story of the youngest member of the family:
First tooth finally broke through a few days ago - age 7 and a half months.
First aquatic stool evacuation - in the bath a few nights ago. Hope that one isn't repeated too often…

This week also saw the second occasion I almost killed our daughter. Leaving the apartment building for our habitual afternoon promenade, I carelessly knocked the lens cap off the camera slung over my back. Ducking back inside to pick it up, and finding it just out of reach, I momentarily let go of the pushchair. Oops. The steep pavement camber sent it careering towards the road. Normally it wouldn't have come to much harm as cars are normally parked bumper to bumper along the side of the road. However, this was one occasion when there was a gap just outside the building. Fortunately a passer-by happened along at the right time and stopped the pram's precious bundle being pitched headfirst into the road. I console myself by thinking I might have caught it myself. Perhaps. Must remember to use the brakes in future...

You'd have thought I'd learned my lesson from the the previous heart stopping moment, which occurred a couple of months earlier on the nappy-changing table. The little dear had recently acquired the knack of scooting backwards by vigorously pumping her feet. A moment's inattention taught me just how fast she could propel herself - one moment she was safely in the middle of the table, the next her head was hanging over the edge as she teetered above a sheer head-first drop into the bath. Can't take my eyes off you… On the other hand, she seems to have inherited her father's thick skull, so perhaps no damage would have been done.

A few other milestones in the development of notre petite puce adorée (purely for future reference, not for my-baby-is-more-advanced-than-yours purposes you understand):

5 weeks: first genuine smile
7 weeks: first sleep through the night (8 hours, 11pm - 7am)
4 months: first roll, front to back
5 months: first full night sleep (12 hours, 7pm - 7am give or take)
5 and a bit months: first back to front roll, mastered sufficiently in a week to be able to roll across the room at remarkable speed until an immovable obstacle is encountered. Only in one direction though, over her left side. She's only just figured out rolling in the other direction. Also recently mastered - the tummy swivel, which gives her complete movement in 2 dimensions. Crawling is only a matter of time, once she realises she needs to get up on hands and knees at the same time. And the apartment is far from baby-proof at the moment...
6 and a bit months: able to maintain sitting position unaided for several minutes. Until she gazes up at the ceiling and falls backwards. Fortunately she has that thick skull…
7 months: able to demonstrate that she wants something by grunting repeatedly and gazing expectantly at her parents. We assume she'll find some way of telling us exactly what she wants soon…

There was another first in France over the weekend. The first time the French rugby team deserved to win a match in this year's World Cup. Rather ironic that it was the final. They've just returned and are being fêted as heroes, which is a bit odd considering the team was universally slated for its performances up to the final, apart perhaps from when they disposed of the English. Egg-chasers this side of La Manche even have the gall to be complaining about an allegedly biased referee…

Flying high

And so, la petite voyageuese experienced her first trip on an aeroplane. We made it as easy as possible for ourselves by taking a taxi to the airport and a flight in the middle of the afternoon, a plan which worked to perfection. Short sleep in the pram while waiting for our flight to be called, mid-afternoon snack (yoghurt & milk) on the plane, smooth car hire pick-up and another short nap during the drive to Cambridge resulted in a baby in perfect good humour the whole day.

Chez J&C la petite was introduced to four more new faces and another baby (canine variety) before finally being put exhausted to bed. For us a sumptuous and highly convivial dinner awaited. Venison was consumed, wine quaffed, and an aluminium foil shapes competition judged before the dog finally alerted the parents to the sound of crying coming from upstairs. And so the evening ended for la bienheureuse as she spent the next two hours trying to calm a distressed baby. We put the unaccustomed late night disturbance down to the excitement of international travel and a rare late night bowel movement.

The next morning, oblivious to her parents' somewhat worse-for-wear condition, the little dear was awake and excitedly exercising limbs and vocal chords in her new travel cot at six in the morning. A slap-up late breakfast eventually followed before le grand gooner and I left the ladies behind to attend an important engagement at the sacred ground. The Wearsiders eventually became cannon fodder for the new Dutch hero as the green shoots of recovery continued their tentative growth.

A quieter (albeit enlivened by a hysterical eleven year old) but equally marvellous meal back at the Cherry Hinton nest was followed by an early night. No late night waking this time, but another early morning wakening, which this time was welcomed by la travailleuse as it gave her a few minutes with her daughter before heading off to the airport once more for a flight across the Irish Sea. 

While maman was attending to business in Dublin, papa et fille enjoyed a quiet couple of days entertaining and being entertained by la petite beaucoup and her anglo-allemande niece-in-law. When the latter could be dragged away from the blaring TV or computer games upstairs she did an excellent pram-pushing job on Monday afternoon round the grounds of Cherry Hinton Hall, which helped la petite sleep through a display of hearts by a pair of courting swans. On Tuesday afternoon, my kind hostess and her helper bravely babysat for an hour while I cycled on an undersized steed into Cambridge on a secret errand. The three girls just about survived my absence and a couple of hours later we were saying fond goodbyes as la petite and I moved base to the other side of Cambridge to allow the vivacious young lady's Mutter somewhere to sleep that night.

Professor Margarita kindly picked us up and offered us lodging for the night, put up la petite's bed and while she slept cooked another delicious dinner. La grande voyageuse returned from her Irish travels later in the evening, and the next morning la petite famille headed back to the airport once more. With a flight timed for just after lunch we hoped la petite coquinette would take her traditional lunchtime nap on the plane. Too much going on, too many interesting people to charm and a session of outrageous flirting with one of the stewards soon put paid to that idea. And predictably the descent into Lyon had a yelling baby soundtrack, though fortunately a man making funny faces across the aisle and the nouveauté of a rice cake to chew on soon quietened the little darling.

We landed in a damp Lyon, which was about 10 degrees cooler than we left it. The heating went on in the evening. Autumn has finally made an appearance.

Autumn warmth

No sooner home from the warm sunny south than back out again on a balmy late September Lyon evening. Having once again indulged in an OL season ticket, the 4th home game of the season was my first chance to use it. Les gones this season are a different team to last. Gone are the sterile Puel tactics of last year; the new watchword under new coach Remi Garde (who learnt from the maître manager in England) is entertainment. So far so good - OL went into the game 2nd in the table and continued in more or less the same vein with a 3-1 win over Bordeaux.

The Indian summer continued into October apart from a couple of damp days which coincided with the arrival of la belle-mère. Not to worry though, the sunshine and record temperatures soon returned, and Mamy enjoyed a week of her granddaughter's company, sundry sewing chores, copious cup-cake cooking and afternoon perambulator ambles along the sunny banks of the Rhône.

Too soon she reluctantly went home and, just as reluctantly, la bienheureuse followed her to the airport at the start of a hectic week of travelling. Milan on Tuesday and Wednesday, home in the evening just in time for a cuddle before bedtime with la petite, then off to Germany the following morning before baby was awake. Finally home again on Friday evening, with barely time to pause for breath before we all set off for a weekend across the Channel later today, followed by more business travel, for la travaillleuse, across the Irish sea. First flight for la petite coquinette…

September summer holiday

A relatively painless (apart from a tough poo pellet episode) journey towards the Côte d'Azur ended in warm, late afternoon sunshine. Keys to the apartment were exchanged for a sum of money and a few cheques vacances, along with emergency bedclothes provided by the lady from the agency following an overlooked request to hire them. La petite famille settled in, watched the sun set over the beach, baby was put to bed and parents ate takeaway pizza from the restaurant across the road while waiting for the soggy diver and her new beau to turn up. A text informing us of lengthy queues for car hire however persuaded us to secrete the keys outside and do our waiting in the dormant state.

On a morning with no diving planned, la petite gave us an undesired wake-up call at 5.30am, performing some cot gymnastics in anticipation of the arrival of an almighty thunderstorm. As the lightning flashed and thunder crashed outside, she went back to sleep. A couple of hours later we met the new arrivals. Late breakfast and a lazy morning ensued before they went for an introductory dive (La Formigue) after lunch, the youngest in the party went off for a nap, and the oldest went off to the airport to collect the new member of the 50 club.

Five reunited, the evening was the occasion for an experiment: taking la petite coquinette to a restaurant. Ensconced in her pram, the hope was that she would fall asleep. Fat chance: noisy restaurant, interesting things going on, lots of new faces. Nonetheless a good time was had by all, though la bienheureuse skipped dessert to take the tired-but-determined-not-to-be-sleepy little angel back to bed.

My turn to do the first dive of the week the following morning, while ma bien-aimée senior forewent the water to look after ma bien-aimée junior. With the Mistral blowing up an easterly gale in a cloudless sky, I joined the beach lady and the crooked nail for a dip on a rock in the sheltered bay. Very pleasant it was too, if a little chilly and a floppy sausage and detached fin demonstrated my rusty diving technique. Fortunately the latter was rescued by the brave La Favière tyro. Prof Margarita preferred to nurse blocked sinuses and indulge in a morning lie-in, but in the afternoon joined us in braving the whistling wind and for a squeaky sinus dive at Cap Benat. Red sausage fully inflated this time, but a buoy line wrapped round a reel handle almost resulted in a rapid early ascent. The 51 year-old resolved to try and dive more than once a year while the 50 year-old decided one dive was quite enough for this year.

A more successful sortie for a meal out took place in the evening. A strategically chosen quiet restaurant, with a longer walk timed to coincide with la petite's bedtime worked perfectly and she slept through a lovely meal. We walked back to the apartrment and were lulled to sleep by the howling wind, clinking riggings and crashing waves.

The next morning, la petite coquinette was awake early once more, but the wind had miraculously dropped. It was almost dead calm was the diving trio headed off for a day's diving at Port Cros, leaving two beauties and a beast to enjoy a quiet day and test the swimming pool. Water at 20C was not at all to la petite's taste. A bit cool for me too, but a wet suit helped enjoy a great dive on le Grec with AI N after NI S decided three was a crowd and gave up her perennial battle with the surface current. Lunch in the summer sunshine at Port Cros was followed by a pleasant plunge at Pointe du Vaisseau, where groupers lazed, a lonely moray lurked and a school of barracuda circled menacingly close to the bottom.

The divers took the middle day of the week off to spend time with the Margarita man and the two lovely ladies. A stroll along the coast path in the warm sunshine towards Le Lavandou was broken by a picnic lunch for baby and late morning drinks for the grown-ups. A lazy afternoon ensued apart from a sortie to the beach for la famille where la fille confirmed that she's none too fond of water that's well below body temperature. An evening in followed, with the shark lady cooking her renowned beer can chicken. Delicious it was too, even if the chickens had a little too much of the hard stuff and kept falling over.

The glorious weather continued on Thursday. The three divers set off on the boat for a day of wreck diving and lunch at Cavalaire. First dive on the agenda was L'Espingole. Dr S made it down the shotline this time, but contented herself with observing the broken up wreck from afar while her buddies explored as far as they dared. Le Rubis was the afternoon dive. After initial false reports about the current all three of us eventually got down and enjoyed a lovely dive on the lone star French sub of the 2nd world war. Dinner in again in the evening, tasty leftovers followed by a few testy games of cards. Too much glee from certain quarters about the champion peanuthead in my opinion.

Friday was Professor Margarita's last day. Skipping the morning dive, I drove him to the airport and then joined the Scottish pair for the last dive of the week on the jewel in the Port Cros crown - the east wall of La Gabinière. Excellent as usual. Our last night was taken up with packing, cleaning, takeaway pizza and more card games. The married couple came out top in the competition to be last.

And so another week of great weather and great diving at La Favière came to an end. On Saturday morning we headed north through perplexing autoroute queues while the soggy diver and her buddy headed east towards Nice airport via St Tropez and other coastal hotspots. No doubt we will be back again next year...

Flag day

A day before her half-year birthday, la petite met her old friend Monsieur le pédiatre for a six-month checkup. Result: nearly 5kg heavier, 15cm taller than her first day at home. Diagnosis: "elle est magnifique!"; high time she started eating some real food.

And so, the next day papa got to give his litle angel her first spoonful or two (mama reluctantly at work). Reaction: puzzlement ('why is the old man trying to stick something other than a teat in my mouth, when he normally stops me from doing it?'), followed by uncertain testing of the strange substance (pureed carrot). I think a little of it went down her gullet. Over the next few days, two spoonfuls became several, several became many, and many more ended up all over her bib, her face, her hair, her hands, her clothes, the high chair, and of course mum & dad. Messy business, especially when the raspberry blowing receives full treatment.

She soon got to show off her new skills to visitors. The UKC connection, Ealing branch, were in town for a long weekend - work and baby viewing purposes, respectively and combined. They arrived late Thursday evening, and the next morning Dr N and la bienheureuse went off to their respective work, leaving Dr C to enjoy some time with old dad and baby. Which she did after doing a bit of work remote from Whitehall. No real rest for these high-powered civil servants. By afternoon however, both visitors had finished working, and la bienheureuse met us all at the end of our habitual late afternoon stroll along the river for a slow drink on a boat café.

The rest of the weekend followed a similar pattern: morning lie-ins for those that could, morning naps for those that wished or didn't wish, and lazy strolls out in the afternoon, which provided a surprise source of great entertainment for la petite - flapping flags on the bridge. Highly exciting stuff to a six month old, apparently. In the evening, NB gestured towards an upcoming half-marathon by punishing himself with early evening jogging up and down the river while dinner was cooking and baby was being put to bed. Saturday blurred into Sunday, and all too soon it was Monday morning and our visitors were on their way home.

They were followed to the airport two days later by a reluctant business traveller heading towards the company mother country. Dad and baby were thus left to cope on their own for a day, which they managed in their usual fashion. I even had time to sort out dive kit for the forthcoming holiday before notre bien-aimée was home on Thursday evening. More late packing late the following evening and by Saturday morning we were more or less ready for the drive south towards sea and sunshine...

Ritzy nights

Four became three on Thursday as we bade a fond farewell to la grand-mère and hit the road south. Six hours later, including two spent going nowhere on the M1 and M25, we finally arrived in Bromley. Petit frère was there to show us round the building site and, an hour or two later, tia numero dos made her long awaited-acquaintance with la sobrinita.

The next morning la petite greeted yet another new bedroom with some early morning cot gymnastics, but her parents were granted a lie-in when la tia kidnapped her for an hour before breakfast. The builders turned up, took one look at baby and decided to work elsewhere for the day, leaving la petite coquinette and her parents free run of the half-rebuilt house while tia & tio were at work. A walk in the late summer sunshine, a bit of shopping and, before we knew it, baby was back in bed and the taxi was there to take her parents for their first night out alone in nearly a year.

The Ritz was the destination, courtesy of a birthday present from Professor Margarita. Very nice it was too: lovely four-course meal, live swing band, bit of dancing, bit of uncertain celebrity-spotting, personal service in the gents, and all too soon it was time for the taxi home. Tia two sounded almost disappointed to report that the babysitters had heard not a peep from the sleeping baby when we got back.

Saturday was spent recovering, observing a fascinating discussion on choice of paints by the home builders, and then it was time to head for the bright lights of London once more. Second night out in a row, once again thanks to the Margarita Man, this time celebrating his own half-century. Having received strict instructions to be at Festival Pier by 7pm otherwise the boat would leave without us, we left the babysitters to feed, bathe and put their niece to bed. First time la petite has been put to bed by someone other than one of her parents. Crossing fingers, we caught a train into Charing Cross leaving them to cope as best they could.

Arriving on the South Bank early, we gradually met a few others who had made their own way there and waited for the main party and birthday boy to arrive by coach from Cambridge. The boat arrived, the clock ticked past seven, and still no sign of the majority of the partygoers. Modern technology informed us they were becalmed in heavy traffic somewhere in the City. The captain fidgeted, the clock ticked on and finally the bus deposited its load at about half past. The description containing the words piss-up and brewery springs to mind, but as it was his fiftieth birthday I'll be kind and not apply it here.

We all eventually boarded, drank Pimms and the boat slipped its moorings for an evening cruise up and down the Thames. Riverside sights by night, magician, caricature artist, buffet dinner, drinking and dancing: a good time was had by all. When the cruise came to end we all piled into a noisy club and shouted at each other for half an hour before the taxi turned up to take us home to our baby.

And we got there to find her sound asleep. Apparently all had gone well apart from a brief wake-up and need for a cuddle and slurp mid-way through the evening. Phew.

No rest for the wicked though. Six hours after going to bed we were up and, an hour later, on the road to Dover. A seven and a half hour drive awaited the other side of the Channel, survived with intermittent short screaming sessions from a very tired baby until 7pm (usual bedtime) when she finally fell asleep and stayed asleep until we reached Lyon. The end of an exhausting but very enjoyable holiday. And only two weeks till the next one...

Relatively old and new

Having left twenty odd new relatives in the Lakes, back in Cheshire it was time to start renewing acquaintance with some old faces and two new ones. Old in the sense of familiar, of course. On Sunday la petite was strapped into that hated car seat once more for the short trip across the border to visit ewthr and modryb. A new experience awaited - the encounter with two large, boisterous labradors was viewed from the safety of her parents' arms with a sort of supercilious curiosity. Shortly afterwards the parents of la tante arrived bearing lunch and a long time after that old uncle arrived having spent some time wandering the Welsh countryside with a less than helpful satnav.

The evening saw an experiment which was not entirely successful. La petite was put to bed in Wales and then, when her parents decided it was time to leave, she was rudely awakened, put back into that car seat, rudely awakened once more on arrival in England and put to bed again. Four different bedrooms in two days was perhaps one change of scenery too much: an hour of protest later she finally went to sleep. Don't think we'll try that one again in a hurry.

Next in the queue to see baby was auntie, who arrived late on Monday afternoon in time to say hello and goodbye to her eldest brother and take over the guest room. On Tuesday four of us temporarily left la grand-mère tending the birds and the garden in west Cheshire, got into la petite voiture and head across the county to meet some more relatively new faces. Another uncle and aunt and all four first cousins were greeted with a mixture of bemusement and coy smiles. A short walk, dinner and five hours later it was time to say reluctant goodbyes to all but one cousin and see if we could squeeze four adults and a baby in a car seat into the little car.

The seven of us squeezed into chez grand-mère for one night, achieved by aunt sharing with niece number three and baby sharing with a computer and lots of books. Bath time for baby was a crowded all-female affair - mama assisted by her belle-soeur and niece. The following day was taken up with entertaining la petite and a stroll round the village through nettle patches and churchyards. La soeur headed back to Yorkshire in the early evening, dropping off la nièce en route, and then we were four once more.

Sixty new faces

Twenty four new people in eight days, only another thirty six to go, all of them relatives, albeit most in only the loosest of senses. The week in the Lake District assembled la grand-mère, two great aunts, a great uncle, several cousins once removed, and assorted other less easily defined relatives and relatives' hangers-on - something like 29 in total. That's a lot of new faces to take in, but apparently la petite coped admirably despite arriving not long before bed time. An hour after bedtime la bienheureuse collected me from Windermere station following the trip to London notable only for the chance to exchange brief gossip with the McBhoy and the Dove and a slap-up breakfast in the local café. Least said about the main footballing event the better.

Petite famille reunited, Sunday was spent recovering from our respective traumas. Saturday's rain was eventually superseded by some lovely late afternoon sunshine, which encouraged a group outdoor dinner (delicious Mexican cooked by the fiancée-in-waiting of cousin number five) on a table for 30 just beneath baby's window. She slept blissfully on.

The routine for the week soon became established. Quick swim in the petite piscine for la petite after morning nap, excursion after lunch (and progressively shortening lunchtime naps), then dinner and bedtime before grown-ups dinner time. Monday afternoon was taken up by a stroll in the sunshine into Ambleside and the hire-with-purchase-option of a back baby-carrier. Said baby-carrier was duly tested the following day with a minor hike along a groomed path in Grizedale Forest. Carrier received full approval from la petite and load-bearing parents and subsequently purchased.

Wednesday was grand-oncle's birthday, celebrated in fine Lake District style with a mass outing via road, ferry, canoe and sailing dinghy respectively to the visitor centre at Brockhole. As the small boats sailed in, the clouds rolled in and a picnic lunch for thirty was consumed in traditional British style in raincoats and under umbrellas. Refuge was eventually sought in the café, and then everybody drove, paddled or sailed back to Waterhead in the rain. It was however, then only persistent rain of the week.

The next day dawned sunny and bright, perfect weather for a cycle ride along the west bank of Windermere. While the three ladies, one from each generation had a stroll and coffee in Ambleside, le nouveau père hired a bike to join the old-hand fathers and older children for a pleasant jaunt up and down the bridle path that runs alongside the lake. Cocky ginger second cousin distinguished himself by losing control of his mount going down a steep incline and sailing over the handlebars. Pride and one shin sustained the only bruises.

Last full day in the Lakes included another trip into Ambleside and a visit to the youth hostel to watch the various cousins (first, second, once removed, vaguely related), aunts and uncles messing about on the water or wrestling on the wet grass. Three against one didn't really seem fair, but the eldest second cousin just about held his own.

Saturday morning passed in a blur of cleaning and packing, and by eleven we were on the road south once more, arriving in Cheshire via a foolhardy detour through Warrington to avoid a jam on the M6. No matter, we made it back to chez grand-mère without too much screaming from driver, navigator or passengers.

1300 kilometres

The two penultimate days before the marathon journey to blighted Blighty were taken up with transitory visitors. Friday evening, the three Goldilocks and their parents dropped in on their way to the Mediterranean sunshine. La petite reacted to the sudden appearance of five new faces by bursting into tears. Well, it was the end of the day. The following evening, the two doctors and the mini-jezoids arrived after she was in bed, thus delaying the gradual introduction of four more new faces until Sunday morning. Refreshed by 12 hours of sleep and the knowledge that she wasn't alone in not being in full control of bodily functions, she was all smiles and good humour. By midday our visitors had continued their journey south, and we were almost ready for the long trek north.

The twelve hour car journey, split over two days, was more dream than nightmare. La petite slept, from time to time, in her car seat, though never for longer than 45 minutes. And the rest of the time was kept amused with songs, toys and games, or kept quiet with a bottle in her mouth. Only one inconsolable bout of screaming occurred, 20 minutes before arrival at our mid-journey hotel in Laon. And so, via autoroute, hotel, ferry, and motorway, we eventually reached Cambridge 30 hours after leaving Lyon.

Two more new faces were greeted with more smiling and flirting, even though it was grouchy time of day. Honorary auntie C and onkel J were suitably charmed. The following evening, chez Professor Margarita, the Cambridge buddies descended en masse to meet the new addition. And once more, la petite coquinette turned on the charm. Another seven new faces were greeted with smiles and flirts aplenty before it was time for bed.

After a day spent recovering (brief shopping trip for la bienheureuse apart), it was time to be cooped up in that dreaded car-seat for another 300km journey north to Cheshire. Four hours later (those good old British go-slow motorways) we arrived chez la grand-mère. End of the road for our trusty overloaded petite voiture (with functioning air-conditioning), but two days later la petite was hitting the road again. While son papa was on a thankless mission to the asset-stripped home of football in London, sa mere et grand-mère headed further north to the Great Three Sisters Family Reunion in the Lakes, via a brief smaller family reunion in Blackpool. Another two hours in the car, another five new faces.

Twelve hours

Seven and five makes twelve. Seven pm yesterday, la petite coquinette is put to bed, with minor complaint. And there she stayed until just after seven am today, the day she is five months old. Twelve hours uninterrupted sleep. Well, almost - a couple of brief awakenings at five and six am before settling back to sleep without need for parental intervention. Bliss for said parents, or would have been if either had managed to sleep soundly in the interim instead of subconsciously listening for sounds of distress...

The first attempt at a full night's sleep was aborted on Friday night when she woke up just after 11pm. Papa went in to offer her a small feed and found the little dear jammed sideways in the cot having somehow escaped from her straitjacket. Success duly followed last night. Wonder how long it will continue…

There was a somewhat rude shock a couple of nights earlier when it took la bienheureuse an hour to get her to bed. Followed by more disruption for papa when she refused to go down easily for daytime naps like the little angel she normally is. Guess she's growing up fast…

Meanwhile, the weather got hotter and heavier but last night suddenly broke again with thunderstorms and much cooler, fresher air. And as if to signal that summer is coming to an end, last night the French football season also resumed. The night turned into a highly satisfactory one for OL, winners at Nice while the two big favourites for the league this season failed: PSG (spenders of more middle eastern oil millions during the transfer window than the citizens of Manchester) crashed at home to little Lorient and Marseille could only draw at home with Sochaux. Lyon's transfer activity has so far been notable by its absence. The only newcomer of note (though not really new as he was previously in charge of the youth team) is the new coach Remi Garde who promises much more attacking football than his much-maligned predecessor. So far so good…