collected orange

29.5 weeks; just hypnotize me for the next 10.

I remember the weeks in the late 20s being somewhat terrible with T as well.  The hugeness has set in, but the end is still far off.  There’s a lot to do, but it’s too soon to do much of it.  The whole process just starts to feel really eternal.  This time around it’s been made worse by sciatica.  It started intermittently back in November and has gotten progressively crappier.  I’ve spent much of January in bed, unable to turn over by myself or take off my socks, and only taking small excursions away from home, to pick up T from school, to hit the library, to breathe some outside air.  My list of attempted remedies and their associated appointments is long: chiropractor, osteopath, yoga, swimming, magnesium supplements, maternity support belt, walking stick, hot water bottles, reflexology.

Today as I boarded the bus to go a distance I used to walk, I ran into my French teacher from the class I quit back in November when the pain started.  I had my walking stick.  She was all, “mon dieu!”  I didn’t go into this with her but the goal of the outing was to purchase small speakers so that I could listen to my new hypnobirthing cd in the privacy of our bedroom away from non-relaxing influences.  When I got home, I popped the cd in, stretched out and let my mind wander (steering it away from thoughts like: this is so stupid, and so not working).  The cat jumped up on my lap such as it is and promptly professed her conversion to the cause.  She passed out, completely accepting the whole “3-2-1 relax” mantra.

So, I listened, I breathed, I thought about the pain shooting down my leg, and I woke up twenty or thirty minutes later renewed (falling asleep is not the goal, but seems to be a common side effect).  I looked out the window and saw sun!  There was sun shining. in Paris. in January.  I listened to the last few minutes of the cd, displaced the cat still in her reverie and got up.  That’s it.  I got up.  I didn’t steady myself.  I didn’t nearly fall over.  I just got up and felt no searing pain.  I had to look down to confirm that the beach ball was still present–I felt that good.  I got my stuff together and went to pick up T, leaving 20 minutes for the formerly 5 minute walk.  I arrived early.

If there’s an option to stay under until April, I might just take it, even if the kid comes out speaking like a very calm British lady.  Not quite the same as a glass of wine my friends, but it’ll do.  Join me on my idyllic stretch of beachfront property if you need a breather too.

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and then he wished us a good continuation

We reviewed all of the times we’ve been wished a “bonne continuation,” one of those phrases that sounds really funny to American ears.  There was the successful renewal of our identity cards, the farewell to our first landlord, at least one or two other times I’ve forgotten, and now this, the assurance that all is well with little sister’s heart.  It’s as if to say, yes we will never see each other again, but in this case, that’s a good thing.

So that’s that.  On y va.

Posted in france, parent | 5 Comments »

completed in 2009, planned for 2010.

Made, or rather, remembered to photograph in 2009.

I promised myself not to go there until 2010 arrived.

We returned home Saturday night from the southwest and spent Sunday taking apart the Christmas tree, unpacking and remembering how to live in a very “cozy” place along with Pere Noel’s space-sucking additions.  And then it was time.  I made C take down box after unpacked box from atop the closet–clothes I might not wear again in our time in France, clothes T will never wear again–and then I found what I was looking for, the suitcase stuffed with T’s baby debris taken from the storage unit this summer.  I dumped everything out and refilled the suitcase with the latest pile of outgrown preschool-wear.

T and I sorted through the pile, talked about how small she used to be, tried the little socks on her stuffed animal friends, and then the sadness hit.  There’s no telling what this next little girl’s preferences will be, but unless/until she insists that orange will not work for her as it did her big sister, she requires nothing.  Hence the sadness.  What to knit?  What to sew?  It’s all there already: piles of blankets, slings, little sweaters and full body knitted suits, home printed onesies, bibs, a load of little hats.  I’ve decided that there’s no way I’m going down the sew-your-own diaper road.  So, what is left?

I might add that the big January sales start on Wednesday.  I foresee a few purchases, but what to make?  What to make? Perhaps shirts like these?

Posted in knitting, sewing | 1 Comment »

resultats (in)definitifs

Sometimes, even with the newest state of the art doppler probe, results are anything but certain, not unlike the very provisional looking mimeographed reports I’ve been reading lately.  Yesterday we went for an ultrasound, debating until the last minute whether we would find out the creature’s gender.  As the doctor scanned from head to toe, she paused and lingered over the heart and then returned to it again later.  In the French way, she gave us the most minimal of information, only that there might be a little hole where there shouldn’t be and that we should have another opinion.  It might be fine, it’s just that she couldn’t see.  It could all be an instrumentation error.  She was all “it’s no big deal” and then “make sure you follow up with this.”  Initially I chose to focus on the it’s no big deal.  She pronounced us done, but by then I really wanted to know something definite, like the sex.  She couldn’t see, but had another look.  Nope.  Creature was seated on both feet with a hand covering the news.

We both worked from home in the afternoon and spent too much time with dr. google.  I faxed the results to my midwife and waited for her call.  She also emphasized the no big deal, but at the same time, she made us an appointment for tonight.  No big deal, unless it is.

We just got home from the second doctor.  He didn’t see any problem but recommended we see a heart specialist.  When he said this in French, I understood, but had one of those “I know what he said, but it makes no sense” moments, the kind I have everyday here.  Then he switched to perfect English and said it again.  It still didn’t make much sense, but we’ll see the specialist to be sure.  I look forward to having those resultats definitifs in hand.

As long as we were there (and T was with us), I asked if he could answer another question for us.

He could.

As T calculated, when the baby comes out, we’ll be 4 girls (including the feline) and one boy.

Posted in child, parent | 3 Comments »

recent projects

Hope you all had a nice Thanksgiving.  It’s not a holiday here so we had a small celebration just the three of us, along with one turkey-hungry cat.  Unfortunately her strict kidney-protecting diet makes it impossible to feed her human food, but it didn’t stop her from trolling the table and waiting patiently beneath the messy eater’s chair, just in case.  I’m looking forward to gathering with friends on Sunday for a proper feast.

As winter sets in, the holidays approach and with some extra time I’ve gained by cutting French class, I’ve been plowing through some projects.  T and I set to work on these felt balls.  It started as a yarn stash elimination process, but of course, we needed new supplies as well.  Not sure what we’ll do with them.  Since we don’t have any holiday decorations here with us, I’m thinking about sewing them into a garland of some sort:

Also finished a cardigan to keep cow warm.  He wasn’t.

And the first of T’s handmade presents:

I got the umbrella fabric in San Francisco this summer, and now that T has expressed an interest in button-down shirts, I was happy to find a use for it.  Check out the pattern, an etsy find:

I suspect she’s too finicky these days for the overalls, but they are nice, hm?

Off to the library.  Just a regular old non-cash-distributing Friday here.

Posted in knitting, sewing | 4 Comments »

3.5, and a hospital visit

T, your half-birthday passed us by, but the switch from 3 to 3.5 must have sunken in because you’ve already moved on from the endless discussion of the events that took place on the three candle day to the upcoming four.  You’ve been falling back on this trope a lot lately: I need three cookies because I am three, three stories because I am three.  I myself prefer the balance of two: one cookie for each hand, one short story and one long, etc., but it’s all fine for now.

On our way out of the restaurant last night, in an attempt to avoid the very nice waitress who offered you a treat for the road, you performed some kind of maneuver–part tantrum, part gymnastic–that left you on the floor and then made your arm hang limp by your side.  I couldn’t tell if I had twisted your arm or pulled it as I was holding your hand at the time.  It was all unclear, but you were really upset, and what I first took as a post-chocolate crepe crash turned into a huge overnight drama.  You were up all night, complaining about your arm, searching for your ice, and causing more of my hairs to turn gray.

Your dad is out of town, but after consulting with him and considering that it’s a holiday here, I decided to take you to the hospital.  I did a quick vocabulary study and we headed out the door.  You comported yourself well in that I saw them note that you were calm, face content and rosy.  At the same time, you would not say a word to them, even when they let on that they had some English.  You wouldn’t talk about it or point to where it hurt.  Since you didn’t talk, they could only assume the worst and sent us for an x-ray.  Radio.  It has been added to our dossier, I assume along with a note that your mother is a worrier and the fact that once again you’ve outed as a coquine (read: rascal).  At least the nurse didn’t chastise me for using the services of the urgences unnecessarily as she did the mother who followed me.  Nothing was broken, just a little unspecified trauma in the end.

We had a long chat yesterday about being finished with the stroller.  I told you that I can’t carry it down the stairs anymore, that it’s too hard for me to push right now.  You were fine with it as you’re always on me to “not break your baby” anyway.  You were so fine that you seemed ready to walk the mile to the hospital before I assured you that this morning was certainly an exception.  It’s an interesting time, T.  As you like to say, you’re “big and little” and that seems to be the heart of 3.5 at our house.  You have this whole world apart from us, you speak better French than we do–in fact, today was that day, the first day you corrected my French–and I can still carry you home when you fall down and cry.  Big and little’s not a bad place to be.

…and thanks for that extremely rare and refreshingly long nap today.

Posted in child, parent, paris | 1 Comment »

Day one at the BNF

I’m back to work as of Monday, and well, it’s not clear how I ever spent my whole day away from home.  How did I leave the house at 7 with the child and not return until evening?  The mind boggles.

I’m working on a project related to C’s work, in fact, it’s for his boss.  There’s no denying that it’s a spouse job, but it’s not all coat-tails.  A librarian was needed and that is what I do (or did, and will do again).  The project is pretty interesting and has sent me both physically and virtually into the French agricultural archives.  I can explain in more detail for those who need more, but for the moment, I need to tell you about my first day at the BNF (Bibliothèque National de France).

I’m sure it’s a huge hassle to get to the goods in the Library of Congress so I can’t really compare my entry process well, but it was incredibly French in ways that have become very familiar.  First, I had an interview with some sort of access-preventer.  I presented my attestation stating that I indeed have a purpose, my contract stating that I am employed, and French-ily, my lease and a copy of my habitation insurance.  I showed off my identity card and the man helpfully pointed out the upcoming expiration date.  In the end, it was all rather fast and painless, and about 99% in French.  He completely misunderstood the nature of my project, but I think that was less about my French than about his sense of the topic.

Donc.  I get my card, I go pay for it, I exchange my stylish bag for a clear plastic box, I swipe my card, walk through a mysterious door and descend.  One escalator.  Two escalators.  All the way down to the garden.  I left my snacks behind but I shouldn’t have worried.  It being France, there are cafes scattered throughout the place.  People are sipping vending machine espresso and looking scholarly.  I decide that I will make friends in the cafe.  Eventually.  Since I need to be back in our neighborhood soon to get T, I proceed straight to my assigned seat in the reading room.

It turns out that the materials I ordered would take an hour to come out, at essentially the moment I needed to leave, but now I know that I can pre-order next time.  While I wait, I look around, I search the catalogue, I browse what’s browse-able on the shelves, and I feel really psyched about this new endeavor.  Eventually, my first materials arrive.  I open the cover and smile when I see the excellent 70s graphics:

Library, I missed you.

Posted in books, librarianing, work | 2 Comments »

introduction to knitting

T has been showing an increasing interest in my knitting of late.  It’s gone from help feeding me the yarn, to interest in manipulating the needles, to a somewhat maniacal scissor experience on Tuesday when she really wanted to snip the tangled part.  After the blood-draw, I started thinking about safer ways for her to participate, and then I remembered this little gizmo that I bought during the summer sales.  I intended to save it for Christmas–and I really don’t know how anyone “saves” purchases from these sales for more than a few weeks–but the time was right yesterday.

I wish I could have taken a picture of her doing it, but my fingers are still essential for the process to work.  We worked on the chain for almost two non-consecutive hours yesterday–clearly a hit.  It’s a bit too much for small hands to master so I hold the spool and do the initial wrapping around the prongs and she lifts the loops with her “needle.”  We changed colors a few times and waiting to see the new color emerge from the bottom of the spool proved to be a big motivator.

It’s started me thinking about other fiber-related skills she might try at this age.  Perhaps one of those potholder makers?  As for me, I might have to get one of these for myself, or possibly start amassing a collection of vintage ones.  I’ve always hated making i-cords and wrapping yarn around a cute mushroom will be a good solution.

Posted in art with t, child, knitting | 1 Comment »

some months later.

The great Internet black out of summer ‘09 is over.  I’ve never been so glad to leave an apartment before.  Without the Internet, there was time for sewing some back-to-school projects.  They will follow as soon as the all of the appropriate hardware is reconnected.

———————————————

In the meantime, last night at dinner:

T: Mama, after you eat dinner, your belly gets big?

Me: Yes.

…pause…

T: Mama, is there a baby in your belly?

Me: Yes.

T: Mama, is there a baby in your belly?

Me: Yes.

T: Mama, is there a baby in your belly?

Me: Yes.

…dinner resumes, but 20 minutes later, while brushing her teeth with C….

T: Dada, there’s a baby in Mama’s belly!

C: Yes, are you excited?

T: YESSSSSS!

Introducing the proto-sibling.  Here we go.

Posted in Uncategorized | 5 Comments »

one more chance

I’ve hit a blogging wall.  This post will not come.  I feel the need to produce some sort of “year in france” summary, but it. won’t. come.  And so, someone who says better than I ever could.

——————————————

I am glad we did this.  I am glad I won’t wonder what it’s like to pick up and move to Paris.  I am glad to have had the opportunity to step outside myself, my world, my familiars to feel discomfort and anxiety and longing.  Why?  Because along with the general unease brought about by those feelings, there is also the creativity that strangeness brings, the new friends, the adventures, the rewards of stepping out of the system (or at least sliding into a new one) for a while.

I’m still amazed at how much of this city I saw in one week back in the 1990s on a trip with my parents.  Perhaps I’ve had a handful of days as ambitious as those were, but there hasn’t been any urgency.  And that’s the point to one year abroad, right?  One takes it slow, embeds in the neighborhood, meets the corner baker and rarely leaves the little quarter like the locals?  Yet we are far from being locals and that is apparent everyday.

There’s the way I thought it would be, the way it is, the way it still might be.  I have high hopes for year 2, but they come with a dose of nostalgia.  We have been pulling off the industrial sized bandage that is home millimeter by millimeter all year long, and it feels like this upcoming trip to San Francisco will be the final tug–wrenching yet freeing all at once.  We will pull some treasures out of the heap in the basement, pack the rest away, eat burritos and give lots of hugs.  Then will we fly back on T’s silver airplane and give Paris one more chance.

You’ll know where to find us.

Posted in home, paris | 3 Comments »