First Flutterings

Those first delicate flutterings, the first real sign that somebody – the start of a new life – is moving around in there…
For the past week I have been feeling the tiny movements of Baby no.2, as gentle as the flapping of a sparrow’s wings: it is both such a small thing and such a miraculous thing.
It is a mother’s little reward for all those mornings spent head-down over the sink, heaving and cursing and wondering what’s it all for?
Suddenly, you smile secretly to yourself and you know what it’s all for.
These are the private moments between the two of us that nobody else can share. It is the only time in our lives that we will share this exclusive, secretive bond, this private communication line.
It’s the reason why pregnant women sometimes smile enigmatically as they are walking along (or typing at their desk), or lying on the sofa, thinking… imagining.
I didn’t expect it to be so, but the miracle of life is every bit as fascinating second time round.

Hidden Benefits

I apologise in advance for the subject matter of this post, which is rather humdrum, and therefore completely devoid of poetry.

That's life (sometimes), I'm afraid...

See, yesterday I received a surprising letter. Of the kind one never really expects to receive, except in dreams.
It was from the CAF (our equivalent of the Benefits Office – giver of family allowance, etc.), which, of course, made me instantly wary. What could they possibly want from me?
My eyes had barely scanned the letter and I was already halfway to the phone, read to complain.
But… hang on a minute.
Closer inspection revealed something astounding. The Benefits Office was offering to GIVE me money! Entirely unprompted! I hadn’t even dreamed of asking them for money, presuming (as one does) that I’d just never be entitled to anything.

Turns out, I am.
Madame, wrote the polite, nameless, kindly Benefits person, we owe you money. We should have been paying you this money since last December. We will rectify our error at once. And from now on, you will be receiving X euros per month.

My hands trembled. Could it be true??
British scepticism popped to the surface and I thought, “better ring them and make sure it’s not a mistake. I mean, it’s probably a mistake, right?”However, as soon as I expressed this thought to 1/ FH and 2/ A colleague, I was shot down unanimously with a barrage of horrified “What?! Don’t be so stupid!! Of course you don’t call them! You just accept it!” that made me feel a bit silly.

So I have decided, in effect, to accept that, for once, the murky world of institutions and administration has smiled down on me. It’s my lucky day.
I still can’t quite believe it though.

You know how people say that it’s a bit shameful to be “on benefit”, and that it’s hard to accept “hand outs”, etc?
Well… nope.
After years of paying in, I can shamelessly confirm that it actually feels pretty good ;-)

In Which All Is Revealed

Yes, well done to those of you who guessed correctly! And thank you for your kind messages...
BB 2 (or perhaps BG?) is indeed on the way. S/he should be making an appearance in early August, just in time for BB's second birthday.
We must be mad, I know!

I am already walking with that distinctive lack of grace that seems to characterise pregnancy. You know, sort of clobbering along, whereas before I could strut and sway in a more elegant manner. Why is that?? Something to do with one's shifting centre of gravity, apparently. Well in that case, mine has shifted to somewhere about one metre in front of me, provoking a worrying forward lean.

Ah, so much to look forward to.
At least I am finally re-introducing a few vegetables into my diet, little by little. I think the nutritional contribution of crisps and Bountys must have its limits, no?

V-Day Guessing Game

Who wants to play a little guessing game? Anyone can join in...

Here are the clues (in no particular order):

- Constant sickness for the past 3 months or so...

- A rare aversion to vegetables... balanced by an unusual craving for salty crisps, Bountys and chocolate milk


- Overwhelming tiredness... and fragile health (as regular readers will no doubt be aware...)


- A temporary parting of the ways between me and my beloved bike...




- A little bubble of excitement... and the promise of an interesting summer ahead...


So... get your thinking caps on.
And all shall be revealed shortly...

Happy Valentine's Day from a sunny Toulouse...

Three Cheers for Technology!

A solution has been found. A mega solution. ZE solution.
We now get TV via the Freebox, with no need for an aerial.
I have more TV channels than I need, want, or will have use for.
And, inevitably... I no longer care so much about TV. I am breezy, detached, indifferent. Phew.

Technology has won through.
Sweet irony?

BB, a book-loving baby... with no need for TV.

Tables Turned...

Er - remember how I said that daytime TV was a real pain, a horrific temptation, a destroyer of brain cells, etc., etc.?
Well, since yesterday, we no longer have TV. And not by choice either. We still have the physical object, but we no longer have an aerial, since the nice men who came to repair the roof (remember the wind storm?) decided thoughtfully to take the aerial down as well. And they're much better at removing things than replacing them, it seems...
So, you're probably thinking: great! Temptation removed - problem solved!

No. No, no, no. By virtue of some bizarre quirk of human nature, since the TV option has been brutally removed, it's now all I can think about!!
Suddenly, I NEED to watch TV. Even daytime TV! The mere fact of knowing I can't makes me pine for it all!!
I suppose it's like, if someone tied your hands behind your back, you would go crazy with desire to scratch your ankle or something. I'm sure you can think of your own analogy.

So, what to do??
I'm so ashamed...

One Small Step for Woman...

I am not particularly modern. Or technological. I am, for example, one of only a handful of people over the age of 8 in the northern hemisphere who does not own a mobile phone (or want to).

However, recently I succumbed to broadband Internet access, in the form of a “Freebox” (cunning name: of course it’s not really free).

All of this makes me nervous. Words like broadband, text, LAN, Wifi, unlimited access, etc. give me the vague, irrational feeling that the whole of humanity has taken a wrong turn somewhere. Does anyone else feel like this? Or am I just weird?

I know what lies ahead for me now: hours of teeth-grinding frustration and futile conversations with hotlines in India who don’t understand and can’t help me.

Yep, this whole Internet, mobile, Blackberry, GPS lark makes me think that modern man has missed the boat somewhere along the line, but (and I’m sorry if the mixed metaphor is getting confusing), it seems I still can’t help jumping on the bandwagon…

BB celebrates the arrival of the Freebox by... climbing on top of it...


... and riding it like a horse..


PS I am still home alone and ill. But I have found a good, unread book at the back of my bookshelf ("Notes from an Exhibition" by Patrick Gale), so I am safe from the clutches of daytime TV for the moment...

Eyes Wide Shut (brain on standby)

One of the unexpected side effects of this long period of enforced bed rest has been the chance to discover the delights of a hereto unexplored universe: daytime TV.
No, no, don’t panic: of course I don’t spend all day in front of the box (I have other more important things to do with my time, like coughing, blowing my nose, hooking up to my oxygen machine…), but, if I ever start to feel a little bored, I am tempted to switch on for an hour or so.

Indulging in a stint of daytime TV feels almost as shamefully illicit as stealing sweets or making prank phone calls, to be honest, and I always feel the need to check no-one is watching me before I flick the switch (of course no-one is watching, I am home alone. But still).

Well, I had a vague idea of what went on between the hours of 2 and 6 pm, but what I witnessed this week seems more like a deliberate parody of my idea of daytime TV.
From 2 – 3 pm, France 2 broadcasts a “no trash” talk show (“Toute une histoire…”, presented by Jean-Luc Delarue), in which three ordinary people share their story in the longest, most drawn out way imaginable… and all without ever using a word of more than two syllables, as far as I can tell.
One day’s theme was “Friendship pushed to the extreme” (a particularly downtrodden-looking guy told how he got arrested for helping an illegal immigrant cross the border, just because a friend asked him to. “But, do you ask your friends to help you in return?” asked the (falsely) incredulous Delarue. “Of course,” replied our put-upon friend. “For example, if I need bread, like, and my friend is at the bakery, well, I’ll ring him up and ask him to get me a baguette.”

Another day, the topic was “People with a talent for fortune telling.” Delarue, who seemed frighteningly hyper and borderline drunk, in my opinion, begged the guests to tell him what his future held. “Well, Mr Delarue, I foresee a very bright future for you!” the lady in question said politely. “Oh yeah?! Really?!” exclaimed Delarue, bouncing up and down excitedly. “Tell me more!”
“Er, well, I foresee a major holiday…” said the guest, faltering. Now it was Delarue’s turn to falter. “What? Is that all?” he sulked.

I quickly grasped that the show relied heavily on “suspense”. So, every time Delarue asked a particularly crusty question, he would immediately hold up his hand and exclaim “Wait! Don’t answer that yet! Let’s take a moment to let the tension settle.”
There then followed a sort of 2-minute inane filler giving a 3-year old’s version of the topic of the day.

Well, after a couple of days of this, I began to feel I’d lost rather too many brain cells already. I rooted out a book – the first that came to hand – and settled it into it with relief. Really, reading anything at all (even the sports section of the local newspaper, I bet) is considerably more edifying than this daytime TV lark.

Honestly, it almost makes you want to phone the office and beg them to take you back, oxygen machine and all…

The Sick House

We have been one sick family over the past week and a half (in the literal sense, of course). Both BB and I developed flu, and FH has been looking after us. It all seems to start at the crèche, which is a scarily efficient breeding ground for germs. Throughout the winter, BB brings home a new virus or bug practically every week, like other kids might bring home a piece of artwork.
So, last week BB had a temperature of nearly 40° every day, which is pretty scary when accompanied by bleary eyes, lethargia and - horror of horrors - a temporary loss of appetite (though his appetite was the first thing to recover, naturally).

Then, on Tuesday night, I developed such a high fever that I began to see stars and started gibbering in some incomprehensible language (days later, my flu degenerated into severe bronchitis, requiring the administration of cortisone, antibiotics and an electronic breathing machine... but that's another story).

The moral of this tale lies elsewhere:
After my horrific night of hallucinations, FH called SOS Médecins, a sort of emergency doctors service. In less than 45 minutes, a very nice, competent doctor was at my bedside. He did some initial tests, made a diagnosis, then called a lab to prescribe some blood tests, just to rule out the risk of something more serious. Doc no. 1 left, and half an hour later, the guy from the lab turned up, having driven over especially to take my blood sample, since I was too weak to move.
In short, by 10 am Wednesday morning, I had been seen, treated and reassured, all for a very reasonable fee (most of which will be reimbursed: the healh service here works that way).

So, if any government ministers happen to be reading this blog, take note:
a decent health service is somethig no-one really thinks too much about when life is purring along nicely. But the day you find yourself burning up under the covers, too weak to move and rigid with pain, you are mighty glad to have a competent doctor dispatched to your bedside within the hour.
We are very, very lucky to have such a wonderful health service here in France. Whatever state the economy is in, and whatever cutbacks have to be made, we must cling on to this precious asset for dear life!

(I refuse to post a photo of myself ill. It's just too scary).