Portable Baby

No blog for almost three weeks because we were out of the country--Paris and environs--and I had little access to the Internet during that time. My short, excited blog on the 13th was done at the airport, just before we boarded the plane. The baby did more than behave himself in the airport--he charmed just about everyone in our waiting area, kicking his feet and chortling happily and smiling at everyone who smiled back, as if the whole scene there was a show put on specifically for his benefit. And then on the plane--in the most difficult of circumstances, where he slept on an incline, lying with his back against my husband's lap and stomach, or in my arms with his little feet almost lying in the lap of our neighbor, his head awkwardly balanced against my husband's arm--and with all the noises of the airplane and passing stewardesses and stewards and banging food carts--he was just amazingly calm and well-behaved. He was somewhat less placid during the return flight, but still not bad--just a few short outbursts of discontent.

As for the time change adjustment--yes, we all suffered from jet lag during the first part of the trip, and the first night (when I stayed up with the baby from 10:30 pm to 5:00 in the morning) was not fun. But what mostly happened was, the baby went to sleep around 11, woke up once during the night, and we played with him, rocked him, and/or nursed him back to sleep--say, from 1 to 2 in the morning; then he'd sleep until around 10 or 11 am, and I'd sleep during that time as well. I ended up getting as much or more sleep during this vacation than I do at home.

We abandoned, for most of the trip, the sleep rules we'd established for him before leaving--just too hard to follow them in a rented apartment in Paris--for instance, we couldn't let him cry it out if he woke up during the night, as we sometimes do here at home. And for the last two nights, since our return, he's also been "spoiled." Since he's still very clearly adjusting to the time change, and is sometimes wide awake at 3 am in the morning, there's not much point in retraining him to sleep through the night, yet. But that will start happening in a couple days, I think.

I did keep a diary of sorts--but my writing was remarkably uninteresting during this trip--just too busy to concentrate on writing, I suppose. So I'm only going to extract small pieces of what I wrote, as follows:

Oct. 15--2nd day of our trip to France. Staying with my husband's parents in a suburb of Paris. First time, yesterday, that I didn't post, since starting this blog...oh well, I'm not out to set any records here. Now I'm lying in bed, "posting" with a pen...as luck would have it, we left San Francisco on the day that the biggest storm of the year, of the last ten years, perhaps, blasted Northern California with torrential rain and 60-mile-an-hour winds. Our plane was only about an hour and fifteen minutes delayed, however; and the baby was great in the airport terminal, during the long takeoff, and during the flight itself. Although we were seated at the bulkhead and a baby bed was provided (one that was attached to the wall in front of us), the baby did not enjoy lying in it; for one thing, it was a couple inches too short for him. So he stayed in our laps the whole time. In spite of getting only about six hours of sleep, he remained cheerful and calm for nearly the entire flight, with just one or two very short outbursts. Right now I'm waiting for the baby to wake up (it's around 11 am--he didn't go to sleep until 5 am or so). Staring out at the lush green backyard, with apple trees and roaming cats and chickens...a lovely quiet place. A good start to our trip, much better than I'd anticipated.

Oct 16--Took a walk in the large forest bordering my husband's parents' property yesterday; we saw a couple chevreuil--small French deer--and two wild boars--small, dark, and vaguely human-looking. Beautiful leafy linden, oak and chestnut trees--for a forest, and compared to most of the forests I've seen, it's a gentle-looking and well-lighted place, made slightly more dramatic perhaps by the presence of these snuffling wild pigs. A couple beefy-looking joggers passed us--Regarde, les poids lourds my wisecracking stepfather-in-law commented as they passed. Poids lourds [heavy load], my husband explained, is the phrase on the back of semi trucks on the French highway; what my stepfather-in-law said could have been taken as an insult. But the joggers merely huffed out a greeting, realizing no doubt that this small elderly man was just joking with them, and continued on their way.

Oct 17--A strong desire to write. Not just this--many other things. A strong desire to embark on new projects. Traveling does that to me, sometimes.

Oct 18--We've moved, from the parents' house to the 3rd arrondisement in Paris. Too touristy here for my husband's taste, but I don't agree; I think that's just what you find around the Place des Vosges and other specific locales. The drive into the Marais was comical--much of the area is blocked off to cars on Sundays, something none of us realized; but my husband's stepfather convinced a policeman to move one of the blockades to let us through; our progression, through a river of well-scarved, well-tailored elite Parisians out for a Sunday stroll (our baby screaming his displeasure in the back seat) was a unique experience. The baby just didn't like being cooped up in a very slow-moving car. The Paris look--I mean the look on people's faces, not so much their clothes--there's a tightness in people's expressions, as well as a thoughtfulness, and, in some people, a look of superciliousness...anyway, that was my first take on the whole scene, looking out at the Marais district's Sunday flaneurs.

Oct 19--find myself planted for 20 minutes in a cafe, about 10 minutes by foot from where we're staying (an apartment we found on Craigslist). When I stepped up to the entrance of the cafe, the smiling waiter playfully took me by the arm and escorted me inside. This has never happened to me before. A lot of small things are happening during this trip that move it out of the realm of normal experience--that always happens when one travels of course (and it's half the reason we travel, isn't it?)--but what's different this time is, just going to a cafe, any cafe, is so much more of a novelty to me (as a new mother) that someone taking my arm and escorting me in feels even more remarkable than it normally would.

Oct 20--It feels a bit unreal to be back in Paris--site of so much longing, angst, and delight during three previous trips, a couple lifetimes ago--it's wonderful, but also a bit sad. I can't say the magic of Paris has faded, but perhaps I've faded, a bit--can no longer plunge into this scene as I used to--but I do feel the old pull, the desire to linger here. Paris is an old city, steeped in history and tradition--and that very fact draws Americans to it, just as it repels, somewhat, many of its French inhabitants--at least, if my husband is any example.

Oct 21--Finding it hard to write here; just too busy, and with our habit of sleeping until 10 or 11 in the morning, the days are so short that I barely have time to sit down and relax for 30 minutes. We've not been to any museums or any of the normal tourist-y places. And today is a grey, wet day--all I did was run errands of the most banal sort, to the laundry, the grocery, the boulangerie. (Though those short trips can be fun in Paris, nothing particularly remarkable happened today.) Did manage to contact a couple friends who live in Paris--will see them over the next few days.

Oct 22--Forgot to write yesterday about visiting, the previous day, the old private bibliotheque where I did much of my research for one portion of my doctoral thesis. As I was attempting to take a picture of the plaque marking the entrance to the library, a man stepped out, dressed in wine-red velour pants and a slightly shabby-looking, dark brown smoking jacket; a satin-y dark blue scarf was loosely draped around his neck, and with his distant gaze and his long flowing brown hair, he looked every bit like someone plunged in thoughts about his research on some obscure French poet, as well as someone about to smoke a cigarette. I felt instantly how strange it was to be standing there, in my new guise as a beleaguered mother, and not in my old one as a beleaguered, uncouth American graduate student; I also felt, instantly, lighter than air. Somehow, the two disguises, mother and grad student, had just cancelled each other out. I can't explain it, but it was as if, with the appearance of this poetic-looking stranger, my whole existence shrank to a point in space. It felt wonderful.

Oct 23--Paid a visit today to my old French instructor, who lives just a few minutes from where we're staying. He lives, like most French people, in a very modest apartment, three rooms (not including the tiny kitchen and bathroom), where he raised two children. The building he lives in is impressive with its huge old stone walls, the sense of solidity and quiet in one of the most bustling neighborhoods in Paris. He's the same--a small, gentle, unassuming man--extremely polite (though we're about the same age, we use the formal vous with each other). I must admit to being somewhat frazzled by, of all things, my baby's digestive problems--the formula in France is too dense for him--indeed much of the trip seems to have centered around the baby's pooping and sleeping habits; yet it does have its comical side, as when the baby pooped, straining mightily, while my husband and I were chatting with the French instructor. The lovely man was totally unphased and insisted that we use his dining table to change the little one (which we did--providing a plastic cover for protection, of course). We invited him to stay with us any time he's in San Francisco.

Oct 24--my husband's not a big one for dining out, even in San Francisco; so the only really good things I've eaten since arriving here are the items we've purchased from the local boulangerie and grocery stores--red wine, brie, baguettes, chausson aux pommes--but one can live richly on these simple foods. And I'm not likely to gain any weight while over here.

Oct 25--writing nothing but banalities these days. It's not writing, it's scribbling. More tired at this moment than at any other during the trip--slept only about three and a half hours last night. More because of my own insomnia than anything else. A sense of restlessness. Thought a lot about my (non-existent) career. Will I keep it on hold for another couple of years, or try to plunge back into something by the time the baby is one year old? The latter probably makes more sense, although I'll probably be working mostly from home for the next couple of years. I just don't like the idea of sending my baby to daycare until he's at least two and a half years old.

Oct 26--Sometimes, if one is extremely lucky, a conversation with a treasured friend comes at exactly the right time in one's life--this happened to me today. Though I see this woman infrequently--in fact, we've only had a few extended conversations with each other--they've been remarkably important encounters for me, each one marking a turning point, a moment of decision. To some extent I think they've meant the same thing for her. Talking with her in the same cafe I visited during my first full day back in Paris (and once again, the waiter was remarkably friendly--perhaps a bit too friendly but no harm done), I felt so good (it's partly because she's an amazing and perceptive listener) that it seemed the scene out our window was even more unique than it already was--the people took on a more positive glow, and life seemed to click, somehow; whereas I'd been, too often of late, ground down by my daily routine of baby care, even here in Paris, and couldn't see the magic or the positive side of anything. She restored all that, for me.

Oct 29--just didn't get to the blog, these past couple of days; hectic to the extreme. On the 27th we spent much of the day with my husband's stepfather's sister and her husband, and their three middle-aged sons. Yesterday, we moved back to the husband's parents' house and then were busy the rest of the day with them. Today I've made one last solo dash back to Paris on the RER, my husband graciously agreeing to watch the baby for about five hours. I'm sitting at the Place de la Bastille, in the Cafe des Phares, watching the noisy, bustling crowd and marveling at the ease with which all the chaos melts away when one is sitting at a cozy table in a warm, inviting cafe in Paris. The middle-aged women sitting alone at nearby tables seem to feel the same--the calm way they're reading their menus or eating their meals tells me that. Oasis. Yes, I love lounging in Paris cafes--my husband hates it--but these women around me understand. Something so liberating for a woman, any woman, this act of getting lost in a crowd.

Oct 30--the baby was not as angelic on the return flight--but was still remarkably good. Except for his constipation and jet lag (both not really his fault), he's been a trooper, this little guy--if it's possible, my affection for him has only grown during this trip. I know babies are more portable than a lot of parents tend to think--but this baby has been vastly more portable than I could have imagined. Having said that--we're going to give him a break for the rest of his babyhood, and not make him go through this again until he's much older.