Two months of sweetness

Maëlys is two months old today! The first month passed in a haze of exhaustion and amazement and a pervasive what-the-heck-do-I-do-with-this-creature feeling, but the second month is where the love and confidence have started to grow in earnest.

Smiley Maëlys!

At six weeks, she intentionally smiled back at me for the first time, quelling the sneaking suspicion I had that our daughter would resemble a humorless and demanding alien for the rest of her life. Shortly thereafter, she started to become much more cuddly, burrowing her face into my neck and wrapping her arms around me when I held her. She started showing more interest in her stuffed animal toys, as well as holding a person's gaze for much longer. And this morning, she consistently giggled (cutest sound in the world!) when Rory wiggled her bottom and made a motorboat noise. It's episodes like these that make your heart overflow with love for your tiny human. And make the less fun stuff worth it.  

Our latest otter comparison.

You may be wondering what it's like to raise a baby in Paris. I might also write later about my experiences with labor and delivery and our stay at a French hospital if people are interested, but I'll save that for another post. For now, here are some interesting facets of new parenthood in Paris. For the record, I suspect it's actually quite a bit easier to have a baby in France than it is in the US (though I can't say I've tried the US version). Here are some reasons why.

• Mothers stay at the hospital for an average of three days after giving birth. This gives them time to recover and learn how to feed, change, and bathe their baby with the assistance of the nurses. They also have time to make sure the baby is healthy before being sent home. In our case, two days after she was born, Maëlys started to have trouble feeding--she had very low energy and fell asleep before she could get enough food, which was a sign of the start of jaundice. Though not uncommon in newborns and not a terribly serious problem, it still freaked me out and had me bursting into tears at the slightest provocation. Instead of being home alone by this time and having no idea what was wrong with our baby, our midwife very quickly diagnosed the problem and the nurses helped Maëlys get better.
• Along the same lines, mothers in France are entitled to a home visit from a midwife a few days after they leave the hospital. My sage-femme (literally "wise woman") came out to our home and spent over an hour with us to check on the baby and me. The follow-up of mother and baby that is built into the French medical system makes problems less likely immediately following a birth.
• There are community medical centers called PMIs (Protection Maternelle et Infantile) which offer medical care for women and children free of charge. PMIs offer the services of pediatricians, midwives, puéricultrices (nursery nurses or childcare workers), and psychologists to anyone, regardless of income. Unlike in the US, where a free medical clinic such as this would most likely only be found in poor inner-city neighborhoods and would have somewhat of a social stigma attached to its use, PMIs are used by families from all walks of life and the quality of service is generally quite high. I have visited three different centers and they all had friendly, welcoming staff and a professional yet kid-centered environment. We will be taking Maëlys to our PMI on Monday for her first vaccinations (which are free, by the way). Oh, and there are three PMIs within a 15 minute walk from our house. I think France has some things figured out.
• Mothers are prescribed la rééducation périnéale following a birth. This is a practice not widely found in the US or UK, but it's essentially physical therapy for a woman's perineum (the muscles that get very stretched and sometimes tear during childbirth). Unlike in most other countries, France actually recognizes that childbirth can lead to lasting medical difficulties for women, particularly problems like urinary incontinence. La rééducation périnéale is typically carried out by a midwife and the goal is to retrain the muscles to prevent problems later in life. I start my first of 7-10 sessions of rééducation this coming week. Although it feels like a very awkward and uncomfortable thing to do, I'd rather not have to wear Depends when I'm older, so I'm willing to give it a try. 
• I mentioned in a previous post that France gives paid maternity and paternity leave (unlike the USA). Women get 16 weeks and men get two weeks. Rory's work was flexible, so he was actually able to spend most of Maëlys' first month at home with us. This time was invaluable for us to grow into our new roles as parents, to explore our changing relationship as a couple, and to love and support each other through the sleep-deprivation, constant cluster feeding, and piercing newborn screams.  
• And finally, another great aspect of living in France is that French people love babies. Especially older French women. So if you live in or visit France and want to practice your French conversational skills, I highly recommend having a baby with you (preferably your own). Parisians who wouldn't deign to look at you before will now ooh and ahh over your baby and will chatter away with you. Also, they are largely very kind and quick to offer help if you need it. 

What a cutie!

So it's been a great two months. Challenging, testing of patience, and requiring lots of learning, but an amazing experience nonetheless. Figuring out some of the resources available to new parents and understanding the medical system here has made a big difference in our confidence levels, and despite our very imperfect French language skills, people have been helpful and accommodating. Plus, we have this super cute baby who is learning new skills every day and becoming increasingly loving, responsive, and fun to play with. I'm a happy mama. 

Le bébé est arrivé !

In case you haven't heard, the baby has arrived! Little Maëlys joined us two weeks ago today. She is approximately the same size as a small otter.

She does not appear to swim as well as an otter, though, or enjoy raw clams.

Maëlys and Talia were both healthy and happy after the birth. As is standard in France, they stayed in hospital for 3 nights after the birth. In the UK and USA, usually you leave the hospital within a day or so, and only stay longer if there's a problem. Here, they routinely keep you until the baby has begun to gain weight. Having nurses and midwives around who can answer questions or provide assistance - even in the middle of the night - is a very reassuring way to ease into parenting, especially when we're all learning new skills such as changing nappies, or breastfeeding.

All set to go home!

Once we had been cleared to go home, we loaded her into our little car seat and drove her home in an electric car.

A week ago, she was a week old.

Today, she is two weeks old.

Both my parents and Talia's parents came all the way to Paris to meet their new granddaughter, and to share with us their love, support, and advice. I can't think of a better way to transition into parenthood! They left just a few days ago, leaving us to raise this critter all on our own. Wish us luck!

Nous attendons un bébé!

Thanks to the magic of Facebook, most everyone knows by now that we're expecting a baby this August. It was so heartwarming to hear the kind words from our friends around the world, and we are tremendously excited to become parents. Being pregnant is definitely a strange new experience for me, but it feels doubly strange because we are trying to navigate it in a foreign country. Today I thought I would share a little about our experience so far of being pregnant in France.

I'm pretty sure all French babies look like this

First of all, I've had to learn a lot of words in French that would not have otherwise been on my vocab lists. The French word for pregnancy, for example, is rather repugnant.

Grossesse 

Ew. Grossesse? It's like "grossness". And even better, it comes from the word gros, which means fat or large. Grossir is a related verb--it means to fatten up. 

Sure, it's a pretty accurate description of what happens during pregnancy, but for women who are sensitive to the dramatic changes happening in their bodies (let's be honest, we're sensitive to just about anything these days), calling it a "period of fattening up" was probably not the best choice of term. I bet anything some insensitive man came up with it.

In contrast, the etymology of the English word pregnancy is much more polite. The latin simply meant "with child" and "before birth". I'll take pregnancy over grossesse any day.

If you can read French (or want to use Google Translate), here's an amusing post about how terrible French words are regarding pregnancy and childbirth.

Learning the French health care system

As Rory and I are generally quite healthy, when we moved here, I was hoping to avoid French doctors as much as possible. There's the language barrier to start, and then the fact that I was completely unfamiliar with the system of socialized health care they employ here. It's quite different from the British National Health Service (NHS) too, so Rory didn't really know how it worked either. Needless to say, when we learned of the pregnancy, my doctor-avoidance plan went out the window and I started researching like there was no tomorrow.

Here's what we've learned. In very basic terms, one goes to the doctor in France, pays for the visit out of pocket, and is reimbursed for usually a significant percentage of the cost by the sécurité sociale. People also take out mutuelle policies, which are like top-up health insurance plans that will cover what the government doesn't. (We don't have one yet...and you thought figuring out insurance was hard in English!) Nonetheless, it's a pretty reasonable way to do things, and it ensures that people can get excellent health care without an enormous pricetag (I'm looking at you, America). In fact, in a "2000 assessment of world health care systems, the World Health Organization found that France provided the 'close to best overall health care' in the world."

I can testify thus far that my care has been perfectly adequate. I found an OB/GYN within walking distance of our place who is friendly and competent. He even speaks English and does the ultrasounds himself (both unusual for doctors here). I pay him in cash at each monthly visit, and I receive a receipt which I send to the securité sociale offices for reimbursement. At least, that's the plan--I'm still wading through bureaucracy to get myself registered with social security, so eventually I should be reimbursed.

That's a very quick explanation of the French health care system as we currently understand it. I'll share more pregnancy- and French health care-related stories with you in future posts, but I'll leave you with these three wonderful features of grossesse in France that almost make up for the terrible word:

1) All maternity expenses are 100% covered by the government from the 6th month onward.
2) Women and families receive financial support from the government once the baby is born (up to a certain income level).
3) Paid maternity and paternity leave actually exist in this country.

As an American, these things are music to my ears.