JamRocking in Paris VI- A real Thumbs Up!

Gee and I are at our Ob/Gyn for our second sonogram!! I am lying on my back, face screwed up as Doc slabs the extremely cold gel unto my belly. Gee settles into his chair as if ready for the movie to start, his eyes glued to the big screen up in front of us, indecisive he turns to stare at the little screen beside him, then he turns back to the big screen, like a little boy impatient and excited to see his favourite cartoon.

Lights! I lie back not knowing what to do with my arms as Doc rolls the thingy (transducer) over my belly. Camera, Gee continues to look back and forth, and back and forth! Action!

“Look at the big screen sweetie, I think you will see better.” I told my desperate husband, while knitting my hands on chest under my chin.

“Je vois rien ! I can’t see anything!” Gee insists, his eyes wide open staring at the big screen.

“Un petit instant, just a moment,” the Doc murmurs as he fiddles with his monitor. “And….here we go…”

Eyebrows furrowed, Gee and I stare at the black and white images appear on the screen, trying to discern our little baby. Little by little we make out a form, then hands and feet. Gee stands and approaches the screen, looking back at me once in a while to see whether I am seeing what he is seeing.

“Yes, my love, this is amazing!” I whisper to him.

Doc guides us from head to eyes and nose, buttocks and kidney, arms to feet.

“What big feet!” I joke to Gee, and Doc understanding English, musters up his skills and says, “Non, zay are not big, normal.”

Gee and I smile, awe, pleasure and anticipation flooding the tiny room. We could see our baby and everything is perfectly in place and normal. Inchallah!

This was not without a lot of fight on the part of the Doc, who was having a rather difficult time showing us each limb, each organ: our little one turned out to be a real mover and shaker! Gee and I look at each other and smile, knowingly!! This little one is already showing signs of his Daddy!! Can’t stay in one place!!!

The Doc apologises as he tries desperately to show us the heart. “And this is the hear-….um, wait a minute, here it is…um, and… wait….yes, here is the heart and we’ll listen to the heartbeat….um, where did it go?”

Poor Doc, this went on for some time. He looks at me, “Madame, your baby is moving a lot.”

“Yes, like father, like…baby!” I tell him.

Gee smiles mischievously and proudly. “C’est un vrai Chatagnon! A real Chatagnon, this one!”

After a couple minutes of sliding the transducer all over my belly, trying to figure out what position the baby was in, we finally got a couple seconds of heartbeat and a quick look at a face. It’s as if our little one was deciding when and how we could take a peek!

To our dismay, our little one, probably annoyed at the Doc for pushing and probing into its space, or maybe just simply wanting to reassure us, decided to give us a distinct sign. Only five months old in utero and already this little being is displaying its own character! With a "thumbs up", little Tee/Gee allowed us to snap a last photo clearly telling us: “Mi cool, man! Everyting alright! Tout baigne!”

Everyting IRIE!!

JamRocking in Paris V- Picking cherries

A trip to the Loire Valley, stately castles reclined in verdant and golden faraway lands of old, silhouetted by the Loire and styled by serious and dedicated makers of Chinon, Vouvray, Montlouis and Sancerre. Nestled in this garden backdrop, La Varenne sprawls its family history and secrets over 6 hectares; Venus, Nightshade and Ecu embody over 20 years of horse backing riding through La Fôret de Chez Baillou and oftentimes are the first to greet you grazing behind the fence that separates them from the tiny road that leads to the house. One neighbour in sight and a glimpse of his "welcome to Tonton Gervais’” sign (the one person with whom Guillaume spent many a childhood rowdy days, seated on his tractor, killing a variety of animals, from cows to rabbits and learning country songs such as “Ma petite Lochoise” – which he flattered us by singing at our wedding two years ago) and a flowery driveway that leads to a gravelled yard speckled with trees and flowers. In a semi circle layout, 5 cottages stand at the extremities of the yard and a main house that welcomes hidden wild cats, families of birds that nestle their young ones in an old pump at the entrance of the house and years and years of construction, transformation, and devotion.

La Varenne was once a big farm with many animals and stables, hard as it is to imagine. But Dad has spent many a weekend and many a holiday using his own hands, big manly and constructive hands, to better and modernise while preserving the rustic spirit of La Varenne. Knocking out a wall here and there, adding sun lights, an indoor swimming pool and many a faucet to each guest house, all 5 named after botany: Lilas (lilac), Glycine (wisteria), Althéa (althea), Laurier (laurel), Jasmin (jasmine) by Mum, the "inn-keeper." Mum is a woman who knows how to rally things up. She’s an actor, not a watcher and all her actions can be found in this little piece of the Garden of France. Together, Dad and Mum have constructed this magnifique nest for their children, grand-children and great-grand children.

It’s hard to imagine that Guillaume once played in this yard. Kicking football with his brother and sisters. This is where he broke his wrist falling off one of the horses; where Marie, his big sister rode her shiny new bike proudly and skilfully for the first time; where Abigail and Lucie, his younger sisters, shared their secrets and dreams of gallant princes who’d come take them away. This yard witnessed the art and technique of Guillaume and Martin, his big brother, entwining and testing their legs and fists in swift and agile movements of Karate.

Today, Marie’s three children, Claire (9), Clotide (7) and Antoine (4) play with Guillaume and me in this same yard, throwing Frisbee and beach ball whose rackets sport ‘Jamaica’ on each side. Martin’s 5 year old, Jeanne scurries to hug her cousins and Louis, 3, secretly hides snails in his pockets; Martin’s last one (for the moment), baby Marc, drools big blue eyes all over my shoulder, while his mother, Big Claire tries to pry the snails from her son’s pockets, her face conjured in repulsion and unwavering resolution as Louis screams and resists.

(Jeanne, Clo, little Claire, Louis & Antoine)

(Guillaume holding his god-son, Louis & Antoine)

Hard to imagine too, that this same place, where Mum’s brother, Tonton, reverently mows the lawn and Lucie sunbathes today, long pale legs basking in the sun, soaking in the sunny serenity of the countryside, far from the frustrations of university life in Paris and successfully imagining her dear sister and confidante, Abi though far away in Sudan, in the office of her NGO, actually lying beside her soaking in the pleasure of being at home; hard to imagine that our child will play here one day. This little person will scratch a knee, dream a dream, cry many a tears and laugh many a laughs.

In wild cherry trees, fingers nimbly picking and dropping skilfully into awaiting white bucket thoughtfully posed on the ground, I allow myself to be a child again. Thinking of nothing, other than picking red wild cherries so that Mum can make her famous clafoutis (cherry tart) Claire and Clo beside me, in a dedication that is far beyond their age, concentrate on their task at hand; just like they had a couple minutes earlier, while doing ‘yoga for pregnant women’ with me. Both Claire and Clo had been particularly resolute to accomplish each exercise though some positions brought a rush of blood to their little faces and tingly discomfort to their legs and arms as they stretched their bodies in peculiar positions. They’d concentrated on the soothing music like I told them and allowed their bodies to be set free during 45 minutes without a complaint. Now they stand side by side meditating the cherries, sunshine on their shoulders and glee in their eyes.

I allow myself to be their age once again, giggling as I retrieve my camera and started snapping photos, trying to trap this moment in each cherry, each leaf, each movement, and Claire laughs at me as I try to snap the cherries falling into the bucket.

JamRocking in Paris IV- reflections I

i don’t know where i am, where you are. i feel you, i think. i feel myself; i feel nothing. a touch so light, a feathery response; yet i am not convinced, that you are.

i dont know where to look to find you. sometimes all seems clear; sometimes not. not that i try my mightiest, just once in a while you occupy my mind all day.

i dont know where i am, where you are, what you'll be. how can i prepare for you? am i capable? am i robust enough? the pages of books present words, repeated over and over again, disclosing facts and advice. yet i remain confused.
I don’t know how to nurture you; feed you and embrace you. Take your hands and lead you.

I don’t know where i am, where we are. I feel you, i think. I feel you.

Sign my guestbook! Dites moi où vous êtes!

So I can really appreciate the different parts of the world, where you all can be found!!

JamRocking in Paris III & 1/2- About me: according to blogthings.com

I found some quizzes on the site of a fellow Parisian blogger, le blaquer and thought them quite interesting!!

Here are my results after taking some mini tests on blogthings.com (let me know what yours are!!):

1. I belong in London, so tell me what am I doing in Paris?

You Belong in London

A little old fashioned, and a little modern. A little traditional, and a little bit punk rock.A unique soul like you needs a city that offers everything.No wonder you and London will get along so well.

What city do you belong in? Take the test here: http://www.blogthings.com/whatcitydoyoubelonginquiz/


2. Example of what living in Paris has done to my English!!! Help!! lol

Your English Skills:

Grammar: 100%Punctuation: 80%Spelling: 80%Vocabulary: 20%

How is your English? Take the test here: http://www.blogthings.com/doesyourenglishcutthemustardquiz/


3. Show you what I eat: I'll tell you who I am !

You Are a Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich

You life your life in a free form, artistic style.You are incredibly creative and at times, quite messy.Deep down, you are a kid at heart. And you aren't afraid to express it. Your best friend: The Grilled Cheese Sandwich Your mortal enemy: The Club Sandwich

What sandwich are you? Take the test here: http://www.blogthings.com/whatkindofsandwichareyouquiz/



4. If I were an animal, I'd be :

You Would Be a Pet Bird

You're intelligent and witty, yet surprisingly low maintenance.You charm people easily, and they usually love you a lot more than you love them.You resent anyone who tries to own or control you. You refuse to be fenced in. Why you would make a great pet: You're very smart and entertaining Why you would make a bad pet: You're not interested in being anyone's pet! What you would love about being a bird: Flying, obviously What you would hate about being a bird: Being caged

What kind of pet would you be? Take the test here: http://www.blogthings.com/whatkindofpetwouldyoubequiz/


5. I am a mouthful!

What People Think of Your Mouth

People see you as both genuine and spontaneous.You really love life, and it shows. You are easy to get to know.You tend to have a wide circle of friends, and many different interests.While many people know you, no one can exactly figure you out.

What does your mouth say about you? Take the test here: http://www.blogthings.com/whatdoesyourmouthsayaboutyouquiz/

6. The real me? haha!

Your Power Color Is Lime Green

At Your Highest: You are adventurous, witty, and a visionary. At Your Lowest: You feel misunderstood, like you don't fit in. In Love: You have a tough exterior, but can be very dedicated. How You're Attractive: Your self-awareness and confidence lights up a room. Your Eternal Question: "What else do I need in my life?"

What's" Your Power Color? Take the test here: http://www.blogthings.com/whatsyourpowercolorquiz/


7. Do you want me to be your drug?

Your Personality Is Like Acid

A bit wacky, you're very difficult to predict.One moment you're in your own little happy universe...And the next, you're on a bad trip to your own personal hell!

What drug is your personality kike? Take the test here: http://www.blogthings.com/whatdrugisyourpersonalitylikequiz/

JamRocking in Paris III- "So, you the Baby Daddy or what?!"

I am waddling down the street with watermelon protruding in the Châtelet area. I spy a group of men in front of the mall. I rub my belly, relieved. No more being harassed, whistled at or greeted in ginal and brazen flirtation. I had my watermelon to thank for that. Or so I thought.

As I approach the group, the young man facing me dons a big smile, eyes checking me up and down and mouth moving to some rhythm I fail to figure out(being pregnant also makes one clumsy, forgetful, but also terribly 'slow' at times) - huh?! As I pass him, he turns to me and continues the sweet talk my pregnant ears cannot fathom. I shake my head in dismay as I pass him and still he continues, turning to watch me pass. I guess men will always be men. How horrible does this sentence sound?! I mean, I’m always the one to condemn stereotypes and gross generalisations however, it is true that men and women are different beings from completely different worlds. I don’t know if it’s Mars vs. Venus or whatever, but we all know that we just don’t think in the same way – or with the same body part.

Speaking of body parts: last week for example, I noticed the furtive glances I was getting from men at the sight of nature’s generosity in preparing the bosom for nurturing and I was amused at the different reactions – which also shows how men themselves are different (obviously, no one man can be the same, though it’s well known that the gross majority of this specie do act alike – wow another stereotype!!! lol). For instance some men, upon seeing me, look into my eyes, then at my breasts, um chest, and then as I pass, at my ass, um pardon me – at my posterior, without a care (you may ask how I know that they are looking at my behind once I have passed – just trust me – you KNOW!); other men look first into my eyes then at my chest then once they spot the belly – they quickly turn away (in shame for some, in disappointed for others as Guillaume rightly corrected me); others look into my eyes, then at my chest and then the belly and then back at the chest (I guess those are the ones who don’t really care about the package in its entirety – just that one body part) and finally there’re those who act like they don’t see me at all, then as I pass you see them staring at my behind as if they’d never seen one before (these are the sworn in bum-watchers who cannot help their eyes from straying and their tongue from hanging after all women who come their way – pregnant or not, slim or fat, old or young) It’s all about the body part!

So I take the escalator to meet up with my girlfriend Adeomi and as I accompany her from store to store, I tell her about the group outside and she too observes and confirms my theory about men and body parts. After an hour or two of walking around and finding the H&M maternity section as disappointing as the Gap’s we’d visited two weeks ago, we decide to give up on finding any nice and comfortable cotton brassieres or fun maternity clothes; we take a break in the Quick (French McDonald’s) to make a quick run to the ladies room. As I come back from the bathroom and sit waiting for Adeomi, yet another gawking, tongue hanging, body-part seeker comes and smiles down on me. I couldn’t help but double over in laughter as Adeomi emerges from the bathroom and on seeing what was happening asks me in her Trini accent: “What, he tink he de baby father?”

I look at her and smile and say: “Hey that’s a good question! Next time, I’ll ask them just that: “Alors, c’est toi le papa ou quoi?”

Some pix of me last week: at 4 months

Some sports for the soul:

ready in Jamaica gear: for strength!! lol





Guillaume representing Ja too : boasting Red Stripe for the road!

After the run - posing in the georgous garden infront of our apt

My personal trainer!

Pictures taken yesterday at Kamal's Gazal opening (with Guillaume's MBA pals):


My friend Maya - visitng from the USA and me

Maya sporting Gazal Has Been t-shirt!! But of course Guillaume is no Has Been, thank you!!


Now, is Tarik really has been?

Kamal, CEO of Gazal

Gee and I, out on the town with Maya, Claudia and Bruno