Jamrocking in Paris XI - 2 weeks to D Day

Only two weeks left and the waiting is nerve-wracking!

Routine sits in and I spend days awaiting Delivery Day - D Day!


Let's see ---

Daily/weekly activities:

Massaging perineum with Weleda massage oil and nipples and areola with Lansinoh for 5 mins everyday- check!


Practising holding my breath, blowing up my belly like a balloon and then pushing real hard with my abdos for 1 minute with 20 secs intervals everyday- check!


Going over in my mind everything that the midwife told us - check!

Like how to recognise that bébé is finally ready to come and that I should go to the hospital:

Bloody show - not yet!

Water works (water breaking) - not yet!

Terrible and consistent contractions - not the real ones !

No movements from bébé - nope, lots of it!

Wondering if today will be the day - check!

Took big cousin Andrea's advice and got Fay to buy me Infacol in London (for collic)- check!

Listen to CDs everyday that I will take with me for D Day: 1. Baby's favourite lullabys (with my favourite song, Hush l'il baby, don't say a word), 2. Classical music for babies 3. Bob Marley 4. Slows of the century and 4. Jamaica Time (with my favourite songs being "Oh, Cherry oh Cherry oh Baby", "Play de music" and "What a Bam Bam") - check!

Alot of "RE" :

REchecking my list of things to take to the hospital - check!

REpacking my bags - check!

REvising my list - check!

REviewing the list of ambulances to call - check!

REcleaning apartment - check!

RE-reading my books on pregnancy, delivery, breastfeeding and the arrival of bébé - check!

RE-educating Gee (by leaving random books on pregnancy open at strategic pages) -check!

Weekly urine tests that demand acrobatic skills for aiming into a little cup and getting it all over the place every time - check!

Weekly monitoring of bébé's heartbeat and movements that lasts 30 mins - check!

Aqua gym - check!

Sunday walks with Gee - check!!

Wondering what bébé will look like, how he or she will be: footballer? musician? dancer? - CHECK!

Jamrocking in Paris X - Will the apple fall far from the trees

Here are baby's roots: wonder what the fruit will look like!

Baby Guillaume and Mum

Monster girl at 4 or 5 yrs

Only 3 year old and already strutting his stuff

Potty time

No driver's licence needed!

Tess in Sunday Dress!

Gee with bro posing! Tessa's first day of Primary school



And they both like to run and laugh!!

Tessa's first ballet rehearsal

Gee, proud with arm in sling

Such a show off!

So what will our little one look like? Will the apple fall far from the Tree? After all, cats can't make dogs!

Jamrocking in Paris IX - Baby boo

Nearing the end and the dream remains a wonder
Your unusual movements now habitual and longer,
My belly belongs to you
My love, my belly belongs to you.

I count the stars ‘til you arrive
Shining above the skyline of the impatient Parisian nights
Daddy sings to you, lips caressing my cocoa buttered skin
Lulling you to his lullaby, lulling you to his lullaby.

Doc says you are perfect my little one
A combination of cultures and aspirations
You're destined for greatness says daddy
I sing you your baby ba-doo song every night.

Nearing the arrival
My hands reach out to you
In response you kick softly and reassuringly
Come soon, come quick
My little baby love, come soon, come quick,

My little baby boo.

Jamrocking in Paris VIII & 1/2 - Some pix of balloon

7 months 3 weeks

Park attitude

Hand on balloon Balloon in front of flower

Close-up of balloon in front of flower Grapes on balloon

6 months

Swimming in mummy's water with daddy in water

Balloon at la Varenne

Show over !

Jamrocking in Paris VIII - Myth, Legend, Fact?

Myth, Legend or Fact?

Today, I woke up at 9 am and was late for my 10 o’clock appointment with the midwife! My husband had a hard time sleeping last night and kept waking me with his sighing and tossing. I guess the 'males-whose-partners-are-pregnant-become-'psychologically'-pregnant-as-well" myth may just be true!! I mean he dreamt that he was pregnant last week then when I asked him, how he'd felt, he simply told me: "Great!" and turned back to his computer.

So two pregnant people in a medium size bed made for a rough night last night, and I got up with a late start and just couldn't get to the RDV on time, despite the fact that I literally ran down our 4 flights of stairs, darted across the little park leading to the metro, jogged down the stairs to the platform and skillfully hopped into the metro as it arrived. For a whole of 15 minutes, I almost forgot I was blooming pregnant and I became the skinny old me running around all over Paris - long legs taking me along swiftly and decisively! *grin*

It was not until I arrived huffing and puffing into room 117-118 at the clinique did I remember that I was actually pregnant and not as agile as before! There were 5 other women sitting comfortably backs against soft cushions, with one male amongst them; they greeted me with a smile and the assurance that the session hadn’t started as yet, even though I was 20 minutes late. Phew!

As I caught my breath, I glanced at the 5 other bellies around me and noted that we were all probably around the same time as me. The midwife arrived 5 minutes later to start the second in a series of 8 2-hour sessions at the clinique where I shall deliver in another month or so. Today we were to talk about preparing the hospital bags for baby and mother, topped off with a half an hour of sophrology (relaxation).

Midwives are very important in France. They are the ones to actually do all the 'dirty work', well, dirty is not quite the right word - but all this to say that they are the ones to greet you as you arrive at the hospital either neurotic, suffering and or screaming, or all of the above (ok, ok, this is what we see in the movies, but women do not always arrive at the hospital kicking and spitting fire!); they stay with you while you are in labour (which can vary from one to 10 hours), calming, guiding and assuring you and then when the baby is about to come out, the Doctor is called in to ‘deliver’ ! Tadaa!! (Of course, given that there are no complications such as a caesarean or something like that).

So she informed us that babies are under the tropics in their cocoon and upon arrival this temperature needs to be reproduced – as a result, bodysuit, overall, vest, socks, cap and mittens are needed right away, along with a warm blanket and of course the mother’s and father’s body heat. And 8 of each of these items will be needed for each day, plus pajamas, towels, ointments, lotions and soaps, hairbrush, nasal aspirator, medicine spoon and dropper, etc., etc. The minimum stay at my clinique being 4-5 days.

Allow me a small aparté: - nasal aspirators – what an invention! I remember growing up in Jamaica seeing women taking their baby’s nose into their mouths and sucking as if there was no tomorrow!!! Aaaaagggghhh!

And as for the mother’s bag: a t-shirt for comfort (though the hospital provides those green or blue gowns we see in the movies all the time), socks because with the exertion and fatigue, women’s feet seem to go cold, a lemon and a mineral water spray for hydration, breastfeeding tops and bras, a hairdryer in case of an episiotomy (ouch!), toiletries, towels, medical papers, etc., etc.

Now for some interesting facts/questions that were discussed:
1. Before the birth: strengthening the perineum. This area, from the vagina to the anus, has been the target of much discussion for decades, and I am not sure which research accounts for the ‘truth’
a. First school of thought: one must strengthen this muscular area by using Kegel exercises (clenching and unclenching vaginal muscles during and after urination) and all this in order to prevent an episiotomy or a cesarean.
b. Second school of thought, Kegel exercises should only be used after giving birth to strengthen the vaginal muscles that were stretched during birth. Instead, with the use of a special massage oil, one should massage the perineum for 5 mins every day in order to make it soft and flexible during delivery.
2. Breastfeeding: As of the 7th month, women should massage their nipples with the use of lanolin in order to stimulate milk production and prevent sore and cracked nipples.
3. When baby is born in France, one has strictly 3 days to declare the birth! If this delay is not respected, the parents will be taken to court and a nice fee of I- don’t-know-how-much-thousand-euros will be paid!
4. French law states that the father or another able person who was present during delivery (the doctor or midwife or nurse) should declare the birth. What is interesting is that this declaration ‘recognises’ the father as the sole responsible adult; meaning he is declared 100% responsible for the child and in essence, the mother doesn’t actually exist! This declaration is done at the City Hall (mairie) of the area (arrondissement) where the baby is born. A birth certificate and a carnet de santé, which is a health notebook that will contain the child’s health records: vaccinations, check-ups, operations, illnesses etc., are issued immediately.
5. Recognising the child is completely different from registering or declaring its birth. Recognising the child is to take place at 6 months of pregnancy and at the City Hall of residence. After declaring the child at the City hall of birth, one must ‘confirm’ the birth at the City hall of residence.
6. Maternity and paternity leaves: mothers are obliged to stop work for a minimum of 8 weeks, 6 of which after the birth. One may choose to shorten the maternity leave within those limits. Fathers are entitled to a leave of 3 days immediately after the birth plus a leave of 11 consecutive days to be taken within 4 months of the birth and 18 days for a multiple birth!
7. Sleeping positions: babies should sleep on their backs and not on their bellies, dressed in pajamas and a sleep gown. No blankets or covers needed. No pillow should be used and baby should sleep in a slightly elevated position in order to prevent getting a cold.
8. To be or not to be sterilised - that is the question!!

a. First school of thought believes that bottles and nipples should be sterilized immediately after use
b. Second school of thought believes that only the nipples should imperatively be sterilized and bottles may be washed with the use of warm water, normal dishwashing liquid and a bottle washer.

9. Travelling with baby: car seats should not be used for travelling more than an hour. For longer trips, a bassinet should be used instead, where baby is completely lying down.

So myth, legend or reality? Some are French law and traditions. Each country has its traditions –which is normal given the difference in policies, weather, health conditions, food, etc.

My conclusion, you may ask? Well, at least I have been informed. I will now wait for maternal instincts coupled with some experienced advice from friends and family members.

JamRocking in Paris VII- My new companions

I woke up this morning, hand on my belly, and for the first time, I felt bébé move across my skin. This wasn’t just one of those thumps or quick fluttering I’ve been feeling for the past month or so. No, this was a distinct touch, lasting maybe 5 to 6 seconds, under my palm; a distinct movement felt from my thumb to my index finger.

I’ve been lying day in and out eyes pierced to my round belly, watching it jump and shake here and there as bébé moves and turns. Today, this felt like a real connection, as our limbs touched despite my skin. The wonder of life! I am still having a hard time conceiving the idea of a little being growing inside of me: eating, sleeping, sucking its thumb, kicking and frolicking! Yes, the evidence is there. Several of them actually! From the moment I took the pregnancy test in our little bathroom and observed the pink line appear in the window. I had sat for what seemed like hours, staring at the test, disbelief, anxiety, excitement and happiness seeping through my pores. I remember getting up finally and calling out to Gee who was in the living room with a friend of ours. I’d pushed him into our bedroom, and given him the test. Poor thing didn’t know what was happening. And of course, men are always so slow!

Taking the test into his hands, he’d asked me what it was. I asked him to tell me what he saw in the little window. He replied simply that there was a red line, “’Y’a une ligne rouge, non?”

I nodded staring deep into his eyes. A smile twitching at the corner of my mouth, uncertainty and excitement had made my voice tremble, “It’s positive.”

He sat on the bed. “Positive?” Disbelief and confusion.

“Yes, je suis enceinte.” I sat beside him as his mouth gaped open. “I am pregnant.”

Neither of us knew how to react really. Too many emotions encircled us as we fell into each other’s arms. We smiled. We were pregnant.

It took Guillaume a couple days, maybe even weeks, for the verdict from the test to sink into his brain; for it to go from, ‘it’s a pink line’, to this means that ‘it’s positive’, to ‘Tessa is pregnant’ and finally to the fact that he was going to be a daddy. Men’s brain work that way. It’s why they are better at Maths. One plus one equals two. And a pink line plus a ‘plus sign’ equals baby. But like him, this was all still so surreal. A baby is far from a simple mathematical equation. It throws everything out of array and transforms thoughts, spaces, humours, appetites and not to mention bodies.

Our first OB trip at the Clinique Jeanne d’Arc would be the second confirming moment for us. After taking the test that night, the next day I’d hidden in a corridor at work, not wanting my office mates to overhear my conversation; I had to call my gynaecologist to inform her that I thought I was pregnant, knocked up, I had a bun in the oven, Guillaume had a little one that hit the jackpot! The assistant at the other end of the line finally understood what I was trying to say (often times when I am angry or excited my French becomes very poor) and started talking a mile a minute asking me if I had registered at a hospital, how far along was I, if I had taken a blood test, if I had a nursery in mind, health insurance, what was my blood group, etc., etc…

Stress rising in my shoes, I felt speckles of perspiration form under my shirt and sweater. “No, I haven’t done anything. I don’t know anything! I just took a test at home last night!”

“Would you like me to give you a list of hospitals near you?” She offers, hearing the distress in my voice. “You have to register at a hospital immediately if not you are going to have trouble finding somewhere to deliver.”

“WHAT?” My mind screams. I wanted to tell her, “Lady, I just took a test, I need some to time for this to sink in and you are already talking to me about delivery?” Instead I thanked her and scribbled down the 5 or ­ 6 hospitals she gave me, telling me that one had to register early in Paris and that normally I would have to choose a gynaecologist/obstetrician at the hospital where I’ll register. She ended the conversation telling me that I should go to a medical centre and do a blood test in order to confirm the pregnancy and find out how far along I was.

Legs shaking, I had walked back to my desk, gathered my things and told my colleague that I was taking an early lunch. There was a medical centre right by my work place, so I decided to go right away. On the way, I phoned Gee to tell him that we had to find a clinic or hospital right away and that I was on my way to take a blood test. He assured me that he would see what he could do. That I shouldn’t worry. Worrying, voila a new companion affiliated with being pregnant and this would the first of my many new companions.

That evening when I got home, Gee had managed to find a list of hospitals on internet (how ever did we manage before without internet?) and that night we studied hospitals and clinics on www.topdesmaternites.com (Top Maternities dot com) and found the comments and suggestions from other moms and dads quite useful. We made an appointment at two or three of them. The first one listed as number one in Paris on the site was already full for November and with a waiting list from here to Jamaica! We made an appointment at the number two.

We arrived at our appointment at the Clinique Jeanne d'Arc ,number two place to deliver in Paris according to Top Maternity, expecting to meet the OB/GYN and visit the place. To our surprise and pleasure, this would be our first gift: pregnancy also brings a lot of unexpected gifts: people offering seats on the crowded metro and bus, free smiles, pleasant and easy conversation...

We’d walked into a clean well-lit clinic with rather pleasant nurses who ushered us to sit outside Dr. Arfi’s office. I remember feeling a little strange as Gee and I sat beside 2 or 3 other awaiting women who were clearly pregnant, bellies protruding. When it was finally our turn to see the Doc - at about midday instead of 11am (this is another very present pregnant companion - waiting for an hour or more at my OB/GYN) - we were met by a jovial dishevelled haired doctor who we immediately warmed up to, (our third companion to be consulted at least once a month for 9 months). This was a relief because we thought we would actually have to meet several doctors before finding the ‘perfect’ one. Immediately, he told us that he would have to examine me as if he were my gynaecologist and at the end of the consultation, we would all decide whether we wanted to continue together. A little bit shocked, but ready to face the realities of pregnancy (I’d never been to a male gynaecologist before and this would be my third companion - lack of any shame or pride in shredding my clothes in front of complete strangers and opening myself to be examined) - I skimmed away my pride and settled a little uncomfortably onto the table. I am not sure whether it made it better or worse that Gee settled comfortably into a chair directly in front of my open legs, however I didn’t have the time to think as in one swift movement the Doc, thanks to his transducer, produced a beating dot on his monitor. And what a moment! He proudly presented to us our heart-throbbing 10mm baby.

This moment is hard to describe in words: a human-being was forming inside of me and it already had a heartbeat! This would be our first ‘real’ (scientific and visible) evidence, another confirmation that we were about to have a little one. This would be our first gift!

Of course the morning sickness, fickle emotions and appetite, slight, but present pains at the bottom of the abdomen and eventually the debut of a small bulge at my waist all fell in line. These all successively confirmed that I was with child, but how does one fully comprehend all the mechanics of creating, harbouring and delivering a baby? I have read many books, seen many pictures, held several newborns, however this all still remains surreal.

Not even the mighty kicks I receive all day long succeed in pulling me out of this dreamlike wonder of having a baby; they keep coming, accompanied by bulges here and there representing the head or the arms or the feet – yes there is a baby in there! I can feel it. Guillaume can feel it. It is confirmed, yet we remain in awe at every kick, every movement, every time we see our ultrasound images.

Disbelief and wonder remain our greatest companions.

JamRocking in Paris VI & 1/2- Reflections II

Soft thumping
Movements unseen
Felt in bubbles and swishes,
Internal murmurings and caresses.

Quick like lightening
Stretching and curling
Peaceful in this watery bliss
Internal murmurings and caresses.

Wrapped and protected
Cushioned by love
Permeating wide open palms
Reaching out and connecting,
Internal murmurings and caresses.

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.