Part 15 - L'enfant Chef
Seven weeks down. Our move across town is, more or less, complete. Including some new furniture, with more on the way.
Week eight has already flown by, chock full of meetings and appointments. Anesthesiologist and midwife at the hospital one day, OB at their clinic on the next, immigration office on the next. It’s a sort of never ending Kafka-esque cycle. Until it ends.
But, who am I kidding, then there will be immigration appointments for baby, and passport renewals. And appointments. Let’s all hope that the nuisance of appointments is the hardest thing Addie and I will have to manage over the next few months!
A few notable events from the second half of last week before they pass away into the ether.
- We found a creche for baby, starting roughly when they turn three months old. A creche is basically a daycare. They deploy the montessori learning method with the kiddos and focus on building them into satisfied and confident beings imbued with autonomie. They aspire for the babies to all be sage.
Bringing up Bebe is a great memoir that focuses on the differences in child-rearing between Paris and common practices back home. We aren’t in Paris, but the culture of this particular facility felt familiar to us with nothing to draw on but the book.
One of those differences is cost. We went with a half-time offering, for now, which will run us about half the cost of the same offering back home. Upon telling some friends and family about this we were hit with sudden push-back. We thought his whole job over there was to provide child- and home-care?
Well, things change.
We’re most excited about baby having the opportunity to learn from other babies and to have a baked-in community of parents to rub shoulders with. On our tour of the baby room, there were two different kiddos snoozing right there in the room as others played. And if that’s not working, it’s adjoined by a quiet nap room we were assured would be supervised.
We entered the creche as a recon exercise. Over the course of the tour we became paying customers. Woof.
- Since her maternity leave started a couple weeks ago, Addie has walked over 10000 steps each day. We started last weekend with her introduction to a path about a mile from our apartment.
It’s wide for a path, narrow for a road, and is blocked to vehicle traffic permanently. Heading out, there’s a river down on the right with a wooded hill beyond. To the left, another steep wooded hill ascends. The trail goes for about four miles to a small township, reminding Addie in some ways of the boardwalk in her hometown. Blacktop instead of lumber. Trees instead of sea. Much less crowded.
- After a long walk, there’s only one thing to do: eat. I was craving tacos and Addie went to work searching. She found a spot (just a 10 minute walk from our apartment).
When we arrived, Addie pushed open the door to the taqueria. A literal hole in the wall. The door bumped someone inside. Addie apologized and pulled the door closed. As we turned to look for another entrance, the waitress opened the door and ushered us in.
There are 22 seats inside with scarcely enough room to move between the tables. The food menu consists of eight items: two appetizers, five tacos, one dessert.
“One of everything, and a margarita, si’l vous plait.”
There’s a first time for everything.
- We’re running out of time before baby arrives, turning our family triangle into a family square (and changing virtually everything else about what we do, when we do it,and why it matters). To take advantage of our freedom, we went on a train and bus ride to explore a small village.
It was a cold, gray, dreary day. Perfect for chili con carne, garlic toast, and a rooibois tea topped with cream. The town consists of one main road snaking through a narrow valley. A few art exhibits found permanent homes there after rotating through the world’s best museums in the 1950’s and -60’s.
As we were walking, we stumbled upon a World War II memorial marked by a restored US tank. There were photos of the village completely bombed out. And placards describing the village’s role in the closing months of the war. The pain and suffering leaked into the years afterwards, when live artillery would either be triggered or spontaneously explode killing and maiming locals already in the midst of total loss.
I wept. Men and women continue to make tremendous sacrifices to protect our rights as citizens, at home and abroad. And we’re here, far from the bosom of that support. But within that circle of support, there are still riots and violence. There are school shootings. It’s a wild world we’re living in and this tank representing men who traveled across an ocean and sacrificed themselves was a poignant reminder that we only have so much power to choose where we end up or what we’ll be doing.
Today marks the completion of our eighth week here. Time flies, and stands still.
Some moments overflow with hope and excitement. Some with anxiety and despair. All with resolve.
I’m here to become a better man, a better husband and father, a better son and brother. Sacrifices have to be made in the pursuit of greatness. So we’re here, putting in the work to forge a family. And having some fun along the way.