Me...according to Marguerite (I love the devilish smile on the baby inside my belly).

Well-nigh.

Much reading throughout my pregnancy had yet to prepare me for what was to come at the end: the entity in my belly who would be poking, crowding, jabbing, hiccuping and shaking me from within. I don't think there has been enough of a general avowal of how feral this feeling actually is. Early on, it started as flutters, like anxiety - then evolved into internal tremors. Now this child is literally having hissy fits inside me. I have wondered if epilepsy can begin in-utero or if she is possibly just demonstrating her agitation at being so squished (can you imagine the intense claustrophobia?), or perhaps her utter joy knowing who her mother is - intimately. Either way, she is highly active (a good Johnson). She is billed to arrive around March 10, so anytime now. I have the green flag for the birthing center (I have now entered the magical window of time: 37 weeks through 40 weeks, 6 days - where I'm permitted to deliver there fancy free) and, fingers crossed, all will go as planned. On verra.

More balloons...

of a different variety for another day and another fête (merci Stephen)...and more peau d'âne.



And a fully pregnant me with Marie's red tea kettle painting on display. Love that one.

Bon anniversaire, Xavier.

DSK II: La classe.

Amazing quotation from DSK's lawyer (surprise, surprise: DSK is being held in France for questioning regarding a prostitution ring).

« Dans ces soirées, on n’est pas forcément habillé et je vous défie de distinguer une prostituée nue d’une femme du monde nue. »

“He could easily not have known, because as you can imagine, at these kinds of parties you’re not always dressed, and I challenge you to distinguish a naked prostitute from any other naked woman,” Henri Leclerc (French radio station, Europe 1, in December).

La classe.

Making New York plans.

She's arrived!

Back to NYC from Paris. Mademoiselle Marguerite. The little fetus definitely was happy to hear her older sister. At dinner, Marguerite gave us a long concert of the many French songs she has soaked up at school. I think music or performance may be in the cards for this one - she is amazing (proof to come). Meanwhile, little sister fetus was squiggling and joggling all around. She loved the sound of that voice.

Best quote from the day: "A mon école dans la classe, je ne sais pas pourquoi, mais tout le monde se colle à moi." (I don't know why, but in my class at school everyone wants to be near me).  

Casement.

36 weeks.

Shot by Christopher Melton.

Sharlie Sheen et Reeshar Jare.

I came home last night and asked Xavier what he was doing. His response...hilarious, because it included two names: Sharlie Sheen et Reeshar Jare. Incomprehensible. I asked him to repeat it for me so that I could document such great pronunciation. (Please note: if Xavier had chosen to speak English rather than French, there would be no post to write because of course he pronounces these names beautifully in English - it is just the French version that cracks me up).

"I am watching an American film - the FBI and the CIA and all of that - with Charlie Sheen and Richard Gere."

There is a French song, La vie ne vaut rien by Alain Souchon, with the line:
"Voir le vieux sergent pépère mais ce n'est que Richard Gere" (See the old sargeant grandpa, but it is only Richard Gere).

Alain Souchon pronounces this name like Xavier did, "Reeshar Jare." When I first heard the song, I really liked the lyrics and song, but could not figure out what that word he was saying was - turned out that it was only Richard Gere.

Tuneful.

A musical sensation at our house...Xavier decided to acquire all sorts of small instruments to accompany the piano. The musical parties/sing-alongs will be coming on thick and fast (so be prepared if you are a potential invitee). He trolls ebay for vintage tambourines, kazoos, harmonicas, triangles, symbols, etc. They come in the mail and then I go downstairs and find him fraternizing with the player piano, which is enthusiastically carousing as if it were in actually in a tavern and not a townhouse in Harlem.