Don’t worry you guys, I’m still alive


And so are S and C. We’re all fine. I just opened this WordPress app for the first time in a shamefully long time. Sorry about that. Just taking a brief hiatus.

I think lots of you know that S and C and I went to Paris for the new year. We hung out in Las Vegas for Christmas itself and had dinner with friends and their family. C made out like a bandit, presents-wise (as did Bones and I), though I suspect he may have still been annoyed that we brought the Peapod for him to sleep.

[As an aside, it’s the weirdest thing about the Peapod–when he was younger he’d just snooze away in that thing; now, not so much. I don’t know if it’s because the nylon and the mattress make noise when you move or put him down or what. We even tried putting the mattress inside the Peapod covered in a crib sheet to no avail. Or maybe it’s just that it’s not is real bed, but for whatever reason C was pissy in that bed that night and in Paris too. Le sigh.]

Our flight was at 8 p.m. on the day after Christmas. It wasn’t really a great beginning either. Suffice it to say when we arrived to the airport park-n-ride, C’s diaper bag wasn’t in the car. And the lot was almost full. And you can’t really go anywhere with a baby sans diapers, food, change of clothes, etc.–it’s a whole thing. So my friend Jaye and I waited–in the parking lot with the baby–for S to go home and get the stupid GD diaper bag.

So there was that. At one point in the airport, I thought I’d lost C’s Raggedy Andy doll (subsequently re-named chez Doutt in Paris as André), but we found him. I was literally pacing the International Terminal scowling at every child to ensure they didn’t have C’s doll. What? I was tense: long flight, baby, as yet sans wine.

Once we got on the plane, though, it was really pretty pleasant (well, as pleasant as flying coach internationally can be). We flew British Air, and I have to say, I would fly with them in a heartbeat. We were allowed to choose our seats early because we were traveling avec bébé. There was a bassinet for C, and we got the whole middle row for the three of us. It was definitely nice to have that extra seat to spread our stuff into. And C pretty much slept. As did I. Not well, but you know.

Upon arriving in London, it was this really long, fast-paced walk from one gate to another. And thank goodness we were moving quickly because the plane doors shut pretty much right after we got on. I honestly can’t remember a thing about the flight from London to Paris. Upon arriving, we collected our things and met our driver. It was kind of cool because he had a sign with my name on it–never had that before. And there was a carseat in this giant Mercedes minivan thing (safety first, after all).

I remember being very insecure about my French while talking to the driver guy. There was a traffic jam on the way into the city, and we got off the highway and drove through parts of Paris that were not so City-of-Lights-y. Seventeenth arrondissement? Yeah, not for me.

We arrived at our apartment at I don’t even know what time. Thankfully, there was a Monoprix (essentially the French version of Target). So, we secured provisions, and I was reminded how bad French grocery stores smell cause of all the crazy cheeses and meats and whatever else is behind the deli counter.

Our apartment was really nice. Small, but nice. There was a washer and dryer and stovetop and oven and bathtub (which was kind of essential with Mr. C). The wash cycle though? Took two and a half HOURS. And the dryer? Not even kidding–four hours. To dry a dang load of laundry. You might as well just hang dry it. Sheesh.

I think the thing I will remember most about that little apartment is it’s where C really mastered the art of crawling. He was pretty much just scootching around on his belly and getting up on his knees and rocking before we left, but when we came home, he was crawling with his belly off of the ground and was pulling himself onto his knees. (Now he’s pulling himself up to standing, and he’ll tentatively take a small step or two if you’re holding his hands). I can already see the cruising coming. He’s almost there.

Anyhow- that was installment one of the Joneses do Paris. Installment two deux to follow shortly. Here are some pictures to tide you over until then.





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