So, we are back from France. The trip was both wonderful and awful, as these things go. Wonderful to see family and friends, to be in Paris, eating amazing delicious food. Awful as the last 5 days were spent in an increasing haze of sickness. Awful too, to leave not knowing when we will be back. Post-toddlerhood is my guess.
Freyja was an amazing little viking on the way there and back. She coped with the Air France shuttle from Ottawa to Montreal with grace and excitement – banging on the glass and enjoying the sites. She took the airport in stride, and slept most of the way to France. I would like to think that the foundation we laid with attachment parenting helped, even just a little. Marc and I took turns walking her around the airport, where she flirted with all with smiles and dimples and the odd giggle. For the flight, she was asleep as the wheels of the plane left Canadian soil, and didn’t wake until we were entering French airspace. Thank you, breastfeeding and sleepy-booby hormones.
The time in France was less eventful than usual, as we were snowed in for most of the first week. It worked out as we were run off our feet chasing after Freyja. She decided the time was right for walking, and off she went. By the second week, I began to head downhill at an increasingly congested, feverish, achy pace. Thankfully France is the motherland of medication, and medicated I quickly was.
The trip home was less enjoyable, being sick, dealing with a wide-awake toddler who wanted to walk-Walk-WALK (now, Now, NOW!), and being accompanied by a large group of Russian tweens and their parents. It was charming until we got on the Air France shuttle from Montreal to Ottawa. First, to have our normally deserted bus packed. Second, to have our normally deserted bus packed with wound-up, shouting, laughing ten-year-old boys, shouting and laughing while we tried to get an hour of sleep. Thankfully Freyja slept through it all and didn’t have to witness the murderous intent in her parents’ eyes.
And now home. Thankfully. The next morning, I got up and humped down to the walk-in clinic, where Freyja once again proved what a trooper she is, charming to boot. The prognosis: a flu, with secondary infections in eyes, ears, sinus and throat. As my doctor put it, with a twinkle in his eyes, my warrantee has apparently expired. As my mom would’ve put it, with a twinkle in her eyes, off to the glue factory for me.
And so now, heavily medicated with a variety of antibiotics – and heavily self-medicating with as much yogurt as I can stomach – things are returning to normal. I can breath, no longer have a “man-voice” as my beloved called it, and hopefully will no longer frighten small children with my 28 Days Later-inspired eyes.
And so now, we can begin to get on with the business of 2011. All in good health, hearty and hale, I hope!