French Twist Read online

  Keeping in mind that the French inventory list is rather modest in size, take a look at what is typically recommended for the American mother to stockpile. If you have already lived through this particular brand of torture, I apologize for the recurrence of any post-traumatic stress. All right, if you aren’t sitting already, you may want to. Grab a sandwich. Fluff a pillow under yourself. Get comfy. Here goes:

  Breast pump

  Breast-milk storage bags

  3 receiving blankets of ample size

  Car seat

  Extra car-seat bases if you have more than one car

  Stroller that can push around car seat

  Newborn sleep station: Moses basket or Co-Sleeper

  Pack ’N Play with the bassinet insert

  Pack ’N Play sheets, differently sized than crib sheets

  Sling

  Front carrier

  Swing

  Bouncy seat

  Infant bathtub

  Diaper bag

  Nursing pillow

  Boppy

  Baby monitor

  Crib

  Crib mattress, sold separately

  Crib sheets, 3 sets

  Crib bumpers

  Mobile for crib

  Mobile for above the changing table

  Extra changing pad

  Changing-pad covers

  2 fluffy bath towels

  Sun shades for car windows

  Bottle drying rack

  Receptacle for bottle pieces

  Glider/rocker

  Changing table and dresser

  Newborn clothing:

  2–4 infant gowns

  4–8 bodysuits or Onesies

  4–8 undershirts

  4–8 one-piece pajamas

  2 blanket sleepers

  1–3 sweaters or jackets

  1–3 rompers or other dress-up outfits

  4–7 pairs of socks or booties

  4–6 hats

  Mittens

  Bunting bag or fleece suit

  Toys

  Nail clippers

  Digital thermometer

  Washcloths

  Burp cloths

  Medicines: Baby Tylenol, Baby Orajel, Mylicon, gripe water

  Baby shampoo and body wash

  Diaper-rash ointment

  Purell

  Pacifiers with clips/leashes

  Large maxi pads

  Disposable breast pads

  Nipple cream

  Newborn diapers, just one pack in case your baby is huge and outgrows ’em right away!

  Size 1 diapers, a case

  Diaper pail

  Diaper-pail liners

  Diaper service

  Diaper wipes with refills

  Diaper-wipes warmer (argh!)

  Formula

  Formula dispenser

  Bottle brush

  Bottles, 2 sizes (4 oz. and 8 oz.)

  High chair or booster/feeding chair

  Booster seat for car

  Sturdy stroller for when baby can sit up

  Feeding bowls, spoons

  Bibs

  Activity table

  ExerSaucer

  Hallway jumper

  I swear to you that this isn’t just a list of all of the baby paraphernalia I could think of. I did not want to rely solely on (the faulty) memories of my own pregnancies, so I checked in with a number of folks around the country in the middle of the pre-baby “gathering” period. This is a distillation of what’s happening on today’s baby-registry circuit. I collapsed toys and left out a few of the more ridiculous entries—homeopathic teething tablets, cleaning service, night nurse—because I do have some pride in my people, but you get the idea. We are obsessed! I am not saying less is more, because it’s not—it is less. I am saying that less could very well be a good thing.

  Unless you have a boatload of time on your hands, you might want to avoid an Internet search of the words “baby registry.” It will yield not only countless sites devoted to instructing hapless new moms and dads on exactly what they should list but also a slew of posts from unnerved registrants, completely stressed out by the process, as they are not sure of the best bottle, crib-sheet fabric, organic formula, or highly stimulating mobile to sign up for. It is utterly overwhelming and largely unnecessary. As if carrying the baby around in utero is not enough, we pile on the added worry that we aren’t going to get the (many, many, oh, so many) supplies right. It is a nice idea to shower new parents with necessities for an expanding family, but in the process we have created a climate of apprehension, bordering on panic.

  Valerie, a mom friend from Brittany, pointed out to me how much expecting moms count on the French government to make their baby-carrying time not just bearable but even almost pleasurable (again, some American moms may like being preggers—not me). She told me that it is “really important to consider how people are cared for in general by the government here. The state gives all pregnant women a subsidy of one hundred fifty euros [about two hundred dollars] a month starting at the fourth month of pregnancy if she visits her doctor (absolutely free through childbirth, including a hospital stay for up to a week) once a month during the pregnancy. This subsidy continues until the child turns eighteen if the mother has more than one child. This is true for all women, no matter their income. Women also have sixteen full weeks of paid maternity leave by law for the first child and more for successive children. I have two children, fourteen and seventeen, and I still receive monthly ‘family benefits.’ So, in the end, perhaps baby showers would be superfluous.”

  Touché.

  In 2008, when Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie relocated to the breathtaking Château Miraval in the south of France, they became eligible for these kinds of benefits, available to any family no matter how much they are worth. The website bittenandbound.com broke it down:

  Although it is unlikely Brad and Angelina will cash in, they are technically eligible for a “nanny payment” of $975.84 a month to help with childcare, and an “orphan allowance” of $508.97 for each of their three adopted children. The $2,592.81 total would be payable by check each month.

  As if having Brad Pitt and a château weren’t enough, A.J. gets a nanny payment! Consider me green.

  Amid the atmosphere of angst here in the United States, it is also no wonder that we Americans tend to approach the baby’s arrival with overblown trepidation.

  Here I’ll admit that I was utterly terrified. The frequent peeing in my pants was due not only to the extra weight on my bladder but to everything I imagined might go wrong. What if we forget to bring our birth plan? What if they give me drugs? What if they don’t give me drugs? Should I go for the water birth? But if I do, what if the baby drowns? The worries never ended. And then there was the constant mental torment about what would happen after the baby was born. This is what scores of expecting mothers and I do with our energy.

  This massive anxiety, so common, has led many American mothers-to-be to draft “instructions” on how they would like their families and friends to behave in the early days after a baby’s birth. I came across one blog post that was so overwrought and jumpy—including everything from the use of antibacterial to what kind of comments directed at baby and mother were acceptable—that my own knuckles were white after reading it. This poor first-time mom was already severely chafed, weeks before her child was due—and I don’t mean the kind of thing that any Lansinoh nipple cream can soothe (although I am betting she had a few tubes—it’s a popular registry item). By worrying about everything from germs to breast exposure to the fact that her baby might be funny-looking to her future emotionally fragile state, she had done a bang-up job of taking the fun out of things. Let me lean on my pal Pernoud one more time here, because in J’attends un enfant she advises her minions of French moms not to talk about giving birth with any friends who have gone through it and to save such conversations for the doctor. Although I am not in total agreement, we could tone it down a little. Sometimes I worry that my mom friends and I do
little more than scare one another. For instance, at one point I was utterly petrified that Oona was going to have inferior peripheral vision because she would not tolerate “tummy time” as an infant. I had latched on to something a friend told me she’d read and then successfully turned myself into a nervous wreck. It wasn’t until I thought to consult Dr. Cohen that I calmed down. Incidentally, Dr. Cohen points out that it is normal for babies to reject being placed on their bellies, as, to ward off SIDS, they are always on their backs. He very calmly advises, “Since there is no need to strengthen any specific muscle group, I advise you not to act as Lucy’s [any female baby in Cohen-speak] personal trainer. Skip the tummy time, and tickle her tummy so she’ll exercise her giggling muscles instead.” Ah—so much better than being terrified to the point of insomnia.

  Speaking of horror movies, consider the $250 million industry born from the cord-blood controversy. Do not avert your eyes! The instant I went public with my pregnancy, I began to receive all kinds of brochures and emails about saving my newborn’s cord blood. Every time I turned around, I was bombarded with information, and pressure, from the cord-blood banking companies. The marketing campaigns are not subtle, suggesting that if parents do not choose to retrieve their newborn’s cord blood and store it at these facilities for years to come, they just might be dooming one of their children who just might develop a crappy disease in the future that just might be treatable with the stockpiled cord blood. There is so much fear and guilt involved with these advertisements, it’s impossible to escape them without completely freaking out. I should know—I didn’t. I was not in a financial position to sign up for the service, but I felt like a terrible mother crossed with an ogre (a mogre?) at the thought of not freezing my innocent little baby’s umbilical blood. Additionally, every time I saw one of those cord-blood flyers I was newly petrified by the thought of all those awful diseases that might attack my child. Leukemia, polio, gout, hemorrhoids, clubfoot, Chicago Cubs fandom: You name it and I was in fear. Yet, in the end, we didn’t go for it. When my pregnant friends came to me in hysteria over their own cord-blood-banking decisions, I didn’t know what to tell them—that is, until I discovered that private cord-blood banking is illegal in France for anyone not at risk, and pregnant French women are never terrorized over the matter.

  For one thing, the French see cord blood as a national resource, and so parents are encouraged to donate their baby’s cord blood to a public bank at birth (we have them here too, by the way). But it’s not really clear how effective the stored blood and cells can be for treating the child later in life. In fact, in many instances of disease, a child’s own cells are the last ones that should be used for treatment.

  Had I a keener eye on the French when I was pregnant, I would have been much more serene about the whole thing. Those Frenchies are all about keeping it simple. I wish I could go back in time with more of the French approach in mind. I imagine enjoying Gruyère more (Pernoud especially recommends this delightful cheese for pregnant women) and needing a push-up bra less.

  Chapter Three

  Vous Êtes le Chef or On Becoming the Chief

  I can guess what you’re wondering: If the French are so relaxed, why are their children so obedient?

  While French children in Brooklyn are well behaved, the French kids in their native land politely run circles around them. On my most recent trip to Paris, I was, once again, shocked to find that I had to specifically look for them (to study them!), because most of these little citizens are truly seen and not heard. I traveled amazed on a silent metro car after realizing that there were many children on board. They were just sitting there, not fidgeting or demanding toys and snacks. Just sitting. The same goes for the museums: The few times I encountered a tantrum, it was invariably coming from a pint-sized tourist, not a French child. I thought for sure I’d get some action in the supermarkets—I mean, what kind of kid can resist the temptation of shelves of treats? Apparently, French kids. And their decorum in restaurants? An army of petit, curious Julia Childs. It’s almost enough to make you stab their happily unbothered parents in the throat with a steak knife. Almost.

  So how do they do it? How do French parents manage to keep their children so well behaved?

  The answer is a bit complicated, but parental attitudes on child psychology play a large role. For instance, the fact that multiple French parents have told me that the terrible twos do not exist in their country makes me wonder if it is such an enormous deal here because we American parents consider this stage in development a fait accompli.

  Yes, you read that right: NO SUCH THING AS THE TERRIBLE TWOS! When I first heard this, I thought my French informant was, well, uninformed. But then I heard it over and over. I even had to explain the concept to a few of my French contacts. One, my friend Paul, was mystified when I translated the meaning. “Really? You have this with your children? I have never heard of this condition.” It should be noted that Paul said this while he was baking a fresh peach tatin with my children.

  Before I gave birth, I was well versed on this phase, because practically every book I read warned of its inevitability, some going so far as to explain this “developmental stage” in scientific terms. Even my own father-in-law (a psychiatrist admittedly obsessed with brain function) had me deeply perturbed when he described the “chemical brainwash” that would take place when my sweet unborn baby entered her third year of life and her brain experienced a growth spurt leading to hormonal chaos as nerve connections fired inside her forming brain. I can’t say that I ever really understood what anyone was talking about; the only thing that sank in was that I should be afraid, very afraid.

  So, on cue, when Daphne and Oona developed into two-year-old lunatics, I chalked it up to those unavoidable terrible twos. How could I fight with nature? We just had to endure—at least that’s what I believed. In hindsight, this left the turbid threes and frightful fours totally unexplained.

  But back to the “complicated” answer. There is the reality that the French still rely heavily on extended family in the raising of their kids. In fact, throughout my investigation, I found that new French parents are much more likely to turn to their own parents and grandparents than to books or websites for child-care advice, as we do here, and this has everything to do with the fact that their extended families often live nearby and play a significant role in bringing up les enfants. Even waaay out in the countryside, the French are less nomadic than we itinerant Americans. A friend of a friend, Simon, lives in the Vosges mountain range on the northeastern tip of France. That is to say bumf*** nowhere. Although he is an Englishman, he has been living in France for decades and has a daughter with a French woman. Simon noted that the people in his village don’t tend to move very far from their families. “I’ve had the same postman for eight years,” he marvels. He also mentioned that he can’t remember the last time he saw a child throw a tantrum, “excluding my trips home to England, that is.” This will never cease to amaze me.

  America is the land of independence and entrepreneurs—we stray from the coop in significant ways, be it for jobs, love, or dreams. When we land, we are often completely removed from where we started (just look at me, a California girl who has clocked nearly fifteen years in New York City). One of the reasons mothers’ groups and mommy blogs are so popular in this country is that we use them to fill the void of familial support. These Web havens haven’t captured the imaginations of French parents in the same way. The results of these different approaches are fascinating to behold. I remember urging my sister (who lives three thousand miles away) to cut the cord with the group she began attending after the birth of her first son because it seemed as though the aftermath of every meeting involved her calling me with a new set of concerns about her baby. Rather than bringing support, this particular gathering became a breeding ground for worry. I know that not all such groups have this effect, but it’s certainly more prevalent than in France. My own husband tried to elicit a pledge from me to stop with the blogs, be
cause he noted a similar pattern. I think it was when, after about two hours online, I’d awoken him in a panic, utterly convinced that one of our kids had colon cancer. It turned out to be a severe case of pinworms, by the way. When the French need a solution to a particular problem, they tend to consult one source, not fifteen different friends or chat-room chums. This has the effect of cutting down on anxiety—and does wonders for just about every aspect of parenting. Unfortunately, it’s something we Americans are far from mastering.

  When I tried going to a typical French source for solutions to specific behavioral transgressions, however, something was often lost in translation:

  Me: So what do you do when your child is having a fit in the grocery store?

  Veronique (French mom): What do you mean? Is my child hurt? Why is he having a fit?

  Me: I don’t know. Any reason. You won’t get him the cereal he wants, or he wants to push the cart or something.

  Veronique: Hmmm. I don’t think I understand. Did he hurt himself with the cart and he is crying?

  Me: No, he’s just crying because he didn’t get his way.

  Veronique: In the grocery store? Non. He would not do that. The French do not really like that.

  The French don’t like that? I don’t like that!