Je me détends, tu te détends, elle se détend …

August 14, 2009

Frankly poor day at work, made worse by having to wear a suit instead of jeans, a belt instead of braces, and a shirt that smelled like it had sat in the machine too long (because it had.)

All made all right by getting home just in time to see Piaf. Her mum was mid-story; I grabbed another, in French obviously, from the living room and hurried to take on the baton. My Piaf cuddled into me. She had had a bath, but her hair still felt sweaty from playing. She was in her nightwear; a stripy vest and spotty trousers. She looked adorable.

I would love to say that she fell asleep in my arms as I read the last page. Instead, we went through the whole junior OCD routine – red wooden dinosaur on a spring; red wooden dinosaur on a spring; spin the flower; recite the names, top to bottom and left to right, of the wholesome food items surrounding Bumba on the poster; recite the names of the sugary food items on the other poster as she points to them randomly and peremptorily (“ce sont des beignets; c’est un esquimau; cela aussi, c’est un esquimau; c’est une glace; de la pastèque; encore un esquimau …”); kiss her darling head, put her in her cot, whisper “bonne nuit,” “je t’aime” and “à plus, ma puce”; close the door, go downstairs, wait for the cry over the monitor, come back up and repeat until, all at once, the crying stops and she’s asleep.



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