I may my way back to their apartment at 6.30pm, where le bébé (Little J) was waiting, having been picked up from his elderly carer, the lovely 83 year old aunt. I knew from my phone calls that he was a chatterbox and didn’t stay still for a moment, ‘dynamic’ was the word his mother used.
He’s gorgeous. Blonde hair, chubby chubby cheeks, a wonderful gurgling laugh and best of all, he didn’t break into tears upon seeing me. So far, so good. I got eased into the routine, shown how to bathe and feed him. Bathtime was interesting, with Little J losing his balance (he loves, loves, LOVES to stand up in the bath and peer over the edge at whatever he’s tossed out) and getting head-dunked under the water. Mrs didn’t freak out, which I thought was a good sign. Then again, the French have a different attitude to water than Melbournians…
I was under firm instructions to be back at their apartment at 8am sharp in time to catch our flight to Montpellier in the south, ready to meet Miss Seven (E) and the grandparents at their house.
I wandered back home after dinner, enjoying the mild night and the feeling of finally walking down the street and through the blue door that I’d obsessed over on google maps for months.
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