Yep. It’s nowhere near Friday. Friday came and went without nary a post from yours truly, and I really wish I had a good excuse for neglecting my vocabulary duties. But I was really just busy laying around in my yoga pants (not doing anything remotely like yoga).
I have been spending as much time as possible lately behaving like a sloth bear, taking naps and eating chocolate chip cookies at every meal and generally not putting on real clothes unless absolutely necessary.
But Jen, isn’t that just a typical day in Paris for you?
Well, sometimes, yes. But what I’m saying here is that I’ve taken the lazy to new levels these days, and I’ve got my dear old dad to thank for it.
Because for almost as long as I can remember, he’s been hammering it into my head that someday I will have my own children. Children that will refuse to let me sleep or relax or get anything done, children that will cause worry and stress and unthinkable messes that need to be cleaned up. These children will need exorbitant amounts of money for things like ballet lessons and skate boarding camp, and will do their best to somehow get the police involved in every family vacation.
This is why my dad refuses to travel with us anymore. It’s also why he finds a way to work his trademark cackle and the ominous warning “PAYBACKS ARE HELL JEN! PAYBACKS ARE HELL!” into every conversation we’ve had since I was 16.
So in addition to coming to terms with the fact that an actual baby is going to come out of my hoo-hah, I am preparing to part with several things that are dear to my heart, including sleep, rest, personal time, and if my father is any example, a full head of hair.
Because according to him, I am about to embark on a lifelong journey of diaper-filled, early-morning-wake up, accidental car-crashing, underage party-throwing torture. So I am going to take these last precious few weeks to be as lazy as humanly possible, to pantoufler around the house, stocking up on sleep and sanity, and hope that le bébé takes it easy on me. Or at least has Husband’s much more obedient, much less trouble-making personality.
But as I type this, le bébé is kicking me in the ribs. Repeatedly. Which makes me think I am in deep merde already. So Big Daddy, looks like the next few years are going to be highly entertaining for you. Happy Father’s Day!
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la pantoufle (lah pahn-toof-l)
Definition: slipper. Also one of my most favorite French words of all time.
Definition: To lounge around the house all weekend in your slippers and PJs. Often occurs in tandem with:
la grasse matinée (lah grahss ma-tee-nay)
Definition: Literally, “the greasy morning.” But it refers to when you sleep late and laze around in bed. As in,
“I hope all the dads out there get to pantoufler and have a grasse matinée. God knows my dear old dad deserves it after 31 years with me.”