There are so many things I could tell you about pregnancy and birth in Paris. I could write for days about my experience. But being a busy mum of five, I’ll just share a few memories…
Max was the biggest of my babies. Probably because I indulged in way too many pain au chocolat (and croissants and macarons) before he was born. So much so that when I had a check-up after the Christmas break, the doctor asked, after weighing me, if I had eaten a lot over the festive season. Needless to say, I had.
I blame pregnancy (and all the delicious pastries), but apparently French women don’t let themselves put on much weight when they’re pregnant. I definitely looked a little bulky next to them.
When Max arrived (two days before his due date), he was more than 9½lbs. A fine-sized baby as we would say in Ireland, but here in France the hospital kept telling me he was a “gros bébé” (fat baby). In fairness, he did look MASSIVE next to the other tiny bundles in the hospital nursery.
The hospital didn’t speak any English, so I really had to concentrate on my French translation to get by. No mean feat when you’re in labour, but I do remember laughing when they said there was a flood after my waters broke. Not to mention the nurse who said my son had a (hairy) duvet on his little newborn back.
When Max was just about to be born, the midwife dimmed the lights in the room so it wasn’t too harsh for him after spending nine months in a dark womb. I thought this was a lovely touch and something I had never experienced in Ireland.
One of the annoying things I found over here though was how long the scan appointments took. Each one was at least 45 minutes, which is no doubt a good thing, but all that waiting around was pretty frustrating. You also have to go to a special ‘laboratoire’ for the routine blood tests, which involves even more waiting around and paper work. The French LOVE paper work.
Overall, I have mainly positive memories of pregnancy and birth over here in France. I really noticed how well pregnant women and new mums are treated when out and about – like the separate queue they have in supermarkets and museums. I remember I was in the local supermarket alone when Max was about four days old when the checkout lady told me I could go in the pregnancy queue… you can imagine my face!
Jessica O’Gara is a mother of five, wife of retired rugby player Ronan and a primary school teacher. She lives in Paris in a suburb 10km from the city centre.
Join her for more ramblings on raising a brood in France.
