A Night at the Opera

Wagner, anyone?

About seventeen months after #1 was born #2 arrived. Our "new" apartment in Maison Lafitte had no elevator so, during the the last trimester I was barreling up and down four flights of stairs during July and August, the hottest months in France.* I was never a small pregnant lady. At six months people started asking me if I was close to delivery. Mercifully, #1 was already negotiating the 4 flights of stairs on his sturdy little legs. Shopping, toting our groceries, walking & climbing everywhere, was getting to be burdensome. But, #2 was in no hurry. No amount of physical activity on my part seemed to encourage my labor to begin. When he finally deigned to make his entrance he was two weeks overdue, and even then I had to be induced.

From the start #2 son announced a more deliberate pace. He moved with poise. His gaze was long and reposed. He cried magnificently with a full-bodied dramatic soprano portamento. He would stop, look slowly around the room, checking to make sure that his audience was rapt by his great aria. Satisfied or not, he would take an encore. For expert advice to new parents we had turned to an aged paperback, Dr. Benjamin Spock's The Common Sense Book of Baby and Childcare (first published in 1946!). I paraphrase, "If needs are satisfied & it's time for baby to sleep, wait at least 20 minutes before picking up a crying baby." Well, for the most part this dictum had worked pretty well. We had learned that baby usually did cry himself to sleep.  When it didn't play out that way with #2, as explained, we knew he mostly wanted an audience. His tears were quite obviously reptilian. My mother-in-law, having reared six kids, assured me that he was developing his lungs and doing his exercises. She would ask, "How else is he going to get in shape?" She also pointed that #2's crying spells were properly inuring us to future kid-noise. True to praticalité française she declared,  "There's always a good reason!" The queen had spoken.

But this was France. Apartment walls & floors are paper thin. The neighbors let you know right away when you've infringed on rules of co-habitation. Conform or begone! Hence, #2 had to be broken of this preposterous grandstanding.  We made a conscious decision with my youngest sister, our first au pair,** that the next time #2 held opera night, we would allow him to caterwaul to his heart's delight. For sure, it soon came to pass, and since we had made a decision, we followed through. We steeled ourselves & ignored him. I believe he must have kept it up for at least two hours, from about 10 to midnight. Of course, he finally gave up and went to sleep. There was nothing wrong with him. He just needed his exercise.

You can imagine that the next day the Frenchies let me have it. ---Was something wrong? How could you allow your baby to cry like that? We could not get our rest! How could you! & under their breaths, Mère indigne!*** (Qui? Moi! - Who me?) I got all kinds of dirty looks. But, go figure. Since they had been incessant in their complaints, I was glad to tell  them, "I had to let him cry. He had to learn that we were not going to pick him up. Now his grand opera will not repeat itself." There were two good things that came out. First, #2 learned his lesson & limited his performances to normal work-a-day hours. And second, I was secretly glad that my neighbors got what they asked for.

*Remember there's no air-conditioning.
** I have 2 sisters younger than me. This sister arrived in September about 6 weeks after #2's birth.
**Translation: Unworthy mother!