Sunday, June 6, 2010

A letter for my Rabbit

My gorgeous chick-pea,

The three of us are living a lovely little life here in our small village in the south of France. Most days we don’t even need to get in the car, you and I. It’s either the pram or the sling or when Dad is home he carries you on his shoulders. You love that the most.

The people who make up this little town have grown to know you quite well. It’s only been 9 months, but you’ve made your presence well known already (they also had an eye-full of me waddling around with my big belly last summer).

We go out several times a day, taking different routes depending on our mood. At the moment you are all about the fresh food markets on the village square. There, you show off how flexible you’ve become to the green-grocer lady. She loves seeing your feet up around your ears, and you love beaming back a great big smile.

The Vietnamese lady who makes the spring rolls thinks you’re the bees' knees and can’t believe how big you are! She always asks me what I feed you and if you’re really only 9 months old. She calls you beau bebe, beautiful baby. I couldn’t agree with her more.

Then there’s the lady at the dried fruit and nut stall. She’s your biggest fan. She fawns over you, and as if on cue you flash her your gorgeous two front teeth. I think it makes her day, us stopping by, saying hello and buying almonds and goji berries.

We also walk along the pedestrian shopping strip quite a bit. The crepe man on the corner makes us Nutella crepes and you eat the edges for me. It’s the best 2 Euros we spend.

Although, for 2 Euros you can also buy a token for the beach-front merry-go-round. You are their youngest customer, but they admire the strength in your legs as I pop you in the scariest ride, the Donald Duck that goes up and down, and you stand the entire time instead of sitting in the little red seat. It makes the lady behind the booth laugh every time.

The lady at the convenience store always admires your outfits. She likes you best in your onesies and I think her favourite is your green one that says ‘see you later alligator’. You do look good in green.

The middle-aged men who own the new fancy restaurant call you ‘Le petit Catalan’. That you are! Born and raised in the Catalan country, yes indeed. They think you’re exactly like your Dad, and they can’t believe the muscles you already have in your arms!

The lady who looks after the church grounds loves to show you the stained glass windows. She says you are welcome anytime, that babies like the peace and quiet that a church brings. We’ve added the church on our route now. It’s the perfect place to say a little prayer together, look at the candles flickering and admire the blue, yellow and green lights that stream through that glass.

But I think the local that knows you best is the lady that owns the wine ‘cave’ just across from our driveway. She used to admire you when you were still in my tummy. We stop by at least twice a day to say hello. She sees us coming and going from the house, before and after each outing. She notices a new tooth and how fast your hair is growing. Funnily enough, we hardly ever buy any wine, but she doesn’t seem to care about that.

It’s a lovely, warm feeling to have these people watch you grow up. It’s the next best thing to family. A constant in our lives. Some time very soon you’ll be saying Bonjour and Au revoir to all of them. They will just love that.

Tomorrow is a new day and they’ll all be there waiting to see you.


Mama xoxo


michaela said...

This makes me want to pack up and move on over to the south of France.

Mama L said...

It is pretty great for all those reasons. Big downside? No family or close friends for support and occasional (read OFTEN) babysitting duties!

LJ said...

Very sweet :)

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