It’s the final countdown

Departure day is nigh...Three weeks and counting.

Australia, start covering your furniture in plastic wrap, Sticky Baby is coming to town!

Papadada and I are on the edge of our seats. Even Sticky Baby’s little bum-bum is perched precariously on his high-chair. This trip will be our first trip ‘home’ together - EVER! Monumental, I know. 

The Sticky One and I travelled back to Oz in February of this year, alone, without our beloved PapaD. It was a tough decision - Work commitments meant that Papadada had to stay in France, but we knew it was important for family and friends to meet our fresh-baked offspring before his baby days were over and out. He was 5 months old at the time, bald as a badger, still not enough core strength to sit up independently. Baby factor was high.

Now? Well, he’s 11 months old, but don’t tell him that, ‘cause he thinks he’s 5. Proof, you ask? Tonight after his bath, he decided to dive off our bed, head first, as naked as Laurence Fishburrne’s daughter. It’s the baby equivalent of sky diving. Thanks to my feral-cat-like agility, I managed to grab hold of an ankle before his forehead met with the tiles. It was totally like that scene out of Mission Impossible.

Needless to say, when the folks back home see him walking through those airport doors, they won’t believe their eyes. He’s a not a baby anymore. He has hair, Converse boots, eats whole nectarines, and is obsessed with pointing at birds (airplanes, kites, satellite dishes, roof tiles - they’re all BIRDS, ok?).

This holiday trip to Australia is a landmark event for Papadada too. It’s been TWO YEARS since he last went home. That should be illegal. He misses it so much, for varying reasons. But let’s be clear. Papadada is a food junkie. He’s a big unit of a man, so he’s allowed to eat. And eat. And eat some more. When on vacation, most people makes lists of what they would like to see, do, experience. Papadada makes lists of foods he can’t wait to ingest. ‘Delicacies’ he cannot find in France.

On his to do eat list:

Red Rooster roll x 1000

Rissoles and chips

Loaf of bread + bbq chicken + coleslaw

You were fooled by the word ‘delicacy’ weren’t you?

For me, I am looking forward to so many things. Some of them may cause some serious frowning and eyebrow arching, but trust me, our petit french village is just that...petit. So places and services that you may take for granted in your fancy-schmancy big-ass, non-french town DO NOT EXIST HERE.

I cannot wait to....

✈Go to the gym a few times a week with my baby, while he enjoys the gym’s in-house creche and I burn calories like it’s nobody’s business. This body has not seen the inside of a gym since pregnancy. Why? Gyms in our town do not cater for babies, ergo, I can’t go. It’s me, myself and I 'round these parts, so if Le Gym doesn’t provide Le care for Le Baby, Le mummy must forgo group fitness classes and weight equipment until she is back in Australia. Sacre Bleu!

✈Drink a soy latte...every hour on the hour. You ask for soy milk in France? They report you. And anything other than a short black? They hold you in the cell without bail.

✈Spend an afternoon in one of the luxurious baby change facilities at the local mall. Yes, you read correctly - I want to hang out in the toilets. I’ve written a previous post on the apalling lack of baby-friendly facilities in France. So you can bet your bottom AUD$ that I’ll be spending leisure time in the baby care rooms, soaking up the sweet smell of disinfectant, twirling around in circles like Frauline Maria in The Sound of Music. 

✈Attend a ‘grown-up’ event, such as the Valentino Retrospective Exhibition that is currently touring back home. Another grown-up event I can’t wait for? My bff’s 30th birthday bash! Holla! We’re going to the polo.  For the love of Hugh Hefner’s silk pjs, THE POLO! I see sexy cocktail dresses and lots of champagne bubbles in my very near future...hic...cup.

✈Spend a weekend away, ALONE, with the hubby. Nice hotel, crisp white sheets, a bit of boom-chic-a-wow-wow (omg my family read this - abort, abort!),  room service, sleep-ins, hotel pool, wining and dining, window-shopping.....can.not.wait.

In a nutshell. The 3 of us are trés excited. We say that we are counting the days, but secretly I’m counting the hours.

504 hours to go!