The Kindness of Strangers (and Friends)

Ah, sweet relief.  Not the Mylanta kind, the "done with finals" kind (SUCK IT, Intro to the Hebrew Bible...except, you know, don't, because I'm actually uncomfortable telling anything with "bible" in the title to suck it.  That seems to be in poor taste for a seminarian).  And so with my final exams all turned in, and a day off of work all to myself, I couldn't wait to get out and about in the city, perhaps to return to the Jardin des Plantes when it wasn't in the middle of a downpour.  But, despite yesterday being achingly lovely and sunny (while I was stuck inside furiously trying to write down every example of God being merciful in the Old Testament that I could of within the span of 90 minutes, of course), today is back to....dreary.  But, dear reader, you've already suffered with me through one extended kvetch about the weather.  Fear not; I won't subject you again.

But having time to snuggle up in bed today with Sherlock Holmes and take superfluous naps has given me time to pause and do a bit of reflecting.  As a general rule, I try to avoid this (reflection, not superfluous naps- those I hoard) as it usually leads me to remember all of the things on my to-do list that haven't been done, and many frantic phone-calls to AH at work asking if he's called this person or followed up on that bit of paperwork.  Because I'm not going to lie, friends: the past month has been borderline terrifying.  As Jon is about to change jobs (he begins at a different lab, close to the old one, in June), he is awaiting a new contract.  As we haven't received a contract, we haven't been able to look for an apartment.  Now looking for an apartment in Paris is rather a fraught and complicated exercise at the best of time.  But at the moment, with nothing to show that we have an income or any legal right to be in the country, it's next to impossible.  The wee-sprog-to-be complicates things (as they tend to do) because we can't exactly settle for the first 10 m studio that pops up; realistically, we need two bedrooms.  Oh, and we are out of our current apartment at the end of the month.  So the phrase that could describe my state in the past month has been: Pregnant in a foreign country and imminently homeless.

Now, don't you fret: I wouldn't be posting about this if things were still at Level 5 Crisis Mode; I have more respect for my mother's nerves than that.  There is some light at the end of this tunnel, and it comes, Blanche DuBois style (although infinitely less creepy), from the kindness of strangers.  In a panic a few weeks back, I posted on The Message (the online forum of an organization for English-speaking mothers in Paris) about the situation that AH and I were in.  No, no magical offers for the perfect apartment came up, but something just about as miraculous did:  a woman emailed me to tell me that she, her husband and two children live in a three-story house but, as they don't really use the first floor, have been kicking around the idea of renting it out as a B&B, and would we like to come be their guinea pigs?  Hell. Yes.  We were out the next day to meet with them and see the house.  It's lovely, of course, but what made a bigger impression was just the utter kindness and generosity that these people showed us.  We mentioned that we'd be putting our things into a storage unit, and they told us that wasn't necessary, they have a whole extra room that we could store our things in while we're there (I should probably mention that they live in the suburbs- this magical giant house does not exist in Paris, because we are not staying with descendants of the Vanderbilts).  Did we need to provide any pay stubs or bank statements?  "Of course not!  You're practically family."

And that's it.  After one meeting, we've secured ourselves a home base while we hunt (hopefully not too much longer) for an appropriate place to bring our little Fellow Traveler home to.  While things are still far from settled and hunky dory (see: continued lack of permanent living arrangements, possibility of having to change hospitals 7 months into my pregnancy depending on where said living arrangement ends up being), I can feel the knot starting to unravel.

It makes me feel a bit silly, to be honest.  There were so many times in the past month or so that someone would tell me that it would all turn out all right, and I honestly did not believe them.  For the record, that's pretty unlike me; I'm usually not such a die-hard cynic.  I think it largely has to do with the fact that so far, as a mother, my job is to not eat sushi or get smashed on liquor, go to all my doctor's appointments, and make sure that baby has a safe place and lots of diapers to come home to.  And I've been failing spectacularly on that last bit.  Not good to begin motherhood in the negative column.  But AH, bless him, has kept cool as a cucumber, telling me that things will work themselves out.  Him saying so, admittedly, has not always gone well, and has led to a few late evening shriekings on my end.      But they are going to fine.  Of course they are.

And they will do so because, despite the rudeness and disinterestedness that often color encounters in city life, most people, deep down, are not a-holes.  We will get through this because, somehow, we've gotten through every challenge that's been thrown our way.  And I can tell you, it's rarely been anything that we've done that seals the deal on solving the crisis at hand.  To start at the beginning: it's not exactly like AH filled out dozens of applications, hoping for a position in Paris.  It just sort of...fell into our laps.  And we took it.  We find out we're pregnant (surprise, kind of!), and offers of help pour in from all sides from people we know and strangers that only know that I speak English and managed to get myself knocked up while living abroad.  Completely overwhelmed by the French medical system, my friend Alix offers finds me an OBGYN and gets me registered in a good hospital.  Unsure whether my doctor and nurses will speak English, my friend Erin offers to come with me to my doctors appointment in case I need a translator.  Overwhelmed by all the things we'll need to buy for little FT, our friends Alex and Helen immediately begin listing off the things that their beautiful little toddler no longer uses that we could borrow, and they also tell us all the secret cheap places to buy baby things (hello, Message Bring and Buy and our 100 euro travel system!).  And what's especially amazing is, it's not like we, pathetic wanderers that we are, are necessarily going to be in a position where we can even come close to repaying the kindness that these people have done for us, unless they want to be repaid in baby cuddles (in which case: done, and done).  They've offered their time, wisdom, and bouncy chairs simply out of the goodness of their hearts.

To be clear: it's not like AH and I have been sitting back, wringing our hands over what to do.  There has been much email haranguing of future bosses, trolling of real estate websites, and pouring over official documents.  My mother resolutely reminding me that "God helps those who help themselves" was a fixture of my childhood and adolescence, and I did, eventually, manage to take it to heart.  But help He does.  And in our case, He's managed to find some awesome people to do it through.