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My spelling blunders ... It

Obviously I ' have few readers, I am very happy and suddenly I have a bit of pressure. Thank you for your very first comments nicer to each other. I'll have to make efforts in style, to better satisfy you. There is work ... But the immediate priority must I chase the spelling errors.


I will sift through all my notes and track them continuously. Sorry for those that I offend with my spelling blunders. To avoid the shells burst, I spend more time getting to read before my tickets online. I would, in future, save me a few extra shame.

A big thank you to Rachel, who had the friendship, patience and kindness to point out my mistakes in my last post, in a good teacher she is. Rachel, do not bother you especially!

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something happened ...

I felt Dad when I thought it was a good time to start a family. It came like that, without warning. A sudden, overwhelming. Wanting a child is already, somewhere, be a dad.

And then there's the first big shock. Two small blue bars appear in the window of a test set on the corner of a table for two minutes. The test is positive. It brings great joy, coupled with a huge slap. Now I can not go back. The process has started, any account that is more down. I'm daddy daddy ... I am ... I can not believe it. From that moment, I'm Dad.

More than eight months to prepare, six, five ... I'm the father of a boy. First electronic images of my son, stolen during an ultrasound. A face, hands, feet. It is there, right there, so near and yet so far. I feel ashamed of my eyes watching this black and white monitor in the examination room. I'm speechless. I felt father to tears of joy. I already fear for him, afraid that a small grain of sand does not come to ruin.

More than a month wait. Flow rate in the evenings kicking baby, a hiccup, a few contractions. I approach this swollen belly, stretched. I ask one ear ... nothing. I talk to him. Maybe he hears me? I'm a daddy, that's undeniable.

must go, it's time. The pain is too intense. We are afraid now. I'm scared, I hide. I have to reassure her. I repeated this point in my head hundreds of times. We must go. What will it happen now? It must come out, it will hurt, there will be blood. Everything must go it can not be otherwise. I fear for my wife, I'm afraid for my baby. I fear for my baby ... I am a dad.

ago almost twelve hours we're here. Mother Nature is in control, tyrannical. A working room, then another one where my wife will give life. Machinery, piping, alarms, green smocks. Waiting ... waiting Curious. In a moment we'll be three. Three of us.

Here and there other birth mothers. We hear it all! Screams, groans, loud voices. A crying baby, then another. In these places, life is his work. Each of these babies first cry of foreigners missing to make me cry ... I prances. I'll be a dad, I'll be a dad ... oh my ... What is happening to me?

is ours. Women in green smocks busy. This small and must leave it eradicates the belly of my wife. It's long, it's violent, it does not say it enough. My wife is fighting, is a smile and returned to combat. She wins.

It's just there. The top of his head, then his whole head, shoulder .... my son is there, between two worlds, and that the expulsion ..... I'm Dad, look! Look! It is here! He looks! He .... My eyes are full of water and runny nose. I stifle a sob as I can. I'm a daddy ..... and already I am pleased. "Look sir, as your beautiful little boy."

Watch ... I do it, I can not take off my eyes of that little. I turn my head to Mom, we exchange a glance, a smile. The green coats are still working, it's not quite finished for Mom. The delivery room is a battlefield, everything is upside down. There is blood, but I do not see much, if not my family, I can say it now, my family. I'm Dad.

I'm a daddy ...? Not quite. Something is missing. It's a secret, a secret dad. A discovery that no book speaks. It will be something going on ... it's not over, and it has not yet begun. It will be something going on ... and at this moment, I am father.

The silence in the delivery room. The gowns are green parts, the machines are down. We are three. The three of us, alone at last, we whisper, as stunned by what just happened. Tender words ... kisses. We contemplate. It will happen ... something

My son is stunned as we are, it seems stunned. Eyes wide open, quiet, he is watching us. Who says baby can not see anything? We fixed her eyes, stares at us. Eye to eye. It will happen ... something

I bend gently toward the little man. Close enough ... He watches me. Now his eyes and mine are connected. Time stops.

Through our eyes, we talk, it's hard to describe. I know he knows. He knows I am a part of him and a part of me. I feel he knows. It just happened something ... He just told me "I know you're my father, I'm staring into his eyes for you serve it." Magic moment, seize the fly. It's a secret, a secret dad ...

It Something happened ... I'm your daddy, now.

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origins.

N ll carry within us our roots, our origins and our flesh falls into the history of our parents, our grandparents, our alumni. The echo of the deep wounds of the past still resonates in our daily lives. These injuries across generations and permeate.

How has permeated my body aches past? How was it accommodated to the violent and traumatic story of two families uprooted, my father and my mother? I who had a childhood so happy, so smiling.

There is in me a kind of constant stress, anxiety, that I will be exalted over time with age. It is a character that I share with my sisters, my mother, my father, my uncles. A family brand. Insomniacs are not lacking among us. And I am a worthy representative. There is also a continuing desire to give a good impression, to be accepted to do his best to run out sometimes.

We are too often anxiety eager, almost anxious. Circulates in us a kind of energy channeling ever, that must be mastered. Although we controlled the energy boosts, allows us to surpass ourselves. If it overwhelms us, when fatigue wins, that events are linked, it becomes poison.

I always wondered about this family-anxious, putting it on the back of heredity. There may be genes for anxiety, stress ... who knows?

And then the chance of life and through my profession, I had to deal with complex family histories, those children in care, in which we repérions deficiencies educational, emotional, cultural and generational. j''en will draw a lesson personal. The echo of important past hurts, secrets of families, act as an acid on the present generations. All unconsciously.

I I finally finished by turning to my own family history. In all families there are tearing past, secrets ... in mine too of course. And like a puzzle slowly j'imbriquais various parts of the story and then I realized where we wanted, at least in part, that character anxious, stressed and this desire to be accepted, this desire do well.

On my mother's family is a murky period of History of France, which comes into play. that of decolonization, the war Algeria. My grandparents lived happily in Oran. Photo albums testify. Memories of a life near the sea, a close family, a neighborhood, neighbors become friends. Life what. English origin, they were born in Algeria, but their parents were born near Valencia. Algeria was their homeland.

Then came the "events", the word "war" was seldom uttered in conversations. It spoke well "Events". At the age of 7 or 8 years old, my mother goes to school in a plaid Oran by soldiers, and sometimes has to hide, like his comrades, under the tables in her class, because there are gunshots or an alert.

At twelve years old my mother left Algeria in disaster, number plate around the neck, by air, with her grandmother. Destination Marseille and the Isere. It is 1962. My grandparents will follow a month later, leaving work, home, memories, friends, neighbors. What a small world scattered in a haphazard way. Is not come into city with two suitcases and nothing else. Ago my grandmother broke everything in it to leave nothing. Years later they will live in the south of France.

Uprooting is total, violent and ultimately rather unexpected. My grandparents never recover permanently from this exodus. The wound remains wide open and see the total lack poisonous until they die. My grandmother, in this departure, lost to reason, condemned then begin therapy all his life.

the side of my paternal family history is instructive. Almost romantic. And one could make a soap for the summer! In early 1950, in a small village in Castilla la Mancha, home of my paternal grandparents quixotic have every reason to be happy. They were married recently, and come from a wealthy family of farmers. They live in a big house in the middle of olive groves. Olive oil is wealth of these families and conservative Franco. My grandmother has a household staff and even a nurse. We are yet in a miserable Spain.

Then when a tragedy occurs, a tragedy, still treated today by my father, my uncles, as a absolute taboo. My grandfather, for some reason I can not know with precision, as the secret is heavy, has committed a homicide. It seems he fought with a man who tried to somehow the scam and during the fight, my grandfather would have killed the man by striking him on the head with a rock. It would have smashed his skull. This version is the one you gave me lip service.

begins a incredible mare. Father of two boys at a young age, my grandfather finds himself evading police and justice. In the run he gave up his wife and children. He fled to the French border and succeeds. He was then arrested by the French gendarmes who left him the choice between being delivered the English Guardia Civil and enlist in the Foreign Legion to go to war in Indochina. Between prison and he will choose the Indochina war, humidity, malaria. Suffering from terrible attacks of malaria, my grandfather returned to France shortly before Dien Bien Phu . At that time, He could not see his family for over three years.

My grandmother, wife of the fugitive, had to forfeit his passport. She could not leave Spain and join husband are in France. She had to use cunning. It's romantic episode. She used the passport of her younger sister, died at age 20 of heart disease to leave the country. She looked like two drops of water. She succeeded in this ruse to get through the cracks ... And the family was reunited in the south of France almost five years after being separated.

Again what violence, what torments, what dark secret .... How could it not be any sequels?

Thus, gleaning here and there a few souvenirs to bring out into some secrets of families, not least, I reported on the tumultuous past of my "clan." What we leave to our children, our grandchildren?

I was born in a town in southern France by accident, at the option of the desperate flight of a family and the painful exodus of another ... The trace of these events, invisible, is still etched into my flesh and echoes certainly an echo of the past. In any case what I believe.

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Nighter ... The

Or almost ... Pile of bottles in the evening, crying, wailing and crying again. The Little Prince, just one month and claimed it's not yet time. A twist your eardrums. The neighbors must be served through us. A little resistance then bibi So, there it tonight to calm him down. It's hot.

brief respite at midnight. The house sleeps, I want to hang out in the corridors of the net, his head under the fan. I go to bed. I do not sleep right away.

The night will be tasty. Waking up at 1:00 in the fanfare of sirens angel. Nature does things well. Crying baby are designed to wake up and put parents on edge, really tortured by their little one without waking up the big brothers, whatever their intensity.

hunger tormented him as if he had not had to eat for days! Again it's not yet time. Whatever. Do not pinaillons. Serve this little ogre.

distribution of milk from the living room couch, watching TV snug, not to sleep or pick up a lumbago. I'm bibi in Band "night." Madame is responsible for the installment "very early morning," at 5:00 am. This is our little arrangement quite honest. I like the slice "night" is one where we went back to bed after a bottle! Important that ...

Tele therefore, keeps me awake during the bibi properly, provided you do not be too hard on programs. Between midnight and two o'clock, then the series of reports on TF1, France 5 on the trip, the Second World War on Arte (endless war in this channel), reruns on various channels of DTT without forgetting the two pitiful " nanars "erotic series of Z-80s. After 3:00 it's indigence Television's most complete. Hunt small game on TF1, with techniques lookout. It's hypnotic. On TNT, AB production is taking power. Helen and the boys version and version Fac holidays, neighbors, Muscled ...... finally it all what.

Ending a bibi took too greedily. First small roast, a few minutes of patience to start digestion and return to the cradle.

The Merchant of sand is not ironed, the traitor, after a roast a spin, so a new shower and a bed set to change completely. Mom is on deck to go. Bravo.

course worthy of a hiccup record book shows up. I think back to Murphy's Law, buttered toast his ... Hiccups Baby is the gadfly, the troublemaker redormir in peace.

we go again, It quickly two hours, indulge with a little help for the return of sleep. Do not do it? Happened to three little ogre, believe me, we rock!

Almost three in the morning. I he changes his diapers, I borders. He sleeps ... I go back to bed. Around 6:00

I awake I know .... for a new bottle, that Mrs. So my wife will. Wait your turn!

For now I am off, so it goes, but some time it will be difficult with the recovery. Fortunately it's not every night like this.