French pregnancy diary part 6

Nine months in Normandy

Sue and Nicholas struggle through antenatal classes in French and rediscover the joys of home, with curry, telly and an army of invading Brits ...

On the home strait: weeks 28-32

• "What's the French for cervix?"
• Mad dogs and Englishmen
• Couch pomme de terre

This month heralded the start of our French ante-natal classes, which we both embraced with excitement since it marked another milestone in the pregnancy, and has made everything feel so much more real. Having said that, I've recently read The Fat Ladies Club, (an excellent book which charts the pregnancy, birth and early motherhood experiences of five women who meet at an antenatal group), so I was a bit sceptical about how much I'd get out of them. As it turns out, 90-120 minutes of intense, technical French can be a bit exhausting, and, like the ladies of The Fat Ladies Club, I'm really not sure I'm learning anything new.

Our class is a small one, with just three other women, and is run by a private midwife. The reason for attending this particular series is that I want Nicholas to be able to join me, and the hospital class doesn't allow any papas to attend. As it happens, Nicholas is the only male attending anyway, but it's comforting to have him there, as not only is he getting to hear about all the nastiness he can expect on the big day, (he simply refuses to read pregnancy books or watch videos about birth), but he can also translate for me when I get stuck.

So far, he's learning some very intimate details about the inner workings of the female body, and I'm slowly picking up the French for words like 'cervix', 'breast-feeding' and 'epidural' (the last one being particularly crucial). That's really the best thing about the class - just finding out how things work in France, and absorbing some of the French terminology.

We've also had our third scan now, which happened towards the end of my 32nd week. After being so disappointed by the poor visibility on the last one, we were pleasantly surprised to be able to make out the baby's perfect little hands and feet, and to see that it has my ski-slope nose (poor thing)! The doctor checked once more that we still didn't want to know the sex, (I almost buckled, but Nicholas stood firm), and quickly blacked out the screen when we said no. What could he see? A willy? I hoped so, as I'm not-so-secretly hoping for a little boy.

I've now met another English woman who's due to have her baby at the same hospital a few weeks ahead of me. Her due date is fast approaching now, but she seems unfazed. It's her second child, and she had an easy birth the first time, aided only by acupuncture. She raves about the hospital, and is urging me to stay in for as long as possible, as the aftercare is out of this world. I can sleep all I want, apparently, and they will deal with the baby until I'm ready for the responsibility. Sounds good to me! I've heard that I can stay in for up to two weeks.

The weather seems to be improving now, which bodes well for when I finally finish work - I'm still ploughing on with a major book project that I've been working on since March, and I'm starting to tire of it because it's such demanding work.

You can tell it's summer here, as the English population (already very strong) seems to have trebled. As well as those who are retired (which make up the majority of our English neighbours), there are multitudes of holiday-home owners, who hop on the ferry here as soon as the British schools break up.

It's easy to forget we're in France sometimes, especially if we head to our local supermarket between the hours of 12noon and 2pm. This is when any normal French person would be at home having a long, leisurely, four-course lunch. Unfortunately the same luxury is not afforded to the poor checkout girls at Super U, who have to work through lunch. They show their disdain for the English by glaring rudely at us as we unload our trolleys (since it's almost certainly on account of us that they are forced to stay open - most other supermarkets start switching off all their lights and chucking people out at 11.55am.)

We've just acquired some lovely new English neighbours too. They haven't swelled the English population as such, as they bought their house, (a vast stone property with hectares of land), from another English couple. There are now two distinct property markets in France, one for the French and one for the English. We pay over the odds for old, falling-down stone houses, while the French buy more modest, modern homes which are cheap to heat. Anyway, we're very happy having Elle & Mike next door, not least because they are fantastic cooks and specialise in curry! They recently hosted a large Indian banquet for all our friends, and my mouth watered at the sight of home-made paneer and onion bhajis - the stuff of mirages in rural France.

The final notable event of the month was installing BBC television channels, which is going to boost our quality of life no end! We'd previously subscribed to French satellite TV, which is good for films and some cult British comedies, but I'd really missed things like Terry Wogan on Radio Two, Wimbledon, and EastEnders. Now, thanks to a good friend in the UK, we have access to all the UK terrestrial channels, plus range of British radio stations, so I can branch out from Radio Four.

Some fellow ex-pats think this is appalling behaviour - trying to bring England to France - but I disagree. I didn't leave the UK because I was tired of it, and I feel there's something to be said for combining the best of both worlds. And, after all, we'd be considered terrible parents by friends back home if we didn't expose the baby to the Tweenies from an early age. Selfishly, I'm also looking forward to indulging in a big soap fest as I wind down from work and count the days until the baby's due - daytime French TV just isn't the same as being able to tune into a double-bill of ER!

Sue Tabbitt, 33, is a freelance IT journalist, who moved to the outskirts of Normandy 12 months ago to start a new chapter in her life with her Canadian husband, Nicholas, a ballroom dancing teacher.

Tune in next month for Sue Tabbitt's latest instalment of Nine months in Normandy...

Where to next?

• Nine months in Normandy - read the rest of Sue's adventures in France
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