Mathilde Mazau is StyleNest’s very own, super-chic French mummy blogger. Mathilde left her hometown of Paris for the city of Glasgow to study. However, Mathilde fell in love with the super cool art and fashion scene of the Scottish city and decided to stay.
Working as a translator Mathilde now lives with her partner Tich (Richard) and her two beautiful girls Rose and Jane.
Mathilde will be bringing us tales of Glasgow living and her busy life as a translator, mum and freelance writer for StyleNest.
Since I became the mother of two half-Scottish half-French very cute babies, I’ve been wondering a lot about the differences in parenting methods between the UK and la France. I’ve learnt to be a mother here in the UK, but I still “use” French tips from my babysitting days. I’ll try to not generalise too much, and of course, what I’ll say here does not apply to every British or to every French family.
I was born and raised in France, the eldest of three, and left my country five years ago to live here, in Glasgow. I’ve been a mother for 21 months, and I’ve been immersed in motherhood with several of my Scottish friends ever since (passing reference to B, F, S, E, G and the others). Nearly all my French friends are now parents, so I’ve been able to observe and compare a thing or two.
One of the things I’ve noticed are the clichés. French mothers are back into their skinny jeans within days of giving birth, French parents send their babies to nursery after three weeks, French babies eat Camembert and drink wine.
British mothers breastfeed until their babies go to high school, British parents are dominated by their children, British children eat fish and chips everyday. Ha ha. I love clichés, they make me laugh.
French parents do seem to be more “detached” than British parents. I’m not saying they are worse parents, I’m just saying that they are, in many ways, more willing to keep their life as “normal” as possible compared to their British counterparts. French babies generally start sleeping in their own room straight after birth, and there is often a very clear border between the world of babies/children, and the world of adults. A -British- friend of mine recently told me about her experience of going to a Parisian restaurant with her well-behaved, eight year-old son. The family sat down, and the parents started to ask the boy what he wanted to eat, only to hear the owner say to her husband, “British children rule the family”, obviously unaware that my friend understood French. What I find a bit annoying when we’re in France, is the lack of children-friendly places. Glasgow is such an amazing place for children, with baby-friendly cafés, soft-play areas, museums, activities in libraries, toddler groups and parks, baby-changing areas everywhere. Where do French parents change their babies when they’re outside? I honestly don’t know.
Here in the UK, things are a bit different. Parents tend to keep their babies in the bedroom with them for at least a few months. My French friends stare at me in disbelief when I tell them that both my babies slept with us until they were 7 months. Children here also usually follow their parents wherever they go (dinner parties, festivals…). British children just seem to blend in their parents’ life more than French kids do. I wouldn’t say that the British are more relaxed parents, I just think that both parenting styles are very different. I could go on for ever about differences in feeding (my friend F finds laughs when I give Rose chocolate milk in a bottle, she thinks it’s very French), dressing (in shops here, girls’ sections are in pink from floor to ceiling, and little boys’ sections are blue), and raising children in general (the list is too long). British parents are certainly a lot less strict than French parents. I’ve never seen any of my friends here shout, or even raise their voice, whereas in France, it seems to be more common.
Now, where does the truth lie? Which country has it right? Well I don’t know. All I know is that as a mother, I often stand right in the middle between Scotland and France, constantly weighing the pros and cons of both ways of doing things. Even Tich seems willing to use a bit of both ways. When Rose acts up, he’ll say “ça suffit!”, he says it sounds more commanding…
Being French, and my other half being Scottish, we decided that we would spend every second Noël in France.
Last Christmas was our first one as parents. Rose was six and a half months, a very easy and relaxed baby, and we decided to have Christmas in Scotland. Easy peasy, très facile.
This Christmas was our second one as parents, but our first one as parents of two babies (19 months, and 6 months). And after a lot of passport drama (it took us almost three months to get Jane’s passport) , we flew to Paris. With our two baby girls in tow, 40 kilos of luggage and a lot of enthusiasm. “Two weeks away….Yay! Holidays!”.
The first time we flew with a baby was just after Rose was born. She was six weeks, it was in July, and it was easy. This time was a bit more challenging. Rose is a very happy, energetic, and independent toddler, whose idea of Heaven is to run free in the wilderness and mud puddles of Kelvingrove Park. Jane is a mummy’s girl, whose idea of Hell is to be away from me for more than five seconds (I’m not joking, it’s true). Our journey to France went as follows: bus to Glasgow airport, then plane to Paris-Charles de Gaulle, and bus from CdG to Porte Maillot. Then the day after, bus to St Lazare station, and train to Caen, Normandy. Same thing in reverse two weeks later. It looks quite easy and straightforward on paper, but with two babies, it’s a different story.
I won’t go into details about travelling with babies, every parent knows: looking for wipes, lost dummies, making up feeds, trying to find things to entertain them, changing them in inappropriate places (a friend of mine, while away in Australia, had to change her little girl in a trendy, dimly lit bar toilet with no changing station), all of the above performed on a plane or a train, or a bus.
Anyway, long story short, we got there in the end, and spent Christmas and New Year’s Eve in Normandy, with my family and friends. Me and Tich had a great time, and very good food, but the girls were not happy. Babies are routine monkeys. Babies love their routine, babies love their home, babies don’t like going away, even if it is with papa, maman, and the favourite toys/blankets/books/rabbit that Jane will not sleep without/dummies by the dozen etc. And don’t even start me on packing.
Rose protested by being ill most of our time there. The first night, her temperature went so high that she became delirious, and asked to “gopak” (“go to the park”), tried to put her boots on, and told us the names of all the people she knows. So we spent our first night not sleeping at all. She also decided not to eat for two weeks. Rose survived solely on satsumas and milk for two weeks. She was sick several times, and was generally a bit subdued, which is totally not like her at all.
Jane protested by not wanting to be away from me. Not even for a fraction of a second. She moaned a lot, cried a lot, and overall was a royal pain in the neck for two weeks. If I had the cheek to leave the room without her, she would go demented and scream until I came back. So I decided to carry her all the time to have some peace . My mum even suggested the use of hook and loop patches to attach her to me. I’ve now completely mastered the art of doing most things with one hand.
So, after two weeks of this regime, we have decided to stay in Scotland forever. Well, until the girls are respectively three and two at least. Our next trip to la France will be in the summer of 2013, and we will have a great time (wishful thinking).
