We got out at a new station and ubered to our wine casket of an apartment in Lyon, in the tiny Vieux Lyon, the old town. The apartment was like a pirate's treasure map, a secret refuge through a huge wooden door, a dark stone tunnel up an inner stone spiral staircase. Whapping up our luggage each curling step so hard and it had a loft and was very cool but by this time our souls were so stuffed with new, we were choking on the capacity to take in any other new extraordinary sight or thing. It is hard to see the limits of your heart and mind, and Lyon was skating right on this border for us, not its fault. This trip was exactly how I felt about pregnancy. It's so amazing, but in the middle you want to take a month off and be regular for awhile then leap back into being pregnant again so you can really enjoy it. Why is the everydayness of wonder so hard. Also, we could now see the end of the trip from here, Paris was coming and then London and there we had to leave Emma.
And yes, on the saddest note, thanks for asking, I want you to know that days ago I had given up ice and the possibility of ice and was just grateful every time there was any drink that was even a fraction above room temperature. Ice was a far off dream from some incredibly priviliged other life.
On the way back to our place I got some fresh chocolate chip brioche, this huge mound of baked muffin the size of a fat biker's helmet because it was still hot and it demanded it needed me. That gift from bakery gods lasted at least two days traveling with us in a shredded bag on trains, and worth every crumbly french morsel.
We staggered our overfed birthday selves back to our pirate cave. Piled on the bed for awhile.
Emma had another interview to do later and she demanded there was no farting during it. 
So we untangled our family pile after a bit and left Emma in her makeshift Gaytheon office so she could sound official and intelligent and we took our whimsy and birthday brains outside. It was like 11, and Nathan of course even though still full needed a crepe and there was still everyone out on the street there like it wasn't a weeknight and late, and we listened to a live band playing latin music and he ate his crepe in front of an old church.
Later we found out this church was where Marie de Medicis got married in 1600 and tomorrow, randomly but we didn't know yet, we would be throwing a frisbee in front of her Paris town digs at the Palais de Luxembourg. We were following in the footsteps of the ghost Marie and her children, 422 years later. Walking the same spots. Poor Marie, when she was young her mom died in her 8th month of pregnancy with her 8th child falling down some stairs. But later she would marry the king of France. So, you know. Also she was raised in Florence so she probly got to see the statue of David.
Sitting on those steps looking up at the lit up castle on the hill at midnight, I said well this is a different birthday, isn't it
. 
When Emma was done we headed back into the stone pirate fortress, and her interview went well, she said the guy spent most of the time talking about himself and if she wanted to do radar for fighter pilots on aircraft carriers like Top Gun that was an available job. Talk to me, goose. She's pretty sure no, but it's good practice to interview at night in France when you're 20 and a stupendous blonde math warrior. I climbed up to sleep in the loft while Emma and Nathan slept downstairs on a hard piece of wood she said until she came up and snuggled with me in the morning and we had tea and chocolate chip fresh muffin from yesterday and we wondered who really lived here in this cave with such a small shower, and gazed out the window.
We prepacked, then walked over to the see the Brandy Melville store for Emma (which sucked in Lyon she said) and found a huge square fountain and watched two dogs take off running and splashing through the fountain and then wandered an rei type store that the americans from last night told us about, and I really wanted a padded hula hoop.
I can't remember what we ate, but we walked along the river and the bridge to our hotel and it was vast there, the river, and the churches, we yelled to hear the echo and there was a tiny grocery store by our place that had cold cheap soda, and we again almost rented bikes but didn't. We had trip burnout but it was ok cause we had nothing left to prove. We were heading back to Paris that day, and Lyon had been good to us. The kids jumped on the wide suspension bridge to feel it shake, they played in a church playground, and old architecture lining the river watched us majestically and bid us bonne chance from every hillside.
We ubered to the Lyon train station and I tried out my french by asking Vous habitez dans Lyon? And he answered me!! And I said Combien des ans dans Lyon? And he said he had lived there for 8 years and the kids said my french was better than their spanish but I wish we had a place to practice French, it's so fun to think in different words, and the sound of it feels like waltzing in 1500s dresses. Maybe in Montreal, the stateside france. I could get there.
We got on our high speed train to Paris. A clean and efficient trip.
And this is where we listened to a French baby crying the whole way there, because his parents promised him a baguette and then they realized they didn't have a baguette, and even though they offered him other food and he cried the whole way, sobbing
baguette
baguettttttte
Which I still do now whenever I'm hungry
