Diapers, tantrums, and French bureaucracy–the crazy life of an American mom in Paris.
Former party girl Vicki trades wine bottles for baby bottles, as this sassy mommy of two navigates the beautiful, yet infuriating, city of Paris.
How does she steer a stroller around piles of dog poop? Or find time for French administration between breastfeeding and business meetings? And will she ever lose the baby weight with croissants staring at her from every street corner?
This hilarious memoir will have you laughing, crying, and wiping up drool right alongside Vicki as she and her ever-patient French husband raise two children in the City of Light.
The sequel to Confessions of a Paris Party Girl has Vicki Lesage, married and going through early motherhood with the same wit and quirks as she did in her partying lifestyle. There’s a lot less bars and Ammo and a lot more of Mica and hospital visits for Vicki, now, but that doesn’t mean the book is any less enjoyable. I love Vicki’s sense of humor, and she’s so relatable. Like her, I would totally take a baked good at a meeting, even when no one else is (they’re there. It’s ridiculous not to take one if you want one and it’s offered). And, strangely, my mother also likes Fig Newtons, and tried to get us to leave them out for Santa. (However, I had veto power and I told her that I didn’t want Santa to give me coal for giving him the world’s grossest cookie)
I love how Vicki can even make her bad experiences slightly funny and light-hearted, and this is definitely a great book for just about anyone (but especially mothers) to read.