Paris, Baby! is the natural next entry in a genre that's previously been focused on finding love or the right baguette in the 7th. It's richly textured and full of details of what it's really like to be a single mom-to-be in a city where chic is supposed to be effortless and breastfeeding is a horreur. Lobe's keen sense of humor turns on herself just as much as on her Parisian neighbors: from becoming so visibly enceinte that her patisserie refuses to sell her a morning croissant ("C'est pas tres elegante, Madame!" exclaims the patissiere, casting an eye down to Lobe's waistline) to how she handled a pick-up attempt by a married man in the baby department of the posh Bon Marche at 8 months along.
Paris is full of delights for a new mom – the Luxembourg Gardens, the baby boutique Natalys, a jambon fromage for a teething tot – but home in the Midwest exerts a pull, too. Should it be "Mommy" or "Maman"? And can a tall blonde with a designer-stuffed closet, a cockeyed way of looking at the world and a taste for Pol Roger ever make it in the land of mom jeans and Happy Meals?
