It’s eerie to read about your life in someone else’s book. In my wife Pamela Druckerman’s Bringing Up Bébé (which is now outselling all my own books by a sobering factor), she describes the moment our doctor in Paris told us we were going to have twins.
First Pamela recounts her own ecstasy: “I feel like I’ve been given an enormous gift: two pizzas.” Then she notices that I’m possibly already having a heart attack:
“I’ll never be able to go to a café again,” he says. Already he foresees the end of his free time.
“You could get one of those home espresso makers,” the doctor says.
But four years later, I still get coffee in the cafe every day. I buy my wife’s argument that French parenting is good for kids. (I know I have to say that, but I really do believe it.) But perhaps more importantly: French parenting is good for dads. My life with three children is full-on and frequently insane, but not as insane as it might be in another country.
Simon Kuper is a columnist with the Financial Times. His previous books include Soccer Against the Enemy, Ajax, The Dutch, The War, and Soccernomics. He lives in Paris, France