When my son started walking, I wanted to tell anyone who would listen, but contented myself with uploading a short video on Instagram instead. I have often been referred to as a maman poule. This bothered me at first as I thought people were subtly trying to tell me that I was too attached to my children. Perhaps this was true of the first few months of Juliette’s life, or perhaps it was my own subconscious battle about the kind of mother I wanted to be. But as I became more confident and experienced, as my children gained in independence and so did I, I was happy to claim the title in all its glory. Yes I’m a maman poule, because even the smallest things my children achieve make my eyes well up with pride. Yes I’m a maman poule, because when they smile at me, or hold hands with each other, I feel like my heart is going to explode out of my chest. Yes I’m a maman poule, because there’s a part of my being that only they have access to, and it gets bigger and bigger each day. That to me is what it means to be a maman poule. So ultimately, aren’t we all des mamans poule?