"So what do you do all day?"

It's not always asked in a derisive tone. But in light of this, it is asked.

So what do I do all day?

I learn the language of this region of my new country. I've taken language classes in the past, but right now I'm auditing classes in other subjects taught in French at the local university. At my current level of comprehension, I think it's the best way to learn. I'm waiting to find out if I succeeded at the examination for an advanced language certificate. I watch films and documentaries and read books and magazines, all in French. It's part of my studies!

I lunch with other Swiss housewives, as I affectionately call us. In French classes I've taken in the past, I've met many girls in the same situation as me – étrangeres of many cultures, from many countries (Japan, Germany, Italy, Brazil, Bolivia ...), married to or in relationships with Swiss men, or men who have relocated to Switzerland for their jobs, themselves unable to find work in this country. We go to museum exhibitions and sit in parks looking up at the Alps and get to know each other in a language that belongs to none of us but that bridges the gaps which otherwise would have kept us apart.

I look for a job. There are times that the search can feel almost like having a job, except for the small fact that it's unpaid. And really fucking depressing.

I cook, for the first time in my life. I've always eaten healthily but quickly and carelessly; I never had the time for more than that before. I've found some great recipes and increased my confidence in the kitchen. We get a panier of fruits and vegetables once every week or two, depending on the season, from a local farm. Some of the veggies I'd never even heard of before, and many I would never have thought about buying had I seen them in a supermarket, so it's been a lovely challenge to find out how to prepare them to their greatest advantage. To balance the healthiness of all these greens, I also put my new friend the mixer to good use making plenty of sweet treats.

I run by the lake, or I go to the gym.

I keep the cat company. I once said to Gilles that I didn't think I could ever work again, because our cat is such a sociable and loving little creature that he wouldn't be able to reaccustom himself to my all-day every-day absence. He laughed until he figured out that I was serious.

For a few lovely short weeks, I downloaded pregnancy apps and read about "your baby's development!" and searched the winter sales for irresistibly tiny little onesies and hoped and dreamed a lot. A lot. To no avail.

Since then, I blog. I read others' blogs. I read of courage and endurance and grace and beauty in the face of loss and pain and absence.

Most of that doesn't sound so bad. But then there are days, especially since then, that I do nothing except let the feeling of self-worthlessness wash over me. Gilles comes home after a day of work and I'm still in my pyjamas, unshowered and unbrushed and unmotivated and unappreciative of time that can just be too long when there's nothing to throw it into relief.

What else do I do all day? I wait. I wait for the moment that I will regret these unappreciated moments of empty time. I wait for what I hope the future will bring us. I wait for the next double pink line.