Walking, talking, living...

I've entered baby world: fully-fledged in parenthood, immersed with infant interaction and now nifty in nappy changing. I first started a baby blog just to jot down the hilarious experiences I found myself having. Unbeknown to me at the time; every parent was blogging about the humdrum of their daily lives. Not only that, but there were awards for these blogs, and some parents were even making a lucrative living out them – well, OK getting by, by reviewing products and events.

Over a glass of red one evening, a friend and I swore we would never be one of those mothers - you know the ones that only talk about the contents of their baby's nappy (especially to friends who don’t have children). Then one day I found myself explaining to a friend's boyfriend – over lunch no less – about a 'poop' disaster that had happened that morning. After realising what I was doing, I cut myself short and apologised profusely. 

I've got to keep reminding myself of ‘that promise’ because I was indeed that very person; I would get agitated when my friends with children would disclose information about their child’s nocturnal nuisances. Switching off, I would be thinking to myself: ‘Yes, I had a lovely holiday, thanks for asking how I am.'

Now I’m mingling (OK, conversing on twitter) with the yummy mummies and I kind of feel like I've been pigeonholed into a new social group that I’m not sure I’m quite comfortable with. Have I turned into a walking, talking, living, blogging mummy cliché? I don't make jam, I don't sew and I certainly don't do domestic bliss. I still want to jet around the world, get sloshed on spritzers, own a villa in Ibiza – and on top of that I have high ambitions with my career. The difference now is my child has given me even more of a drive to be successful; to give him a better life.

If I’m honest, I cringe at the regular gushing baby updates through social media. Even I’m not interested that ‘Phoebe has not eaten her porridge for breakfast’ that morning, or ‘Archie has just been potty trained’ with added photo for effect. Aren’t we already living in world over-saturated with online sharing; one where we have all become a bit narcissistic, without our children’s lives also being documented in a timeline? And don’t get me started on all the parental acronyms that only those-in-the-know, know.

I once went to visit my sister in Los Angeles where we took my new niece to a baby group of some description. It was one of those groups where you have to join in and sing and perform animatedly – very LA. I was absolutely bewildered and felt like an awkward teenager (I was in my early 20s) and that day, I made a mental note to myself to never turn into a happy-clappy parent.

Yet here I am singing 'Head, shoulders, knees and toes' at 6am and I absolutely love it. I’m joined to every gurgling group around and coffee with friends comes with a slice of cake and is a necessary part of the week to discuss our darling’s developments. Without realising, I’m now part of the buggy-brigade and words like ‘Babyccino’ will no doubt become a normal part of my vocab. 

I am so grateful and feel incredibly lucky and blessed to have our beautiful, healthy baby boy. I’ve never felt love like it – I want to kamikaze anyone who may potentially put him in danger. Have I changed? Of course I blimin' have; my whole outlook has changed and I have a new empathy and respect for every parent on the planet. Our son comes first in our little family and I’m usually last. At the very least, I’m so busy being a new mum I microwave my forgotten cold cup of tea about seven times a day. 

Yet despite all this, I still don’t want to be part of the baby blogging world that has become so trendy (passé?). Not that I think there is anything wrong with it. In fact, I think for parents out there who need it; having an online support network, especially for people who may not have one in the ‘real-world’ – and who are experiencing difficulties from the mild ‘Argh! I’m having a moment’ to the more serious post-natal depression – it is essential. 

I have learnt that having a baby is all consuming, and I’m sure I’ve been guilty of only talking about our bundle of joy at times. I'll find a balance, I'm still determined to be successful and make a difference in this world. At the moment I’m a bit in the middle (I’ve always been known to sit on the fence): I’m not quite ready for an all-nighter sans baby but after nine months I’m just about ready to discuss non-related baby babble. Besides, I wouldn’t want to inflict all-night babysitting on anyone right now as our son enjoys his habitual nightly awakenings and cuddles too much.

My next challenge is going back to work next week, part-time mind; the best of both? We'll see I hope so. As for this new yummy mummy social group – maybe it's inevitable – just please, please don't talk to me about recipes, or knitting, or cupcakes…

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Mrs Muscle

I now come with baggage. Not the emotional kind, but literally; I am the bag lady - except I don't ever get to carry my own handbag, oh no; I lug around a compulsory changing bag.

Whilst I've never been into 'It' bags as such, (my husband did buy me a beautiful Balenciaga handbag once) it would be nice to carry something a little less cumbersome; more feminine shall we say.

For some reason, I can't seem to downsize and end up packing for all occasions and even then, I usually forget something necessary. How did I turn into an everything-but-the-kitchen-sink kinda girl?
I mean really, does our little one need three toys, a couple of just-in-case-snacks and a book if we're popping into town?
Do I really need seven nappies if I'm just out for an hour?
Should I bother bringing the bouncer/play-mat/walker/donut/ etc. if I’m popping to a friend’s house for a quick cuppa?
Then there's the time I brought sun cream - amongst other useless items - when he was merely seven weeks old and hidden in the pram under at least 47 muslins so even the tiniest speck of sun couldn't permeate its rays (neurotic new mother syndrome).

On the odd occasion, if he does require a change of clothes, I proudly tell myself 'See, it was worth it' and feel a sense of justification, but my back and shoulders think otherwise. In fact, I am so laden with stuff, the kitchen sink might as well come with us; it makes no odds.
So toned am I, Mr Muscle would be quaking in his vest: for I am now rock 'ard and have Madonna-esque arms. There's no need for post-pregnancy work-outs; along with the monster pram and lead-filled car seat (what do they put in them?) I can carry a tonne, and that's sans baby (and he's a growing lad).

Is it a feminine trait to pack up the whole house I wonder? I've been out with friends and a sheepish Dad has approached us asking if someone has a spare baby wipe. My husband once took the wee one out and left the sacred Sac Magique behind and had to go back for it, he joked, 'At least I didn't forget the most important thing...'
I'm in charge of 'packing the bag' and this is done in methodical fashion: a section for what-if-he-is-a-bit-poorly, a teething-pocket, then there's all the food and more than usual; the zip won't fasten and it's all spilling out.

So how do I streamline? As he gets older he will only acquire more things; next it will be a car, a house... ah, so that's how parenting works... Follow @milkinitmusings

Trying it out...

OK, so we've had to do it. And my heart is breaking. We are assured by the 'professionals' that it won't harm your baby. But it still doesn't make it any easier (if you read this when you're older, little one, mummy and daddy had to do this for you). Only as I pace up and down the hall, climb the walls, weep in the car and gait around the garden; his cries are still resonating around me.

Nearly 6 months of sleepless nights, long days and arms as a solid as steel, the decision has been made: the tough love brigade are in town.

No longer do we have the daddy reps (200 per rock), jigging swings, Auntie arm ache or beneficial bouncer to get him to the land of zeds (at this rate we could have made some decent wonga as personal baby gym trainers) - here come the plucky parents; well, not quite...
'What if he loses his trust in us?' we ask the health visitor, 'his cries are his only way to communicate with us' we meekly protest. Get a grip I tell myself, people have been doing this for centuries.
At home we brace ourselves for the wails; and it's hard. On the second occasion he goes to sleep within one minute, ‘Hurrah!’ we think, ‘we've cracked it’. But alas, it was a one-off.

Day two, however, is hard-core; the leaflet tells us to up the time by almost double. By 9am my husband says 'Look, if this is too much we won't do it - we can't have two people crying in the house' as I sit there with tears streaming down my face. We decide to try a 'milder version' and it starts to work.

Then on one occasion I find him lying there staring into space - 'Oh god, has he already given up on us? Is he thinking they're not going to bother?' I think pathetically. My husband keeps talking about those adverts where orphans don't even bother to cry as no-one comes to them...pull yourself together Mrs W, surely this is exactly what we are trying to achieve: him being able to settle himself.
When he's up, he gets extra cuddles; I overhear my husband explaining why we had to do this and that 'daddy loves him more than anything'. He's all smiles and gives us a what-are-you-on-about look and we breathe a sigh of relief.

Day four arrives and I swear his voice has gone a little hoarse - don't get me started I'm going to well up again.

My desire for wine and chocolate has gone up a notch.

We tell each other we are a team, we are in this together - we keep giving each other pep talks when the other one cracks. I honestly don't know how single parents do it; I have admiration for them - along with a new found respect for my parents.

So, we mostly have our evenings back and what's the first thing we do? Err play scrabble of course, because that's high on the agenda in any marriage, naturally...

The conclusion? I hate to admit it as I've put it off for so long, but it's made the world of difference and it's kinda getting easier. I know there will be better days than some. Most parents go through this at some stage and no-one can tell you to try it until you decide you're ready. And I'm convinced our bubba is thinking; 'Hallelujah! I'm finally allowed to learn to sleep by myself.'

Still, if you have a nocturnal or non-napper nipper, I know a brilliant rocking method that will tone those arms right up, I charge by the hour...
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The Da Vinci Cot

Dear Dan Brown, if you could write a bestseller in finding this Holy Grail, you would make squillions; I'm talking sleep.

My quest to find a slumber solution continues: this Indiana Jones crusade isn't just for me (and my sanity) but for our little one - he needs it more than I do, he's got growing and developing and stuff to do. Before you ask if I’ve tried the latest baby method, I've probably read 'em all, seriously. Even the ones that claim they have the answer - all for 47 dollars of course...

So far, my sleep seeking has included the following: routine, routine, routine, background noise, no noise, white noise, whispering, sshhing, swaddling, swaying, singing, bed-time stories, bed-time bath, soft toy, no toy, catching the tiredness, catching when he's full up, dummy, darkness, dimming night lights, temperature checks, teething checks, dream feeds, adding a bottle feed, spacing feeds (even graphing feeds), musical mobiles, music on the mobile, chilling down after playing, tiring him out, door bouncer, chair bouncer, daddy bouncer, did I mention a routine? The list goes on...

The latest one is a comfort muslin; my husband wants to call it 'a name' so we can tell the story to our son when he's older. Hmm, I'm now imagining a 10 year old (or worse, a 30 year old) attached to a 'blankey' and unable to snooze without said blankety blank.

Of course I haven't yet mentioned good 'ol fashioned crying it out or 'CIO' as it's referred to in the parent forums - one of the many acronyms you need to learn as a twenty first century parent.
We have tried CIO but not to the extent of absolute hysteria; he's too young in our opinion, you may read that as being soft maybe but that's just what our belief is. It's not like he hasn't slept on his own before anyway - it happens sporadically and he just drifts off, happily all by himself, so why put ourselves and him through the torture of CIO?

We just need to find the clue as to what made him let go into the land of zeds, I'd happily let Sherlock Holmes take on the case and crack the code. Even friends are helping out, offering new suggestions, I'm sure they've got a whip, I hear the prize is of value ...

The next thing on the list is food as we have a hungry night milk feeder on our hands. I wonder if when he's older he'll be a middle-of-the-night fridge raider, midnight feaster and secret lemonade drinker?
And so the sleep association continues. What I've learnt on the way is that our boy loves cuddles, that he's a fast learner and knows his bedroom; 'Oh yeah' I can see him thinking, 'I know your game mummy' as he looks around the room and clocks all the things that mean bed-time. Even at Shirley’s house he knew what we were up to. He scanned the room in 360 degrees like a lighthouse and as his eyes nearly met us we both instinctively dropped to the floor, supressing our giggles as we lay there - hold on, I thought we were the parents?

I know we'll get there in the end, even if his mummy used to never sleep as a child. Every baby is unique anyway right? But if you find the grail, please share it - I'll even let you shrug it off as 'Elementary my dear Watson'.

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The Three Bears

Oh help! I've turned into one of those people. You know the ones that talk in third person? I blame Facebook circa 2007: it made us all slightly narcissistic with the 'is' on status updates - remember the 'is'? As in: 'Mrs W is having eggs for breakfast' or something just as mundane.
Now it's all 'Mummy and daddy this,' which happens daily and I find myself not only talking in third person, but worse, using the Royal We: 'We did a poo today and it went everywhere.' - Can you actually imagine having that conversation out of context...?! Somehow it becomes socially acceptable to say it with a baby.

Instead of the usual greetings, it's 'Hello daddy how are you?' when I pick up the phone, or 'Grandma wants a cuddle'. The thing is; it’s quite sweet to use it in our family but I use it with friends, even strangers and I can't stop. I'm at the Doctors' and I say 'We have got a cold', the shops and I'm all 'Mummy needs to buy some milk'.
If baby bear could speak I'm sure he'd be telling us to 'Grow up, use your words properly'.

It's even got the point where one of us has made up a song and the other sings it. For example, I took our bubba to swimming the other day and daddy comes in (I'm at it again) and starts singing 'splishy splashy' - actually at me! I just looked at him as if to say what are you doing?

Now sometimes all this has its advantages such as 'Daddy didn't do the washing up did he?' while I happily play with our son, then my husband will joyously sing back 'Mummy is so sarcastic and moany isn't she?' and so it carries on while the other one gets agitated (even though we'd agreed we'd never talk through him).

It's also great for rude people. Like the obnoxious librarian I came across the other day who also insisted (but resentfully so) that she stand outside the disabled toilets while I changed a nappy. So within ear shot I said to my son 'When you're a big boy sometimes, unfortunately, you may come across some not very nice people in life and the best thing to do is be nice to them and walk away. Mummy is pretending to be nice now when really she's thinking piss right off .' I then walked out of the toilets and smiled sweetly at her...
Other examples include telling other people what you think while talking to your child. What me, passive aggressive?

At least we're not the only ones that refer to our son's parentage in third person, lots of friends have said they do the same or maybe they're just trying to humour me? Either way, it’s just our way of life now - mummy and daddy simply can't help it.
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Lady In Red

You know you're a mum when you go and buy a rain mac. Not your camouflage blend-in-with-the-crowd one, but a bright red polka dot one at that. You might as well go out in your slippers and not brush your hair...oh.

It appears that I'm now last in the pecking order in our little family, it's: bubba, husband then me and it's all my own doing. It's just I forget about me now and the things I used to do for myself. For example, I used to have a bit of a magazine fetish (nothing kinky I'm afraid) that went hand-in-hand with a bubble bath and a glass of wine. Now that seems like a lifetime ago.

And Christ knows when I last went to the salon to get my hair, or anything else, spruced. I'm even pondering whether to get that obligatory mum-chop, you know the one? Where you don't need to actually style your hair; it's short enough so you don't get baby dribble and sick in it, or it gets pulled out by the handfuls.

Right now, I'm rocking the 'Shoreditch top-knot', except it's purely for practical reasons. Rather than joining the trendy (but pretending they're not trendy) East London crowd by wearing the black (no prescription) framed glasses that accompany the bun. I've got the geek-chic look sorted: all I need to do is don some brogues with my PJs.

Included in not looking after myself is my diet - are the words diet and biscuits allowed together btw? I'm not getting near enough my five-a-day. I must admit, I've never been a gourmet chef at the best of times - even though I do make a mean Burmese curry - but my culinary skills have gone to pot (excuse the pun). My daily nutrients usually consist of peanut butter on toast accompanied by downing a glass of Berocca on my way out of the house.
But I have nailed getting ready in a military operation style though - I'm pretty sure I can fix up and look half blunt faster than Usain Bolt can run the 100 metres. And a pair of sunnys and a smacker of red lippy (to match my new red mac perhaps?) is a great disguise for those sleepless nights.

Saying all that, I do still at least check I'm dressed properly before I head out… Unlike Shirley; who once walked to her friend's house with her left boob hanging out, (yep, you read that right) all jiggly and exposed as she strolled up the street. Her friend had to motion to her that her bazonga was on display as she handed her a drink - all in front of two strangers...

So these days, I might look more Little Red Riding Hood than Chris De Burgh's Lady in Red, however, I do stop short at stuffing tissues up my sleeve. Just remind me to untie that muslin from around my shoulder... Follow @milkinitmusings

Contented Little Mamas?

Ok Gina, let's be ‘avin ya.

My friends fall into different schools of thought when it comes to parenting: some are super-strict with their routines, others are, let's say: more lackadaisical and then there are the ones who are in the middle. I think I fall into the latter category, but then I've always been known to sit on the fence.

When I got to the point of being up all night and I could no longer put matchsticks in my eyes, I needed to try something; anything. So out came ‘the book’ - we all know the one.

I'm of the opinion that you need to do what works for you, so when I flicked through this so-called holy grail, it alarmed me. I was suddenly being shouted at from the pages with a stern point-of-the-finger. I felt like I had been sent to baby boot camp and had been given my first detention for turning up late.
But because I was more in despair than Desperate Dan, I needed to try it, so I decided to pick a chapter that suited us.

The first rule was to make sure that the little one was up, nappy changed and fed by a certain time - which didn't bode well as I was already 15 minutes behind schedule - oh dear, epic fail so far...Still, I thought, I need to keep at it so I moved on to the next task in the regime.
Then something magical happened: he went down for his first nap; all by himself. No motion involved, or terrible singing. And then it happened again later at a relative’s house! The relative and I (let's call her Shirley) decided to try out the commands together. For the first time ever, the babies were in sync (see female of the species for reference) and both went to sleep, unaided, within 10 minutes.
We sat there a bit shell-shocked, 'Right then', said Shirley 'lunch?'
Not daring to make a noise to possibly disturb them, we crept around the house like the milk tray man; avoiding things like the 'fourth step on the stairs' that creaked.

Forgetting she had put the bagels in the toaster due to the shock, Shirley jumped out of her skin when they popped up (burnt to a crisp).
We sat there not knowing what to do with ourselves; would they suddenly wake up?
While the bambinos snoozed contentedly, so not contented were we; we sat with our backs as stiff as cardboard, eating our cardboard bagels.

Later on in the day, the rules started to get harder to follow:
Shirley said 'He's getting tired and irritable and I know he should be sleeping not playing'.
So we consulted Gina's marvellous medicine which said not to interact with them for a certain period before they rest.
'Put him in his bouncer, facing away,' I advised, suddenly being a nap-pro after two siesta successes.
'Then what?' she said as he was starting to grizzle.
'[Get him to] look at the plant'.
So she turned towards the plant, staring.
'What are you doing?' I said.
'You told me to look at the plant!'
'What?! Get him to look at the plant so he becomes dozy.'
'Ohhhh...'

And we fell about in hysterics, (hysteria is a usual emotion I feel these days) completely disturbing him in the process.
That's how desperate we were to settle them that she would try anything - yet somehow I don't think parental 'greenery gazing' would catch on as a new method for baby sleep training.

So while the day ended well, the nightly verdict? Hmm, I gained all of an extra hour’s sleep - all that hard work and it hadn't paid off. But I'm going to stick with it, albeit our own tailored version. I don't quite fancy baby boot camp, not quite yet *yawning*... Follow @milkinitmusings