Thursday 30 September 2010

The Battle of Sleepy Corner III By Kate

More than eight months have passed since I last had an unbroken night's sleep. Actually, that's inaccurate. Given my bladder's propensity to require emptying at some point overnight (especially during pregnancy) I can't actually remember the last time I had an unbroken night's sleep. No, a total of around seven hours (with a minimum 4-hour stretch included) is the elusive - but vaguely realistic - dream I've been chasing. So is there dark at the end of the tunnel?

The answer is a cautious "possibly". After several months of Rosie managing little more than two hours of sleep before waking up and calling for me, something had to give. Her wakefulness (and therefore mine) was getting worse and her ability to resettle without part of my anatomy clamped between her lips (specifically, a nipple) was non-existent.

I decided she would have to learn to nod off without my assistance. So I tried the gentle ways of encouraging sleep sans breast: patting her tummy gently and saying "shh..."; picking her up to soothe her then putting her down again (and repeat ad infinitum); gently unlatching her after she had finished feeding but before she had fallen entirely asleep and putting her down.... and it all made her worse. Angry and distressed to the point of hysterical. Of course, the moment I put her to the breast, she would calm down. But then we were back to Square One.

So I took a deep breath and put Rosie down to sleep after her bedtime feed, kissed her goodnight and left her to it. I listened outside the bedroom door as she wailed in protest, poised to go in the moment her cries sounded like they were becoming truly distressed instead of frankly frustrated. They didn't. Instead, they became increasingly intermittent and after 25 minutes, she was asleep. She woke again a few hours later and again I waited to hear if she would get seriously upset. She didn't and once again, fell back to sleep. The third time she awoke, she didn't make any noise, just fidgeted a little, then fell asleep again. The fourth time she fidgeted for a long time, then fell asleep. By the fifth time it was almost 6am and my milk-engorged breasts felt like a pair of rocks strapped to my chest. This time I fed her and at the end of the feed she allowed me to put her back down for more sleep without protest. This was progress indeed!

The next night followed a similar pattern.

On the third night, I put her down to sleep at bedtime and left the room. Ten minutes later I asked Theo if he could hear anything. He replied in the negative, confirming my suspicions. She had fallen asleep without a murmur.

Three weeks later, it's rare Rosie makes any kind of a protest at bedtime. Even if she's wide awake, she's generally able to get herself off to sleep without Mummy (or specifically, Mummy's breasts) being involved. And it's had a huge impact on her overnight wakings. In general, twice a night now, instead of a minimum of five.

Not only that, but Rosie has now been moved into a cot (after co-sleeping with us since birth) - a change she took with equanimity - and then into her own room, so Theo and I would no longer disturb her with our fidgeting/snoring during the night. Rosie's sleep pattern has remained the same - not perfect, but a hell of a lot better than it was. As for me, I can't sleep because I'm finding it strange not to be able to hear and feel my baby sleeping (or not) beside me. But even that's improving.

So why have her naps gone to pot? Half an hour is the most she can manage in a static situation.

In answer, we've had to resort to The Magical Sleepy Pavement. It seems the only way Rosie will stay asleep for longer than thirty minutes at a time is if the wheels of her pram are thrumming the ribbed paving of our barrio. So now Theo and I take turns to slowly walk the streets while our offspring takes her siesta.
On the plus side, the weather is still good here and it's a fine way to get out of the flat and have a little gentle exercise. I just don't want to think about the onset of winter.

Wednesday 22 September 2010

The Big Four Oh... By Kate

So, I've hit forty. Actually, I would like to think I got there in a more decorous fashion, but it probably wouldn't be true. I could say I have started my fifth decade, but that's a bit scary, so I won't.

What a good job I have a thoughtful, loving husband who appointed himself in charge of celebrating the end of decade number four in such a way that I would at times forget the age aspect of the whole affair. The very fact that he is eleven years my junior is helpful in itself - I can now spend one year and one month bragging about having a husband in his twenties while I'm in my forties. I fully intend to do so at every opportunity.

Anyway, back to the birthday weekend. I wasn't very good at suggesting special fortieth-type birthday presents (a hair-brush and a new baby-carrier were the best I could come up with) so Theo decided his main present would consist of persuading my sister to transplant herself temporarily from the far west of Cornwall, her husband and four children and come and stay. What a winner! I would have been knocked sideways if it had been a surprise, but the fact that I discovered the plan ahead of time meant I could enjoy my birthday present even more by luxuriating in some pleasurable anticipation too.

So Bex duly arrived on the Friday evening and I stayed up beyond my customary nine o'clock bed-time (made necessary by my beloved multiple-waking baby daughter) to greet her and clink glasses of Cava.

The next morning I had a surprise extra birthday present from Rosie in the form of a lie-in until 08.00. Seeing as her customary getting up time is between 06.00 and 07.00, it was a princely gift. OK, she still woke up a few times along the way, but I wasn't about to look a gift-horse in the mouth.
More of the Cava was duly consumed in the form of Buck's Fizz with freshly squeezed orange and after a birthday present opening session (thank you cards now being written to the kind donors...) the four of us set off to the small town of Chinchon, about 50km outside Madrid.
There we met up with our friends Bianca, Stephane and Ollie; Kirsty, Juanmi and Emily Grace and Anne. After a stroll around the picturesque streets of Chinchon (famous for its anise spirit, garlic, local wine and buns in the shapes of breasts and testicles...) we settled down on the terraza of a restaurant in the Plaza Mayor and enjoyed a long and leisurely - and rather tasty - lunch. Even the babies were inclined to remain mellow, either napping in their prams, grinning and allowing themselves to be passed around for cuddles or a bit of high jinx in the town's bull-ring.The next day we took Bex on a fast-paced Sunday tour of Madrid, including a second breakfast of churros; the rastro; Picasso's Guernica; cafe-con-leche in Plaza Mayor and finally lunch at a vegetarian restauran in La Latina, along with our pals Jon, David and Nataly.Not surprisingly, we were all exhausted when we got back. Bex was delivered to the airport by Theo (and then had to put up with a delayed flight and an overnight drive home...I can only appreciate her logistical sacrifices to make the journey...) and I collapsed into bed, feeling every second of my forty-plus years.They say it's when life begins. In that case, I'm going to need more energy. But my forties have been pretty good so far, let's hope they carry on this way.

Saturday 11 September 2010

Rosie and the Boys

She may be only 7 months old, but Rosie is definitely developing an eye for the fellas.

Previously Rosie had disdained to notice Ollie, Bianca and Stefan's little boy, but on a recent visit (for a delicious lunch and swim) she couldn't keep her hands off him. Ollie accepted this female attention with a certain louche Gallic cool that he clearly gets from his Dad. He didn't even seem to mind when Rosie decided his feet were clearly a tastier looking option than the puree Mum and Dad had brought with them.

Rosie is obviously developing a foot fetish. Oh well.

Not content with hitting on her own age group, Rosie has also taken to making eyes at older men, marital status be damned. Here she is flirting with Fermin on a recently pool and picnic trip, although according to his wife Rebecca he has this affect on most women. Naturally, I didn't leave Kate's side...

Saturday 4 September 2010

Food Fights - by Theo

Weaning has begun! Actually we began giving Rosie finger food (baby-led weaning) a while ago, back in June, but never with any kind of regularity, and during our English summer sojourn we actually purchased some baby food. However, being on the move made sticking to a routine somewhat tricky. Also the travel highchair our friends Jero and Jose kindly gave us sadly doesn't fit onto every table, meaning Rosie was often on one of our laps at meal times - hard enough to feed her without getting covered ourselves, let alone eat our own meal.However since we've returned a routine of three meals a day has been established, with the help of a high chair. Indeed, our first stop in Madrid was IKEA! It's not been easy; since finishing the baby porridge and Ella's Kitchen pouches we'd brought with us, finding stuff that a) Rosie will happily eat and b) we will happily give her has proven tricky! Most commercial baby-food we've looked at her has added sugar and/or salt - big no no - or, of course, meat. Meanwhile my first attempts at making pureed baby-food were not met with an enthusiastic welcome, so bread, fruit and green beans to be gummed to death had become a bit of a staple (we'd left Cathy and Jean's with a huge bag of fresh produce from their garden). Nevertheless, with my last two culinary efforts (Pear, peas and broccoli; Carrot, lentils, ginger and garam masala) have been wolfed down. I suspect the war is not yet won, but after defeat in the initial skirmishes victory is definitely mine!!