a brief discourse on the art of baby-calming - by Theo

There's no predicting our daughter. Sometimes she sleeps wonderfully, anywhere, for hours at the time. On other occasions none of the things Kate has picked up on the internet or at the local right on baby shop - bouncing chairs, molded mattresses, peke-moe sleeping bags, pacifiers, muslins - do the trick. Not even our lullaby playlist (lots of Joe Volk plus others) always works, though at least it gives us something to listen to while patting and shushing her - another not-always-successful tactic. Sometimes Rosie just wants to be rocked.On the knees is good - witness my Dad doing it like an old pro (well, I suppose he is!). Or in the sling, or just held to your chest and rocked. Or in the pram - we're wearing lines in the floor from running the wheels back and forth. However we manage it, some serious contortions are required to maintain a calm and dozy Rosie on the one hand, and to satisfy our own needs on the other. We've both become quite adept at one-handed eating.
However this morning I was faced with a different conundrum. Rosie had been very wakeful over-night, so Kate had had hardly any sleep, so after the 7.30 nappy change I decided to get up, and take her in the other room so hopefully Kate could get some more sleep. The mattress didn't work, nor the bouncy chair, nor daddy's shoulder - pram time. After 30 minutes, during which I managed to eat a couple of spoonfuls of soggy cereal, Rosie was nearly off to sleep. Nearly. Not quite. It was a crucial stage. A pause in the rocking would have led to a wide-awake and possibly very annoyed baby girl. Unfortunately it was at this stage that my bowels started making extremely urgent demands of me. Hmmm. What to do? I couldn't leave her - she might yell and disturb Kate, thus rendering the last 30 mins of rocking redundant. Taking her in the bathroom would be tricky but possible - but the bright light might also wake her.
Given the delicate nature of some of our readers, I'll spare you the full details of my candle-lit toilet visit. Suffice to say I doubt it will be the last time I feel like a contortionist while trying to keep Rosie asleep.