The eve of Rosie's first birthday is an ideal time to reflect on what I've learned in the last year. It's certainly been a steep curve in many respects - harder than I thought it would be, but easier as well.
So, in no particular order, since becoming a mother I have learned:
-that I am not especially grossed out by my daughter's poo-filled nappies.
-that I can function cheerfully (most of the time) on an average of five hours of broken sleep per night.
-that honey is banned in the first year because it can give babies botulism.
-that olive oil and chamomile tea applied to a baby's rear end can help see off nappy rash.
-that babies often sleep better at night if they've had plenty of sleep during the day and worse if they haven't.
-that the details of my daughter's excreta could be such a source of endless fascination.
-what a "snotsucker"; a "sleep regression"; "cruising"and "a good latch" all mean in parental context.
-that I can talk for hours about the minutiae of our day together, even if we haven't really done anything in particular.
-that I now find conversations about other people's children genuinely interesting.
-how nippy I can be when manoeuvring a pram or buggy.
-that I have hitherto unknown reserves of total silliness when it comes to making faces/noises/doing dances etc.
-that I never knew just how strongly my heart-strings could be twanged by another human being.
-how much I would enjoy it.
Showing posts with label pram. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pram. Show all posts
Tuesday, 25 January 2011
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.
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, 26 May 2010
HRH's wedding - by Theo
So, just over 2 years after Kate and I tied the knot, my little sister Hermione and her boyfriend Richard (who have been together the same amount of time as Kate and I) followed suit in style.
As my sister works in the wedding trade, as a jewellery designer specialising in bridal wear, they know all the ins-and-outs of organising a wedding. They also realised that one of the worst things about weddings, from the point of view of the happy couple, is having all your friends there but no time to talk to them! Their solution: hire a wedding venue that can double as self-catering accommodation and invite people for three days rather than an afternoon. Genius!
So Friday afternoon we arrived as Eastington Hall in Gloucestershire to find red carpet being rolled out (they had scavenged it from a wedding fair) and the bar being stocked. We made ourselves comfortable in our lovely en suite room over-looking the courtyard and pitched in. Most of the work had been done (though I did a stint of washing up after dinner) so we were largely able to hang out chatting with friends from near and far - Stu and Sam from Bristol, and Marit, Alf and Solfrid from Norway.
I also managed to get in a game of cricket, which was fun, even though Richard's sister Jo gave the boys' bowling some serious punishment and I was out caught for 14 - by a tree! Dinner - a small, intimate affair for 50 - came courtesy of the Thali Cafe, Hermione's long-term part-time employer, and was absolutely delicious. 
Somehow Rosie slept through all the hubbub in a borrowed pram - we stuck her in another room and left the door open so we could see her. (We repeated the trick the next day - by parking her on the grass outside the dining room window!) Most people headed off to bed early, aware that there was a full programme the next day.
It began with breakfast. Orchestrated by my Dad it was mammoth, heroic affair of scrambled eggs, mushrooms, sausages, haloumi, bacon, beans, toast and 4 helpers, including myself. Delicious! More friends and relatives began to arrive, some in sumptuous clothes - Marit's traditional Norwegian garb, Jim's Kilt and Audrey's sari were particularly awesome.
When spent a lot of time catching up with Tom and Claire sipping champagne under a shady tree, somewhere we seemed to gravitate to constantly over the weekend.
It was perfect weather, only in the 20s but thanks to the cloudless skies and humidity, seemingly a lot hotter. Thank goodness for all the shade! We also got to show off Rosie to various relatives, including her little second-cousin Phoebe (with whom she got to practice her Spanish.)
Then, suddenly, it was ceremony time! I was technically an usher, but I was viewing it as more a courtesy title than an expectation that I actually do anything, though I found myself having to step in and seat some of Hermione's old class mates who were standing at the back giggling like school-girls and too shy to take the spare seats. Then, after some suitably lame attempts by those on the front bench to make Richard nervous, Hermione arrived on my Dad's arm.
Jewellery: model's own. It was a civil service, but nonetheless extremely moving, with my Aunty Monica the first to go, followed swiftly by my mother and I. Before we knew it, they were man and wife, signed, sealed and delivered.
Champers, photo, strawberries in chocolate, a delicious buffet dinner, speeches, the arrival of Kate's sister/Rosie's babysitter Becky, and a Berry/Garrity football team getting a real beating all passed in a blur as Rosie slept happily in her pram.
The speeches were particularly good - my Dad just about made it through his BAFTA award to Richard for Best Supporting Role, while the best man's speech had Richard reaching for the booze. Example:
A couple of weeks after the first Hollyoaks episode featuring Richard had aired we were walking along when I said to Richard " I think those people are looking at you." To which he replied "To be fair, people always look at me."
Quality embarrassment.
Our friend Natasha turned up to DJ, only to discover she had forgotten the adapter to plug her headphones in with and, after her assistant Lucy made a round trip to Bristol to get one, it turned out it was broken. Still she soldiered on!
In the end she did a good job of getting people on the dancefloor anyway - who needs beat-matching! In fact she did too good a job, as when she finally knocked off at 1am, a hardcore (including the bride and groom - you'd have thought they would have other things on their mind!) wanted to carry on, so they plugged in an ipod and danced til 5am! Great! Except for the fact that, due to the gorgeous weather they had moved the PA from the ballroom to the small lounge that opened onto the patio. A wise decision, except that the PA was now directly below our bedroom. Between Rosie and the thudding bass Kate got exactly 2 hours sleep, and Becky and I didn't fare much better.
So the following day we were pretty much zombified and thus I eschewed the rather too energetic games of badminton being held. Instead I stuck to croquet, which was won quite emphatically by Marit's boyfriend Andreas. The Norwegians were also looking resplendent in their vintage gear, the garden party having a vintage theme. My effort was to wear the same shirt as the night before - kind of vintage!
All things come to an end though, even mammoth weddings like this one, especially when you are constrained by Easyjet's schedule. So after another delicious buffet, this time held on the lawn, we headed off with Becky to Bristol airport extremely pleased with the new addition to our family. And Richard.
Congratulations H & R!
As my sister works in the wedding trade, as a jewellery designer specialising in bridal wear, they know all the ins-and-outs of organising a wedding. They also realised that one of the worst things about weddings, from the point of view of the happy couple, is having all your friends there but no time to talk to them! Their solution: hire a wedding venue that can double as self-catering accommodation and invite people for three days rather than an afternoon. Genius!
So Friday afternoon we arrived as Eastington Hall in Gloucestershire to find red carpet being rolled out (they had scavenged it from a wedding fair) and the bar being stocked. We made ourselves comfortable in our lovely en suite room over-looking the courtyard and pitched in. Most of the work had been done (though I did a stint of washing up after dinner) so we were largely able to hang out chatting with friends from near and far - Stu and Sam from Bristol, and Marit, Alf and Solfrid from Norway.
I also managed to get in a game of cricket, which was fun, even though Richard's sister Jo gave the boys' bowling some serious punishment and I was out caught for 14 - by a tree! Dinner - a small, intimate affair for 50 - came courtesy of the Thali Cafe, Hermione's long-term part-time employer, and was absolutely delicious. 
Somehow Rosie slept through all the hubbub in a borrowed pram - we stuck her in another room and left the door open so we could see her. (We repeated the trick the next day - by parking her on the grass outside the dining room window!) Most people headed off to bed early, aware that there was a full programme the next day.It began with breakfast. Orchestrated by my Dad it was mammoth, heroic affair of scrambled eggs, mushrooms, sausages, haloumi, bacon, beans, toast and 4 helpers, including myself. Delicious! More friends and relatives began to arrive, some in sumptuous clothes - Marit's traditional Norwegian garb, Jim's Kilt and Audrey's sari were particularly awesome.
When spent a lot of time catching up with Tom and Claire sipping champagne under a shady tree, somewhere we seemed to gravitate to constantly over the weekend.
It was perfect weather, only in the 20s but thanks to the cloudless skies and humidity, seemingly a lot hotter. Thank goodness for all the shade! We also got to show off Rosie to various relatives, including her little second-cousin Phoebe (with whom she got to practice her Spanish.)
Then, suddenly, it was ceremony time! I was technically an usher, but I was viewing it as more a courtesy title than an expectation that I actually do anything, though I found myself having to step in and seat some of Hermione's old class mates who were standing at the back giggling like school-girls and too shy to take the spare seats. Then, after some suitably lame attempts by those on the front bench to make Richard nervous, Hermione arrived on my Dad's arm.
Jewellery: model's own. It was a civil service, but nonetheless extremely moving, with my Aunty Monica the first to go, followed swiftly by my mother and I. Before we knew it, they were man and wife, signed, sealed and delivered.
Champers, photo, strawberries in chocolate, a delicious buffet dinner, speeches, the arrival of Kate's sister/Rosie's babysitter Becky, and a Berry/Garrity football team getting a real beating all passed in a blur as Rosie slept happily in her pram.
The speeches were particularly good - my Dad just about made it through his BAFTA award to Richard for Best Supporting Role, while the best man's speech had Richard reaching for the booze. Example:A couple of weeks after the first Hollyoaks episode featuring Richard had aired we were walking along when I said to Richard " I think those people are looking at you." To which he replied "To be fair, people always look at me."
Quality embarrassment.
Our friend Natasha turned up to DJ, only to discover she had forgotten the adapter to plug her headphones in with and, after her assistant Lucy made a round trip to Bristol to get one, it turned out it was broken. Still she soldiered on!
In the end she did a good job of getting people on the dancefloor anyway - who needs beat-matching! In fact she did too good a job, as when she finally knocked off at 1am, a hardcore (including the bride and groom - you'd have thought they would have other things on their mind!) wanted to carry on, so they plugged in an ipod and danced til 5am! Great! Except for the fact that, due to the gorgeous weather they had moved the PA from the ballroom to the small lounge that opened onto the patio. A wise decision, except that the PA was now directly below our bedroom. Between Rosie and the thudding bass Kate got exactly 2 hours sleep, and Becky and I didn't fare much better.
So the following day we were pretty much zombified and thus I eschewed the rather too energetic games of badminton being held. Instead I stuck to croquet, which was won quite emphatically by Marit's boyfriend Andreas. The Norwegians were also looking resplendent in their vintage gear, the garden party having a vintage theme. My effort was to wear the same shirt as the night before - kind of vintage!
All things come to an end though, even mammoth weddings like this one, especially when you are constrained by Easyjet's schedule. So after another delicious buffet, this time held on the lawn, we headed off with Becky to Bristol airport extremely pleased with the new addition to our family. And Richard.Congratulations H & R!
Tuesday, 25 May 2010
The Royal Visit - by Theo
My parents are proud parents (my sister is very successful and accomplished) and even prouder grandparents. As a result our reception for Rosie's first visit to Cirencester last weekend was somewhat akin to that more usually afforded to Royalty or, at the very least, a former Big Brother contestant.
My mother runs her own Montessori Nursery from the ground floor of my parents house and, as her first experiment in childcare, she was keen to show both me and my daughter off to her current class. "See, this one survived and managed to breed" seemed to be the message. The children were fascinated with Rosie, all crowding round and poking her, so I quickly had to institute a queuing and viewing system.
The kids had been hard at work. I suspect the nursery school may be a front for sweatshop based on child labour, as they had all produced lovely cards for Rosie, which Kate received on her behalf along with a charming bouquet of flowers.
We were then serenaded with songs as Rosie dozed peacefully in her borrowed pram under the shade of a tree, which is basically what she did for most of the weekend. After the presentation, however, it was time to visit the true Queen of the Berry/Boulton clan - Rosie's Great-Grandmother and oldest living relative at 93. It was wonderful to see them both smiling happily at each other. 
My mother runs her own Montessori Nursery from the ground floor of my parents house and, as her first experiment in childcare, she was keen to show both me and my daughter off to her current class. "See, this one survived and managed to breed" seemed to be the message. The children were fascinated with Rosie, all crowding round and poking her, so I quickly had to institute a queuing and viewing system.
The kids had been hard at work. I suspect the nursery school may be a front for sweatshop based on child labour, as they had all produced lovely cards for Rosie, which Kate received on her behalf along with a charming bouquet of flowers.
We were then serenaded with songs as Rosie dozed peacefully in her borrowed pram under the shade of a tree, which is basically what she did for most of the weekend. After the presentation, however, it was time to visit the true Queen of the Berry/Boulton clan - Rosie's Great-Grandmother and oldest living relative at 93. It was wonderful to see them both smiling happily at each other. 
Monday, 17 May 2010
Prams, dummies and detachment
A baby you can put down to sleep is a marvellous thing. But strangely, over the last few weeks I've found myself missing those early weeks when the only place Rosie wanted to be was in my (or Theo's) arms or at my breast. Despite having a few precious hours to myself to read, write, do a little housework or grab some sleep, I felt a little bereft. I fully accept that the main function of a parent is to ultimately teach your child to be an independent being who can sally forth into the world brimming with confidence and (hopefully) bonhomie. But under four months of age is a bit early for that sort of thing.
Facing a plane journey back to the UK made me realise why I was feeling this way. We were stressing because it wouldn't be practical to take our pram along. The stress was because it had become the one sure way of calming Rosie if she was "going postal" and a magical way of swiftly rocking her into sleep. How the hell would we manage without it? Sometimes in the evening she gets so agitated that she won't even take a calming feed as a prelude to bedtime. Pram rocking had become the only way to soothe her.
That went hand in hand with the dummy. I gave her one after realising she loved to suck for hours on end, but my nipples just weren't up to the job without doing inconvenient things like bleeding. But swiftly Rosie got hooked, until going off to sleep without her mouth being plugged with a silicone or latex approximation of a human teat was out of the question. Not such a problem, perhaps - except the damn thing would inevitably tumble out of her mouth as she dozed off, immediately waking her up again - which in turn would awaken ME as she mouthed frantically for the lost pacifier, whimpering loudly.
I decided I would have to wean Rosie from her dependence on the pram as a soother and the dummy as a necessary sleep aid.
In the end, the former was surprisingly easy. With the help of Dr Harvey Karp, I tried the 5S calming technique on Rosie - swaddling her, holding her on her side, shushing manically and loudly in her ear while energetically rocking her. After a few tries I have to say it now works like a dream and I can transform Rosie from a scrunch-faced, inconsolable screamer into a relaxed and dozy baby inside a couple of minutes. Unfortunately, the 5th S stands for sucking, so the dummy comes back into play if shushing and rocking doesn't complete the job. But she doesn't seem to mind it being removed once she's quiet and sleepy.
Operation Remove Dummy has had its successes, but it's still too useful a calming tool to abandon entirely. However, strategic removal of the damned thing (known as "The Dreaded" in our household) shortly after Rosie's dropped off seems to be helping the situation and she seems to be able to settle to sleep without always having The Dreaded stuffed in her mouth. I've taken to feeding her more often as a way of getting her back to sleep and overnight, it's much more effective than offering the dummy. Tiring for me, yes - she's currently waking up about every two hours. But at least she tends to go straight back to sleep afterward instead of wailing for The D.
But the main benefit of all that is I feel I've got my cuddly baby back. I actually prefer rocking Rosie to sleep in my arms or feeling her drift off at my breast to manically pushing the pram back and forth or shoving a piece of latex in her mouth. Once again I can comfort and calm our daughter, instead of relying on other pieces of machinery to intercede. Today she slept on my lap for almost an hour as I sat on the sofa holding her. Yes, I couldn't get anything else done. But no, this time I'm not complaining.
Facing a plane journey back to the UK made me realise why I was feeling this way. We were stressing because it wouldn't be practical to take our pram along. The stress was because it had become the one sure way of calming Rosie if she was "going postal" and a magical way of swiftly rocking her into sleep. How the hell would we manage without it? Sometimes in the evening she gets so agitated that she won't even take a calming feed as a prelude to bedtime. Pram rocking had become the only way to soothe her.
That went hand in hand with the dummy. I gave her one after realising she loved to suck for hours on end, but my nipples just weren't up to the job without doing inconvenient things like bleeding. But swiftly Rosie got hooked, until going off to sleep without her mouth being plugged with a silicone or latex approximation of a human teat was out of the question. Not such a problem, perhaps - except the damn thing would inevitably tumble out of her mouth as she dozed off, immediately waking her up again - which in turn would awaken ME as she mouthed frantically for the lost pacifier, whimpering loudly.
I decided I would have to wean Rosie from her dependence on the pram as a soother and the dummy as a necessary sleep aid.
In the end, the former was surprisingly easy. With the help of Dr Harvey Karp, I tried the 5S calming technique on Rosie - swaddling her, holding her on her side, shushing manically and loudly in her ear while energetically rocking her. After a few tries I have to say it now works like a dream and I can transform Rosie from a scrunch-faced, inconsolable screamer into a relaxed and dozy baby inside a couple of minutes. Unfortunately, the 5th S stands for sucking, so the dummy comes back into play if shushing and rocking doesn't complete the job. But she doesn't seem to mind it being removed once she's quiet and sleepy.Operation Remove Dummy has had its successes, but it's still too useful a calming tool to abandon entirely. However, strategic removal of the damned thing (known as "The Dreaded" in our household) shortly after Rosie's dropped off seems to be helping the situation and she seems to be able to settle to sleep without always having The Dreaded stuffed in her mouth. I've taken to feeding her more often as a way of getting her back to sleep and overnight, it's much more effective than offering the dummy. Tiring for me, yes - she's currently waking up about every two hours. But at least she tends to go straight back to sleep afterward instead of wailing for The D.
But the main benefit of all that is I feel I've got my cuddly baby back. I actually prefer rocking Rosie to sleep in my arms or feeling her drift off at my breast to manically pushing the pram back and forth or shoving a piece of latex in her mouth. Once again I can comfort and calm our daughter, instead of relying on other pieces of machinery to intercede. Today she slept on my lap for almost an hour as I sat on the sofa holding her. Yes, I couldn't get anything else done. But no, this time I'm not complaining.
Sunday, 2 May 2010
May Day In Madrid By Kate
As a new parent, going out for a jaunt with the baby can be a tentative affair. On the one hand, you desperately want to show off your pride and joy to the (hopefully) admiring public and it's great to escape the confines of home, pleasant though they are. On the other, it can be a tad scary because of the impossibility of predicting how the offspring will respond to the outing. Last week I had to abort one journey to an English playgroup with Rosie when she decided she really wasn't happy and made no bones about expressing her displeasure in the loudest possible terms.
At the time I blamed it on the baby being overheated in the sling, or maybe she didn't like this particular one (different from the usual sling we use) or perhaps it was the type of carry she objected to. It wasn't hunger - a feed (rather uncomfortably executed on the Metro) only temporarily stemmed the flow of her objections and being taken out of the sling was also a fleeting panacea. On reflection I now believe it was simple tiredness. Observations have taught me that Rosie needs a lot of naps and if she hasn't had sufficient, she tends to throw a wobbly. Often she naps in the sling, but recently she's also needed the application of a pacifier to get her properly in the mood for sleep and that was the one piece of baby soothing armory I didn't have with me on that occasion.
This time Theo and I took no chances. Rosie was snoozing in the pram when we decided it was time to go so we left her in it, but packed a sling as well. In fact, Rosie snoozed off and on for the entire journey on a packed bus to the Retiro Park where we had arranged to meet a friend and do some book-crossing. We opted to get off a few stops short of the park when we realised one of the city's main streets was in the throes of a May Day demonstration. We contemplated joining it as a show of solidarity for the Spanish unemployed, then thought better of it. Maybe another day.
When we found our rendezvous in the park, Rosie remained happy in her pram while we laid out the books we were "releasing" into the unknown and perused the other offerings to see if there were any we fancied "capturing". Theo picked up a book of Spanish poetry and a Spanish translation of an HP Lovecraft story. Being less highbrow, I lassoed a crime thriller and an Inspector Morse. Typically, both had been released by my pal Florrie, so I could have just taken them directly from her, but where's the fun in that?!
After the book-crossing excitement, Rosie woke up so I put her in the sling where she seemed content to doze while we wandered around the gorgeous Retiro rose garden, a riot of hot pinks, reds and yellows as the dozens of flower varieties made the most of the Spring sunshine.
After we all (including Rosie) enjoyed an al fresco drink at one of the park's terrace cafes, Theo and I opted to draw the family outing to a close, said our goodbyes to Florrie and wended our way back home again. A simple trip, perhaps, but at this stage of early parenthood, it still feels like a bit of an achievement. Next weekend we're off to WOMAD in Caceres - wish us luck...
At the time I blamed it on the baby being overheated in the sling, or maybe she didn't like this particular one (different from the usual sling we use) or perhaps it was the type of carry she objected to. It wasn't hunger - a feed (rather uncomfortably executed on the Metro) only temporarily stemmed the flow of her objections and being taken out of the sling was also a fleeting panacea. On reflection I now believe it was simple tiredness. Observations have taught me that Rosie needs a lot of naps and if she hasn't had sufficient, she tends to throw a wobbly. Often she naps in the sling, but recently she's also needed the application of a pacifier to get her properly in the mood for sleep and that was the one piece of baby soothing armory I didn't have with me on that occasion.
This time Theo and I took no chances. Rosie was snoozing in the pram when we decided it was time to go so we left her in it, but packed a sling as well. In fact, Rosie snoozed off and on for the entire journey on a packed bus to the Retiro Park where we had arranged to meet a friend and do some book-crossing. We opted to get off a few stops short of the park when we realised one of the city's main streets was in the throes of a May Day demonstration. We contemplated joining it as a show of solidarity for the Spanish unemployed, then thought better of it. Maybe another day.
When we found our rendezvous in the park, Rosie remained happy in her pram while we laid out the books we were "releasing" into the unknown and perused the other offerings to see if there were any we fancied "capturing". Theo picked up a book of Spanish poetry and a Spanish translation of an HP Lovecraft story. Being less highbrow, I lassoed a crime thriller and an Inspector Morse. Typically, both had been released by my pal Florrie, so I could have just taken them directly from her, but where's the fun in that?!
After the book-crossing excitement, Rosie woke up so I put her in the sling where she seemed content to doze while we wandered around the gorgeous Retiro rose garden, a riot of hot pinks, reds and yellows as the dozens of flower varieties made the most of the Spring sunshine.
After we all (including Rosie) enjoyed an al fresco drink at one of the park's terrace cafes, Theo and I opted to draw the family outing to a close, said our goodbyes to Florrie and wended our way back home again. A simple trip, perhaps, but at this stage of early parenthood, it still feels like a bit of an achievement. Next weekend we're off to WOMAD in Caceres - wish us luck...
Tuesday, 13 April 2010
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.
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.
Tuesday, 29 December 2009
Kitting out by Kate
Just how many of these cute, pastel-coloured, curvy-shaped, cuddly character items are really necessary for a baby? Having just been on a (most enjoyable) shopping trip for our expected offspring, I've been quite staggered at the sheer amount of stuff being dangled enticingly under the willing and susceptible noses of potential parents and grandparents - stuff which I rather suspect is largely unnecessary for the health and well-being of the new infant. Of course, some items are essential and a few expenses unavoidable, but if people living in jungle tribes, two weeks from civilisation in all directions can successfully raise their new-born children without the benefits of ergonomically-designed breast-feeding cushions, baby baths and crib-bumpers, then I reckon we could probably manage it too.
Take nightlights, for example. Now, a low-wattage light to help you carry out the night-time feeds with minimal disturbance to your partner (and your retinas) seems like a decent practical idea. The little, plug-in lights you can get from the local electrical shop cost no more than a couple of quid/euros - and the job is done. In the baby shops, the nightlights made from soothingly-coloured, moulded characters with smiley mouse faces (for example) set you back by fourteen notes and yet they do exactly the same job as the two-quid widgets. And who's going to appreciate the extra twiddly bits on the fancy nightlight? The baby? Not on your nelly. Is it going to relieve your fatigue or boredom or enhance your enjoyment of the 3 a.m. nourishment session? Correct me if I'm wrong, but I seriously doubt it.
Anyway, as I said, some baby equipment is essential. Clothes, for example - although we've been donated and promised such a wealth of babywear already, that I doubt we'll have to part with much more cash to complete our newborn's layette. Nappies are unavoidable and as we're keen to try and mostly use washable ones, that will be an initial outlay of a couple of hundred euros (but should work out cheaper than disposables in the long run, even with the washing costs factored in). And there's baby transportation. By law, if you want to transport your little one in a car, it has to be in a proper, government accredited car seat. You're advised against getting them second-hand and the new ones don't come cheap. That's why we figured we might as well try and get a multi-purpose seat that would clip into a frame on wheels and therefore double as a pram and/or buggy. In fact, we've realised that the seat, as well as having its uses in our vehicle and on its own set of wheels, can also be a baby seat for general use around the house - when our little one needs to be set down somewhere safe in our vicinity while we do other things, for example - and indeed as a cot. The height of the pram set-up is about the same as our bed, so conceivably (assuming she's willing) we could have our nipper kipping in it at nights (if indeed she does kip at nights, Inshallah...) and be within easy paranoid new-mother checking distance and conveniently grabbable for breast-feeding in the wee hours. That's the theory, anyway. I guess we'll find out soon enough if our baby finds that solution as practical as we do.
For general child transportation, I'm very taken with idea of tying her to our bodies (one at a time, obviously) with a strong and stretchy length of cloth. Baby-wearing, in fact. The idea seems simple and flexible and assuming we can get it right and she takes to it okay, it seems like a good way of having your babe-in-arms snug against your body but not actually in your arms.
Still, I'm aware that babies are nothing if not adept at knocking all the best pre-parenting ideas into a cocked hat and I can only hope that our one will share at least some of our views on the best ways to make her (and us) comfortable. Unfortunately, if she takes after her parents she's bound to have some definite ideas of her own about the way she would like things done and will no doubt be unafraid to express them. Yikes.
Take nightlights, for example. Now, a low-wattage light to help you carry out the night-time feeds with minimal disturbance to your partner (and your retinas) seems like a decent practical idea. The little, plug-in lights you can get from the local electrical shop cost no more than a couple of quid/euros - and the job is done. In the baby shops, the nightlights made from soothingly-coloured, moulded characters with smiley mouse faces (for example) set you back by fourteen notes and yet they do exactly the same job as the two-quid widgets. And who's going to appreciate the extra twiddly bits on the fancy nightlight? The baby? Not on your nelly. Is it going to relieve your fatigue or boredom or enhance your enjoyment of the 3 a.m. nourishment session? Correct me if I'm wrong, but I seriously doubt it.
Anyway, as I said, some baby equipment is essential. Clothes, for example - although we've been donated and promised such a wealth of babywear already, that I doubt we'll have to part with much more cash to complete our newborn's layette. Nappies are unavoidable and as we're keen to try and mostly use washable ones, that will be an initial outlay of a couple of hundred euros (but should work out cheaper than disposables in the long run, even with the washing costs factored in). And there's baby transportation. By law, if you want to transport your little one in a car, it has to be in a proper, government accredited car seat. You're advised against getting them second-hand and the new ones don't come cheap. That's why we figured we might as well try and get a multi-purpose seat that would clip into a frame on wheels and therefore double as a pram and/or buggy. In fact, we've realised that the seat, as well as having its uses in our vehicle and on its own set of wheels, can also be a baby seat for general use around the house - when our little one needs to be set down somewhere safe in our vicinity while we do other things, for example - and indeed as a cot. The height of the pram set-up is about the same as our bed, so conceivably (assuming she's willing) we could have our nipper kipping in it at nights (if indeed she does kip at nights, Inshallah...) and be within easy paranoid new-mother checking distance and conveniently grabbable for breast-feeding in the wee hours. That's the theory, anyway. I guess we'll find out soon enough if our baby finds that solution as practical as we do.
For general child transportation, I'm very taken with idea of tying her to our bodies (one at a time, obviously) with a strong and stretchy length of cloth. Baby-wearing, in fact. The idea seems simple and flexible and assuming we can get it right and she takes to it okay, it seems like a good way of having your babe-in-arms snug against your body but not actually in your arms.
Still, I'm aware that babies are nothing if not adept at knocking all the best pre-parenting ideas into a cocked hat and I can only hope that our one will share at least some of our views on the best ways to make her (and us) comfortable. Unfortunately, if she takes after her parents she's bound to have some definite ideas of her own about the way she would like things done and will no doubt be unafraid to express them. Yikes.
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