A decent start to the New Year

Hurrah! I'm going to get paid for this month. Still staring unemployment in the face but at least I'm going to get paid. Hurrah Hurrah HURRAH!

Finger Food

Felix has now extended his finger food repertoire to include raisins, cereal hoops, pear, apple, muffin, banana cake, water biscuits, pasta and, of course, rice cakes. It still takes him a week to finish a meal.

Rubbish mum

Despite waxing lyrical about the joys of motherhood for a couple of years on this blog it's clear I'm actually a bit of a rubbish mum. Or perhaps I should say, I NEED TO WORK for my sanity. If I were to stay at home and look after kids all day they would just end up in front of the gogglebox for hours on end. As Jasmine has this morning because I've had my hands full feeding Felix (very slow) with a pinch of can't be arsed thrown in. My one attempt to be a super duper yummy mummy - aka bake muffins with Jambeans - resulted in her getting bored after 10 minutes and saying 'Bye mummy. I go watch telly.'

Let's play the lady

Unbelievably, I've become a gamer. Since boyfried treated himself to a PS3 (hardly seems worth the bother now I'm unemployed and he can have his pooter back in the evenings) I've become a huge fan of Little Big Planet. My fave sack characters are all sassy sack girls. Dressing them up like proper ladies and finding switch triggers are the best bits of the game IMHO. Jasmine is also pretty good at it and particularly loves the dressing up part and pressing the jump button. When we're bored we all go 'let's play the lady.'

The shorthand version of the longhand version of shitty christmas

I started writing this longhand version of why the run up to Christmas was so shitty, but it's taking forever and time is precious and all that, so the shorthand version is we were all horribly sick most of the time and 2 days before Christmas I lost my job because our company couldn't survive the collapse of the Icelandic bank system and I still don't know if I'm going to get paid this month.

Clearly, there is a lot more to get off my chest, particularly about being unwittingly unemployed in the midst of a deep recession, but we've finally had a good run of form so I'm not going to ruin it by moaning. Christmas Day at Auntie Seema's was most excellent. As was Boxing Day at London Zoo. As was the day after Boxing Day when La Gitane and Krusty came to stay before hopping on a plane back to HK. As was the day after the day after Boxing Day when Richard, Hilary, Danil and Seriosha came for a visit. I've eaten a LOT of cake. It feels good.

Food rebel

Felix is being a food rebel. It's taken us a few days to long to work it out, but now we realise that if it's on a spoon it's not worthy. So Felix' diet basically consists of toast and milk. The underlying premise being that it takes him about a week to eat 1 slice of toast, at the end of which time he's still hungry and needs to glug milk fast.

But his sloppy botty finally seems to be sorting itself out. We're on to sticky almost solid poo now.

shitty christmas

it's been a very long time since i've written anything in the blog. mainly, i've not had the energy. but also, i've struggled to know what to say, or how to say it. but also, there's been a BIG THING i haven't been able to say. a big stressy rubbish shitty thing and it's just inhibited me from saying anything about anything else really. more on that later...

good stuff that happened in the run up to christmas:

1. our washing machine broke but got fixed again. (note where this starts. this is the GOOD things list. and it's CHRISTMAS. this list of the best possible things i can say starts with a washing machine.)
2. it got warmer
3. i spoke at a local council meeting against the proposal to redevelopment the house behind ours into flats, and we got a result: planning permission not granted. babymomma equals skill. many people come up to me after and ask if i am a lawyer (?) - apparently i spoke that well they assume it's a professional skill. babymomma is chuffed ;-)

shitty stuff that happened in the run up to christmas:

friday 19th december:

babymomma wakes up feeling awful. goes to work feeling awful. head-achy-body-achy-nauseous-extra-tired-type-awful. believes it is related to the takeaway curry consumed the night before. spends much of the day with head on desk. attempts to leave work early but gets hit by a deeply shite friday afternoon work crisis. doesn't leave till 5pm. leaves with heavy heart.

on tube near home, babymomma receives message to say jasmine has chicken pox. aaaargh.

saturday 20th december, morning:

jasmine seems ok. bf seems ok. babymomma feels ok-ish. felix has diarrhoea. by the time 9am arrives he has pooed on me once and vomited on me 3 times.

desperate for outing we venture to whipsnade zoo. it's cold and windy. at the penguin pool jasmine has deep panic her hair is 'falling off' and insists on being carried everywhere. poo from jasmine's wellies is smeared all over babymomma. babymomma is haunted by acrid poo smell that no number of baby wipes can erase. (babymomma IS the acrid poo smell no number of wipes can erase). we struggle on regardless. see some giraffes. have lunch. babymomma flakes out. home. coma. boyfried manfully looks after everyone.

saturday 20th december, night time:

jasmine comes into bed with us, upset, uncomfortable and itchy with spots. tosses and turns against me all night = no sleep

sunday 21st december, morning:

Felix is doing early shifts (as in pre-6am) and after our crappy night's sleep bf and I feel like total shit. Jasmine, oddly, is totally well in herself and being an absolute angel. Felix is a bit on and off. No diarrhoea today but he won't eat properly - just wants milk. He seems ok for the best part of the day until we give him a square millimetre of chocolate biscuit and he grabs it and palms it and shoves it in his mouth and giggles and coughs and smiles and jiggles on daddy's lap and then OH MY GOD he does the most enormous vomit everywhere. Bigger than the Witches of Eastwick. Worse than the Exorcist. Not a surface of either daddy or the sofa is spared. Babymomma is too busy drinking tea, eating biscuits and laughing her head off to be of any assistance whatsoever. Bf is agog with disbelief. Felix is smiling innocently and gurgling with satisfaction. Not even a spot of vomit has landed on him anywhere.

Monday 22nd December, wee small hours of the morning.

Middle of night. Babymomma wakes up feeling... a bit weird. Spends the next 7 hours running to the loo every 15 minutes with the most horrendous you can guess what

Monday 22nd December, day.

Bf is feeling queasy, achey, nauseuous too. We bundle Felix to nursery and take it in hour shifts to sleep/look after Jambeans

Tuesday 23rd December

Bf still ill and stays at home. I still feel like shit too, not having had any time to recover from whatever bug crawled up my bottom and died there. Jambeans still covered in spots and in quarantine. Felix still not 100% and still being bundled to nursery. Babymomma's company gives notice to appoint administrators today and I, effectively, lose my job. My supposed career defining move hasn't lasted 3 months. It's 2 days before Christmas. I had known since Friday it was coming but it still feels like shit when I hear the news. When I pick Felix up in the evening I am informed he has had diarrhoea today, and therefore is banned from school tomorrow.

Wed 24th December

Exhausted, sick unemployed babymomma looks after two moaning sick kids. It is Christmas Eve.

the boy is back

After 5 weeks of anxiety and stress and snot and diarrhoea, Felix is definitely back.

Ignoring the deep permacrust of snot around his nose, he's back to his usual, bouncy, smily, energetic self. So, for the last few days he's been busy cruising for bricks, throwing books off the bookshelf (including dictionaries and encyclopaedias, though he's not managed to dislodge the medical reference breeze blocks quite yet) and playing 'putting things on a surface, and taking them off again, ' as well as 'coming over for a look and grab.' Wrestling matches at the changing mat are back on the agenda, but on the helpful side he's getting the hang of pushing his arms through sleeves. He's also (finally) getting into finger food, leaving me totally lost for inspiration beyond the inevitable - toast, rice cakes, soft carrots and broccoli spears.

But best of all, what has returned again with full force is the happiness - that deep, intense feeling of love and discovery as I watch, and help my little boy grow up.

din-o-saur. scary. wagging tail.

so it's pretty clear now that time to write blog entries is going to be snatched, and they will variously contain

(a) moaning about working too hard
(b) moaning about not having time to do anything
(c) updates on various effluents that are the product of kiddy illnesses
(d) general moaning about other stuff
(e) some mention of interrupted sleep, lack of sleep, desire for sleep or generally feeling tired

so. onwards.

granma left on saturday and the kids were in a fairly stable state. felix' eyes were clearing up. he was fairly bouncy. jasmine was finally getting over her cold and cough.

come monday morning, jasmine's eyes were totally stuck together. since nursery was not an option daddy took her to the natural history museum as a treat, followed by lunch at the v&a, and they had a whale of a time. since then it's been a constant litany of "i go mu-se-um. saw din-o-saur. grrrrr. scary. din-o-saur wagging tail. like a doggy. tee hee tee hee. i go 'nother museum. have lunch and pudding." (past tense, still a nascent skill)

come tuesday both kids are in nursery and we think, finally, we're able to see the light at the end of the tunnel. till i got a call to go and pick felix up because he was ill. so more frantic calls to the bf ensued, and we tensely "negotiated" whose diaries are more important with neither wishing to give way, imploring messages were left with nani (my mum) to come to the rescue and i rushed home to pick him up.

he's got the nastiest of bugs. we're talking lots of diarrhoea, some copious vomiting, persistent fever, suspected ear infection, more eye-goo (blocked tear duct?) and a lot of crying, screaming, yelping and insisting I carry him everywhere. nani looked after him for two days and has been a stalwart oasis of calm. even when she was cupping handfuls of watery vomit to prevent any more from going all over the sofa, and particularly when i was having a near total stressy meltdown. superwoman. lifesaver. granmas are great. what more can i say?

tomorrow bf and i are doing half days each. then bf will keep him home on monday in the hope that all the sickness flushes out.

work continues to be fast-paced, chock full and challenging for both of us.

needless to say, we have both lost a lot of bounce.

but then there is jasmine. beautiful, patient, radiant, funny, energetic, gracious, gentle jasmine who is well again, on great form and going from strength to strength.

Free Sleep

So Jambeans was very mature and went to nursery sans Felix, and most importantly, sans Granma without the screaming fuss we were anticipating. And Squealycops was in tremendously capable and loving hands for the day. We left him in the morning totally grumpy and with some kind of pus oozing from every orifice. Came back in the evening to a happy, energetic and smiling little bub. Phew.

Then this morning bf did the uber-chivalrous thing and cared for Felix when he woke at 5am whilst babymomma coma-slept. Then later in the morning, after we had all got up and when Granma was busy attending to Princess J, babymomma put Felix to bed, just lay down next to him "for 5 minutes" and then got another FREE SLEEP for over an hour. So whilst babymomma has been kipping, bf has been awake since 4.30 and is now knackered.

Time to pay off the TLC debt methinks...

The other joyful matters of today are that Jasmine is really getting musical. She's always singing and is getting the hang of tunes. She and daddy have been playing duets on the guitar and singing Jingle Bells together and we all had a big dance together this evening, putting the Strictly contestants to shame with our nifty footwork and twirls. Bf is totally into superspeedy broadband and Playstation 3 (his recent pressies to himself, because I'm working so much in the evenings and hogging the pooter). He has just introduced me to Little Big Planet, which I think I might quite like, though Jambeans, at the tender age of 2, is already a better player than I am. Felix is still cruising for Britain.

But despite my attempts to stay jolly I'm feeling rather seasonally affected.

Ballet dancing monkeys

Yesterday, nursery called to say Felix had conjunctivitis.

Obviously, we knew he had conjunctivitis (but according to the bf, it's the viral, as opposed to the bacterial sort, which apparently you don't take drops or ointment for and wait for it to clear up. And it is contagious but in the same way a cold is, ie no reason not to go to nursery) but I pretended I didn't.

Since I was on a roll I then lied some more and said I was in the office, as opposed to working from home, and therefore would take a good couple of hours to get back.

Evil mama.

So when I eventually got to nursery Felix was FINE.

But we got on the (old) bat phone anyway, and Granma came to save the day. Driving 200 miles at god knows what speed to get here in the evening.

Jasmine, on the other hand, has been on amazing good form and certainly seems more like her usual (tantrummy) self. She went to bed promising to dream of ballet-dancing monkeys. However, we're going to have to peel her off Granma kicking and screaming today to get her to school.

Felix woke up this morning with snot poring out of every orifice and is really poorly.

It just never ends...

It had to happen some day

Bf and I are having a really tough couple of weeks. We're just so wiped. Work is tough. Kids aren't quite 100% and various bugs that keep attacking are lingering and wearing everyone down.

Felix is onto 6 teeth now. They're coming at an alarming rate. His cold has been hanging around for over 2 weeks now. And he's waking up in the middle of the night consistently. He wouldn't settle this evening. Cried like a mad thing, and he's normally so easy. Had to go upstairs and check him after I put him down. Found him standing in the cot, peering through the bars, snot and tears pouring off his puffy little face. He was standing in the cot. And doubtless couldn't get down again. Felt that familiar twinge of a baby growing up. But he looked so helpless, and desperate. And totally adorable. Warning sign though. Next he'll be talking - then the demands will come. Just like his diva of a sister...

Jambeans' phases of sleep rebellion seem to be lasting longer and longer. After sounding so confident she wasn't going to get horribly ill, she went and got horribly ill again. Though to be fair, nowhere near as bad as we've seen her in the past, so reckon the drugs are still keeping various horrors at bay.

Last night, for the first time in about a week, we got her to sleep through in her own bed, rather than wake up and then moan for a mummycudd for the next hour till we give in. She's acting a bit weird these days (as in diva weird.) Bf says he can't wait for her to recover fully, then we can stop giving her the montelukast and get our normal, pliable, amenable daughter back. Somehow I'm not holding out much hope.

Grumpy Homage to Heat Magazine

So Into It:

Felix waving

Jasmine singing (as in, carrying a tune, rather than semi-rapping the nursery rhyme with a tone deafness worthy of her auntie)



(erm, that's it on this list)


So Over It:

Brrrr it's bloody cold

Dire Work Stress

Water flooding through our kitchen ceiling again (barely 2 months after we had it repainted)

Jambeans and Squealycops' neverending cold then taking turns to spike a fever

Having to miss out Girlie Gang reunion weekend - the most important event in my social calendar

Not having enough time to get a decent haircut

Only decent pair of shoes losing a heel grrrrr

Shit worry-induced sleep, eyebags, dry skin

More Dire Work Stress

what u doin mummy?

I was chatting on the blower to Uncle Mary yesterday, swapping notes on the bubs, as you do. And she was saying how baby Kate's developmental thang was all about babbling and communication. And I was saying how baby Felix' developmental thang was all about mobility. And she was saying how that's so typical of all the baby girls and boys in her NCT group, which got me comparing notes to when Jasmine was a bub (corrected age of course) and how that all seems totally true. That's not to say Felix doesn't talk - he babbles quite a lot - but it ain't half so interesting to him as moving is.

Jasmine's developmental thang is asking questions. Right now, it's 'what u doin?' As in:

'what you doin mummy?'

'I'm washing up'

'You washing up.'... (pause) 'what u doin mummy?'

and so on.

You can only go to bed once you've had your ice cream

It's early days yet, but this montelukast Jambeans is on seems to be working wonders. We give it to her as soon as the early symptoms of a cold begin to show and continue for a one or two week course. Twice we've given it to her now, and twice she's had just a cold. At worst she's a fever during the night. But her breathing hasn't been out of control and she's been mainly well in herself and able to go to school (as in nursery. We call it school. It's gonna make actually going to school a whole lot easier.)

It's taken an enormous weight of our shoulders. Jasmine's quality of life seems to be on the up, and no longer do we anticipate the onset of a cold with dread and stress. I've also noticed we don't snap at each other so much (or maybe, we just snap about other things).

Montelukast has to be taken with cold food. So every night we entreat Jasmine to have 'ice cream with magic dust.' Normally, she's totally up for it. But on occasion when she's been tired it's just "NO! NO ICE CREAM. I tired. Want to go upstairs" and we get all disciplinarian and have to go "Jasmine. You can only go to bed once you've had your ice cream" which is just totally weird.

Bad pants

My darling baby Felix has started to haul himself up onto furniture. It won't be long before he'll be cruising and walking. He's growing up so much more quickly than I seem to remember Jasmine doing whereas I just want him to stay a bub forever.


And he's really got to sort his thong problem out!

what's wrong with 5?

I'm amazed I'm still able to function. I'm working all hours god sends - till 10 or 11 at night and weekends too. And in between it's commuting, kids, and inconveniently enough, petitions (more planning applications to object to yadda yadda). The residual guilt that I'm deserting my children is rising ever closer to the surface. So, when yesterday the inevitable happened yesterday and I was called to take not one, but two sick kids home from nursery, I was strangely looking forward to being able to spend some time with them.

How wrong I was.

Looking after two sick kids - bub yelping, toddler moaning - is like being in a war zone, it's just so full on. The only upside is that it gave my arms a full work out from having to carry one or t'other (or both) of them pretty much continuously. And it's not like either of them is properly sick either (Jasmine's wonder drug seemingly performing miracles as it keeps the breathing difficulties at bay.)

Right now, Felix is banging the radiator and Jambeans is singing with her daddy, only the number 5 seems to have fallen out of favour: '1,2,3,4,6 once I caught a fish alive.'

Jambeans and Felix do us proud

Today at nursery, Jasmine did her first wee on the toilet. I was totally gobsmacked. I thought we would never make progress. And not to be outdone, Felix stood unaided for about 2 seconds.

Champion children.

A time to reflect

So, you would have thought that a black man winning the US presidential race would lead me to reflect on, ahem, concerns of a slightly more global import.

But instead I find myself thinking how this time last year I was pregnant and having an amazing holidaying in the Cotswolds.

And how today, I was getting on the tube to come home and I brushed the rucksack of some asian looking dude, and how he got all jumpy and protective over it and took it off his shoulder so he could carry it in his arms, and how I got a feel for the weight of that rucksack, and how the dude looked at me nervily, and then how the thought pierced my paranoia shield that he could well be muslim, and that since he was sitting right next to me with what might be a bomb how I would definitely die, and then who woul pick the kids up? and what would they do without a mama? but also how unready I was to listen to my own paranoia and get off the tube, especially as it would be doing a most-likely-normal-person an enormous injustice and i really couldn't be that racist how I was already running late to pick the kids up as it was.

And then he got off at Leicester Square anyway and i realised how pathetic I was being. (asian dude - wherever you are - i am sooooo sorry)

And then I reflected on how I managed to sit on the northbound Northern Line platform at Kings X and tell myself 3 times over NOT to get on the next train, because it was the Edgware branch, and then found myself on the next train and telling myself 3 times over to get off at Camden and change to the High Barnet branch, then finding myself at Chalk Farm, ie past Camden and heading north towards Edgware, and having to cross the platform to go back south so I could get off at Camden and change onto the High Barnet branch, then bf called and said 'I've got the kids' which was a relief but then I found myself stuck at Mill Hill East because I didn't check the destination of the train I boarded on the High Barnet platform at Camden, and how I had to wait 20 minutes for the train at Mill Hill East to turn around and trundle back south to Finchley Central, and how I had to run over the bridge to the other platform to get a northbound train that went to High Barnet, and how I missed it and had to wait another 4 minutes to get a train that finally took me home.

10 rounds with Mike Tyson

It's impossible to change Felix' nappy at all these days. Normally, I require the help of bf to pin him down. Yesterday at the zoo with uncle A, auntie T and cousin A I had to change him toute seule on a changing station that didn't have a strap to keep him place. Result - 10 minutes of struggling and a total babymomma energy crash all afternoon.

Other than that - no new news. London Zoo yesterday en famille. Jasmine and Abagael get on like a house on fire - though J wants to copy everything A is, does and has. Today Jambeans and I made cake for Nani's birthday, which was raw and collapsing when we took it out of the oven, but by the time we had ferried it to Auntie Seema's had miraculously recovered and tasted delicious. Nigella, irritating as she is, scores another goal.

Sleep rebel

Jambeans latest 'phase' is refusal to go to bed. Every night turns into a battle of wills as a screaming, insistent toddler insists that she's not tired and wants to stay downstairs. This evening she even said she would sleep on the sofa, proving she is two going on sixteen. We get her upstairs and to sleep (alternating the firm-but-calm approach with some JFDI style manhandling), but of late she's been reliably waking up at 3am and then moans for mummy. We just bring her into bed with us because we don't have the energy to resist, and I spend the rest of the night with her sleeping in my armpit. Add into the mix Total Daddy Rejection and it's all getting a bit wearing.

In which Babymomma and poppa leave the house sans enfants

Since grandma is up we took the opportunity to go out in the evening: an event so rare it's worthy of mention. Went to the Flicks. Saw Burn After Reading. It was pretty good. It must have been - I didn't fall asleep. The experience of going out in public tho' was totally weird. I felt like an alien visitor to another planet.

Jasmine does a TWITWE in the potty

Last night, at last, Jasmine did the Tiniest Wee In The World Ever in the potty. Babymomma and poppa take no credit - it's entirely down to Grandma's efforts, but at last we feel like progress is being made. This morning, of course, it's all refusals again, but at least we know she's capable of producing the goods.

And yet more Kew

Work is just totally manic. And when I get home it's straight into picking up the kids. My evenings are mainly taken up with work, and since none of us have been sleeping too brilliantly these last few weeks, we're all completely shattered and there's simply no time to write. Not a total disaster since there's not too much to write about: I'm too busy running just to stand still and the world at large is totally fucked (economy's trashed, we're in recession, doom & gloom yadda yadda)

BUT... in the short 6 days since Felix first crawled 2 inches, he's now making his way across thresholds, into other rooms, over to boxes and buckets and tables and everywhere. It's amazing. He's totally amazing. And teeth number 3 and 4 are beginning to poke through. And he's getting more and more handsome each day.

Jambeans is currently in 7th Heaven this weekend as Granma is up and she's the best thing since sliced bread.

And as for me, I love Autumn, and there's nothing more invigorating than Kew on a fresh, windy Autumn day.

Bloody bloody potty training

We're on attempt no. 3 to potty train Jasmine. The first time was too early. The last time, it started ok - Jambeans would happily sit on the potty in various states of undress (no wee/poo though) then after a couple of weeks refused entirely.
So we stopped.

Pause. Go on holiday. Come back. Wait for a while...

And now we're starting again. She is somewhat reluctant, despite going through the ritual of buying her pants to get excited about. And reading her potty book a gazillion times over. She quite happily fills the potty with plastic food. It's just the real, digested food stage she's bypassed completely.

She also likes to watch the entire parade of animals take turns on the potty (Porridge the Bear, Pedro the Capucin monkey, Luigi Penguini the macaroni penguin, Ed the Dog, Upsy Daisy, Big Po, Little Po, Tiger, Babydoll and the list goes on...), then mummy or daddy has a turn, then maybe Felix and then, if we're lucky, Jasmine has a go. For about 2 seconds.

I think the real problem though, is that Mummy and Daddy are a bit lazy about it all too. It's just too easy to give in and change her nappy.

Bloody bloody potty training. I really can't be arsed.

Twisting my melon man

Felix' names are getting better and better. Recently we've gone from Squealy-copter, via Copter-boy and Copter-merchant, then to Squealycops, to "Call the Cops" in honour of one of the finest anthems of our generation.

A right proper day out

Jambeans and Squealicops blew us away today by being totally happy and funny and charming all day. The weather was glorious so we planned a proper London outing - train ride, London Eye, Aquarium, lunch, train ride home, and it was fab.

Inching forward

The weekend. At last. We're both exhausted and need a lie in. Someone forgot to tell Felix it was the weekend. He woke at a quarter to six, which is totally rude. But then he rewarded mummy by crawling forward a whole 2 inches (as in proper crawling) before faceplanting into the plastic rings. I was moved to tears.

As if that wasn't enough, he started doing some serious babbling - babababababababa - then paused, then opened his mouth again...

And then my baby boy said ma-ma.

What a total result.

Rescued by music

The feeling that I’m a time bomb about to explode tipped over into this morning, when I did, indeed, explode. The catalyst – the discovery I had lost my precious, beautiful, indispensable, all-weather, all-terrain black Berghaus raincoat. And soon after that, I totally lost what little composure I had left. Tears, shouting, and frustration – it all came out in a torrent. Then I stormed off, slamming the door behind me and leaving a frustrated and perplexed boyfriend, a poorly toddler who doubtless thought she had done something wrong, and, thankfully, an oblivious baby.

The cause – hormones, bloody hormones, as “time of the month” has come round again. I remember feeling this irrationally angry during the first weeks of my pregnancy with Felix. It’s totally nasty. And I’m not sure I know how to deal with it.

The guilt and wretchedness started about two paces out of the door, combined with more tears. I had one resort – my “panic” play list I had compiled the day before I started work, designed to guide me through times like this: when the burdens of responsibility, combined with rush hour, combined with sick children and exhaustion hangovers take hold. Only it didn’t work, and I was getting angrier and angrier, when suddenly, the last 4 songs started to cast their magic spell over me and some semblance of normality returned.

Johnny Cash, Radiohead, Red Hot Chili Peppers and Justin Timberlake (yes, that's Justin Timberlake, I know...) – I owe you a debt of gratitude.

Why didn't today work?

It's been the most gloriously sunny weekend. It's mid-October and everyone's out in T-Shirts. I love it. Yesterday we went to Ashridge to take in Autumn in all its glory - and it was utterly fab - but today, nothing's seemed right, and I've felt just shy of extremely pissed off for most of today.
I'm sure extreme fatigue after a week of hard work and very crappy sleep has a lot to do with it, but you can't hold it against innocent children for wanting their mama in the middle of the night, and I'm so over blaming the boyfried for getting me knocked up in the first place (and then the second place), so instead I am going to hold Tesco responsible.

Tesco. Shudder. Where we went this morning to do a mop up shop. Went in feeling quite jolly. Emerged in a totally shitty mood. It's horrible in there. The staff are indifferent. The people are indifferent. None of the food is clearly labelled. The trolleys don't fucking work. You can't move without getting bashed in the face by a Vicki Pollard lookalike. We're running back to the haven of middle class snobbery that is Waitrose and are resolved never to step foot in Tesco again.

Heads are down, new teeth are coming and we're all coming down with something

To make up for 4 consecutive months of teething without teeth, Felix at last has not one, but two pearly whites beginning to poke through.

I had made the decision to stop checking for teeth because of the 'watched pot' effect, but regretted it the minute I had to hear the news second-hand, from the staff at nursery. That felt totally wrong, but I'll deal with it. I'm sure as hell not going to give up work...

...which I'm still enjoying most muchly, but, alas, the honeymoon period is definitely over. It's busy. Damn busy. I've had my head down solidly since Thursday and on Friday I didn't leave till well after 4pm*. So instead of pitstopping at home, I had to go straight to nursery in full work regalia (smart togs, Coccinelle handbag, inappropriately high heels) where Felix promptly did a major vomit all over me. Niiiice. Thanks baby.

And then he did another major vom in the buggy just as we got to our front doorstep. And sice then he's been farting offensively and doing horrible poos and moaning and waking in the middle of the night, so we're figuring he's caught some kind of bug, and then oh my god, last night did he do one seriously large projectile vomit all over our bathroom? There wasn't a single surface that hadn't been sprayed in the stuff and for once, I am not exaggerating.

Whatever bug he's got has now made it's way over to Jasmine which is always more of a worry, in case it goes straight to her chest. And now I'm back at work that familiar stress of having to negotiate who takes the day off is lurking...

It doesn't feel so bad this time though, because we're setting great store in this new medication she's just been prescribed. Suspecting asthma, bf took her to see a specialist at Great Ormond Street, who's put her on something called Singulair. Comes in powder form, you mix it with ice cream, so no inhalers, no spacers and no pinning a reluctant and fighting toddler down to take it. We're to give it to her for the duration of her cold and it should, fingers crossed, help steady her breathing.


*i realise this makes me look like I am, in fact, slouching off rudely early, but being a working babymomma I'm only contracted to work till 3pm.

Wannabe wrestler

Felix wants to crawl. He really really WANTS to crawl. His determination is so fierce that bf and I are having a job changing his nappy these days. He wriggles and jiggles and flips onto his front, then up on all fours faster than, erm, a very fast thing. I had to wrestle him back onto the mat many times in quick succession yesterday, then pin him down before he could escape again (or worse still, before he weed all over the carpet) and then grapple his nappy on. And he kept resisting, and struggling to get free and shouting his protests. And he's strong too. God knows how I'll cope with him when he's bigger.

Maybe it's a boy thing. Maybe it's a full-term thing. Maybe it's just a Felix thing but I sure as hell don't remember Jambeans being this wriggly.

Precious time

I've only been a working girl for one week but it hasn't taken me long to realise how precious the weekends are because I get to spend the whole time with my lovely children and boyfried. So I'm making sure that every minute of this utterly normal, wet London weekend is totally blissful.

This rat is racing

Well, I have an extraordinarily slow computer, the web connection is prehistoric, basic processes are very, erm, labour intensive to say the least and my head is pounding with information overload already (and I know this is just the tip of the iceberg.) There's so much running through my head I can't sleep at night and my eyes feel like they're on stalks all the time.

I'm absolutely loving it.

Noo girl

My first day back in the rat race was very gentle but no doubt it's going to get manic very soon. My back (which I buggered 2 days ago carrying a whining Jambeans into our bed in the middle of the night) just about held out, though I did take my maximum allowable dose of painkillers, and the only other casualties are my eyes, which are sooooooooo tired from staring at a screen all day.

Morrison called me to say "Good Luck" and "you're not a housewife any more" which sounded good to the ears. Fingers crossed I'm still chirpy about it all at the end of the week.

Catharsis

Just been into work to hand in my pass and clear my desk and it felt great. New job starts on Monday - bring it on!

That frazzled feeling again

After Jambeans was up all night on Tuesday night feverish and breathless, Felix thought it was his turn to engage in some nocturnal shennanigans, so last night he was up 3 times with I don't know what so today we're both feeling extremely tired and frazzled. This is NOT how I managed my last week before work to pan out.

Continuing on the anal theme...

Before Felix was born we had a big clearout and bf managed to fill an entire binbag with paper that needed shredding. So off we toddled to John Lewis and bough the best shredder we could find, and in my pre-birth ignorance I sweetly said "Don't you worry boyfried, I'll do it all when I'm at home."

And it's only gone and taken me 7 months. But yesterday I finally got to the end of it.

I shred for Britain.

Bring on the medals please.

Here we go again...

Jasmine is worryingly sick again.

Sentimental Old Fool that I am

So, my FIRST full day sans enfants of any sort. And what do I do?

Hotfoot it down to the local spa?

Nope.

Indulge in some retail therapy?

Nope.

Kick back relax and watch some chick flicks?

Nope.

I file.

And I'm not talking fingers and toes either. No, instead of basking into my newly found freedom I launch into that unbalanced tower of paper that has amassed over months and I file it all away into various, erm, files. And it takes me two bloody hours of pure unadulterated efficiency.
And now I'm sitting here not knowing whether to worry that I really am that anal or feel satisfied that it's done and out of the way. A bit of both I guess. But whilst filing I uncovered this gem of a report that Jasmine got from nursery back in May:

"Jasmine has become so chatty about everything. She is singing and dancing all day, or laughing. She is so happy, enjoying everything we do. She is also more active and able to do more activities. Jasmine loves action songs and games in the garden."

It's such a joy to see that desperately small and vulnerable bundle of premature baby flourish into a lovely little girl.

It so works!

Felix' new nickname, as invented by the bf, is Squealy-Bin.

Hahahahahahahaha. It SO works!

To Queue or Kew?

When we stayed at Fowey we took the opportunity to visit the much vaunted Eden Project, along with, let me think, oh, only the whole of the rest of Cornwall and Devon. The queues started in the car, before we even got to the front gates, rendering our "20 minute drive" into a 40-minute piss take. From the car parks they bus you to the entrance gate. Come again? You have to queue for a bus? (I know, I know, the irony of The Eden Project bussing everyone in - two words spring to mind: Carbon. Footprint.) So instead we walked the path for 15 minutes to... the back of the queue leading to the entrance gate. Felix was cool. Jambeans was entertaining the masses by singing 'Horsey Horsey' quite tunelessly at the top of her voice. Unsurprisingly Babymomma and Poppa were getting antsy.

Another 15 minutes later we were farmed into the entrance hall where we were fooled by the 14 ticket desks into thinking this would be a breeze, but didn't account for the incompetent laziness of the 14 stupid Janners manning the ticket desks. Which is why, when there were only 2 people ahead of us, it took us yet another 15 minutes to get to the front of the queue. Where we were informed by the cashier that her till had broken and we would have to go to the back of another queue. AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHH. So boyfried harrumphed off to queue in a silent, manly strop, and I harrumphed forward with Felix with a huffy, about-to-have-a-London-style-hissy-fit scowl on my face. Which was fortunate because from my vantage point I could see that the cashier fixed her till in about 3 seconds and dully went on issuing tickets without even trying to call us back. So we barged back in and, finally, paid our £30 dues to enter...

The Eden (Queueing) Project.

We've arrived. Thirty quid poorer, totally pissed off and we've only just got inside the front door. The Eden Project had better blow us away to make up for that. So we look around, and all I can see is people. Where are the Biomes? Oh, you have to walk another 10 minutes to enter.

Stop. Sigh. Try to Think Positive.

So off we trot, and as we get closer, the throng gets thicker and thicker, till finally we're in the cafe-canteen-lunchy-type-area that acts as entranceway to the Biomes and we muscle our way forward and finally we're in the Rainforest Biome and are being herded around a one way system Ikea style and it's hot and humid and there are simply billions of people everywhere and to top it all off Felix starts whining his hungry whine so we have to turn around: we've barely been inside 5 minutes.

Around we turn, fight our way back to the cafe-canteen-lunchy-type-area, queue to find a seat (and curiously, get to witness some people queueing to see how a pasty is made), feed the bub, get lunch, have the privilege of eating it with a spoon and fork because all the knives have run out and then decide to forgo our £30 entrance and GET THE HELL OUT.

So we're trying to get the hell out, and guess what? We even have to queue to exit the goddam Eden Queueing Project.

We've been there 2 hours, spent about £50 and haven't seen a single decent plant. Thankfully, we laugh. And resolve never to go back.

By contrast, yesterday was the most perfectly sunny day so we went to Kew and it was total bliss. Our very own Eden, right here in London.

Who do you know in your neighbourhood?

Since becoming a stay-at-home momma involves your entire world shrinking to the immediate area around your house, it's fitting that in my last couple of weeks at home that I've got to know a lot more neighbours. The cause that's bringing us together is a planning application to convert the 3 bed semi behind our garden into 4 flats. Everyone is up in arms, in a very middle class way, of course, and I've surprised myself by zealously knocking on doors, writing letters and urging people to raise objections.

What I've learned is that our neighbours are mainly a jolly nice lot. Warm, considerate, welcoming, and it's lovely getting to know the names and faces of people who live around you.

The other thing I've learned is that neighbours love to talk, and talk and talk. Which wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for the fact I have 3 unadulterated hours of ME time whilst the kids are at nursery and I want to use them for ME goddammit.

Settling Babymomma in

After Felix' first, somewhat tearful, day at nursery the feeling that I was abandoning him started to gnaw at me terribly. The next day he looked up at me adoringly from his changing mat, babbling and giggling and cooing, and I felt an enormous wave of guilt wash over me. I just scooped him up and kissed him all over apologising for what I was about to do. I was still teary by the time we got to nursery. I spent the next few hours hiding out in the staff room and worrying. I'm know I'm not alone - lots of other mums have been through this before. Hell, even I've been through it before, so I should know better.

The basic premise is that you don't believe anyone else will look after your darling one as well as you can, or understand his cries, or respond to his needs. After all, you've only gone and devoted every waking hour of the last 7 months (plus many a sleeping one...) to your precious one and it's taken that long to really learn his language. How will they know that he likes to drink half his milk, wait for an hour, then finish it off? Who will play the standing game with him when he's upset? How will they realise when he's hungry? What happens if they just leave him crying on the floor? and so on.

So whilst I was anguishing downstairs, Felix was upstairs having a blast and after 2 hours I collected a happy, cooing baby.

There was an additional bonus. I got to spy on Jambeans playing through the staff room window, and that was totally precious.

Settling Felix In

My new job starts in 2 weeks time. Felix needs settling into nursery. Today was his first day - he stayed in the baby room for just over an hour. I was there too, but on a chair on the other side of the room and very hands off. Felix did okay, but did get overwhelmed a few times. Then he would cry his panicky cry. God I found that hard. I hear it so rarely. He's not used to so much pandemonium and when it got too much for him it took every ounce of self restraint not to go scoop him up and give him a huge mummycud.

Fabulous Present Time

Just as post-holiday blues were beginning to settle in got a surprise delivery from Amazon addressed to Jasmine & Felix. The brain immediately starts ticking into overtime - who's it from? what's the occasion? what (book) is it? - and am totally perplexed as there are no birthdays due and none of the rellies really use the internet for shopping, so I rip it open and the Mary Dude has only gone and sent one OF THE BEST BOOKS EVER. Immediately I am transported back to my childhood, snuggling up in my mum's bed poring over Richard Scarry pictures. I am resolved to put it on the highest bookshelf so I can and keep it for me, me, me... (no, not really).

The thing is, I can't for the life of me work out why she is sending us the present. Apparently it's for a nice day out at Fowey, but she was the one who drove herself and the delicious Baby Kate (aka Dudetta, aka Kate-o-Rama, aka Kate-o-Matic) all the way out to Fowey to meet us and we end up getting the present?

Friends, sigh. They're Bloody Wonderful.

The Dairy is Dead. Long Live the Dairy.

My boobs had pretty much settled down about a week after Felix had been weaned. So at the earliest possible opportunity I packed up the nursing bras and put on that special lacy and underwired number I had bought at the beginning of my maternity leave especially for this occasion.

Only 2 days into my holiday and grrr, had a little 'accident' which made me realise that you only need the teensiest, tiniest drop of liquid on clothes for that damp stain to appear and everyone to stare at your nips.

(p.s. not me in the pic, though obviously I could understand if you were mistaken, and not even the bra I bought either - just imagine something/someone similar but with bigger boobs).

Our holiday, in brief

So, our 3-week holiday, aargghh. Where to start? So much to cover. So many memories to capture. The short version is that we all had a great time. Spent a night at Nani's, then to Granma's for a week, then to Granpa's for a couple of days, then bf went back to work for a week (boo hoo) and I stayed at Granma's with the kiddisplinks and Nani came down to visit for a couple of days, then bf came back for a week (hurrah) during which we disappeared to Fowey Hall for 3 nights sans grandparents of any description (double hurrah) then we went back to Granma's for a night, back to Nani's for a night and then, breathe, home. Oh, and in between we also managed to do much catching up with Uncle Angus, Auntie Tina and Cousin Abagael as well as Auntie Leon, Uncle Mary and oooh their gorgeous new baby Kate.

I feel that Jasmine stopped being a toddler this holiday, and has really turned into a little girl. Her speech is coming along at a rate - it's now moving into full sentences, with plurals, personal pronouns, possessives and tenses - and she sounds so grown up when she says things like 'I'm feeling ok;' 'Look Daddy, I'm driving!' or, yesterday's new one, 'I don't like it' (gulp). On holiday she also rode a bike for the first time, did the washing up, went to the circus, danced at a birthday party, practically lived in her Wendy House and graduated to a proper bed. She is embracing this new stage of maturity and independence with a lot of giggly excitement and bossy charm.

Felix, quite simply, hit the handsome button this holiday. He is just getting more and more gorgeous each day. Oh yes, he also hit the loud button. One day he realised he could squeal much louder that all the pigs in Pigdom. And so he did, throwing me totally off track as now there are a whole load of new noises to mean, hungry, bored, tired, need a new nappy etc. etc. He has also started mooncrawling (trying to crawl only going backwards), sitting quite beautifully, grabbing for toys and shoving anything in his mouth with a vigour I had quite forgotten about.

You know your holiday's over when...

...your period starts the day you get back.

Bugger.

Eeeuuuuwww poo

So breastmilk poo is ok - yellow, mustardy, liquidy, smells a bit like stale breastmilk. Only downside is after a while you get a whiff of your breast pad and go, hmmm, smells a bit like baby poo...

Breastmilk to solids poo is also ok. Looks like what you put in - orange, carroty. Soft, like dough. Easy to clean.

Formula poo on the other hand is the most revolting substance on the planet. OMG is it smelly. OMG is it sticky. So sticky it takes half a pack of wipes. And how come it goes in so milky white and comes out so dark brown? Did I mention how smelly it is? In short: Makes. Me. Want. To. Gag.

Breakfast of Champions

I'm rubbish at eating breakfast, always have been, but in recent years I've been getting pretty good at making sure I eat a decent breakfast every day. This morning though the usual toast or cereal option at the ridiculously early hour of the morning just didn't appeal. So on I potter, have a cup of tea, feed babies, dress toddlers, sort stuff out, and then whoops! before I realise, half a packet of biscuits has been munched and it's not even 9 o'clock.

Finchley: The New Roswell?

In the dead of the night bf and I were awoken by a scary loud, whooshing noise right outside our house. I figured Ferrari/ car thief/ juvenile delinquents. Bf reckons on a military helicopter. Now I'm on a UFO/ X-files track - it was that loud and whooshy.

Babies are just fab

Felix is just getting cuter and cuter. He's all chubby and smily and cooey and babbly and loves to grab his feet and rock from side to side and is all tickly and giggly and luffly luffly luffly luffly luffly

New generation, new words

Jambeans wanted a song yesterday. I was getting ready to sing her Peter Rabbit (peee-ter-rab-bit's-got-a-fly-up-on-his-nose etc.. to the tune of 'John Brown's Body') but she got all angry and started pointing at the dock furiously going "Daddy. Bag. Daddy. Bag..." then, pronounced beautifully, "Eye. Pod"

Old friends. Sitting on a park bench like bookends.

So whilst the whole weaning drama was playing out, Jambeans was also sleeping terribly. For a couple of nights in a row she'd wake up, scream for her mum or dad, wouldn't settle, then we'd bring her into our bed where she would rouse two or three times a night and moan and moan and moan and mooaaann. By Wednesday morning we were totally shattered and scratchy.

But then, Ely, aka my Fairy Godmother cum Guardian Angel cum Bestest Friend in the Whole Wide World descended on our house in a puff of magic dust with Pippa and Zoe (who is possibly The Loveliest Smiliest Warmest Happiest Child In The Whole Wide World) and of course Ted the Dog, and they totally cheered me up.

They stayed for a couple of nights. Daytimes have been filled with toys and stories and playing and farm trips and cups of tea and gossiping. At night time Jambeans slept in our bed and was an absolute angel. Felix continues to drink quite contentedly from a bottle and is also sleeping through again.

I adore spending time with Ely. It's always bathed in a calm glow of warmth and familiarity. There is also something incredibly touching about spending time with your childhood friends and then seeing your children play together a generation on.

That whily window cleaner came...

...a week early, but I'll forgive. He's not due till 12th November now - I'll be watching that calendar like a hawk. He also told me he's going to Thailand for a month in January. I just kept staring at the gap where his two front teeth should be, willing him to go away and thinking "Eeeeeeuuuwwww I dread to think what you get up to there."

Weaning diary notes #2 - cold turkey day

Sun 23.17:
Felix rolled over onto his tummy in his sleep. Started screaming. Full breastfeed.

Mon 01:00:
Same thing happened again. Short burst of booby milk.

Mon 02.50 - 04.00:
Felix rolled over again. We righted him, twice, then let him cry himself to sleep for 1 hour and 10 minutes. It is at some point while he was screaming that I decided we go cold turkey from now.

Mon 07.30:
Felix wakes. Daddy offers bottle nonchalantly. Squealibeans Rejects Bottle. I am totally on edge, assuming he is a bomb about to go off.

Mon 11.00:
Whimpering grows but he's nowhere near frantic. After some initial resistance bf bottle-feeds him 110ml of EBM/formula mix.

WOW! We are amazed. Clearly, he can still drink from a bottle!!

Mon 1pm:
Whimpering grows again, but still not frantic. Felix drinks another 70ml EBM/formula mix from a bottle.

Mon 14.50:
After persistent complaining since his last feed Felix takes another 110ml. Another small step forward. Had been feeling very antsy up to this point, but again, calm and hopefulness is restored.

Mon 17.10:
Felix drinks 110ml, given to him by his mum.

Mon 19.00:
120ml, again given by mum. He finishes the bottle. I wish I had put more milk in.

Total Monday: 520ml.

Tues some heinous hour of night:
Felix woke, hungry and screaming. After 45 mins I caved in and give him 170ml from a bottle.

Tues 09.00:
150ml from bottle.

Tues 11.30:
130ml from bottle.

Which brings us up to now.

Is it safe to say he's weaned now? Could it really be that quick? After all our anxiety, surely it should be a lot more painful? It makes me feel stupid for worrying so much. Anyway, the plan is really to establish him on milk for a few days, then go back to giving him some solids too and a few sips from the cup. I've been pumping the boobs to ease the pain, and just need to reduce the frequency and volume I express each time. Then we'll increase the formula to EBM ratio till it's totally formula. All eminently doable.

At some point we need to make sure he's full enough during the days so he can go back to sleeping through the night again. Aaarrrgghhhh at the thought of sleep training again. At least there is something left for me to worry about.

Operation Cold Turkey starts earlier than expected

As if snuffles, teething, cup training, weaning onto solids and me cutting back the booby milk weren't enough, Felix started to roll over onto his tummy. It's a huge developmental milestone... only he started doing it in the middle of the night. Every 90 minutes to be precise.

Doubtless after his day of solids-training, he hadn't eaten enough and was unsettled and HUNGRY, which made him thrash about and madly suck his fist, which made him roll over. Lots. Which made him scream. Lots. Poor little mite, it's understandable.

But despite that, in my exhausted, I-can't-take-much-more-of-this stupor I decided, gulp, that we couldn't have Felix being that hungry in the night. Going cold turkey on the breastfeeding front and bottle feeding only for Felix would have to start ASAP.

Decision reached, and a plan is developed.

After a positive start on the weaning front, the "dropping one feed at a time" plan is now getting really boring and totally frustrating. It would be OK...:

(a) ...if we had really regular feeds to begin. But we don't. Felix is fed on demand and that suits me just fine. The book is normally a really good source of advice on most aspects of baby-rearing, but lets me down this time by suggesting we establish some kind of feeding regularity before we start the slow weaning process. A quick flick to the notes on 'routines' tells me what I already know - that it can take 2 days to 2 months to establish regular feeding patterns. So I have neither the time nor the inclination.

(b) ...if we could swap a breast feed for a bottle, but Felix has rejected the bottle. We tried pretty hard since June to get him to accept it again but with no success. It was tiring for the bf and traumatic for me (see e). The only thing that made it better was the decision to give it up and try alternatives.

(c) ...if Felix were developmentally ready for the alternatives, aka drinking from the cup alternated with solid food. On the cup front both my trusty sources (Babycentre and the aforementioned book) recommend trying without a spout first but tipping the cup against his mouth and letting the baby learn how to sip. This is what we did with Jambeans so I've been happily doing it again with Felix. This time round I consult the book in a little more detail and find this gem: whilst babies as young as Felix are ready for the cup, I shouldn't expect him to drink more than a couple of fluid oz at a time. A penny drops - he has been doing this quite well but I was expecting him to ramp up the volumes quite quickly and had been getting frustrated when I couldn't see any more progress. It turns out he's doing fine with the cup training, but the cup isn't a reliable alternate source of milk to the boobs...

(d) ...if Felix ate more solids. At the same age Jambeans couldn't gobble the solids up fast enough. It was amazing how quickly she went from her first tentative spoonfuls to eating loads of veggies a day, often more than me. But she was premature, and they often take to solids very early, and every baby is different. But even though weaning her was totally stressful it did mean we knew she would be able to eat something when she started nursery, and we could keep her fluid level up with very runny rice porridge. After a seemingly good start it turns out Felix really hasn't taken to rice porridge at all.

(e) ...if we had a positive memory of weaning Jasmine. We did it the slow way with her too, replacing a nursing with a solid meal and sips from the cup. She took to solids super early and super fast, but any attempts to get milk down her were painful and we tried pretty much every tip, trick, hint, vessel and program there is. They all failed. My return to work deadline was looming. I hadn't had an hour to myself for 9 months. Jasmine wouldn't drink independently. I was crying quite a lot. It was totally horrible.

So bf and I talk this all over after his day of looking after the bub. And it goes a bit like this:

1) Bf feels that the slow method means it is too easy for the bub to insist on booby milk and too easy for the mum to give in and try solids/alternatives at the next feed. He is totally right.

2) Bf suggests going cold turkey on the boobs and replacing it with solids/cup. I feel fear. I don't want to have another child who doesn't drink enough milk. If he turns out like Jambeans there will always be the worry at the back of our minds that he simply isn't getting enough calcium in his diet. I suggest we try cold turkey, but with the bottle.

3) Bf feels fear. He doesn't believe Felix is capable of drinking from the bottle any more - that he has lost the technique.

4) True to bf's advice of having a confident attitude I spout some bullshit about having a 'vision' of Felix drinking milk from a bottle, sipping happily from a cup and eating solids when he wants. I talk more crap about 'believing in the vision' and that we have to 'believe that Felix can do what it takes to get there.'

5) I surprise myself by believing what I say. Bf surprises me more by saying 'OK. No time like the present. Lets start tomorrow.'

6) Reassuringly, I return to cowardly form and say I need time to get my head round the idea of not nursing Felix any more, so lets start next week.

But the good news is, we have a plan.

A scary plan, but a good plan nevertheless.

A giggly afternoon

Sunday. We're aiming for Felix ultimately to nurse in the morning and evenings only, so since bf is around he's in charge of the boy, and I'm in charge of the girl for the day. It feels to the bf that most of the day is spent encouraging Felix to eat. He eats some solids, not a huge amount, but it goes down ok I guess. He's still not eager for the cup.

I, on the other hand, get to play with Jasmine. We go for a long, cheery walk and end up in a cafe eating beans on toast and watching the womens' gymnastics - uneven bars - on a plasma. Jasmine is on great form, and mumbles 'legs, round and round' over and over while giggling hysterically as I spoon beans into her. It feels great to be bub-free for a while and I realise how much I have missed spending quality time with my daughter.

Angry with the BBC and still prone to Olympic bouts of sentimentality

It turns out that the opening ceremony of the Olympics was bloody amazing. I am furious to have missed it. So angry I actually spent a sleepless hour fulminating at the BBC's highlights coverage, which showed us only about 10 minutes of fantastic opening ceremony, 10 minutes of crap speeches and boring processions of athletes, 20 minutes of footage on the British Olympic hopefuls (as if...) and a whole load of Sue Barker and other uninspiring presenters filling the rest of the time.

What makes me angrier, is that I could have watched it live, but chose not to, and also elected not to Sky+ it either, assuming that the highlights coverage wouldn't cut out any of the best bits. I am a BBC stalwart - I would happily pay double for the licence fee so I never thought I would say this, but... The BBC are Bastards.

Anyway, my blubcount is rising. I cried at the Olympics twice on the first day, once on day 2 and twice already on day 3 (a Russian and a Georgian hug on the podium - oh the poignancy). I am so soft it's humiliating.

Repeat 20 times a day: I am NOT a failure of a mum

that nagging anxiety about weaning/ bottle rejection/ cup training that i've been desperately trying to control for the last month or so is really beginning to surface. as a result i was feeling quite flat and low about it all last night. talked to the boyfried who told me that a unconfident attitude was part of the problem. he's doubtless right but it made me angry and upset, because it was (supposedly) practical advice but didn't give me any indication as to when and how i should deal with feeding felix during the day.

my mum is the same when i try to talk to her. she has no practical advice to offer but just says "don't worry." it makes me angry because all i really want is for my nearest and dearest to acknowledge how worried i am, that my worries are founded and to empathise with how shit i feel.

sometimes with my mum it's like she assumes felix will wean by himself, and ignores all the effort i have to put in to make it happen. it's hard to convey how very very very frustratingly depressing it is when all your best efforts show absolutely no result day in day out. i'm really not used to failure. and failing twice at the same thing is harder to bear.

so taking bf's advice on board that i needed to change my attitude i recoursed to good ole Google and landed at Berkeley Parents Network, where reassuringly there is a page full of mums (rather, moms) with the exact same problem.

it made me feel:
a) that i'm not the only mum in the world who has to wean to a very real, fixed deadline
b) it's not my fault if the baby won't drink from a bottle - some babies just won't take anything but booby milk from their mums aka i'm not a failure
c) there is no magic answer and babies are unpredictable, so my making it all up as i go along is actually ok.
d) we might have to let felix get very, very hungry indeed
d) he WILL cry if we do that. it WILL be difficult. but it might just work

Felix does Shakespeare

Felix is not a well bunny. His snuffles are getting worse, and in the mornings he is phlegmy and has a blocked nose. I think also teething is hurting quite a lot. The last couple of days he has been fine one minute, then has been crying his poor wee heart out the next and is all red and puffy-eyed and looks totally miserable. He was up twice last night, which is unusual, and would only settle with mucho cuddles. And when he's Ok he's basically chewing chewing frantically chewing anything. Often his fingers but mainly my shoulder, my cheek, my fingers, my arm, my trouser leg, even my chin and often (wince now) my nipple. I imagine him whispering under his breath "The pound of flesh I demand of her is dearly bought, 'tis mine, and I will have it"

Weaning diary notes #1

Felix had a wee burst of booby milk this morning at 7.30am; then a decent burst at 8.30am; then a wee top up at 10am, just before his snooze. So it gets to 11.30am and I figure it's 3 hours since his last decent meal, a good gap, but he's had that wee top up in between so he shouldn't be frantically hungry. Into the Bumbo he goes, bibs are attached, food and drink are at the ready.

First up is the cup. I try for about 5 minutes but nothing doing. I switch to cauliflower and broccoli puree and spend 10 minutes trying to get him to eat. He's happy but clearly not interested so I do the sensible thing and stop trying to feed him at all. Maybe his 'top up' was actually enough to keep him going for much longer.

It's now 1.20pm - over 3 hours since he ate or drank anything - and he's in the Bumbo, again, refusing to drink from the cup entirely, again. I try to make him smile hoping to get some milk into him while his mouth his open, but that doesn't arouse his interest either. I end up splashing oodles of the stuff everywhere. Everywhere, that is, except into his mouth. Sigh.

Decide to be patient. Switch to puree. Maybe 5-6 tiny spoonfuls go in, but it takes 15 minutes. At this point he starts to whine and cry, and I know it's a hungry cry. Grim determination sets in. He is going to finish his veggies at any rate I tell myself. I know he can do that - he's eaten quite greedily before, he can do it now. So there I go, ladling tiny quantities into him every time he opens his mouth to cry. So he cries harder, and I ladle more in. I see it gather in his mouth and wonder if he's going to gag and vomit it all out, but he does eat it. He just doesn't eat it willingly. By now he's eaten maybe half his veggies. There were only 2 tablespoonfuls to begin with, i.e. a pethetic amount. But I am feeling OK and determined and not affected by his crying and imploring looks to stop torturing him. Only then, his crying changes tone and becomes insistent, pleading, and pained, and he starts trying to jerk out of his seat so I can't direct the food into his mouth properly. And I time it, to see how long I can withstand this. And it's only 3 minutes before I give in.

I breastfeed him on the sofa and tell myself "You are so weak" and then the Good Cop voice goes "but he's not well, and is teething, and was up twice last night screaming his lungs out in pain, and he's just a baaaaby..."

Total Olympics blubdown

So I'm on the sofa feeding the bub and I flick the TV on to catch the Olympics opening ceremony, and I've only been watching for about 2 minutes and it's the usual crap, with some cute little girl on a wire doing some weird cycling movement with her legs, and some dude on a piano who is probably rather good, and a dove made out of humans and Huw Edwards wittering on and on and on and I start crying Goddammit. What is it with me and the Olympics? All that sentimental pap? Why does it always make me blub like the world is coming to an end?

We are not alone

Just found this from a poppablogger, and it made me laugh like a loon.

Covered in slobber and other stuff

Just when you think the teething can't get any worse Felix steps it up a gear. He is still using me as a giant teether so I am covered in slobber from my fingers, up my arms, all over my neck and up to my cheeks. I am already sweaty from our long walk, and add to that all the snot and sneezes plus the usual detritus from feeding them both and I'm basically totally disgusting.

Still no sign of an actual tooth though.

Feeling totally clueless - addendum

Typical. So by the time the milk has cooled Felix is totally frantic and crying and there's no way I'm going to be able to feed him anything, and I am convinced he needs to do a poo, because he's straining and his little face is going red, so I take him to the sofa and try and distract him with a cuddle and some raspberry-blowing action on the tummy but he's still crying, now really insistently, and whaddya know? He IS hungry and gobbles gobbles gobbles gobbles some booby milk like he's never been fed before.

How totally frustrating.

Feeling totally clueless

So this weaning thing, well it involves both weaning onto solids - going okaay I guess, and weaning off the breast and onto formula from a bottle or cup - going very slowly. Felix drank 60ml from his Doidy cup today, but it took about 25 mins. This is either a fantastic result, or, seeing as he should be drinking about 600ml a day and needs to be doing it independently in about 6 weeks' time when he starts nursery, could mean we're heading slowly towards total disaster.



But the main point is, I really haven't a clue what I'm doing. I just muddle along without a plan. I'm not the kind of mum who gets up in the morning and goes, Right! Today we're going to drop feed (a) and replace it with a cup feed of x ml and then drop feed (b) and replace it with y oz of solids and then we'll increase it all by z over the next c weeks... I don't have regular feeds to begin with, so I just sort of make it up as I go along.

The result is mainly that Felix is plonked in the Bumbo, which can be at any time of the day, and might be offered a cup feed, or some solids, or a combination of both. Since I'm trying to feed him when he is hungry but before he gets too frantically hungry, I'm going by the clock, i.e. time elapsed since he last ate or drank anything, but I can never be sure I've timed it right when I try to feed him. Since it's such a painfully slow process anyway and it's always accompanied by some crying, moany-type noises it's hard to tell whether he's not sufficiently hungry and is rejecting what I have to offer him, or is just taking his time and trying to get the hang of it. (Or, now I see it in writing, the third option is that he is hungry but is still rejecting what I have to offer him because he wants boobs.) I've had various success, sometimes I persist and he does gobble a load of food up, and sometimes I persist only for Felix to vomit up what seems like an entire bowl of pureed veggies seconds later. And very often I tell myself that I'm just going to feed him solids and try and get him to drink from a cup and then make him go hungry for the next 2 hours only to cave in to his appeals and top him up with booby milk half an hour later.

So he's in his Bumbo right now, and has been eating a decent sized blob of foul-smelling carrot and broccoli puree, but it's going down really slowly and at the same time he is making big time whiny crying yelpy moany type noises. And they could mean "I'm so hungry this isn't doing it for me right now, give me BOOOOBS" and they could mean "I'm really not comfortable in this seat but I reckon I could still eat some more veggie slush" and they could mean "I'm not hungry and not interested" but right now, and for most of the day, they've sounded like "I want to do a big poo". I'm worried that I translate all his noises as "I want to do a big poo" but he, well, strains, and has done three today already so I can't be that far off the mark. But he has been sipping at some water from the Doidy quite eagerly, so I'm also wondering whether he's actually saying "Give me a decent drink goddammit to wash this thick gloop down with" so I've made some formula and have left him a wee while for it to cool and brain dump all my inconfidence onto the blog.

Who gives a stuff about Carol?

So there's a big brouhaha about Carol Vorderman announcing she's leaving Countdown because they tried to make her take a big pay cut yaaawn and it's off air supposedly to make way for Channel 4 Racing yaaaaawn but quite frankly I don't care just BRING IT BACK. It's the format we love, not the quietly smug and gratingly chirpy presenters. You could put a blow up doll in the place of Carol and it would still be a great show. Just put it back on pleeaase. I need my Countdown fix.

Pointer Sisters to the Rescue

Jambeans and I have taken to putting Jump on really loud and doing crazy dancing in the living room.

Getting Felix to sleep through - executive summary

So Felix is consistently sleeping through somewhere between 9 and 11 hours every night. He doesn't always go to bed easily, sometimes he wakes up in the middle of the night and needs to settle himself back again, and often it's nearer 9 hours than the desired 11 BUT the important thing of note is that I am getting decent kip, at last, and I think I've sort of stopped moaning about it. But it does beg the question - why do I still feel so tired?

Above average

Jambeans is still poorly, so I took her to the doctor's today. Apparently the average frequency of illness for a child aged 0-5 is once every 6 weeks. I reckon Jasmine gets sick about every 4 weeks. What the GP wasn't able to tell me was whether the duration (ages) or severity (high) of her illnesses were something to worry about or take further. I have no basis for judging how ill she is at any given time - something in me is blind to it, and I always assume she'll be ok. I've always been like that - ignoring the signs and assuming they will go away (like when I was sick for 2 days when pregnant but it was actually premature labour, or when I was puking for weeks before I went to hospital with acute pancreatitis - both times other people had to intervene to get me to a hospital) but both my mum and the bf say she's close to critically ill when she's sick, so I figure they must know what they're talking about.

Apparently the important thing to look for is whether she gets better in between illnesses, which Jambeans certainly does. These little words of GP wisdom helped. I feel less guilty for not taking Jambeans to the doctor every time she gets sick, but for waiting for her to ride it out.

The GP also sympathised with how wearing it is for a parent to care for a child who is ill so frequently, demonstrating to me that medics are actually human beings too. I asked for a referral letter to Jambeans' peadiatrician anyway. He's very good, and I think a visit to him, if only just to chat, may help the bf stop worriyng about Jambeans which in turn may help me stop worrying about the bf worrying.

It's tough when she's not well - it's tiring and we get scratchy with each other. We talked about it last night. I said "we always seem to argue when Jasmine is ill." He turned to me and said simply "Because it's stressful." Never a truer word...

Grandma's visit, hot London, poorly toddler

The summer heat must be going to my head, because I really enjoyed Grandma's visit and managed to be a friendly person for the whole weekend. That's twice in a row now. I worry when my irrational dislikes of people start to erode - it means I'm changing into someone who might be described as "nice" (which in my world translates as "one of the most tedious people to walk this planet.")

True to form, Jambeans managed to catch another cold-cum-fever-and-chest-infection to coincide with Grandma's visit and the 31 degree heat outside. It makes it a bit difficult to tell whether she's properly feverish, or just hot'n'sweaty like the rest of us, but she's OK - we've seen worse.

Felix, bless him, is also snuffling. It's his first cold. Aaaaaah. But he's OK too and he ate some veggies for the first time yesterday without a single vomit in sight. The weaning plan is all going smoothly.
Did I mention how hot it is outside? But I'm not going to moan - it sure beats Winter.

Grrr that surly London lady

So I go up to the counter at the pool, smile, and go, like we always do, "2 adults, 1 baby, 1 toddler please" and it's that surly lady again and she goes "that'll be £8.40" without the corners of her mouth so much as twitching upwards, and I go "have the prices risen recently?" and in the style of a reluctant teenager she goes "no-oo", and I go "do I have to pay for the toddler" and the lady goes "well how old is she?" (and do I imagine it or do her eyes roll upwards at the same time?) and I go "just over 2" so the po-faced lady says in the deadest of dead voices "that'll be £7" so I pay and smile, gesture towards Jasmine and go "at what age do I start paying for her" and she goes "when she's 3" and I say thank you and what I'm really thinking is that unhelpful surly cow should have asked how old the toddler was first before just charging me for her and trying to rip me off grrrrrrrrrrrr.

My new perfume

I never wear perfume but recently I've found one to splash all over at least a couple of times a day - Eau de Posset

Feel so dead today - is it hormones?

I was totally wiped out by 9pm last evening and I still feel like a total slug today. I also have one of those monstrous headaches. I've been getting them pretty much every day for the last fortnight and am popping paracetamol with alarming regularity. I guess it's hormones - dropping back on the night feeds and supplementing other daytime feeds with solids is bound to have an effect, which reminds me that the dreaded period is going to reappear one day, I just hope its not soon.