Dear Bundle of Joy, I would like to call in sick ......

These last two weeks a new truth has dawned on me (or more like hit me in the face). I can never be sick again. Or at least not the kind of sick where you lie around in bed feeling sorry for yourself. Or the kind of sick where you watch bad television all day. Or even the kind of sick where you take cold and flu pills, and pretend that you're not really sick, whilst walking around on a medication cocktail.

It all started two weeks ago when I started vomiting one evening. Just the usual evening but with a dose of vomiting. Not self-inflicted, obviously. I hardly touch alcohol these days due to the breast-feeding business, which is also the reason I can't take flu pills. Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes, vomiting. There was much vomiting. The vomiting was followed by aches and pains, sore throat, and general flu-like symptoms. Now, I'm sure you've all had a nasty flu-like virus. You're probably thinking I can spare you the details. But in the interests of painting you a picture of my misery, I'm just refreshing your memories. I was practically on my deathbed, or at least it felt like it. 

Unfortunately, my employer – aka Bundle of Joy - did not care. Did she let me call in sick? No. Did she skip her 5am feed? No. Did she let her mother lie in bed and recuperate all day? No. In fact, she laughed at my misery. Coughing and sneezing is, apparently, rather hilarious if you're a 6 month old baby.

And that my good people is the story of how one young mother vowed (somewhat fruitlessly I suspect) never to fall sick again.

PS – I would like to dedicate this blog entry to my mum. Thanks mum. And Isabel, if you're reading this twenty years from now. It's never too late to say thanks.

PPS - I am now trying to get the flu jab. But my GP tells me that they only have enough vaccines for 'at risk' groups. I have to be 'invited' to get the flu jab. I tried the 'I have a 6 month old baby' plea but they weren't having it. Old people and asthmatics outrank me.

It's a long way to Tipperary

 

Especially when you're carrying around the kitchen sink. And make no mistake, you need the kitchen sink when travelling with a baby. It feels that way anyway. Gone are the days when all our luggage would fit in a single large backpack. Sigh. Instead, we now have a front-pack with a goggle-eyed baby.

I can also report that there is nothing in Tipperary. We drove through it whilst in Ireland. There's zip, nothing, nada. Your true love would need to live there for you to say 'farewell Leceister Square'. Though I can only question whether love would be enough to survive living in Tipperary.

I can assure you though that the rest of Ireland is very nice. Very green. It was hours of entertainment for Bundle of Joy. For some reason, green is her favourite colour. Green whizzing past a car window is even better. Such simple pleasures at 6 months old (when did life get more so much more complicated?). The only problem in Ireland was those little leprechaun men who kept wanting to 'borrow' her .......

Click here for a few photos from our Ireland trip

Forget the mush. I want a guiness.

Dear people who read mummy's blog,

We have just been on long trip. Dad was around the whole time, just like when I was born. I got to play with him heaps and heaps. And we went in the car lots. It makes a nice humming noise, which puts me to sleep. Mum was always telling me I was a good girl, even though I kept missing everything because of that damn humming noise.

I met lots of new people. The way they talked was a bit funny. It didn't sound like mum and dad. The people who talked funny would carry me around talking to me while mum and dad were putting stuff in their mouths. Mum kept trying to put stuff in my mouth too. I wouldn't eat it though as it didn't taste like milk at all.

Bath-time was weird. Not like home at all. Mum and dad would sometimes sit in the water with me. I would kick my legs around and make a big mess. But one time, they tried to bathe me in something that was way too small. So I cried until they took me out. I'm much bigger than I used to be.

Mum and dad were very relaxed. Apart from when the thing that dries mummy's hair started smoking. Dad made a lot of noise and mum took me out of the room, even though I wanted to touch the thing that was making smoke. Most of the time though, they kept trying to sleep. But I was awake and there was too much to see. So I wailed until they'd come and get me.

Dad also spent lots of time drinking black stuff and making noise at the TV. I tried to put some of the black stuff in my mouth but he wouldn't let me. That's okay though because I'm now able to get my feet in my mouth. And they're way more interesting anyway.

The end

Isabel  xoxo

Mush. It's the new food.

Last installment, I mentioned the constant chomping on fingers. All this chomping (and no sign of teeth) made me wonder if Bundle of Joy was perhaps ready for solids. Plus she's been showing an awful lot of interest in other people's food lately.

Of course, like anything on babies, there are several thousand theories on weaning. And as usual, I start off with good intentions. I read everything. Then, also as usual, I become confused by all the conflicting advice. Then I ask how everyone else has been doing it. Finally, I make it up as I go along. After all, people have been managing just fine for thousands years without the aid of baby books. And I don't know anyone that hasn't progressed to solid food.

Even with my befuddled baby brain, I am starting to notice a pattern here. Next time, I should just skip all the reading. It'll save me a lot of trouble.

Anyway, enough about baby theories. We are on day five of solids. And this is what I have discovered so far:

1 – I don't know why they call it solids. It's mush. Baby-rice-mush, carrot-mush, pear-mush. Quite tasty actually, if you don't like lumps in your food.

2 – Weaning is also a misnomer. There's no reduction in milk feeds for some time. In fact, it's breastmilk or formula for the whole first year. So, she may not be 'weaned' off my breast for months yet. Calling it weaning is false advertising.

3 – I need to buy Bundle of Joy a spacesuit. Or at least something completely wipeable which goes over all of her clothes. I never knew carrot could cause such stains. I'm thinking about starting her on the food-with-no-colour weaning diet. It would be pretty simple. No yellow food, no red food. And definitely no orange food.

Below is a video of her very first mouthfuls.  I'm still getting to grips with video technology, so you'll have to excuse the odd-sized picture. 

I think I've given birth to a cannibal

Fingers (of the human variety) are currently Bundle of Joy's favorite thing to bite on. And she's not fussy. Any random finger will do. It sounds pretty harmless right? After all, she doesn't have any teeth yet. How hard could she possibly bite? Well, surprisingly hard. Hard enough to leave little gum imprints all over my hands and arms anyway.

So, I am now a human teething toy. I'll add that to my repertoire of new skills. Mother, person-who-is-very-good-at-doing-everything-with-one-hand, and human teething toy. Nice.  My CV is expanding daily.  

We're on a new schedule Isabel. Didn't you get the memo?

Last week, after reading yet another baby book, I thought I'd introduce a daytime routine.

Baby books hover around new mothers like mosquitos, ready to bite you with yet another theory on bringing up your baby, as soon as you're a bit careless with the repellant. And this one got me just as several other mummies had been promoting the joys of a routine (and their babies were behaving like little angels of course just to prove them correct).

'Okay, Isabel. This week we're on the Tizzie Hall baby

whisperer theory', I explained to her (this book suggests that you should always explain to babies what's happening, as they're only pretending to not understand, a bit like cats). 'We've got a new routine!'. She looked at me suspiciously (it was either suspicion or she was just frowning at the pretty pattern on my shirt, but I'm going with suspicion).

I've been telling myself that the routine is entirely for Bundle of Joy. Little babies are supposed to like structure and predictability. And it'll help with her daytime sleeps (which are often non-existent). But if I'm honest with myself, the routine is probably as much for my benefit as for hers.

I've never thought of myself as a strict routine kind of gal. But it's kinda nice to be able to plan your day (day-planning being one of the first things to go when you're a yummy mummy). The first time she had a 2 hour day nap on this new routine, I didn't know what to do with myself. I could actually start something and finish it. The 40 minute day nap thing is like being with a learner driver who's just figuring out the clutch. Stop, start, stop, start, stop, start. So, by the end of the day, I've usually started half a dozen tasks and finished nothing. I've half cooked dinner, half drunk a cup of coffee and half cleaned the bathroom. The problem with this is that I've never liked doing things by halves. I like to finish the things that I start, even if it's only cleaning the bathroom.

So, full steam ahead then on implementing a routine. Unfortunately, the only problem with baby books is that the baby hasn't read them. We've made progress but she's not exactly 'on' the routine yet. I'll have to keep you posted as to whether these routine things really work .........

Life in the pram lane

Pram pace. It's my new speed setting when out and about. It's slightly faster than old age pace but slower than the pace of most Londoners. 

Isabel,  4 months

For starters, we go nearly everywhere by bus. Tubes have too many stairs, which are a little difficult with a pram. So I am now a dab hand at scooting up the bus aisle, with one hand on the pram and one hand swiping my oyster card through (can I put that down in the special skills section on my CV?). Then there's the constant stops whilst out and about. Usually a feed or two and a few nappy changes. Sometimes, it even involves going completely out of my way, simply because I know a particular shop has a baby-changing facility.

And the final thing is that it's generally pretty difficult to walk in a straight line down a busy london street with a pram. All the constant zigzagging really adds a few miles. Plus I usually wait at the crossings now instead of nipping in front of oncoming cars (I don't think those london cabbies would hesitate in running me down). Definitely adds a bit of time.

Of course, I could adopt more aggressive driving tactics. Is it considered rude to run people over with a small child? Does seem like it could get me into trouble. Especially with all the rioting youths about London these days. Although if you give me a few more years of this yummy mummy job, who's to say that I won't be happily mowing people down left, right and centre. I've certainly seen a few of these mums around.

It may seem like I'm complaining. But I'm not really. It's just means I have to factor in a bit more time whenever meeting anyone or going anywhere. And besides, it's nice to live life at a slightly slower pace. What's all the rush about anyway?

All the new friends

For those of you who have been to London, you'll be familiar with the ability of Londoners to stand two inches away from you on the tube and obliviously read their paper. And you'll know what I'm talking about when I say that nobody ever talks to you or makes eye contact. Well, let me just say that isn't the case once you've had a baby.

When I was pregnant, people would quite often smile at me. Now, random strangers have entire conversations with me. Sometimes, it's because they want to give me unsolicited advice. For example, 'are you sure your baby can breathe in that baby sling?', from one lady recently on the train to Croyden (another story in itself as to what I was doing in Croyden). Mostly though, people ask about Bundle of Joy. 'How old is she?', and 'Oh, she's so cute!'. Those people are quite nice actually. After all, what mother would turn down random compliments from strangers about their baby? Though I do have to stop myself from sharing her daily bowel movements with them.

It's the random touchings that I draw the line at. People toften touch her feet or her head or her cheek. When they're not looking, I surreptitiously wipe their fingermarks off. Sounds a little over-protective, but who knows where those fingers have been or what is growing on the tube these days? And she's not quite sticking things in her mouth yet. I do think that a few germs are good. But London tube germs are in a category of their own and I'm not sure she's quite ready for those yet.

Question: By what port did the applicant arrive? Anwer: Birth canal

Isabel, 14 weeks old

Yes. That really was one of the questions on the visa application that I recently submitted for Bundle of Joy. However, I didn't really answer it with 'birth canal'. The UK Border agency probably wouldn't see the funny side. I've noticed that immigration officials don't have much of a sense of humour.

You might be wondering why she needs a visa? Well, it's no longer possible to arrive in London, pop out a child, and for the child to have a british passport. So, if we travel outside of Britain, they can refuse to let her back in. 

Unfortunately, there was no getting around the fact that I had to fill out that form - even though it was clearly not designed with newborn babies in mind. 'No', she has not committed any acts of genocide. 'No', she has not held any terrorist views. 'No', I do not know of any reason why she might not be considered of good character. Unless putting your feet in your dirty nappy and waving them around in the air counts?! 'Please refer to date of birth'. She is only 3 months old ....

Who's in charge? I don't think it's me

Now, last installment, I might have mentioned being in charge of a newborn baby. I'd like to retract that last statement, because I think it is definitely Isabel that appears to be in charge. How someone that is only 62 cm (and I do know her height because I had to put her height on her passport application) has assumed total authority over our household is slightly baffling. One small wail and I jump to feed her, or change her, or dangle a blue thing instead of a red thing in front of her in order to amuse her. I shouldn't be totally surprised by this. Apparently, I do have some chemicals now racing around my body which make me respond directly to her cries. It's Nature's way of ensuring we looked after our wee Bundles of Joy back in the pre-historic age and didn't eat them. Still, I do sometimes wonder how such a wee package has totally turned our lives upside down. This is upside down in a good way, of course. And I would never consider eating her. Except maybe for last Friday when she would not go to bed ......

Disclaimer: This is, of course, a joke. I would never eat my baby. Do not call social services.

The internet is my friend

The internet is my newfound friend. You can order in the comfort of your own home, where it doesn't matter that your Bundle of Joy is screaming, or that you leave mid-order to deal with a poo-nami. Nevermind that I accidentally ordered a kilo of teabags last grocery order. For those of us that are metrically challenged, there's bound to be some confusion when you can't physically see the item. In any event, Beloved Husband is getting used to finding odd-sized food items in the cupboard, and my mum has been over from NZ to help deplete the tea-bags. Because if your mum is anything like mine, then you've probably had instilled in you that a good hot cup of tea will make the world seem a better place. And one needs several cups of tea per day when in charge of a newborn.

One nappy room to rule them all

Isabel, 10 weeks old

I used to be a career girl. You know, providing expert analysis and visiting boardrooms. Now, I visit nappy rooms. And recently, I have had occasion to visit quite a few.

My mum was over from New Zealand and so we did a few of the sights of London. Well, actually, she saw some of the sites. Me and Bundle of Joy visited the nappy rooms at those sites. So far, we've clocked up the National Gallery (quite nice), the Tate (ok), and the open-air changing room of St James park (breezy). Buckingham palace didn't quite stretch to a changing room, so we had to make do with St James park. In fact, the park wasn't too bad. Isabel got to wave her bottom at the people in the green-and-white-striped chairs and we got to enjoy the mild looks of surprise.

But there is one nappy room to rule them all. And I do hate to admit it, because it sounds a bit like a marketing plug. But one has to give credit where credit is due. Westfields in Shepherds Bush has provided a small sanctuary for mums amidst its shops. Admittedly, it was a little hard to find. But when we did, it was like that shining moment when you realise you have an umbrella in your bag as an Auckland sky opens up on you. The door slid open (automatic, no less) to reveal a whole play area, three changing pods, and individual feeding rooms complete with two chairs and table. Even the toilet cubicles had two toilet seats each and enough room for a push chair.

Now, I'm all for having values and such, but I'm afraid they go out the window somewhat when one has a screaming soiled baby. I will be shamelessly giving them a large portion of my consumer spending (albeit that my spending is no longer on designer handbags and high-heeled shoes). Still, a mum's spending on baby stuff is not to be snivelled at. Especially when there is lots of mums in there spending up large and babies require an amazing amount of stuff. I've certainly told all my yummy mummy friends. Exactly what they intended I suspect.