We managed to sleep five glorious, uninterrupted hours last night – from about 11pm to 4am. But that was about it. After Microtoes’ pre-dawn feed and nappy change we were just dozing off, when Tinytoes sprang into action. Gentle cries of “Baba, Baba…” (what she calls DearDaddy, her interpretation of the Catalan “Papa”) drift across the landing just before 5am. Our bodies stiffen and wait. There it comes again a bit louder this time “Baba, Baba…”. I sigh. Then “Baba, Baba, Baba, Baba,” increasingly loud and frantic. DearDaddy pulls back the covers to get out of bed.
“Just wait a few moments,” I groan. “If you go to her every time she calls out, you’re pandering to her needs and she’ll know she just needs to shout Baba and she’ll get a cuddle. And then how will I manage when you start travelling with work again?” The covers go back on. We wait a few moments as it all goes quiet.
Then (she must have been taking a deep breath) “BABA, BABA, BABA, BABA,” she roars. “BABA, BABA, BABA, BABA, BABA, BABA, BABA, BABA, BABA, BABA, BABA, BABA.” My resolve evaporates: “Just give her a cuddle!” I wail.
Tinytoes has always been a bit of a Daddy’s girl but in recent months – while I’ve been heavily pregnant and then postnatal – Daddy has been increasingly present in her life. In the evenings he’s been bathing her and putting her to bed, while I cook the dinner and feed Microtoes, and in the mornings he’s been getting her up either to drop her off at morning nursery or to hand her over to me after I’ve finished feeding her little sister.
Mindful that our family has become slightly segregated – DearDaddy and Tinytoes versus myself and Microtoes – we’ve recently begun to swap roles: with me sometimes bathing and putting TinyToes to bed, while DearDaddy cooks the dinner (great idea in theory, but he takes longer to prepare it than me and although it’s usually yummy, I’m often starving by the time it arrives!).
Last night DearDaddy arrived home to find some random electrical gadget had arrived from Amazon that he was eager to install, so Tinytoes missed not only her bath time but also her playtime with Baba. This was possibly too much for her to handle.
Hopefully, as we continue to mix and match who does playtime and bathtime with her, her morning cries will stop. In the meantime, I guess I should be grateful she’s calling “Baba” and not “Mama”..
Much later this morning, at 9.30am (which feels like lunchtime), I bring Microtoes for her and my 6 week post-natal check-up. I learn a worrying fact when discussing immunisation. The doctor tells me only 50% of people living in my village bring their babies to be vaccinated. Apparently there needs to be 85% of babies vaccinated in order to guarantee the efficacy the jabs. Put another way, even if I vaccinate Microtoes she won’t be properly immunised.
Astonished, I quiz the doctor further. We will definitely be vaccinating Microtoes, and besides, although I’m not exactly cosmopolitan at the moment, I don’t intend to spend all my days in the village. But why is it there are so many people refusing jabs? She tells me it’s because of a certain international school in the neighbourhood which has alternative views on medicine. “They believe that it’s better for the body to have illnesses – even cancer – than be treated medically,” she explains. “We have people coming into the surgery and asking for mistletoe, which they use to treat cancer, but we can’t give it out on the NHS and obviously it’s ineffective.”
My apprehension grows when she tells me about a measles outbreak in the village, which she says Microtoes won’t now be fully immunised against. I’m aware it’s a contentious topic, but I cannot understand why people would want to put other babies and children at risk.
Conversation turns to contraception. The doctor is keen to plug the coil (if you’ll pardon the pun). Being squeamish, I’m not so sure. She begins to convince me until I ask about side effects. “Ah,” she looks a bit uncomfortable. “It’s quite rare, but it can sever your uterus”. I pale. “The other side effect is that it’s not fixed into place so it can become dislodged and move up inside.”
My mind is made up. No to the coil, but a definite yes to the 8 week jabs.
Calamitous Mummy 