Month: March 2017

This post is basically a list of things that get my goat about other people’s behaviour towards babies. Things that would go into my very own Room 101. They range from mildly obsessive (on my part) to what I consider perfectly reasonable grounds for despair.

1. Playing pass the parcel – figuratively speaking
   By this I mean taking it turns to pick up my baby and pass her around the room. I’m all for cuddles, but babies also need downtime and space to kick. Plus I resent her sweet milky smell being replaced by someone else’s strong perfume.
2. Shoving unwashed fingers (or toys) into their mouths
   Before this precious being I have brought into the world has had anything other than breast milk to swallow, I would prefer it if random people avoided shoving their dirty fingers into her sweet little mouth.  It’s an awkward one to avoid; especially in someone else’s house. I once tried saying ‘ooh! Maybe a toy instead!’ but before I could hand over her fabric caterpillar book, a grime-encrusted plastic rattle was shoved into her mouth instead.  Now I’m all for a bit of dirt to build up a child’s or an older baby’s immunity, but grubby hands in a newborn’s mouth is another matter entirely.
3. Not calling things by their proper names
   A bird is a bird. Not a birdie, or a birdie wurdy. And a horse is a horse.  Not a horsey.  And a dog is not a doggy woggy. And a poo is not a poo poo. You get the gist. As much as I don’t want to come across as a spoilsport, I fail to see the point of teaching your tiny offspring a whole new language, only for them to have to learn the real, more concise names a few years down the line. But I suppose I should really tolerate ‘pussy cat’ and ‘piggy’ since they’re found in nursery rhymes. So are doggy and horsey, come to think of it…
4. Vests with emotive slogans: ‘I love mummy’
   Yes, I’m sure most babies adore their mummy/ daddy/ grandma etc. But they’ll have plenty of opportunity to express their own sentiments in years to come, without needing them to be emblazoned across their chest. I know it’s meant as a bit of fun, but something still rankles. ‘Little princess’ is another bugbear of mine. If, on the other hand, it’s facts not feelings we’re dealing with, then it’s a slightly different matter. A quick Google image search revealed there are some pretty dodgy babywear slogans out there, but one did make me smile: ‘Sorry ladies, my daddy’s taken.’ Not forgetting, either, that we silently announced my second pregnancy with a vest that Tinytoes wore with the words: “I’m going to be a big sister.”
5. Nappy changing bystanders
   Q:How many people do you need to change a nappy? A: one. This one goes out to people who like to gather around to watch nappy changes, bath times or other intimate baby moments. From a practical point of view, it just isn’t helpful. Microtoes is a very wriggly baby and nappy changing needs to be fast and slick to ensure the new nappy is on before she has flipped over. Distractions or unwanted interventions tend to result in shit-flicking disaster. On another level, it feels slightly voyeuristic to be gathered around staring at my baby’s naked butt when there is clearly no other purpose to be there. Ditto for bath times: for space reasons alone there is no need for more than two adults to be standing and staring in a small bathroom while two babies are being bathed. Thank goodness no one has yet tried to observe breastfeeds….

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DaddyO has just returned a day early from a week in Miami – and not a minute too soon. It’s so hard looking after two tinies on your own, whilst simultaneously trying to run your own business.

Being a breastfeeding mummy it’s sort of tacitly assumed that I am the one to stay at home and look after the children. After all I have my own business and work from home, so it’s the ideal situation. Microtoes can’t go to nursery yet as she won’t take a bottle. And in fact I’m glad she can’t, because she’s only 7 months old and I’m not ready to part with her yet.  Tinytoes only goes four mornings a week, because she’s only two years old and I’m not ready to part with her yet either…

I had the rare luxury of having both parents at home while I was growing up. My father was a lot older than my mother, so he took early retirement and my mother stopped working when they married. We got by living off his pension as they knew their days together would sadly be numbered.

It’s hard to have it all though isn’t it? I want to replicate my happy and idyllic childhood for my own children, but am all too aware things need to be done differently.

Coping alone with the tines this was 10 times more difficult than I imagined. DaddyO travels a lot, but not usually for a whole week. And I didn’t exactly start the week in a refreshed state of mind:

Turdgate unfolds

On the eve of his departure poor Tinytoes had a near miss with the potty. It would have all been fine, had her ‘deposit’ not stayed attached to her as she stood up. It sort of slid down her leg and onto the floor as she moved away from the potty.

Yours truly, meanwhile, was bathing her baby sister; unable to take my eyes off her for more than a few seconds. DaddyO was meant to be supervising afore-mentioned potty activity.  I glanced up to see DaddyO staring in surprise at the large turd on the bathroom floor. When he finally set off in search of a baby wipe, he was followed by Tinytoes, unwittingly depositing another, smaller turd on the carpet as she went.

Being a bit of a hygiene freak, I found it tough to contain my despair at the disaster unfolding before my eyes – wasn’t DaddyO meant to be watching her?! – all the while aware I needed to heap praise on poor Tinytoes for her potty efforts, which went wrong through no fault of her own.

Later on, after both tots had finally been bathed, I noticed the turd had mysteriously disappeared from the carpet. DaddyO, trying to be helpful, had removed it. But there was no indication of where exactly it had been! So we ended up having to carpet clean the entire landing!  By then it was getting seriously late, we were exhausted and still had to cook supper, eat it and tidy up. So much for an early night…

Glassgate occurs

Much later, after I had given Microtoes her 11pm feed, DaddyO helpfully went to the bathroom to replenish my pint glass with water. Finally sleep was in sight. Seconds later I heard the noise of glass shattering. Everywhere. All over the bathroom floor.

I wasn’t cross he’d dropped it, he was tired and these things happen. But I was desperately tired and resented him taking 30 minutes to clear it up and covering the broom in tiny shards of glass. And the bathroom floor for that matter, as I later discovered.

Poor DaddyO was only doing his best, but sleep deprivation and stress can turn you into a grumpy cow when you’re exhausted and your body is crying out for sleep. By 1am we were finally asleep.

DaddyO’s departure

He left early the next morning. Turdgate and glassgate paled into insignificance during the week to follow. Microtoes came down with a fever of 39 degrees and a viral rash all over her tummy and back. Thank God for SuperGranny, who lives in the same village and was able to come over to help look after Tinytoes, while I cared for Microtoes.  I seriously do not know how I would have coped otherwise.

It’s been an exhausting week, mainly because I was consumed with worry about Microtoes for the first part of it, who only now is beginning to eat normally again. And both babies are teething. And I’m in the middle of taking on not one, not two, but hopefully three new clients.

As the week went by, I confess to feeling increasingly envious that DaddyO was spending a whole week in balmy Miami, while I fretted over Microtoes not eating and Tinytoes screaming out in the night. I used to travel overseas with my work too, but now a one hour meeting in a London office has been the most I can manage (and even then I’ve had to travel with DaddyO and Microtoes in convoy, feeling guilty about DaddyO having to take a day off work so I could feed her before and after the meeting).

Last night, when I found out DaddyO would be coming back a day early, I was almost too exhausted to feel any emotion. Of course I was over the moon, but I was so burnt out I was a shadow of the person who had got annoyed about the glass – and other matter – on the bathroom floor.

I realise I just about cope staying at home while DaddyO goes out to work in the daytime. I just about manage to juggle clients and business development during nap times and nursery times, and then try to fit in walks and fun activities for the children in amongst the shopping, cooking, washing etc. But I struggle to manage the sleepless nights and mornings and evenings by myself too.

With DaddyO back home again I can breathe again. Now he’s back I realise how amazingly helpful he is. That we’re a team. He can break as many glasses as he likes (preferably not in the bathroom) and un-observe as many potty attempts as he likes – I’m just glad he’s back!