Month: August 2017

Call from Social Services

Calamitousmummy

Let me start by providing some form of context for those of you that don’t know me:

I’m the kind of mummy who keeps reapplying sun cream on my girls even when it’s not that sunny, who panics after forgetting the baby vitamins on a weekend away, who stopped using my face cream as it contained retinoids which I read could be dangerous when breastfeeding, who sometimes sobs a little bit herself when her baby cries after tripping and bumping into something, who feels a tearing at her heart when her baby wakes and is crying for food and I can’t quite warm it up quickly enough…

An over-protective worrier of a mummy who is often on the phone to the nursery to check her girls are doing ok: Are they happy? Did they sleep? Did they eat? Is the cough better? And then will email if after pick-up I see their nappies have been put on too loosely or too tightly, or if they’re wearing not enough or too many clothes or if I find too much glitter or mud in their nappies. Or if their toothbrush looks dirty. 1 year old MiniM#2 and 2 year-old MiniM#1 are long-awaited and dreamt of. In short the best things that ever happened to me.

I’m not sure whether it was the call itself from social services that was the most upsetting or the appalling way in which I was treated at pick-up from nursery yesterday lunchtime. The deputy manager X came into the baby room brandishing 2 accident forms for existing injuries. My heart always skips a beat at the word ‘accident form’, but I smiled in relief when I saw what they were: one was for a little scratch under her chin that had happened that morning (and I told DaddyM to mention it at drop-off) and the other for a few barely-visible bruises on her shin.

leg

I was oohing and ahhing in proud delight as MinM#2’s carer told me how she had taken 15 steps that morning, when X told me to sign the accident forms, which I did. Then she asked me to explain how the injuries happened. I felt puzzled/ surprised she was still talking about them, because the scratch had already been accounted for and the tiny leg bruises seemed too insignificant even to mention (see above photo snapped upon my return from nursery pick-up yesterday). I had no idea how they happened. I’d first noticed them on Tuesday so they could well have happened the previous day in nursery. I said I had no idea: “probably crawling around and playing, or on the changing table as she’s always wriggling.”

But I began to sense a slightly awkward air in the room. X was wielding a pen in my direction.  I had already signed the forms, but she wanted me to write down the reasons.  “I don’t know how the bruises happened,” I said simply. “She’s always taking tumbles now she’s starting to walk.”

“Well you need to write down how they happened as social services may want to know. They take bruising very seriously.” I looked around the room amazed at the way the conversation was going. The two other carers looked like they were blushing slightly and the other parent who had been dropping off her baby left swiftly, avoiding eye contact.

I felt an awful, gut-wrenchingly uncomfortable feeling of betrayal. Here was the person charged with caring for my two precious bundles of joy and she was suggesting I could have deliberately hurt them one of them?! The very idea filled me with a sick feeling. I wrote down two random reasons on the form: ‘tripped playing on the patio’ and ‘slipped on the changing table’ and she warned me I might get a call.

Up until this point I had been making pleasant chitchat, confused as to why there was an air of awkwardness in the room. Now I knew why. I moved swiftly towards where MiniM#1 and MiniM#2 were sweetly playing on the other side of the room. They threw their chubby little arms around me as they clambered onto me, both squealing ‘mama, mama’ and I got that warm mushy feeling inside. Swiftly followed  by a spike of alarm when I saw MiniM#1 had a large sequin disk in her mouth taken from the huge box of completely age-inappropriate sequins that had been put out for the babies to play with. I hooked my finger in and dragged it out, unusually unabashed about expressing my concern for such ‘toys’.

I hurriedly scooped up the girls and X followed me out of the room. ‘Oh they have lovely hair,’ She said. I stared at her in disbelief. ‘What sweet rucksacks they have’ she continued. Incredulous, I found myself forcing out a weak ‘thank you’, when really I wanted to shout ‘Oh F~@K off!!!’

I wrote the politest email I could manage – how dare she threaten Social services like that when obviously they weren’t really going to call me over something like that!

And then the call came.

She chose to call me while MiniM#1 was having the most almighty meltdown because I wouldn’t give her fish fingers two days in a row. I could barely hear what the lady was saying she was screaming so much. And then MiniM#2 started crying because I wasn’t feeding her soup because I was trying to hear what the women in social services was trying to say. And because MiniM#1 was crying.

After detailed explanations on my part – in essence I had no idea where these bruises came from and it could be all manner of reasons which I hypothesised over – she apparently ‘won’t be taking it any further’ as they’ve had no previous record on us.

I was made to describe the bruising in detail, because the lady said it was not possible for me to send her a photo.

The combination of the call, coupled with the unpleasant experience at nursery earlier that afternoon reduced me to tears.  I appreciate bruises need to be followed up but surely an element of common sense and reasoning should come into nursery referrals?!

I’m a hardworking and devoted mummy who loves her gorgeous girls more than anything else in the world. MiniM#2 is 12.5 months old and just beginning to walk. She is a happy, beaming, gurgling bundle of gorgeousness, who travels fast with boundless energy and significantly less balance.

If witnessing my interactions with her and seeing how happy and contented she is was not enough to alleviate any concerns, then surely common sense could have prevailed. She is a highly mobile baby, only just learning to walk, who is prone to taking a tumble. Or to dragging her shins across uneven ground in the nursery garden when she crawls. Suffice to take a look at the state of her trousers from knee to ankle when she comes home from each of her two half-day sessions a week and it doesn’t take a wild stretch of the imagination to guess where the bruises came from.

I don’t know if it was the combination of the small scratch under her chin and the tiny bruises, or simply the fact the manager was on holiday and the deputy manager was left in charge and needing to prove herself. But to have a ‘record’ with social services made me feel like a criminal.

Luckily I’m strong-minded and confident and I know I’m an excellent mummy – the best my girls could get – but my little girls had to see their mummy sobbing when I had hung up. Imagine how this could effect someone who was really struggling with being a mummy (and believe me there are still moments when of course I do really struggle as do most mummies)?

I find it staggering that on countless occasions I’ve been asked to sign accident forms for injuries that happened at nursery, many of which the nursery is unable to account for. Then when a devoted mother is unable to pinpoint some tiny bruises, they call social services, apparently saying ‘her story didn’t quite add up!’

It’s great that nurseries are vigilant about children’s welfare – and indeed vital that they are – but referrals should be handled sensitively and above all with common sense. Otherwise they can do more harm than good.

I’m sure the sight of a normally cheerful mummy blubbing away has done way more harm to my girls than a couple of barely visible bruises.

As more than one of my friends has pointed out – the absence of bruising to the knees and shins of a happy and healthy toddler should give more cause for concern.

After a sleepless night and lots of tears (I’m surprised how hurtful this whole experience has been given I know I’m a bloody good mummy: I dread to think how someone younger or questioning their abilities would feel) and lots of support from friends, blog readers and local network groups, I feel stronger and defiant. DaddyM had strong, sensible words with X at drop off this morning and I avoided her at pick-up. She wanted to talk and tried to block my way up the stairs but I told her “I’m too upset to talk to you. My husband has told you everything that needs to be said.”

When the manager is back from nursery next week we will go to see her instead and if her attitude is not adequate or reasonable then we will take it to Ofsted. Oh and we are booked for a tour around another nursery next Friday, just in case…

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Open letter to the nursery*

Calamitousmummy

I’m writing with regard to the conversation I had with X at lunchtime pick-up today regarding the few small bruises on MiniM#2’s legs and the scratch under her chin.

Firstly I think it’s excellent that you pay attention to detail and I really value that you ask parents to sign accident forms for both existing injuries and new injuries sustained at nursery.

However, I confess to being made to feel uncomfortable when I was unable to pinpoint the exact cause behind the individual bruises on MiniM#2’s legs. She is a wriggly baby who loves to explore – with an overly excitable older sister – and is often taking tumbles both at home and at nursery. Since bruises tend to come up a day or two after a tumble, they could well have occurred as a result of her afternoon in nursery on Monday as I first noticed them on Tuesday evening in the bath.

The scratch under her chin was caused by slipping on the changing table this morning when my husband and I were both in the room. I was changing her older sister and MiniM#2 slipped when she was trying to climb up to see her sister. I asked my husband to notify K about this at drop-off so she could keep an eye on it.

As for the bruises, there are often a few minor bruises on her legs for the reasons outlined above, so I did not feel it was necessary to tell me that I may need to explain myself to someone from social services. Pressure was put on me to come up with a specific reason for these bruises, which, given the fact they take 1-2 days to appear was almost impossible for me to do.

Social services are of course welcome to call – and to visit us in our home – we have nothing to hide, indeed we are proud of the infinite love and care we have for our girls who are most precious things in the world to us – but I was left to feel very uncomfortable after being told they may call and ask me questions about a few small bruises (that she may have sustained in nursery anyway).

It’s great – and vitally important – that you pay attention to the babies and their welfare, but I ask that you are careful not to make a parent feel uncomfortable for being unable to pinpoint a specific bruise and being given a pen and forced to write down a random reason. If outside parties feel the need to call and ask questions then that is fine, but I don’t see the need to mention this unless you know for a fact they are likely to call.

While we’re on the subject of welfare, I would like to reiterate that I still feel uncomfortable about MiniM#2 playing with tiny plastic/ metallic sequins and pieces that can – and did while I was there – end up in her mouth. I fail to see the point of giving such objects to babies if they have to be constantly removed. And if they reach her throat there is the risk of choking. It makes me worried.

I hope this adds a bit of colour to the accident form and our previous discussions.

Apart from my concerns about MiniM#2 playing with small objects that can be put in her mouth, we’re delighted with the care she is receiving: K, E and S are excellent.

Best regards

*actual email, edited to remove MiniM#2’s name and names of carers

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The perils of a wriggly baby

Calamitousmummy

As a parent of a wriggly baby, I’ve come to terms with the fact that certain baby-related activities will take an inordinately long time. And others can be ruled out altogether.

If there was a wriggliness scale, mine would be off the end of it. Even at my 12 week scan the sonographer exclaimed ‘My you’ve got a wriggly one!’  At my 20 week scan the photos were all blurry because she wouldn’t keep still (that was the sonographer’s excuse anyway…) And I didn’t get any photos at my 36 week scan because ‘her hand kept getting in the way’ I was told, almost accusingly.

From the ages of 0-5 months, I found MiniM#2 refreshingly compliant. She would fall asleep in my arms, on my shoulder or in my lap or simply lie awake staring up at me, cooing and gurgling.

At about 6 months the rolling over on the changing table began. In the early days, a new toy would be enough to distract her as she lay on her back, but then she began flip onto her tummy with the toy, often at a crucial point in the nappy-changing process. When you are holding onto her for dear life with one hand, while the other hand is trying to fold up the nappy and its contents as quickly and hygienically as possibly, it’s nigh on impossible to stop a wilful baby from flipping.

Another trick that came in handy in the early days was to make a high-pitched warbling sound reminiscent of a Cherokee war cry that would astonish my baby into staying very still, eyes wide and blinking. The effects of this ‘trick’ soon wore off the more commonplace it became and besides, I began to feel uneasy about changing her anywhere public. Coffee shop customers or train passengers would blink at me in an astonished way too as I emerged from the baby changing area.

When it became clear that toys, warbling or hanging mobiles had zero effect, we bought the ‘nappy pants’ which, thank God, came onto the market just when MiniM#1 had hit the changing-table flipping stage.  It wasn’t the perfect answer, but it still worked. Once I had whipped off the dirty nappy and wiped her, it was simplest and quickest to put her on my knee and ease the clean nappy pant up her wriggly legs, hoping her bladder – and other bodily functions – would hold.   At baby weigh-ins other mums would look at me in amazement while their little cherubs lay back placidly on the changing mats.

But the real ‘sticking point’, came at about 10 months when I been to struggle even to remove the dirty nappy.  MiniM#2 would not only flip onto her tummy at nappy changes, but she would continue to flip around and around in total disregard of the soiled nappy being gingerly removed. Arms and legs would splay outwards, in a windmill-like fashion, ready to spear the dirty nappy, often right in the centre, with a heel or a hand.

As a mother, your instinct is to prevent your darling baby from diving off the changing mat and hurtling headfirst to the ground. Yet that soiled heel or hand will continue to circulate as you hover above your precious little one, occasionally smacking you square in the face as you frantically try to wipe the baby clean, while simultaneously removing the dirty nappy as far from danger’s way as possible. By that stage, her soiled foot or hand will often have been dragged all over the changing mat, me and any toy she may have grabbed hold of along the way.

Once the dirty nappy is out of harm’s way, the dangers are far from over. MiniM#2 has developed a rather disturbing habit of firmly planting her hand exactly where the nappy had been, before I have a chance to wipe her…

On some occasions I’m still able to stall her with the baby wipes or the Sudocream pot. I’d rather waste a packet full of wipes being torn out if they can distract her long enough. And I’d rather her hands and body are covered in Sudocream than other substances.

DaddyM, usually unflappable, has hit a wall with MiniM#2. Last weekend he popped upstairs to carry out a routine nappy change and was gone 45 minutes, I kid you not. I thought there had been a misunderstanding and he was trying to put her down for a nap. I didn’t have time to discover details as MiniM#1 awoke from her nap during this time, but I do know that they both ended up having a shower.

Now that MiniM#2 has begun teething in a big way (she’s 1 year old and still only has 2 teeth), we’re experiencing all-time low on the nappy changing front. Undigested food passes straight through her as many as 7 or 8 times a day (sorry if TMI), meaning I’m spending a large chunk of the day changing her, washing her and her clothes and bits of me, and disinfecting anything that’s come near us.

Aside from the nappy changing horrors, having a wriggly baby presents other challenges in terms of meeting up with parents of more chilled-out babies. Going to a café with a friend becomes impossible if the baby can wriggle out of highchair, yet is not old enough to sit in a normal chair.

Taking a wriggly baby to a a crowded soft play with an older sibling is a recipe for disaster if your baby is forever wanting to dive into the ball pool full of 6-year olds jumping up and down.

While chilled-out babies will sit calmly on playmats with age-appropriate toys, MiniM#2 will be trying to climb up a plastic slide that older kids are whizzing down.  If you pick her up and hold her she will wriggle. And if you put her back on the playmat she’ll return to the foot of the slide.

Try putting one of those babygros with poppers on it and you’ll be there for 15 minutes, only to discover the poppers are all one popper out.

Having a wriggly baby is a challenge, so it’s just as well I love her to pieces. By the time she’s 18 months she’ll have probably stopped wriggling, but I want to make the most of every minute of her still being a baby (even if many of those minutes are currently devoted to removing nappies…)

And I savour those precious, golden moments when she’s just woken up or just dropped off to sleep and she’s lying all little and gorgeous and perfectly still in my arms.

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Furry friends go on an adventure

Calamitousmummy

MiniM#1 loves her cuddly toys. She has a special triumvirate comprising Pooh bear, Te (a rabbit comforter) and Pop (an octopus comforter). We have a rule that only allows her to take one of this trio out and about. There have been too many near misses.

She often carries all three of them around at home (the troop as DaddyM calls them). But she loves putting them in random places – in a drawer or a box, or behind a chair or a door, or inside a toy car or a wendy house – and then forgetting where she’s left them. Then at bedtime all hell breaks loose if she can’t find one or all of them. DaddyM and I will be tearing around the house frantically trying to find them, as she sits on her bed wailing their names.

It’s bad enough searching for them at home, but if you extend the remit of possible hiding places to the great outdoors, then you’ll understand why we have the rules in place.

On DaddyM’s birthday, though, they somehow managed to slip through the net. We were headed to a local beach – a good 45 minute drive away – and luckily the weather was fine. DaddyM was charged with putting the girls into the car (I hereby absolve myself of all responsibility..) while I rushed around getting the picnic ready and all the last-minute beach and baby paraphernalia.  Vaguely aware there seemed to be more than one cuddly animal in the car, I remember muttering something about only one of them coming to the beach with us.

However, with all the muddle of getting the buggies, and little ones and paraphernalia out of the car, more than one furry friend managed to make it onto the beach.

The weather was warm, but the experience was far from relaxing: MiniM#1 wanted to charge towards the sea and run fast along the water’s edge, requiring one parent to jog along behind, pulling her back from the waves as they threatened to engulf her. The other parent meanwhile had the task of constantly removing the tiny pebbles that MiniM#2 was stuffing into her mouth.

The picnic was a bit of a flop too: MiniM#1 preferred to clamber up onto the groynes, while MiniM#2 thought it was a funny game to throw any food we passed her onto the sand.  It was getting a bit cold and windy, so we decided it was time to go home, DaddyM dragging the laden buggy back across the pebbles to the car, while I carried MiniM#2 and two bags.

As the girls began to drift off in the car, I got excited at the prospect of having a childfree coffee on our sunny new patio back home. MiniM#2 transferred from car to cot nicely, but MiniM#1 awoke and started calling out for Te. She had Pooh Bear and Pop clutched firmly under her arm. But there was no sign of Te.

My heart sank.  Our rare prospect of relaxation began to vaporise. “I think she just took Pop and Pooh Bear to the car this morning” DaddyM, said slightly unconvincingly. Thus ensued a frantic hunt throughout the house. MiniM#1 claimed all three animals were on the beach.

As she waited peacefully on her bed, I began to lose my patience. It had been an early start to the day and I felt tired and annoyed with poor DaddyM who couldn’t remember which animals she had had with her. We were probably searching the entire house for nothing.

I was so tired I actually began to cry that Te was missing. She had had that rabbit since she was born and I’d lovingly sewn her name on it when she first took it to nursey aged 9 months, and then repaired it when its arm came loose.  MiniM#1 meanwhile had dozed off for her nap. It dawned on me that I was probably more bothered about the bloody rabbit than she was!

To my shame, DaddyM and my heated discussions about the missing bunny’s whereabouts ended up waking up our poor toddler (and baby who luckily went back to sleep…), so he decided to drive all the way back to the beach with MiniM#1. So much for our relaxing coffee.

By a stroke of luck, Te was found ‘peacefully sleeping’ on the beach and the world was put back to rights.  I treated DaddyM to a relaxing birthday dinner in town later that night.

I doubt either of us will ever let any furry animals slip through the net again. This morning MiniM#1 developed a new obsession with a soft toy rabbit she has randomly named ‘Suzie.’  I suspect Suzie and her crew will be the object of strict surveillance.

MiniM#2 however doesn’t care in the slightest about soft toys. She only has eyes for a red plastic Star Wars ball…

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