Spatial Awareness

It’s been a while since I’ve studied physics but I’m sure there’s a law of Newton or Einstein or someone that states that the smaller the person the greater the expansion of their stuff throughout available space. If there’s not, well there should be and I’d call it the First Law of Baby D or the “I’m only little but will make my presence known by having my things everywhere” Law.
Baby D is only 63 cm long, just over 5 kg and can’t even move independently, yet has managed to infiltrate every corner of our place. In fact in order to write this entry I’ve cleared the squeaky giraffe from under my keyboard, squeezed my chair around the nappy changing unit while sitting on one of his blankets. His little outfits proudly hang in wardrobes in both bedrooms, neatly arranged according to age, while our clothes lie in a crumpled heap on the floor or under our bed. Our bed, squashed against the wall; the lockers gathering dust and collecting long-term unemployment benefit, all to accommodate the lovely spacious cot in our room. Playmats, bouncy chairs and jungle gyms infiltrate three quarters of the floor space in our living room (the other quarter is owned by the cat’s things but that’s a story for another day). Even the car has one of the back seats taken over by a contraption for the car seat, the car which I now have to spend ten minutes delicately reversing into a tricky space because if I just drive into it we can’t get the car seat in.
You have to wonder if this is what it’s like at 4 months old what will happen when he hits 4 years? It’s enough to bring tears to the eyes. Tears that I would wipe away except that I removed a pair of baby socks neatly rolled up in the sleeve of my jumper where my tissue should be!

Educating Lourda

Baby D is finally old enough to refer to his age in months, not weeks and has reached the grand old age of four months old today! It got me thinking how much we’ve both learnt since October. Baby D for example has learnt how to hold things (and how to complain when he drops the thing he’s holding). This week he discovered where his knees are, but hasn’t yet figured out that they are connected to his feet. He has mastered the art of looking cute and holding a conversation at three in the morning, in fact do anything at that time except feed which is what he woke up to do in the first place. He is an expert at kicking his socks off in 0.5 seconds but not so good at keeping his bare toes warm. And of course within a few seconds of being born swiftly learnt how to wrap Mam and Dad around his teensy tiny fingers!
My learning curve has been infinitely steeper. I realise now that practising nappy changes on an inanimate teddy bear was of limited value and perhaps I should have tried it on the cat for a more accurate picture of the wailing and wriggling that goes on at the start. I’ve learnt that having a PhD is of no help when dealing with the complexities of buttoning a baby gro on a squirmy baby at 4am. I’ve discovered that hormones are powerful entity. Where once I had to be physically restrained from jumping off a moving tram away from a screaming toddler, now I would jump in front of a tram in order to protect my little Baby D.
One of my happiest discoveries was that babies are difficult to break and are in fact rather bendy. I was relieved to find that I can apparently survive on little or no sleep; but that over time broken sleep affects the memory. I have no doubt that I could fill several notebooks with what I’ve figured out this far if I wasn’t so damn tired and forgotten half of it. (In fact what am I writing about? Oh yes…).
But the biggest thing of all that I have learnt is that my boy is the greatest little miracle ever and I’m proud to say that I’m the biggest, most loving and protective Mother Hen in the world.
Cluck!

March of the Babies

I remember when undergoing the gauntlet of shopping in Mothercare for the first time, being bewildered by the phrase ‘Daytime Naps’ bandied about by the smug shop assistants. For first time, aka clueless, parents it’s easy to be tricked into forking out more money for Moses baskets, travel systems (not prams anymore)and other accoutrements especially for the Daytime Nap. “Why don’t they sleep in the same place as they do at night time,” I used to wonder. Not out loud obviously in case the scary we-know-it-all-and-you-know-nothing-and-don’t-you-forget-it shop assistants sneered me out of the shop. Anyway my scepticism must have rubbed off onto Baby D, as we seem to have a baby that firmly does not believe in daytime naps- no matter where he’s put. Understandable I suppose, when you’ve an all-purpose entertainment system at your beck and call ready to tickle, sing, dance, read and cuddle; and if Mammy gets tired Daddy is ready to take over. Baby D hasn’t read the union rules about having a 15 minute break every few hours and I’ve given up on getting him to nap successfully on demand.
I’ve tried. Oh yes, I’ve tried. I’ve quoted the Baby Whisperer and Gina Ford to him, but nothing. In fairness he will happily snooze if I hold him and for the first 8 weeks he was a permanent fixture in the crook of my left arm. He would happily lie there for hours, hands folded Zen-like on his belly, his face a picture of bliss; until I dared to put him anywhere else. I swiftly discovered that a steely determination lay underneath those placid, chubby cheeks and after a brief battle of wills, Baby D, having all the time in the world to protest, rapidly emerged the victor. However, in order to prevent repetitive strain injury to my arm a compromise was reached and after a belly full of milk I can now trick him into chilling out in the buggy, so long as we walk quickly!
So every afternoon,in order to recharge my batteries, I undertake a 2 hour speed walk around the city , which should be doing wonders for my post baby figure except once Baby D has succumbed to the anaesthetic effect of the buggy I tend to collapse gratefully into a coffee shop to refuel any calories I may have lost. I’m certainly not the only Mother and baby marching around and I suspect that similar agreements may have been brokered throughout the city.
In fact as I write this, another Mum has deftly manoeuvred her buggy into a postage stamp sized space in the coffee shop and flopped down wearily. I can guarantee that just as she inhales the steaming aroma from her mug of coffee and picks up the paper, a pair of beady eyes will pop open, size up the situation and wait… just until Mum brings the forkful of delicious cake to her mouth, before saying loudly…
“WAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”