I was crawling through a festival way out west...

Last Friday I sat by Baby D’s cot as he shuffled about trying to find a comfortable position for the night, and realised that it was Oxygen weekend. After a medley of ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’, ‘Yellow Submarine’ and ‘Ten Green Bottles’, I sat down with a cup of tea and complained to Hubbie that I should have been in a field rocking out to Arcade Fire drinking beer.
“Ah we’re too old for that malarkey anyway,” he said as he removed the ‘Mozart for Babies’ CD from the stereo. In fact now that I think of it we were probably too old for Oxygen the last time we ventured down, drinking lattes and trying to read the Sunday Times on the bus as the 13 year olds behind us discussed the deadly buzz they had and how many cans they could knock back before security.
The deadliest buzz I get these days is the adrenaline rush when I manage to sneak out of Baby D’s room without waking him up. Cars, trucks and sirens can blare past outside his window but the tiniest creak of the floorboard in his room is enough to snap him into full alert. So currently it takes us ten minutes to get him asleep and another 20 to leave the room. Hubbie has taken to crawling out while I employ a series of maneouvres similar to that balancing thing the Karate Kid did for Mr Miyagi. What we really need is the contraption Tom Cruise used to lower himself from the ceiling in ‘Mission Impossible’. I might look on eBay in case the spies arrested in the States recently had a chance to flog some of their stuff before being shipped back to Russia.

A Small Rant

I’m officially sick of other Mothers advising me on how well their babies are sleeping. This week I bumped into a friend whom I hadn’t seen in a while and after dutifully admiring each other’s off spring, she couldn’t wait another minute before telling me breathlessly that, “Milseán is sleeping through the night already (dramatic pause)........ and she’s only three weeks old! We don’t know ourselves now that we are getting a good night’s sleep.” She looked triumphantly at me.
What I felt like saying was: “Please don’t tell me how your baby is sleeping unless I ask, or, unless they aren't sleeping at all. I don’t want to hear how bloody brilliant she is at napping and sleeping through the night until Baby D is taking naps and sleeping for more than 3 hours on the trot himself and at the rate he’s going that won’t be until he’s eighteen. And I definitely don’t want to hear about how you’re catching up on sleep yourself when I am so tired I went to a yoga class with my shorts on inside out."
Very grumpy of me I know, but here’s what happened last night;
7.00 pm I put Baby D to Bed
7.30 pm I manage to leave the room
9.30 pm Baby D wakes up. Feed and settles after a quick blast of “Ten Green Bottles”
12.30am Baby D wakes up. Feed and sit with for a while until he finds a comfy position to sleep.
1.00am Baby D Wakes up. I'm not sure why but change pooey nappy anyway.
1.15am Decide it’s teething. Wake Hubbie to help administer Nurofen.
1.45am Everyone back to bed.
2.00am Baby D needs to hold my hand going to sleep.
2.30am Withdraw hand and sneak back to bed.
3.05 am Baby D realises hand is gone, protests. I reinstate hand.
3.10am Gardaí discuss what to do about a vandalised car right outside the bedroom window - LOUDLY.
3.30am Finally Baby D is asleep and I’m back in bed.
3.35am Tow truck for vandalised car pulls up and LOUDLY removes car very s..l..o..w..l..y.
3.45am I am still waiting for tow truck to leave and Baby D to wake at any minute.
4.00am. Truck gone, Baby D asleep still, unfortunately I am now wide-awake.
6.50am Baby D awakes bright eyed and bushy tailed. “Gooooood Moooorning Kingscourt!”

Of course I didn’t say anything of the sort. Instead I lied.
“That’s super! You know Baby D is sooo much better at night as well!”

Buckets and Spades

We took the plunge and stayed at home this year for our summer holidays. I refuse to use the term staycation – in fact anyone over twenty five should be banned from using it as when we were young you definitely didn’t ‘staycation'. It just went without saying that you went on your holiyers to Tramore or Killarney and if you had notions above yourself you “went abroad” to an unspecified destination. Anyway, having said all that I haven’t spent a summer holiday in Ireland since I could afford to buy a flight so it was a bit strange heading down to Youghal for a week. Fortunately the weather was Mediterranean and we only had one day where we looked out the window and discussed options until eventually one of us declared “You know what, we’ll go for a drive.”
For Baby D it was business as usual as the Baby D Production Line™ simply relocated to Cork. He had a few problems to iron out, such as Mammy’s attempt to feed him baby food from a jar, (a face of horror with lips zipped up tighter than a pair of my pre-pregnancy jeans directed me into the kitchen to chop and mash something more palatable) and a spotty tummy, which resulted in a pleasant Sunday morning tracking down an on-call Doctor. The strong Cork accent didn’t faze him and he continued to converse fluently in Baby-D-ESE, “Splut – Ba Ba BA – DA HEH! HEH!…Splut.. Splut...Spluttttt!” He disccovered that rolling onto his tummy is the best thing ever and undertook a gruelling exercise regime of 100 roly-polys in the morning before breakfast. Eventually all the exercise and sea air finally caught up with him and on our last day Hubbie and myself managed to have a long relaxing lunch in a restaurant perched on the side of a cliff, with spectacular ocean views, the sun beaming down from a cloudless sky and without once being disturbed by Baby D. Ah Bliss. As the fella sez, you can’t beat a staycation.
Anyone for the last few choc-ices now?

Portrait of the Artist as a Little Baby

Last week, armed with a battery of distracting toys, Baby D and myself ventured to the cinema for a charmingly entitled “Babes in Arms” screening.
“Babes no-where near arms wriggling about in lap would be more accurate,” I thought as I tried to restrain a squirmy Baby D who was determined to practise his speech: “Da Da Da Da Da Da Da Da Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”
The women beside me had perfectly mannered little boys and I couldn’t help but overhear them compare how great they were.
“Little Michael weighs 20 pounds now and is growing out of 6-9 months clothes already and he’s only 5 months!”
“Little Danny is the same! And you know he’ll be crawling before long. The other day I caught him trying to move forward just before he rolled right over!”
“My sister sent me an art book for babies recently. Little Michael loved it so much he started to cry when I put it away. He just loves the stimulation!”
Hmmmmmmmmmmm. I smoothed down Baby D’s 3-6 month t-shirt as he chewed on a sock. He’s not a great fan of trying to crawl and ends up with his face squashed into the mat gasping for breath after a few seconds. He can roll over, but only on soft carpets at Granny’s house and spent a large part of yesterday inspecting a crumpled up piece of newspaper. The latest thing he’s learned to do is stick his tongue between his lips and go blubblubblulbblub” at speed, spraying spit all over the place. Should I be worried? Nah. After all he’s clever enough to wait until after I’ve loaded a spoon of food before blowing the biggest bubbles.
“Heh heh heh HEH HEH HEHHHHHHHHH!” shouted Baby D thirty minutes into the film until I got the hint and left, leaving the rest of the babies resting serenely in their Mammys' arms in peace. I had an idea for when we got home. I’d sit him in front of the wall of his new bedroom, feed him some spaghetti bolognaise and let him spray paint the wall. Who says he isn’t talented?

Snoozy News

I’m quite excited this week as Baby D managed to sleep for more than 3 hours in a row the last two nights. The only problem is that instead of nestling under the duvet I still expect a call at any minute and spend the night literally with one eye open. I’m sure once I’ve got the hang of sleeping through the night myself Baby D will have changed the rules again just to keep me on my toes. We’re never happy, I complain when he wakes up and when he doesn’t wake I worry something’s wrong. Last night he didn’t stir for 8 hours, and I found myself looking at the ceiling at 3.30am willing myself not to get up and check he was ok. Because now I have to get up and look, as the big news from Baby D camp is that he has moved into his own room. He didn’t even notice but myself and M were ecstatic, although a little sad as it’s the first of a long long line of steps to moving out of the house to go to college. Although I’ve noticed a fist resident in his mouth again this week so he could be moving back in pretty soon if it’s Killer Teeth: The Sequel.

Teeth

Aaaaah there's been a long gap since the last entry and even as I'm writing this I am wondering why I'm not going to bed at 9 pm and getting some valuable sleep. Recently we have retreated into the twilight of newborn days and been surviving on bursts of 2 hr sleep at a time as poor Baby D has being teething. And not just any old teeth but BabyBoy Teeth (infant precursor to Manflu see Blog Archive.) So after 2 months of sobbing his little heart out every 2 hrs on Mammy's shoulder (Daddy's just didn't cut the mustard; boy do I feel special!) we finally have a couple of shiny new teeth and 2 weary, glassy eyed parents to show for our efforts.
Unfortunately now that he's stopped growing teeth in the middle of the night, Baby D is now embracing the day at half five in the morning with a dawn chorus of his own. After a week of creatively draping bin bags and rugs over the windows, I decided that blackout blinds are the answer to my prayers.
"We thought these would work for our kids but they still woke up at the crack of dawn. Babies have their own bodyclock you know." said the man who came to measure the windows. "That will be 120 euro if you decide to go ahead."
It was worth a punt I thought as I wrote the cheque, wiping the sleep from my eyes.
If I manage to post another entry before July you'll know the blinds worked.

Let Sleeping Babies Lie

Motherhood leads you to doing many things you wouldn’t normally consider in a million years and yesterday morning I found myself taping three hours worth of Ireland AM on TV3. In my defence I had 3 weeks of sleep broken by an insomniac Baby D and the promise of an interview with a baby sleep expert was more than I could resist. So after another night of 2 hour catnaps I feverishly forward winded until I found the segment, one hand holding a vat of coffee shaking with anticipation at the nuggets of wisdom to be imparted, the other fiddling with the matchsticks under my eyes. As the fog of sleep slowly dispersed to the corner of the living room, ready to descend again as soon as the effects of the coffee wore off, I had a eureka moment and realised 2 things with absolute clarity.
1) Ireland AM is the greatest load of dross imaginable on TV
2) The baby sleep expert was a total nut case. A note to illustrate her fruit and nut cakiness – stimulate babies before bedtime; give them a piggyback for example, to really tire them out. Now Baby D is unpredictable but as he roars his little head off if he accidentally catches sight of himself in the mirror before bedtime, I can safely anticipate a tsunami of tears if we tried this and not the 8 hours sleep she promised.
Adding one and two together I came up with four and now realise that anyone can write a book and get interviewed by Sinead ‘shiny hair’ Desmond and Mark ‘I ask such rambling questions we’ve run out of time for the answer’ Cagney. To this end I’ve researched the multitude of books on how to get babies to sleep and come up with my own silver bullet. It’s called the “Scott’s Simple Sleep Solution- Hurrah!” or “Ssssh!” I won’t go into details save to say you simply need a set of earplugs, willing partner and a large house. I’ll say no more expect to say myself and a well rested Baby D are planning our outfits for TV3 already. Watch this space!

Steak N' Chips

The six month mark is on the horizon and I feel as if I’ve got this baby business cracked. Changes have been made. Things are less scary. We even have a routine of sorts. The toughest nut to crack was the issue of napping but after a few nights of hard negotiation, both parties made compromises. Finally Baby D and myself agreed that naps would be confined to 30 minutes in the morning (cot only), with the length of afternoon naps at Baby D’s discretion and only taking place in the buggy while travelling at a minimum of 2 miles per hour. Other developments have happened more naturally. Baby D has accepted that no matter how hard he tries, his pee won’t reach the ceiling when he’s lying on the changing table and it’s actually more fun to eat his toes instead of weeing everywhere. Nappy changes are now way quicker and much less messy. Also much quicker are his milk feeds, now only taking 15 minutes and now that he can sit up even getting dressed is less traumatic for all concerned. Yes I thought I had it cracked and even made it back to the gym a few times. I almost felt like I may regain a party of my previous life. Silly, silly me. After 5 consecutive nights of been woken every 2 hours, and being so tired during the day I couldn’t even concentrate on the Gilmore Girls, I eventually got Baby D’s message that he needed to start on solids. (It would have been so much easier to send an email.) So now I’m steaming, pureeing and freezing anything that looks healthy, not to mention trying to work out the mathematical conundrum of how many frozen fruits and veg cubes can fit into our tiny little ice box. Once I’ve got the solid foods crisis sorted I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before the first tooth starts to make its presence known…..

Baby D Takes Over

Baby D here folks. Well the past 5 months have been a busy time. There have been numerous challenges, advances and setbacks but at last I think my persistence is paying off and Parent Training is going places. I think it’s high time I share my experience, so for all the newborn babies out there here are my 5 essential rules for the first 5 months.

Rule 1: The Babies are in Charge a.k.a. Babies Rule!
From Day 1 the world revolves about you. Never forget this. If Parents get distracted by the TV or a newspaper and give you less than 100% attention, gently remind them that you rule the roost. I’ve found doing a silent poo followed by vigorous kicking will guarantee instant parental action. If something is going on that you really don’t approve of, go straight to Rule 2.

Rule 2: Your Voice is Your Weapon
You were born with a fine set of vocal cords for a reason; so don’t be afraid to use them! A nice loud, cry will ensure a rapid Parent response. Just be patient as they’re not that clever at figuring out exactly what you need at first, so persist. Simply escalate the volume if the response time is unacceptable.
Baby D Top Tip: If you want to go for a walk, cry repeatedly but this bit is important; make sure to stop crying as soon as you get comfortable in the buggy. Parents are very quick to remember this one and you’ll have a nice long walk built into the daily routine in no time.

Rule 3: Night and Day – it’s All the Same
If you don’t feel like sleeping the night away well don’t! The world’s an exciting place and sometimes there’s just not enough hours to take it all in. So don’t waste time sleeping if you don’t need to. It doesn’t matter what time it is, just decide what you need, a cuddle, some food, a toy or someone to talk to, and adapt Rule 2 as necessary. You’ll notice the later it gets the quicker Parents will act in order to go back to sleep. Remember that Parents have had 30 odd years to sleep so don’t worry if they complain about how tired they are the next day.
Baby D Top Tip: If you prefer to get out of the Moses Basket and stretch out, be particularly grumbly early in the morning and you’ll end up in the big bed beside Mammy. Don’t worry about being squashed or getting too hot under the duvet, Mammy will stay awake to make sure you are comfortable and get a good shuteye.

Rule 4: Persistence pays off
Currently my Parents have developed an annoying habit of putting me back into my cot in the middle of the morning. It’s a ridiculous notion they have, no doubt picked up from one of those silly books they read. I mean there I am with things to do and people to see and suddenly they insist on putting me back down for a nap. Simply ridiculous! Anyway it’s taking a while to train them out of this one, but by staying awake, fussing and crying I’m slowly getting there. It’s only a matter of time before they give up and leave me in my gym or on a nice warm shoulder. Be patient with them. They think they know what they’re doing but they are not that bright really. With a little persistence though you’ll get the routine you want. And when you do, refer to Rule no 5….

Rule 5: No one can resist a Baby’s Smile
This is an important one as the carrot and stick approach works very well when training Parents. While the cry works wonders, don’t forget to use your cute, adorable smiles to reward them when things go your way. Guaranteed to disarm the most disgruntled parent, even in the middle of the night.
Baby D Top Tip: Throw in a little leg kicking, and tilt the head to one side when displaying your wide mouthed, gummy little smile for added adorableness. The dripping sound you may hear is probably your parent’s heart melting!

Ok, that’s all for now. I’ll return with more pearls of wisdom in another few months. Ciao amigos!

Hotel California

There was a blog break last week as we took advantage of cheap mid week offers and took Baby D for his first trip to a hotel at the ripe old age of 4 ½ months. Funnily enough neither Hubbie nor myself stayed in a hotel until we were in our twenties and only then for a family wedding. After that we couldn’t even remember the occasion but was probably another wedding. Things change over the years. There was Baby D last week, travelling in style to his first breakfast buffet in his top of the range, EU compliant car seat, dangly toys attached for in-flight entertainment, with the seat firmly clicked into the pricey isofix base for extra safety. Gone are the days when babies were left to their own devices rolling about in the back of the car, with nothing more than a Chivers red jelly carton for entertainment. Like Sparta only the toughest survived.
Anyway those days are long gone and I’ve accepted that packing light is a thing of the past. Surrounded by lists of what to bring last week, I remembered fondly how I packed for a years travel in 40 minutes with room to spare in my rucksack. Now a 2 day trip takes as many days to organise and once you’ve figured out what to bring, well lets just say it would be quicker to solve a Rubik's cube than work out the logistics of fitting everything into the car.
However we’re getting quicker and Hubbie is getting car packing down to a fine art. Last week as we drove out the driveway, we congratulated ourselves on fitting in the buggy, bouncer chair, car seat and baby, baby clothes, changes of baby clothes (and a few extra changes just in case), blankets, toys to keep baby entertained, some more toys which apparently aid development and intelligence (we don’t think they’re that much fun but feel guilty if we don’t get Baby D to use them in case he never learns his times tables because of poor encouragement at 4 mts), baby sleeping bag, spare baby sleeping bag (just in case), sling (just in case of meltdown in the buggy) and monitors (just in case we find ourselves in a suite and have 2 rooms). Thankfully we hadn’t travelled too far down the road when we realised we’d forgotten to bring anything for ourselves. Luckily being Spartan survivors of red jelly carton days we don’t need much and once we managed to squeeze a spare t shirt and toothbrush beside a bunch of nappies we continued on our merry way.

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!”

The Wheels on the Bus..

Now that Baby D has reached the grand old age of 13 ½ weeks he is slightly less time consuming than he used to be, although like the Irish weather that could change at any moment and the outlook remains unreliable.
Anyway, taking advantage of longer intervals between feeds, I actually made it out to dinner with some friends last week. I can’t remember the last time I looked forward to an evening out so much and as I got the bus into town I felt like I was going on a very big adventure, which started me thinking of previous exciting bus journeys I’d taken over the years. There was the creaky, over-crowded, over-heated one I’d take to Laois when I was in College, taking 3 hours to get past the hitchers on Newlands Cross but for only 6 pounds return I didn’t care; the mad buses in Thailand, packed with people, chickens and machetes that I thought were the ultimate of crazy transport until I rode the local buses in Peru. Now, as Baby D allowed me out for the first time on my own in, let me see, approximately 13 ½ weeks, the 37 bus from Aughrim St to Dame St seemed adventure enough for me last week.
It may have been the thrill of being back on public transport again but I got to thinking how things have changed in the last 12-18 months or as we’ve started to call it BD (Before baby D) and AD (After baby D).


BD A tough challenge: Hiking the Inca Trail battling stomach issues
AD A tough challenge: Driving to Celbridge for lunch with Baby D in tow – took 8 weeks before I was brave enough for this one

BD Had cuddled lots of baby kittens, puppies, guinea pigs, pigs, calves, foals…(you get the drift) but never held a baby human
AD Can not only hold a crying baby in one hand but can simultaneously butter toast, get dressed and update Facebook status with the other

BD Going to the gym was a regular occurrence, although a bit of a chore
AD Going to the gym is a rare treat away from the flat and looked forward to eagerly

BD Singing ‘Jingle Bells’ while floating in the Indian Ocean, squinting in the sun waiting for Dolphins to swim over
AD Has Christmas been and gone? What do you mean it’s 2010 already????

BD Getting ready to go out, a leisurely affair usually involving some new clothes and a glass of wine
AD Going out????

BD Lots of weekend trips away. If Ryanair knew what the word meant we’d have a loyalty card
AD A weekend away a challenge of epic proportions that I haven’t been brave enough to tackle yet (and that’s not even thinking about taking a flight)

BD If don’t get a full 8 hours sleep a night very, very grumpy in the morning
AD If don’t get a full 8 hours sleep a night very, very grumpy in the morning

BD Thought the term ‘baby brain’ was one of those annoying sound-bite phrases like ‘Breakfast Roll Man’
AD Brain officially atrophied from too many hormones and not enough sleep– in fact have a ghost writer updating this blog

BD Babies loud, smelly and annoying
AD Babies in general loud, smelly and annoying; fortunately we found one that’s cute, lovable and utterly adorable..awwwwww

The future's so bright I've gotta wear shades

Remember the quote from Rolling Stone writer Jon Landau, “I’ve seen the future of rock n’ roll and it’s name is Bruce Springsteen”? It came to mind the other day when Baby D and myself went to the Visitors Centre in the Phoenix Park for Sunday lunch; just us and every other family within a 5 mile radius. I found myself surrounded by kids of every shape and size climbing, crying, shouting, running, laughing, snotting, galloping, falling, pulling, pushing, tantruming… all very, very LOUDLY.
When the ringing in my ears stopped I realised that I’ve also seen the future. It’s not rock n’ roll, more like rattle and howl, and is just a very teensy little bit scary……..

Pregnancy Zen

When I told my best friend that I was pregnant she advised me to make the most of any attention I’d get (seats being surrendered, doors held open and the like), as when the baby was born, people would be so enraptured by the bundle of joy that they’d never look twice at me again.
In actual fact people’s baby obsession started as soon as my bump became visible. As my tummy grew week by week, I began to realise what it’s like to have big boobs with people no longer making eye contact but directing their gaze lower down. My bump also seemed to license a commentary on my body that for some reason is acceptable if you’re pregnant but totally rude if not. Delete as appropriate: “Isn’t your bump/butt/boobs/little finger ever so fat/neat/huge/pointy!” No matter what the comment was, it was often accompanied by knowing looks and dire warnings about the last trimester (“Wait until the last month -you’ll be so much more huger/heavier/fatter then!”) and in case that wasn’t scary enough, about subsequent pregnancies (“Well you’re grand now, but you’ll be so much fatter/huger/etc etc for the second.”)
And then there was the touching. I had heard rumours about this before falling pregnant and being protective of my personal space I anticipated that my instinct would be to resurrect my Taekwondo skills and swat the offender away if anyone attempted to touch my tummy. Strangely, as my belly became a magnet to be touched and rubbed (even before a bump was noticeable), I didn’t have the heart to rebuff their advances. Maybe it was due to hormones but people’s faces softened as they went in for the belly touch, as if they were patting a cute little kitten. By month nine I accepted my lot and felt like a lucky Buddha.
Now that Baby D is no longer a bump and is here in the flesh I discovered that my friend was right; the attention has totally shifted and now I’m barely noticed. So much so that I could probably shave my head and dress like a Hare Krishna and my Mother wouldn’t bat an eyelid if Baby D were in my arms.
Of course what my friend neglected to add was that most days I sport bags under my eyes that would warrant additional charges if I were to fly on Ryanair and the nearest I get to accessorising my wardrobe is a sticky mix of milk and dribble trailing down my shoulder. So being ignored, I don’t mind at all!

Some nice things

I made some iced cupcakes this week and thought that's what the country needs to cheer itself up - some nice things, preferably edible and highly calorific. As I can't put my cupcakes on the blog I decided to do the next best thing and find some nice headlines from the papers instead. Here's the best I could come up with......not great but you should see the ones I couldn't include because of general depressingness..

BT lifts spirits with colour and optimism

Decrease in number of murders and rapes

Downturn means CO2 targets now achievable

Boy escapes injury as car crashes into house in NI

Re-formed Britpoppers Blur to play Oxegen

30% fall in homicides and rise in burglaries, CSO data reveals

Wanted: a maverick gunslinger to save us from the cowboys

Several online services offering free access to music and videos

New Government insulation scheme to create four thousand jobs

Penguins enjoy snow in Dublin Zoo

Spring is in the Air

Hurrah! February has finally arrived! To celebrate the official beginning of spring I am making a conscious effort to enjoy the small things in life. The following exciting things happened today:
-Three brilliant songs played one after the other on the random play on my MP3
-All the traffic lights went green as I drove home from work
-It stopped snowing long enough that I could go for a cold, but bracing, walk at lunchtime
-I’ve officially created a nickname for the recession/economy: It shall be known from now on as the Duck.
I’ve also managed to get roped into signing on for tag rugby and salsa class. I’m not sure how as I’ve no idea of the rules of one, no rhythm for the other and at the moment feeling less than enthusiastic for either of them. Maybe if I practice hard enough I can dance my way around the tag team and avoid being tackled? Onto a more familiar topic, I went to my first gig in Dublin since Australia, “The Streets” in the Olympia. It was fantastic; the band were full of energy, spitting out the lyrics and stage diving, the audience grinned and bounced up and down inanely, vodka red-bull raining from the ceiling – magic! Great antidote to the general misery generated by the media here talking non-stop about Ducks.

January Blues

I’ve always wanted to start a blog entry Sex and The City style; “I couldn’t help but wonder” but until now I never had an appropriate first sentence worthy of wondering about. Until now. So here goes.
I couldn’t help but wonder this evening why January is such a damned mysterious month. A phenomenon in fact that’s at least worthy of a book by Stephen Hawking. Because the question that’s puzzling everyone at the moment isn’t did that guy make Obama fluff his oath on purpose, or will the Irish economy be saved by axing some Dublin Bus routes or even how do Ryanair flights for a euro still manage to cost 70 euro in total. No the question is, how can 31 January days last for such an incredibly looooooong drawn out time? I read somewhere about a theory that an expanding universe is linked to weakening gravity; I don’t understand what that’s all about but I suspect it’s linked to why a January that appears to expand indefinitely causes a severe weakening of the general population. I have observed this weakening effect has a more dramatic consequence in people who have recently been acclimatised to daily walks by the sea, sun bathing and regular consumption of vanilla lattes. I’m not sure how to counteract the effect, indeed no-one does except to wait in feverish expectation for February when we can all breath a sigh of relief and tell everyone, “Thank god January is over. It’s an awfully long month.”

Weather Girl

I’ve become a vampire Monday to Friday since January hit. I am back to work and only see daylight at the weekends; if I’m lucky that is and it leaks through a deep pile of clouds. Having spent the best part of 6 months in bright sunny climes it’s weird driving to work at 8.15 am and admiring the full moon still present in the sky. I’m trying hard to reactivate my weather optimism gene that takes years to develop but about a second to lose when you go to a bright, sunny country. It’s the gene that enables you to say in January when driving home at half four, full headlights on that: “you’d notice the evenings are getting longer,” or causes the whole country to see signs that anticipate a long hot summer: “The birds are flying on the diagonal, and did a back-flip before landing; that means summer will be here in April,” or “The sheep are grazing backward up the east face of the hill. Surely be to God we’ll have 40 days of sun in June.” In Australia it took a while to adjust to the literal nature of the weather forecasts, eventually realising that a showery spell actually means it will be a lovely day with a short, light shower of rain and there’s no need to bring wellies and a rain mac to the beach. In Ireland it’s the opposite. Showery spells mean mainly rain with a cloudy period when it stops and everyone searches the sky optimistically for a glimpse of the sun. In fact “so long as it’s dry” is the main criterion for a good weather day here, winter or summer. Below zero and frost, no problem. “So long as it’s dry” it’s ok as the sky will be blue and the roads won’t freeze too badly. Cloudy and overcast during the summer, well “so long as it’s dry” it’s acceptable as a cloudy and overcast and wet day would be simply awful. By the way, good news as I’m writing this; my cat has stretched twice and yawned at me so it should be sunny in May.