I read in some book or other recently that a good technique for remaining calm in a stressful situation is to close your eyes and visualise a favourite tranquil scene. Having a particular interest in remaining calm in the midst of chaos, I decided to try thinking of my favourite beach in Goa when feeling stressed to see if it helped me to calm down.
It’s been a busy few weeks. For a while, any time I’ve find myself with a spare ten minutes, it’s been all I could do to haul myself onto the sofa with a cup of tea and close my eyes. After the news at his last developmental check that the Very Small Boy was “following his centiles nicely” (whatever the hell that means), I was surprised to be summoned back to the Health Centre less than a month later for yet another check-up. But I thought I’d go along anyhow, thinking I would ask about starting him on solids in an attempt to help him sleep better.
Feeling predictably tense after the obligatory hour-long wait, I stood patiently whilst the nurse (who I noted, was considerably younger than I am), stared into Baby Pie’s eyes and repeated “and how are you Baby? And how are you?”
“Um, I don’t think he’s going to answer…” I offered. She ignored me and I thought of gently rolling waves, sand so soft it crunches like powdered snow underfoot.
She lay him on his tummy, turned him onto his back, then crouched down in a stoop, held his hands and pulled him up to a sitting position on the bench so that their eyes were level and repeated “how are you, Baby?” It was no use; the beach disappeared as I mentally reached out a hand and gave the nurse a shove that sent her gently somersaulting to the floor.
She reeled off such a textbook answer to my question about starting solids that I actually looked around to see if she had a baby manual cleverly hidden somewhere within reading distance. And, reminding myself that I’ve had at least two more babies than she has, I ignored her advice to postpone real food for a month, and we set off home to give the Very Small Boy his first taste of banana.
Sunning myself in the garden later that afternoon while the Very Small Boy slept, full and content, in his pushchair, I was interrupted from a particularly pleasant daydream about my lovely Goan beach by the Small Girl. She came dashing across the lawn, hands cupped together before her, shouting “Mum! Mum!”
“What is it darling?” I asked
“Mum! You’ve got to see – it’s a Wildebeest! A Wildebeest!” And she tenderly opened her hands to reveal a Woodlouse, lying small and stunned in the palm of her hand.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Frame It!
Having had a good deal of practice with me when I was a toddler, Granddad arrived with a pretty good understanding of just how much hard work it is to keep a Small Girl entertained. He arrived equipped with an array of interesting puppets the evening before DH left for India, and threw himself heroically into the job of getting reacquainted with his granddaughter.
Whilst I was distracted with an increasingly fussy Very Small Dribbling Boy, Granddad and the Small Girl spent many long hours playing Going to the Doctor with various puppets afflicted with disturbing ailments (a penguin with “a stomach in his head” was particularly memorable - he required several rounds of pink lollipops at the chemist before he felt better).
Pacing the upstairs hall one evening with a Very Small Overtired Boy, I was overseeing the Small Girl's bathtime and listening to her conversation with my Dad.
"Gwanddad?" she was asking
"Yes, Sweetie?"
"Frame it!!!"
Granddad looked slightly alarmed and turned to me, lost for words. Laughing, I explained that it was merely an interestingly applied phrase from one of her art programmes and not some veiled expletive. Meanwhile, Baby Pie carried on squirming, fidgeting and fussing in my arms. “Oh frame it, Baby” I said, exasperated, and put him down for his nap.
The week passed surprisingly quickly and we were all sad to say goodbye when Granddad left – especially as we still had a couple of days alone before the return of DH. And typically, on the final night, the Small Girl woke in the small hours with a temperature and demanded to come into bed with me (a request I couldn’t reasonably ignore unfortunately). That, combined with the Very Small Boy’s frequent night wakings, made it a dreadful night for everyone and by 8.30am the next morning, we were all up, dressed, fed and pacing the Shopping Centre waiting for the shops to open so Mummy could indulge in a bit of therapeutic shopping.
One of the few blessings of having had such a disturbed night’s sleep is that at least the children can generally be relied upon to sleep during the day. And by the time we got home from the Shopping Centre, both the Small Girl and the Very Small Boy were peacefully asleep in their car seats. Not knowing what to do with this sudden and unexpected free time, I carried them in asleep, made myself a nice cup of tea and put my feet up before realising that DH would soon be home and that I had better spend the next hour frantically tidying the house.
By the time he arrived, the children were awake, refreshed and full of energy, I had changed out of my baby-sick top and into something new and swish, the house was gleaming and we all crowded around to welcome him home and examine our presents. And while he spent a bit of quality time with his two favourite Small People, I retired to the kitchen with a glass of wine and my new Indian spices to cook us all a fabulous curry.
Whilst I was distracted with an increasingly fussy Very Small Dribbling Boy, Granddad and the Small Girl spent many long hours playing Going to the Doctor with various puppets afflicted with disturbing ailments (a penguin with “a stomach in his head” was particularly memorable - he required several rounds of pink lollipops at the chemist before he felt better).
Pacing the upstairs hall one evening with a Very Small Overtired Boy, I was overseeing the Small Girl's bathtime and listening to her conversation with my Dad.
"Gwanddad?" she was asking
"Yes, Sweetie?"
"Frame it!!!"
Granddad looked slightly alarmed and turned to me, lost for words. Laughing, I explained that it was merely an interestingly applied phrase from one of her art programmes and not some veiled expletive. Meanwhile, Baby Pie carried on squirming, fidgeting and fussing in my arms. “Oh frame it, Baby” I said, exasperated, and put him down for his nap.
The week passed surprisingly quickly and we were all sad to say goodbye when Granddad left – especially as we still had a couple of days alone before the return of DH. And typically, on the final night, the Small Girl woke in the small hours with a temperature and demanded to come into bed with me (a request I couldn’t reasonably ignore unfortunately). That, combined with the Very Small Boy’s frequent night wakings, made it a dreadful night for everyone and by 8.30am the next morning, we were all up, dressed, fed and pacing the Shopping Centre waiting for the shops to open so Mummy could indulge in a bit of therapeutic shopping.
One of the few blessings of having had such a disturbed night’s sleep is that at least the children can generally be relied upon to sleep during the day. And by the time we got home from the Shopping Centre, both the Small Girl and the Very Small Boy were peacefully asleep in their car seats. Not knowing what to do with this sudden and unexpected free time, I carried them in asleep, made myself a nice cup of tea and put my feet up before realising that DH would soon be home and that I had better spend the next hour frantically tidying the house.
By the time he arrived, the children were awake, refreshed and full of energy, I had changed out of my baby-sick top and into something new and swish, the house was gleaming and we all crowded around to welcome him home and examine our presents. And while he spent a bit of quality time with his two favourite Small People, I retired to the kitchen with a glass of wine and my new Indian spices to cook us all a fabulous curry.
Teeth Are Coming (And So Is Granddad)
The Very Small Boy recently entered a particularly upsetting phase of Very Bad Sleep. If only it were as simple as giving in and putting him on a nightly bottle of filling formula, I might actually consider doing just that and giving in to everyone around me who thinks I am unreasonably insisting on continuing to breastfeed (well he is only four months old).
In any case, my opinion is that the Very Small Boy’s sleep-related problem is twofold. Firstly, he has learnt a New Skill (grabbing) and therefore forgotten an Old Habit (thumb-sucking). This isn’t as irrational as it sounds: he is so delighted with his newfound ability to grab anything that comes within reach that instead of putting his Very Small Thumb in when he lies down, he thrashes about trying to grab the bedcovers and put them into his mouth instead (and with far less satisfying consequences).
The second issue we are dealing with here is that the Very Small Boy’s sleep appears to be disturbed by teething. The signs are all there: hot little cheeks, continuous biting and an alarming amount of dribble. Putting his recent grabbing skills into practice, he has been cramming everything he can get his hands on into his mouth to chew on to try and provide some sort of relief from the discomfort.
Unfortunately, although I have tried all manner of teething toys for him, he seems to find them all compelling and yet somehow strangely unsatisfactory. What he enjoys best is to clamp down with bitey little gums on my thumb (the irony of his having forgotten about his own thumb is not lost on me) and chew frantically on it with a small frown of concentration.
And so it was with a feeling of great apprehension that I received the news that DH had decided he could no longer put off a work-related trip to India, and was planning, at fairly short notice, to fly off to Delhi. Thankfully, Granddad promised to come over from London and help pick up the pieces. And he did. But that’s another story.
In any case, my opinion is that the Very Small Boy’s sleep-related problem is twofold. Firstly, he has learnt a New Skill (grabbing) and therefore forgotten an Old Habit (thumb-sucking). This isn’t as irrational as it sounds: he is so delighted with his newfound ability to grab anything that comes within reach that instead of putting his Very Small Thumb in when he lies down, he thrashes about trying to grab the bedcovers and put them into his mouth instead (and with far less satisfying consequences).
The second issue we are dealing with here is that the Very Small Boy’s sleep appears to be disturbed by teething. The signs are all there: hot little cheeks, continuous biting and an alarming amount of dribble. Putting his recent grabbing skills into practice, he has been cramming everything he can get his hands on into his mouth to chew on to try and provide some sort of relief from the discomfort.
Unfortunately, although I have tried all manner of teething toys for him, he seems to find them all compelling and yet somehow strangely unsatisfactory. What he enjoys best is to clamp down with bitey little gums on my thumb (the irony of his having forgotten about his own thumb is not lost on me) and chew frantically on it with a small frown of concentration.
And so it was with a feeling of great apprehension that I received the news that DH had decided he could no longer put off a work-related trip to India, and was planning, at fairly short notice, to fly off to Delhi. Thankfully, Granddad promised to come over from London and help pick up the pieces. And he did. But that’s another story.
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