Category Archives: Parenthood

When is a hat not a hat? When it’s a Hat

Posted on April 26, 2012 | Leave a comment

Many months ago, Ramona strolled out of daycare holding a fuzzy piece of fuchsia fabric from the odds-and-ends box. It looked a bit like the unfortunate remains of a Muppet that came to a sticky end but the staff said they wouldn’t miss it and she could keep it.

Perhaps because at the time she also happened to have a pink hat, she christened said rag “Hat”. Hat lives in the car, only. He is the first thing she asks for in the car, so when Hat accidentally fell into a puddle and we had to take Hat away to be washed, this caused some comment.

A few days later, Hat was finally returned to Ramona, who was ecstatic. This week, I’ve heard the following about fourteen times:

“Hat clean!”

“Hat had go wash…”

“Hat fall in puddle.”

“Hat in CAR!”

“Hat CLEAN!”

If you need a better reason for using ordinary household bits and bobs as toys, I can’t think of one.

→ Leave a comment

Posted in Parenthood

Tagged , , ,

Reflections on Ramona: 20 months

Posted on April 21, 2012 | Leave a comment

So, I’m pretty sure she’s already smarter than me.

Her memory is utterly phenomenal, and her babbling away totally charming. Although most of her speech now consists of three to four word sentences, lacking much in the way of structure, she also came out with “I’m going to eat it all up!” the other morning at breakfast. She can correctly recite about 80% of the alphabet without prompting, count to ten easily (twenty if she’s feeling it) and recognise 4 or 5 letters reliably. I’m just about bursting with pride.

I’ve been mildly worried recently that her motor skills aren’t quite on the same wavelength  - not because I expect her to be able to do more, or am concerned about her future abilities, but because I know I have a tendency to worry about her physical safety and restrict her a bit, and I thought I might be holding her up. And it’s not because she’s a girl, but because we simply don’t have that much safe space (I don’t mind her falling over, but I do mind her getting injured, unsurprisingly). I really started to fret when she started saying “be careful, Mummy! Be careful Daddy!”, as I realised just how often I was, effectively, teaching her to be scared.

But I’ve noticed something about the things she’s resisting doing recently, and that’s that her reluctance doesn’t seem to be motivated by fear.

For example, she won’t climb stairs. Unless, that is, I hold her hands, and she can climb them one step at a time, like an adult. She only deigned to attempt a hands and knees crawl into a playground Wendy house today because another kid did so – eventually though she refused and wanted to have her hand held, so she could step in in one.  A couple of weeks ago it took around 25 attempts, with me progressively supporting her less and less before she would climb up an incline holding onto a handrail instead of me (she flatly refused to go on hands and knees). She’s fascinated by dirt, and lives in a household where we wipe hands only the normal amount, but doesn’t like using her hands to climb or crawl (and as a baby surfed furniture before she crawled and crawled for only three weeks before walking independently).

So… what is it? Is it laziness, motivated by the fact that I all-too-easily give in and help her? I think this is a likely culprit, and am working on that – she knows what ‘try’ means, and she’s hearing it more than ever now. Is it a little bit of perfectionism and frustration, wanting to get straight to the end point without bothering with the intervening stages? My mother says my sister was a bit like that and she still is a hard-working perfectionist, in a good way. Six of one, half a dozen of the other?

It’s really me, and not her, I’m worried about. The world will waste no time placing limitations on her, so God knows I shouldn’t be. I think I owe her the time spent reflecting on and changing my own behaviour if I expect her to keep working on hers.

Speaking of which… ahhh, toddlers. She’s mostly fine and cheery, as long as her need for sleep is observed. But boy does she have a meltdown if she thinks I’m cross with her. She’ll do something naughty, laugh, apologise, and do it again. Typical boundary testing. And then I follow through on the consequences and make a stern face, and… oh boy.  And you can see that the tears are of real distress. Tiredness led to a tense moment at bathtime followed by a tearful bedtime and I made sure she got a solid block of cuddles, kisses and being told how much I love her before going to sleep, just to balance it out.  This child has known nothing but affection and gentleness all her life, but she’s so thrown by anything in our relationship feeling out of sorts. Where does that come from? Either way, I’m never going to scrimp on pouring on the reassurance. She will know, every day of her life. how much her family adores her.

This stage fills me with wonder and scares the crap out of me at the same time. Yet, I feel like I’ve said that at every stage, so I guess as a parent you never really grow out of that, huh?

→ Leave a comment

Posted in Parenthood

Tagged , , ,

Finding the balance

Posted on April 18, 2012 | Leave a comment

Not the work-life balance. I always think that’s a bit of a nonsense question, mainly because most of the time only half the population is asked how she plans to achieve it. Also, I think framing it as ‘achieving a balance’ is actually not particularly empowering; it sort of suggests another job you have to do and another standard to be judged on. Nothing wrong with standards and challenges, but we don’t need to find them absolutely everywhere.

No, the balance I’m talking about is the constant push-pull of power vs limitation, and particularly how this applies to being a parent.

I starting musing on this mainly because of a few articles I’ve read lately about the ‘best’ way to be a parent.  No-one but the most outstandingly opinionated wants to say there’s a best way, but we all judge. All of us. Some of us learned not to quite so Judgey McJudgerson once we had kids and realised that no, actually, it’s  not always possible to predict and entirely control their behaviour. But we all think we know better, and we have to, or we’d never have any confidence in our own abilities. While every parent feels like a tiny creature navigating a huge, dark ocean in the certain suspicion that the light ahead is an angler fish, that veneer of confidence – combined with a passionate desire to fling open every door and clear every path for our kid – is what keeps us going.

So we have confidence, and we have responsibility. Oh my, do we have responsibility. Like puppies waiting for a treat, we constantly want reassurance that we are doing our best: that we are good parents. The alternative is unthinkable. We know we have to be completely responsible for our child’s safety; either by physically being there to protect them or by making sure they’re in carefully vetted, trusted hands. We know that every success will be a credit to the child, while every failure is a demerit to the parent; the wagging finger of the tabloid reader is in our own heads, telling us it’s our job to make everything right.

Of course, this is true. But there’s also a problem, which is that there’s no such thing as a good parent. Or at least good parents come in infinite variety.

It’s easy enough, most of the time, to spot a bad parent. Disinterest, or worse, active uninterest. Abuse of any kind. Neglect. Relentless negativity or the other extreme: indulgence to the point of stupidity.

But how do you tell a good parent? Is it the one whose kid has the greatest successes? Wins the most prizes? Makes the most money? Is the most content? Is widely lauded? Has a family of their own? Or is the kid who actually has a pretty hard time because of circumstances the family could do nothing about but still comes out of the other side more or less in one piece? Should we be judging the parents, the kid or the society when it comes to those kids that don’t make it through okay – can’t you have done everything you possibly could to be a good parent but still not have a happy, safe, contented child?

Bad parenting is judged by both method and outcome, but it seems people only want to talk about the latter when it comes to good parenting: “My kid’s in one piece and not on drugs!” “No teen pregnancies here!”. Not only does that expose some prejudices, it also reduces the positive ‘good’ down to the neutral ‘not bad’.

Plus let’s not forget: once the kids go to school, all bets are off. You’ve done your damnedest until then to fill them full of your good, solid, positive values and from now on you’ll be fighting their peers and wider influences all the way (or at least until they have kids and turn into a version of you). Which is not to say their peers are wrong and you’re right, or even that you won’t often be on the same page. But there comes a point when it takes a village, and the village ultimately has a very big mouth.

Parents have enormous power and, superhero-style, tremendous responsibility. They also have limitations. That’s the balance. That’s the struggle. Finding the point in the middle where those intersect and effectively, religious or not, employing a version of (at least the first half of) the serenity prayer.

And once you’ve grasped your own balance, don’t forget to set it free into the world.

Or, to sum up this post in a single sentence: A supportive smile to the mother with the screaming toddler goes a hell of a long way.

→ Leave a comment

Posted in Parenthood

Tagged , , , ,

Reflections on Ramona: 19 months

Posted on March 21, 2012 | 1 Comment

I’m having the opposite of writer’s block: blogger’s overload. It’s when there’s so much to write about fighting for precedence in your head that you stumble into a kind of blogging intertia. Not good. So I’m knocking it on the head by devoting an evening to writing an easy post, with more varied ones to follow.

Anyway, I’m due my regular reflection on a small person who is, quite frankly, rather brilliant.

Ramona’s hit the toddler stage full blast, running around like a loon and talking nineteen to the dozen now. There are lots of exchanges like this:

R: “Driiiiiink… driiiiink…”
Me: “As soon as I get you into your sleeping bag, you can have your drink. You know that.”
R: “Yes, Mummy. I know.”*

And she’s valiantly banging away at full sentences:

R: “Daddy carry ‘mona down’tairs?”
Me: “Yes, darling; he’ll be back in a minute to take you downstairs.”
R: “Daaaaaddyyyy… open the door, carry ‘mona down’tairs now!”

The long and painful bath phobia is now over – in fact, she throws a strop if she thinks she’ll miss her bath, and pointedly stands at the bottom of the stairs announcing “goo’nigh’, bath-time” and clutching Weasel to her chest. She’s becoming more and more dextrous and fearless, although she’s still bewilderingly daunted by stairs and won’t climb more than one before requesting to be picked up (though to be honest that’s something of a relief).

She’s obsessed with reading, as ever, and I’ve managed to nab a couple of audio recordings of us reading together. I really want to grab some video of her amazing reactions to her favourites. Full kicking, squealing, overexcited toddler joy. I’m going to miss that so much and am determined to enjoy every moment, and have them to look back on!

She’s also rather obsessed with the box, and we’re having to make an extra effort to model good behaviour by turning it off. Most of her favourites are positive and educational, from ‘Mi Tubble’ (Something Special) to Peppa Pig, a work of subversive genius that I enjoy watching as much as – possibly more than – she does, but nonetheless we’d like to direct more of her energies to things like painting and drawing, the latter of which she’s recently become quite interested in. (By which I mean scribbling aimlessly, but the crayons have helped her become very reliable with her colours as I hand them to her one by one as she gets the colours right!)

She’s a phenomenally good eater, and a fair sleeper, both of which I’m thoroughly grateful for. And she’s a sociable little soul who has learned the value of a cow-eyed “pleeeeease?” already.

She can be a bit of a drama queen, as I think are most toddlers, so of course the flipside to all this incredible development is throwing massive, often unexpected hissy fits that are quite extraordinary in their volume and extent.

But it’s so easy to forget that when she trundles around the house randomly throwing guerilla hugs at people’s legs while yelling “CUDDLE!”.

I’m so easily pleased.

*Sounds massively precocious, but actually mimicking Chris Haughton‘s brilliant book, A Bit Lost, in which she fills in the part of Squirrel. Other classic Ramonaisms taken from books include yelling “MEEOOOOWW! Poor Mog!” (Meg and Mog) and insisting “‘Iway Bat, ‘Iway Bat… R… R… Rat” because I’ve corrected her so many times (The Highway Rat).

→ 1 Comment

Posted in Parenthood, Reading & Writing

Tagged , , , ,

Reflections on Ramona: 18 months

Posted on February 1, 2012 | 4 Comments

I’m still having trouble adjusting to the idea that, as of next week, I’ll be the mother of an 18-month-old child. I’ve been calling her a toddler for a while now – mainly because she toddled at 11 months – but there’s something about the magical one-and-a-half-years-old mark that brings it home to me: she’s growing up.

Alright, we’re a few years away from driving lessons and visiting universities, but she is now, unmistakeably, a little person, and not a baby. Her personality, striking from the outset, is now very clear, and as she ramps up her communication with us, it’s simply staggering realising how much she’s learning every day.

Talking came on very suddenly; a few weeks ago she blurted a word here and there, and now you can’t stop her chattering away. Understanding is far from foolproof, of course. She may yammer away, but much of the time it’s incomprehensible, apparently random. Still, it is undeniably exciting and weird to have conversations with her. She’s particularly talkative in the car with me, when she babbles from the back seat. She’s always liked itemising everyone she loves (“Yiayia?” “She’s at home.” “Pappou?” “He’s at home.”) as if knowing that everyone’s where they should be gives her an anchor; maybe it does. Now she likes me to tell her that everyone loves her. And sometimes she really makes me laugh.

R: Yiayia?
Me: Yiayia loves you very much.
R: Pappou?
Me: Pappou loves you very much.
R: Capper? (Casper, our cat)
Me: Casper… well, he thinks you’re okay.
R: Capper wuvoo? CAPPER WUVOO?
Me: Casper loves you very much.
R: Yes.

Or, a few days later:

R: Yiayia?
Me: Yiayia loves you very much.
R: Pappou?
Me: Look. Everyone loves you. You’re the best!
R: YES.

Ash also gets in on the act:

Ash: Are you happy?
R: Yes?
Ash: Are you okay?
R: Yes? Sad?
Me: You’re sad?
R: Yes?
Me: Why are you sad?
R: Yes?
Ash: Are you a traffic cone?
R: Yes?

Both sets of grandparents are industriously teaching her things she can parrot, but not possibly understand, but that’s fine. Learning by rote has a bad reputation, and certainly I can’t see any point in endlessly repeating something you don’t understand when you’re an adult, but that kind of pattern-matching is incredibly useful when you’re very small. Constant repetition – I’ve had to hide certain books, so sick am I of reading them to her, and I NEVER thought I’d get sick of a book! – is the name of the game.

On the subject of books, we do all love a set of books published by Parragon that my in-laws got her for Christmas and Channukah. Based around simple emotions, they help children express happy, sad, angry, shy, proud, brave… absolutely lovely. She’s too small to embrace naming most of the emotions other than the first two (her gurning in response to ‘happy face!’ ‘sad face!’ is hilarious), but she’s started to memorise sentences and associate words. So if I read “I feel happy when I’m with…?”, she’ll gleefully shout back “Mummy!” and it’s basically the very best moment of my day, no matter what else has happened.

I can’t find the books on Parragon’s website, but I imagine some of their other board books are also excellent. They came as a stack of mini board books in two long boxes with carry handles that she took to slinging into the crook of her arm and strolling around the living room with until they collapsed under the onslaught of toddlerish prodding.

I’m slightly terrified of what happens next, because between incomprehensible shrieking tantrums – often related to teething, which is a truly evil thing – and scarily sudden progress, I’ve once again got to that stage when, just when you thought you knew the lay of the land, the goalposts have shifted again.

For example, she’s always been great at night and is a joy to put to bed; despite my refusal to try controlled crying when she was smaller she has not developed any sleeping hangups. On the contrary, since she feels secure she’ll now go in awake and quietly soothe herself to sleep, rarely waking up unless something out of the ordinary (sickness and New Year fireworks) disturbs her. But on the flip side she’s recently, quite suddenly, gone back to being absolutely random about naps when she’s not at nursery, sometimes sleeping for ages, sometimes not, sometimes early, sometimes late. I thought we’d left that unpredictability behind a few months ago. But hey, I’ll swap complete routine confusion during the day, which is perhaps inevitable when you’re with different people through the week, for a near-flawless routine at night.

Well, for as long as that lasts, anyway.

Oh, Ramona. You’re usually so busy asking me about everyone else that I have to remind you about Mummy. Mummy definitely, positively, unquestionably loves you very, very much.

→ 4 Comments

Posted in Parenthood

Tagged , , , ,

Food, glorious food

Posted on December 3, 2011 | 1 Comment

I don’t know whether it’s having read Health at Every Size for the second time or my ongoing fascination with ZOMGMASTERCHEFOZ, but ~I’m completely, relatively uncharacteristically obsessed with cooking – and not just baking – at the moment. Particularly cooking vast quantities of vegetable-packed, warming, hearty food that can be portioned off into the freezer for lunches or quick dinners. Hmm. I wonder if winter hibernation has a role to play here, too.

Anyway, I started my experimentation by packing the fridge with my favourite vegetables and having at them. First I made a vegetarian chilli in two parts – one with paprika and hot spices for us, and one with more fragrant spices for Ramona.

It went something like this:

- Finely dice carrots

- Add to boiling water along with a stock cube and two bags of pre-cut root vegetable cubes (sold for mashing).

- Boil until al dente. Divide into two batches.

- Fry half an onion in sunflower oil until softened. Add spices (for us an Old El Paso mix, for Ramona a heaped teaspoon each of cumin and dried coriander and a level teaspoon of cinnamon). Add, roughly in this order, giving each a chance to cook slightly before adding the next: a couple of slugs of tomato puree, sliced mushrooms, a can of kidney beans, half a can of cannelini beans, the boiled veg, half a can of chopped tomatoes.

- Cook until tasty looking / smelling / tasting.

- Repeat with the other half of the ingredients for the second batch.

Having decided that this was actually quite successful, I branched out into following actual recipes. The first was gorgeous Aussie chef Donna Hay‘s chicken breasts with halloumi, lemon and honey (pictured), which sounds like a cold cure and it is, in a manner of speaking.

Her original recipe – at least, as I scribbled it down from the TV – was for two chicken breasts which I’ve quoted below, but I made 8 breast fillets so I added about 50% more of everything rather than quadrupling it which would have been a bit much.

2 chicken breasts
1 packet halloumi thickly sliced into four
1 tbsp honey
1 tbsp olive oil
Zest from one lemon
6 sprigs of lemon thyme

Lay the chicken and cheese in a baking tray, drizzle over the oil and honey, then chuck in the zest and thyme. Bake at 180 for 18-20 minutes or until browned (I actually found they needed quite a bit longer for a bigger dish as I wanted the cheese to burn around the edges – more like 35-40, but as always KYO: Know Your Oven. The mixture keeps the chicken breasts beautifully moist).

Thereafter I headed on to the land of red lentils, and cooked up a sort of stew-dahl hybrid with the remaining pack of diced root vegetables, lots and lots of spinach and some fresh green and red medium-strength chillies. You wash the lentils, bring them to the boil and keep them there, boiling rapidly for ten minutes, then simmer for another ten before adding the veg and cooking until everything is soft. This needs a little stove-watching as too much liquid and it’ll be runny, too little and it’ll be burnt stodge. Some of that liquid need not be water or stock but could be chopped tomatoes or passata.

The 1kg bag of basic red lentils from Tesco is less than £1 and stretches forever (the batch I made with less than half of that has filled up five takeaway-sized plastic boxes in the freezer.

I’m feeling really good about all this. I might be imagining it but even Ashley has commented that my hair seems thicker, my skin looks better – especially given the weather – and I seem to be fighting off all manner of nasties having succumbed to loads earlier in the season. And it’s nice to know Ramona is eating lots of fresh, nutrient-packed food as well as the snacks and sandwiches she also eats; I’m no perfect organic earth mother (most of the veg was from the value bin).

And now, with the help of Vefa Alexiadou and my mother, I’m off to make a classic Greek karidopita (walnut pie), because dessert is virtuous too, damn it.

→ 1 Comment

Posted in Food Therapy, Life, Parenthood

Reflections on Ramona: 14 months

Posted on October 25, 2011 | 2 Comments

Looking back at the 13 month mark, I’m astonished that there’s so much more to note in such a short space of time. People wonder why toddlers have tantrums, but seriously: can you imagine learning so many things in such a small space of time and not getting a bit cranky?

Leaving aside the leaps in physical co-ordination that are happening, it’s language that’s really astonishing me. I suppose because it’s so obvious all the time, and because it’s allowing me an inlet into communication with my daughter. Because one of the toughest things about being a parent is trying to understand and make yourself understood when there is no common language – except for body language, which is so easy to misread - between you.

So, to mark 14 months, as we dart inexorably on to 15 since I’ve been so late with this update, I give you Whiffle’s Baby Glossary. Or: things wot my kid says.

  • Family: Mummy, Daddy, Yiayia (Greek: grandma), Pappou (Greek: grandpa), Ouma (Afrikaans, grandma), ‘Gamps’ (Gramps), ‘Cabbi’ (Casper, the cat), ‘Aki’ (Alex, the cousin). Occasionally she attempts ‘Ramona’, and gets ‘amona’, which is not bad going for someone with six teeth.
  • Animals: ‘Giger’ (tiger), ‘Ca’ (cat), ‘a pi’ (pig). For ‘dog’ she just strokes the picture and goes ‘aaaahhhh’, and all black cats are ‘Cabbi’.
  • Objects and responses to questions: ‘App-ul’ (apple – tomatoes are also apples, apparently), tea, ‘tthhh’ (teeth), ‘appy’ (nappy, said when a change is needed), ca-ca / poo (likewise), ‘out’ (in response to ‘where did you go?’ or ‘in and…?’), ‘up / cup’ (cup), ‘a boo’ (book), ‘up-ah’ (to be picked up – my mother taught her that!), ‘tah’ (star), ‘baw’ (ball), ‘beh’ (bear).

I’m sure I’ve forgotten more than a few, and those are just the regular ones; often she’ll say something once and then put it away for a few days to be hesitantly brought out again later. I guess being around grandparents speaking two different languages and the varied, positive environment at nursery plus having two parents that don’t shut up is having something of an effect on her.

Incidentally, as I’ve said before, I’m really writing this for my own sake, so I can look back at how she was when she was a tot. I’m not tracking her development, or comparing her to others, and for all I know she should have done all this stuff months ago. I don’t know, I don’t care. I’m just a parent, who, just like most other parents, is fascinated by their own child.

Here’s to every single one of us just happening to have the coolest, smartest kid in the world.

→ 2 Comments

Posted in Parenthood

Tagged , , , ,

Reflections on Ramona: 13 months

Posted on September 10, 2011 | 3 Comments

Now that Ramona’s over a year old, we no longer fill in her baby book. Partly cos there’s no section for after 12 months, but also because now it’s past the firsts and into the everythings. So I wanted to keep a record somewhere of all the exciting things she can now do so that when she asks me years from now there’s a hope in Hell I’ll actually be able to give her an answer.

Things that make me proud…

  • Walking is old hat – progressing to a hesitant run now
  • Walking confidently in shoes
  • Standing on tiptoe to reach things
  • Opening cupboards
  • First attempts at climbing things (generally people)
  • Signing ‘finished’/'all gone’
  • Signing ‘butterfly’ whenever one is seen, but also on request in Greek or English
  • Dancing spontaneously to music, and also on request in English or Greek
  • Responding mostly reliably to questions about being hungry or finished by smiles or signing
  • Reliably pointing out ‘Mummy’s nose’, ‘X’s cheek’ and own head (asked in English or Greek) and knees. Sometimes own nose as well, occasionally feet
  • First word was Pappou! Lucky Pappou. This has been followed by ‘Daddy’, ‘Mummy / Mama’, ‘Yiayia’, ‘flower’ (or ‘wowwah’) and the spontaneous favourite: ‘hi!’
  • Animal noises: hissing like a snake, squeaking like a mouse, ‘moo’, ‘woof’ (actually ‘oof’) and ‘baa baa baa’
  • Understanding directions: going to fetch a book whether asked in English or Greek. Identifying by name four mini Moomin books: Moominpappa, Moominmama, Snorkmaiden and Moomintroll
  • Pointing out the following reliably in most books, when asked: cats, teddy bears, balls, hippos, dogs, monkeys, fish, butterflies, bees, ducks, cows, sheep, horses, bunnies, bikes, cars, drums, flowers, mice, socks, shoes
  • Starting to point out clocks, lights and mirrors when asked in English

I’m sure there are many more things. The babbling is sounding more and more like structured speech, so one of these days her language will start sounding a lot more like ours and our mutual gobbledegook will make more sense to each other. She listens a lot more, and looks up for approval when answering a question. We keep repeating simple questions and offering lots of praise and encouragement, and I insist my parents speak to her in Greek whenever possible, as well as repeating some things to her in both languages, so that she continues to have that comfort with either language.

I have no idea if she is average, or above or below. I don’t care, since she seems to be developing and learning at a nice steady pace which gives no indication that she’s struggling or unhappy; growing confidence and happiness are all that matter to me. Every week she seems to pick up half a dozen new things, some from us, some from grandparents and some from nursery. Despite being quite square-eyed as a miniature tot, she now shows no interest in the television at all but is obsessed with books. I wonder how long that’s going to last…!

I know toddlerhood and its attendant issues are right around the corner, but it’s easy to enjoy this stage of constant learning. I understand why she needs 10-11 hours sleep and a couple of hours of napping; if I took in half what she does in a day I’d be exhausted too.

Pickleface, Mummy is so proud.

Edited: Daddy insists I add that he is proud too.

→ 3 Comments

Posted in Parenthood

Tagged , , , ,

Work, nursery, separation anxiety, teeth and something having to give…

Posted on August 25, 2011 | 9 Comments

Something had to give.

Let’s start with the good news. I am loving being back at work. I find that I end up laughing about something every day. And those occasional studies that talk about how mums make great employees have some truth in them, you know; my time management is better than it’s ever been, and even on slow days when the temptation strikes anyone, I’m not inclined to procrastinate (if you procrastinate with a child, you pay for it; puts you off for life). I really enjoy being me again, and I’ve had the luxury of a little time to do some of the really fun stuff, like reigniting our Twitter feed, as well as getting a far more regular content creation schedule in place.

Also, Ramona’s having more good days than bad at nursery. She’s playing outside, painting, pottering over to the book corner, etc. Today she apparently was the only child to have a proper afternoon nap, and when she woke up from it and the staff were busy soothing the others who had fallen asleep later she simply pootled over to some toys and played quietly and happily on her own. One carer said “it was like she knew to be quiet and not disturb the others, and she’s so independent; she didn’t need us!”.

Of course, increased independence can go hand in hand with separation anxiety. Although we were always careful to leave her for longer and longer periods with grandparents and eased her into nursery with half days, she’s now going through an apparently classic case of freak outs when she sees me or Ashley leaving. She’s generally happy but clingy when we get back, and I think that the day time anxiety is likely to ease quite soon.

So I wasn’t expecting it to spill over into night. I’m not even sure it has, exactly. She used to go into the cot drowsy but awake and sleep fine. She still sleeps through the night the vast majority of the time unless she’s sick or, in one case, too hot. Now she howls like a banshee when we pop her in the cot. For three days I attempted a sort of controlled crying; not giving in and picking her up, just soothing her in the cot, then leaving her for a minute or two, then silently popping her back down, etc etc. All it left was a baby who eventually slept out of the sheer exhaustion of being inconsolable. Today I snapped after half an hour of listening to her get more and more distressed, picked her up, let her lie on my tummy for five minutes until she was really sleepy, and then popped her in her cot where, after a brief wail of reproach, she slept like a log.

I feel terribly guilty now. Not because I think controlled crying is bad, because I’m sure it works well for many people. But because I think I picked the wrong time to do it. It can’t be a coincidence that this sleeping issue has appeared right when a tooth is coming through and she’s snotty and stressing out. If it was just the separation anxiety, I’m sure I could be a good What to Expect… girl and be all consistent and have a perfect bedtime routine that doesn’t deviate ever (seriously, who manages that?) and calmly sooth her, etc etc. But I ain’t that woman. I’m a woman who thinks a distressed child is distressed for a reason. She didn’t want to be rocked to bed, or to play or to read a book. She wanted soothing, from me, and she got it.

Most people would be fretting now about creating a new situation; I’m just sorry I didn’t give in earlier.

And speaking of giving in… It’s been forever since I ran. I feel very disappointed in myself and want to start again. I have all the excuses – going back to work, wanting to spend every minute I can with Ramona – and they’re all valid. But I have to find a way to find time for it again, and I know other busy mums do. It was good for me, physically and mentally, and I know I’ll have to start from scratch again, but I want to. Maybe if I start at the long weekend with the extra time I’ll have it’ll kick me into gear again.

Something had to give. And in the end it was the last of my faith in guidebooks and parenting tomes. From now on, I do what I think is right, and I trust myself.

→ 9 Comments

Posted in Parenthood, Running

Reflections on Ramona: Happy 1st Birthday!

Posted on August 19, 2011 | 1 Comment

Mummy with Ramona on her birthday

As some of you might have realised from the cake decoration picture I had up as Silent Sunday, we recently passed the incredible milestone of Ramona’s first birthday.

I thought about writing this post to her, but I’ve actually already done that in a way. Ashley and I each wrote a letter to her and put it away, along with her cards from everyone, for her to read when she’s older. We plan to write one each year and give her the whole lot at a milestone birthday like 18 when she can start to appreciate what’s in them. The tone of the letters was quite interestingly different; mine was a waffly description of her birth, and the things she’s learned to do, and what I find amazing about her, whereas Ashley’s was a shorter but beautifully emotional piece all about how he feels about her. The whole of which I think will make a great mixture of stories from childhood and understanding how parents can be just overwhelmed with love.

For me, being the mother of a one-year-old is, as I think with most childhood milestones, bittersweet. On the one hand, I’m truly excited at all the amazing things she can do; she walks pretty well, now, and she’s learned to clap at last! I’m very happy that we’re embarking on a journey that will see her gain even more independence and the ability to communicate clearly. She can now understand simple directions and that’s really quite amazing when I compare her to the blinky, waily, confused, wrinkled little pudding I held in my arms a year ago.

On the other hand, she’ll never be that tiny little brand new person ever again. And I find that sad. Maybe it’s the reminder of my own mortality. Maybe it’s the knowledge that, although we have a long way to go (and I’m terrified of teenagerhood), every step she learns to take already takes her further away from me. Although she suffers a little separation anxiety at nursery on and off – though mostly enjoys it – she loves being left with grandparents and doesn’t seem to mind if it’s me or Ashley with her. All of which certainly makes going back to work, which I’m thrilled I did, much easier but at the same time reminds me that although I feel like she’s an extension of me, she’s also very much her own person.

That’s the challenge of parenthood, I think. To you, they are almost literally your own flesh and blood; when they are away from you, something is missing. When they are sad, something in you is broken. When they are happy, something in you flies. When they are learning, exploring, doing, something in you delights with them every step of the way. And yet they are not you, and every move they make is for them, and must be for the them, and will be for them. Until, one day, if they choose to make it so and are lucky enough to fulfil their choice, it will be for their children.

I wish I could say this has made me even nicer to my own mother – not that I’m unpleasant to her, you understand; we are actually very close! – but I don’t think that’s how it works. Once a selfish kid, always a selfish kid.

And once a mother, always a mother.

→ 1 Comment

Posted in Parenthood

Tagged , , ,