Category Archives: Parenthood

Silent Sunday

 

Silent Sunday

Silent Sunday

Silent Sunday

NFPtweetup social and getting back to work

On Thursday, I had a day that felt pretty much like I had never had a baby. Okay, it began with dropping the littleun off at nursery, and I did pick her up and say a quick goodbye, but I spent the morning doing grown up things like, erm, cleaning house. Then I headed into the office to do some catching up, and was answering email queries within five minutes of stepping through the door.

I then headed over to the NFPtweetup social with my manager, Jacqui, but we didn’t end up being all that sociable, at least for the first couple of hours! Though I got to chat babies with the wonderful Rachel, Jacqui and I spent most of the time talking about work… and it was brilliant! We were bouncing around a few ideas, talking about things that have changed in the last year, talking about how we could develop one thing or another. Nothing concrete and certainly nothing I could talk about here, but it just generated this exciting atmosphere of Things To Be Done. And it made me go from happy to be going back to work to itching to get started. I was all set to start brainstorming some ideas for Monday today, but had to remind myself to enjoy my weekend and spend my last few free days soaking up as many Ramona cuddles as possible!

And those cuddles are wonderful. I will miss them. But I know from that swell of positivity and surge of determination that work is exactly where I’m meant to be.

Having said a quick hello to the lovely Steve Bridger and got a chance to meet my husband’s newest colleague, Rochelle, I then got a delicious dinner bought for me at Moshi Moshi (my first visit; quite pricey but excellent – I recommend the soft shell crab).

Thank heaven for grandparents who agree to put a squirmy little baby to bed. And thank heaven for squirmy little babies who start the next morning by giving you a just-beginning-to-be-toothy smile and a hug that melts hearts at fifty paces.

Okay, working world. Make some room: I’m ba-ack!

Settling a child into nursery: the heartbreaking stage

So, as I mentioned in my last post, I’m back at work soon. And I’m all sorts of nervous and excited about this, and rather glad that my line of work is the kind of thing that is a) quite easy to stay involved in as it’s all online and b) quite easy to stay involved with if you’re a blogging, tweeting, possibly-Google-plussing community addict, which you obviously are if you do my job.

The thing about going back to work is that childcare has to be worked out.  Three days a week Ramona will be with grandparents, with whom she’s already happy and comfortable and has been left a few times to get used to the idea. But I also wanted her to go to nursery. Not because I’m itching to spend hundreds of pounds every month (and it is, at this end of the country certainly, a phenomenal though understandable fee), but because otherwise she doesn’t see very many other children.* I also think it can’t hurt to get used to the general routine. Astonishingly, school is just three years away, and becoming accustomed to the coming and going of large groups of kids with various tall people dotted about telling you what to do is no bad thing.

So, we started the process. We were lucky enough to find a nursery we loved on the second attempt (sorry, I won’t be sharing which as it’s just plain creepy to have the interwebs know where your child is spending her days). It’s well-resourced, cheerful and full of really lovely staff who exhibit a natural and boundless affection for their variously dribbling, snotty, wibbling and pooing charges. Lots of hugs and kisses, plenty of toys, books (Ramona’s current Reason for Being is to turn pages in board books) and good food. What else could anyone want? In fact, sign me up. I’ll even go to the loo myself.

But of course Ramona’s used to having mainly me around. The first few sessions, getting gradually longer, involved more and more crying, most of it solved by getting her engrossed in some books, or feeding her, although the last time the books only worked for a little while and she wouldn’t eat or drink milk. It was only on the last one that she actually clung to me and sobbed when we arrived – before that she’d smile at first and take a few minutes to realise I wasn’t there. On the advice of the nursery staff I’m basically going in, sitting her down, handing over her milk and buggering off; in their experience a drawn out goodbye only makes things worse.

It is, absolutely, heartbreaking (I sort of thank God she can’t say ‘mummy’ yet, because I think that would finish me off entirely). I know that she’ll get past it and that tears in the morning will become tears of wanting to stay there in the afternoon; after all, she doesn’t have a sandpit and water table and music area and whole crate full of phone-like toys etc at home. And all those things are, she will discover in due course, way more interesting than having me to poke every ten minutes. But I do wish I’d started this all earlier before separation anxiety had a chance to kick in (on her side – mine started before her head was all the way out), and I would have done if we hadn’t been away. But what’s done is done.

I try to make up for it with extra snuggly time – we spent ages cuddling in bed, her dozing and snorting on my chest, then beaming at me – but that only seems to make it worse for me.

The funny thing is, I have no doubts whatsoever about going back to work. I always wanted to and even after a break I can’t imagine not doing my job; it would be like not being me. So I’m not sitting here just to justify it to myself. Even if I was a SAHM, I’d send her to nursery for the socialisation and so that she can be taught by someone other than me.

Still, nothing teaches you to handle guilt like parenthood. Indeed, if you can get past the things you ‘should’ do during pregnancy, the things you ‘must’ do after the birth and the routines they ‘ought to’ follow thereafter, you will be TOTALLY INDESTRUCTABLE.

Women weakened by childbirth? Ha! I’ve never been tougher in my life.

 

*One of my friends has a daughter just five weeks older than Ramona. Every single time Ramona sees said mother and daughter coupling, she is having a bad day. The other child is frighteningly well-behaved and perfect. Mine – so cute, able, confident and lovely so much of the time – has a meltdown. And to make matters worse, when we see them as a family she is scared of the father’s voice. It basically means that among our closest friends at least one couple think our child is part-demon. This makes me sad, and also makes me think Ramona must, must, must be around other kids her age!

Back home, with a toothy baby, and back to work soon

I’m not, generally speaking, such a fan of writing bullet point posts. However, having been away for the best part of the month I feel like it’s a good way to get us all up to speed so that when I refer to things in later posts I can go “you know, I mentioned it in that bullet point list” rather than have an explanatory aside.

Or, I’m feeling a bit blogging lazy. Here goes.

  • We (by which I mean my mother, with my dad, Ramona and me on board) drove to Greece and back. Ash joined us by plane for the bit in the middle. We went to Athens and Kefallonia. The drive had its high and low points (I’m planning posts on the practical elements for BitchBuzz), but overall it was worth it and we all enjoyed the sun and food!
  • Ramona grew a tooth! It’s still working its way up, but now looks like a large grain of rice has settled on her gum. As if overnight, it solved a lot of her feeding problems and she’s now happily settled on finger foods with three milk feeds a day. Now to switch the milk to cups, which I’m hoping won’t be horrendous as she’s been using her cup independently to drink water since she was seven months.
  • I just had to interrupt this as Ramona had somehow managed to get hold of a bottle of Bio-Oil, open it, and spill it all over herself.
  • Books are her favourite thing ever. She loves Winnie the Pooh and the Trouble with Bees so much I can recite it from memory without the book and she grins at all her favourite bits before they happen. A book will keep her occupied longer than any toy.
  • Oh, actually, Peekaboo is the best, best thing ever. And when I say “Ramona play Peekaboo!” she ducks down and pops up, giggling hysterically and mumbling “pah!” “bah!” or “ee-bah!”.
  • I haven’t run in a month and feel thoroughly guilty. I’m also slightly amazed at how much weight I haven’t gained eating everything and hardly moving. Even in the sea I didn’t exactly do much swimming!
  • And speaking of the sea, Ramona adored it. She cried for about half a minute the first time she went in from the shock of the cold water, but adjusted far more quickly than we did. The second time she just complained for a few seconds. The third and fourth time there wasn’t a peep, just excited leg kicking! After that she started to get a bit irritated by the ring she was in and if we’d had more time I’d have graduated her to arm bands. Time to start taking her swimming. I meant to ages ago, right from when she was born, really, but somehow it just didn’t happen.
  • I’m back at work on 1st August, so I’m starting the process of getting Ramona settled into nursery this week (we have a mixture of nursery and grandparent care set up for her). I think she’ll be fine, but obviously it’s not so easy to detach myself, even if I am raring to get back to doing what I do. Being a community manager is basically aces, and I’ve missed it. I know that once I’m at work I’ll get so wrapped up in things it’ll be like I never went away, and there’s lots of people I’m looking forward to seeing. I’m just a bit bowled over by how quickly it’s all gone!
  • So yes, my ‘baby’ is almost a year old and won’t be a baby for much longer! It’s both slightly sad and very exciting. I’m looking forward to first words, first steps (I don’t think that’s very far off) and lots of other brilliant firsts, but I’m also stunned that I’m months away from being mum to a toddler.

I think those are the highlights. And now, I’m off to another child’s first birthday party. Because that’s what parents do at weekends.

Reflections on Ramona: Ten months in

This week is a bit crazy. For one reason or another I haven’t run for over a week (but I DID nail that 25 minute run on the third attempt) plus I’m up to my eyes in packing to go on holiday shortly. I have posts promised for BitchBuzz that I should be writing, but this week also marks ten months since I first met a certain little person, and I have to take this opportunity to mark that.

This is truly the golden bit of babyness, I think, if there is one. Sometimes when you’re on the treadmill of teething and nap schedules gone astray it’s hard to remember how very exciting the bit between six months and toddlerhood is. Each stage has its own joys, but it’s just so lovely to see her burgeoning independence now.

She crawls (yes, she finally got it!) just far enough to be able to pull herself up and cruise the furniture. She then flomps down, deliberately, next to a book, and turns the pages, groaning and grunting the story to herself. She changes her mind from one meal to the next about whether she wants sludge or finger food, and what she’ll deign to chew, and she’s obsessed with her water cup. She wakes up dozy and cute and then pulls herself up to look over the cot at me “like a small rising moon, wearing a wig” to quote her father. She examines her toys minutely, and has taken to stroking a stuffed weasel and groaning at it (the repetitive drone is something of a favourite with her when she’s got something interesting to look at, like, erm, a label). She knows Winnie the Pooh and the Trouble with Bees so well that she knows when I’m quoting it, even if it’s nowhere near her, and she smiles in anticipation of the ‘buzz buzz buzz’ lines.

She is observant and smart. Today a woman in a shop gave her a great compliment: “she’s so alert!”. Sure she’s adorable and cute and precious and all those things, but how much better to be recognised by the sparkle in your eye and the brightness you exude.

I am outstandingly, abundantly, superlatively proud of her. And at the same time as being impatient to look back on her first year, I’m in no hurry to wish these days away (except the teething. Please. God. A tooth. My virtual kingdom for a bloody tooth).

Yet more beginners’ running (and some other stuff, too)

So, I have to be honest with you about something, which is not going to be fun to hear if you’re just wavering on the edge of putting your trainers on and getting out there. But I don’t say it to discourage you. On the contrary, I say it because you’re going to hit this patch, just as I did, and you need to know it’s coming and not let yourself get disheartened by it.

Here’s the secret:

Running – or any regular exercise worth doing – never gets easy.

Sure it gets easier to go further. And it’s easier to go faster. But it doesn’t get easy. And as soon as it’s threatening to, you have to dial up the input, and it gets hard again.

I’ve faltered at week six of the C25K. I managed the two interval runs (the second one after two attempts: two intervals of ten minutes are harder than one of twenty). But the 25 minute run has defeated me twice. The first time after 15 minutes – though I was generally not together that morning – and the second time after just over 20, which frankly I still consider a win.

I should do week six again and get my fitness up, but frankly the thought of doing those intervals again is making me want to cry. So I’m going to risk slightly messing this up and do my own deviation from the plan, which is a couple more 20-minute runs, then an attempt at three 25-minute runs and, should that go well I’ll rejoin the plan at week seven and do the three 28-minute runs followed by the three 30-minute runs.

Or, as I pointed out to Ash today: I’m two-thirds of the way to a 5k. A few weeks ago, I was barely a tenth of the way and was refusing to even think “5k” for fear I would totally terrify myself back onto the couch.

Part of the reason for the slow down is that as the runs are getting longer, it’s been harder to fit them in. I can’t run with a stroller, it bugs me, so I have to find time to go alone which means 6am. I’m often too exhausted, which means instead of going on a couple of consecutive days, then having one day off and going back to it, I’m sometimes leaving up to three or four days between runs and my muscles are not up to the next run. But I’ve managed to never let a week go by without at least two runs, preferably three, and I’m going to keep aiming for that.

When I go away I’ll be in the car for three days and I don’t think I’ll get to run. I’m also not sure if I’ll manage it around Athens, but I’m determined to get in some good walking and as much running and swimming on the island as I can for the week I’m there. Especially as I’ll probably eat my body weight in whitebait, octopus and fried courgette while I’m there, too.

That’s where you can stop reading if you were just here for the running. If you’re here for babies too – or just to read my ramblings – then you’re in luck…

I don’t want to speak too soon, but I think I’ve managed to make a shortlist of the things that were affecting Ramona and making her screech. As I’ve begun to address them – in as much as I can – I think I’ve made some headway and we’ve had a couple of much less deafening days. In addition, I feel a lot more in control of my parenting, or at least I have a far more convincing pretence of that.

So, the screech inducers are:

  • Me talking to anyone that’s not her. Especially if they’re on the phone.
  • Feeding frustrations.

The talking to thing I’m having to address with a bit of ignoring. Putting her down with toys and walking out of the room, or simply not acknowledging it and carrying on with my conversation. This one is clearly a long war, and it’s going to be fought battle by battle. And actually ever time I ignore her she learns something new, like how to stand up alone, or try to push herself upright, so bit by bit I’m learning to stop the rotor blades a bit and be less of a helicopter parent.

The feeding thing took me a few days to cotton onto fully. Because she weaned quite early, we didn’t go to baby led weaning route, but she came off purees quite happily a couple of months ago onto more chunky stuff. She had pretty much got to the stage where she could just feed herself finger food, and all was well. And then, a couple of weeks ago, just as the screeching reappeared, she started to bite, chew and then spit out her food rather than actually eating it.

For a couple of days I reasoned that it was a phase as she was examining textures. Though I fretted about the amount she was taking in, she wasn’t sluggish, drinking more milk or losing weight. She could – can – still eat bread and loves toast with cream cheese (just as well, as she refuses to eat anything else at breakfast, apart from yogurt). But gradually, she started spitting more and more things out unless they were in really tiny pieces. Soft ripe pear sticks that she used to enjoy were being sucked and spat; so was the odd baby cookie I gave her. The only things staying down were bread, sauces, yogurts, really overcooked pasta, strawberries and those carrot puff snack things which I occasionally give her one or two of.

So as I realised she must be hungry and frustrated and I didn’t want mealtimes to be reduced to hours of me feeding her tiny tidbits, I began reluctantly to reintroduce the stage we left a while ago: lumpy mash. I was scared to go backwards, as I thought it might be an eating phase and that I’d be stuck with a child still eating purees when she turns fifteen. But as she gratefully nommed it all, I realised this was very likely not a battle of wills or a preference or phases, since she actually really enjoys feeding herself (although doesn’t try to grab the spoon when it’s not quite solid stuff, weirdly!). It’s her teeth – or lack of them.

She’s been chewing her fingers like there’s no tomorrow, and even bit my chin with frustration the other day. She’s dribbling like a demon. After nine and a half months – six and a half of which have been spent showing signs of teething and full of frustrated gnawing – she still doesn’t have a single damn tooth. I didn’t either until I was about 11 months, so I think I might have sadly passed that on to her (though I’ll blame Ashley as he was a late teether too). So I’ve come to the conclusion that her gums are now just too sensitive to chew bigger lumps down unless it’s gooey, chewy stuff like bread or soothingly cold and smushy fare like strawberries.

It’s not an entire backwards step, as she’s still having some finger food, but she’s eating about three times as much and seems much more content. She’s sleeping as well as ever – if not better – and is happy with three hearty milk feeds a day, as well as producing several more grim nappies. She seems more content to play and surf the furniture with about a quarter as many bloodcurdling screams.

So there we have it. Why does my baby scream? Attention-seeking, hunger and teething.

The first I’m learning to take care of, the second is sorted and the third is being managed until it takes care of itself.

I’d call that a win… wouldn’t you?

Breakthroughs, milestones and planning a road trip with an infant

So, today has been a slightly less screamy day so far, although I’d rather not speak too soon since her most screechy time is inevitably the tired afternoon, post-nap playtime. I will almost certainly help this along with a nice walk in the park and maybe a go on the swings as this improved yesterday no end. And I didn’t grit my teeth at all when she stopped screaming whilst playing with her Dad, oh no…

Anyway, today Ramona has decided to do the following:

  • Pull herself upright independently, clinging on to a table or bits of me, a handful of times.
  • Walk along, holding my hands, with increasing confidence.
  • Mimic back noises I make including ‘moo’.
  • Return kisses blown to her with very cute lip-smacking noises.

All of which are, obviously, good. She also taught me that she was happy to eat lunch as long as absolutely everything I gave her was finger food. I say ‘eat’, I mean ‘chew and drop’, but in the chaos of flying bits of lamb, cucumber, bread and banana, I think a few mouthfuls did actually get swallowed. And when I made ‘yum yum’ noises at her she rather sweetly shoved her piece of dribbled-on bread in my mouth. Moist, pre-chewed food is the way to go, folks…

Speaking of food, from six months I’ve been feeding her a mix of finger foods and stuff I can spoon into her mouth but she’s now rejecting the spoon unless she can feed herself with it (again, read: smear it around her mouth, with pure luck deciding how much actually goes in). So she was wearing quite a fetching pattern of lumps and Greek yogurt. She usually loves fruit so I added some canned peach bits to the yogurt but she decided to eat the yogurt and spit those out.

Is this the age where you realise every baby is just a toddler in training?

Anyway, I’m trying to focus on the positive today, and get on with getting ahead on the holiday prep. We don’t go for a month or so, but there’s a bit of an epic list of things to get through. I have a packing list and a ‘to buy’ list. The latter includes:

  • Enough ready made formula for the days in the car, there and back.
  • A few packs of disposable bottles.
  • Enough nappies for the days in the car, and swimming nappies for the days at the destination.
  • Jars of food and snacks for the journey in case there isn’t something appropriate on the road.
  • Contact lenses (okay, those are for me. I hate prescription sunglasses and I’m running short of dailies).
  • All the wipes in the world.

You don’t want to see the length of the packing list. As I’ll be in the car with both Whiffle and her grandparents and it’s not a barge or a tank, we’re probably going to look like we’re crossing Europe in Steptoe’s cart.

Honestly. I’m trying to be brutal and take what’s actually needed, not just what I think I need, but I fear leaving something out only to discover it’s absolutely crucial. I’m like Magrat in Carpe Jugulum, frantically packing to get herself and her infant daughter out of a castle full of vampires but nonetheless terrified to leave anything behind: “…and don’t forget the sponge shaped like a teddy bear. And the teddy bear shaped like a sponge.”

But at least it’s something positive to focus on. And it stops me stressing about the actual car trip bit because I’m going to be on my own (well, with my parents, but not with Ashley, is what I mean) for nearly four days. I’m so accustomed to relying on his never-wavering support, whether that’s emotional or practical, that I’m wetting myself at the thought of getting through the days there and back without him; he’s catching up by plane for the bit in the middle so he doesn’t need to miss work – and therefore getting paid – unnecessarily.

So, yes. Better shopping, packing and planning than stressing about screaming and dealing with her on my own. And honestly, what kind of mother is slightly scared of spending that much time being solely responsible for her child? Well, this one. But I do know who the parent is here, and I’m pretty sure babies smell fear and indecision, so I’m going to do my level best not to exhibit any.

Right. Time to go help ma with some spring cleaning while Whiffle sleeps off the five lumps of banana, two mouthfuls of lamb, single cucumber stick, lone piece of bread and four spoonfuls of yogurt she actually ingested.

Thank God she still likes her milk.

Screaming (hers) and crying (mine)

Yes, I’m blogging again today. Mostly because Ramona decided she wanted to sleep around the time I was going to take her out for a walk and try and sort us out for a bit with some fresh air and exercise. The walk has been postponed until she wakes up from her nap and I can take her to the park and pop her on the swings for a bit.

I’ve been doing some Googlechondric type research on the screaming thing. I would ask the health visitor but when Ramona was a colicky four week old she took three days to get back to us to say “oh, yeah… um… maybe baby massage?” and I have faith in my own ability to Find Stuff Out about my baby.

Part of the problem is that you search for ‘screaming’ and get ‘crying’. She’s not crying. She’s not even upset half the time. She’ll be sitting playing and will suddenly just shriek. She’ll be smiling, cooing and babbling happily then stand still and scream, over and over. No tears, no warning, no indication (reaching, signing, body language) that she actually wants anything. It comes and goes without warning or apparent reason. But there’s always a reason… right?

I do have a theory that it’s partly teething related, and it must be frustrating for her to have been teething since she was about three months old and still not to have a single tooth to show for it. A little Anbesol liquid can help, but not always. And I don’t know whether it’s a case of screaming = teething or if that’s just an extra factor that doesn’t help.

One of the reasons I think it might be tooth-related is that she’s just started refusing to eat properly. She weaned quite early and has always been a decent eater, following a pattern of small breakfast, medium lunch, hearty dinner and enjoying fruit and yogurt snacks. But now it’s no breakfast, infinitesimal lunch and snacks but, bizarrely, decent dinner. I think her tummy has also been bugging her as she’s alternately strained then filled nappies copiously, and I know tummy upsets can go hand in hand with teething.

Some people have suggested when babies do this they’re just ‘finding their voice’ but if so I rather hope she’ll misplace it again and get back to the lovely ‘ma-ba-da-ta’ noises she was making before. My ears are actually hurting from the onslaught.

It might also be ‘look what I can do’. She’s been making funny faces and hissing noises for the last week, a bit of a cat-like ‘ssssss’ that makes us all laugh, her included. So there’s no reason why the screaming can’t be part of that kind of experimentation too.

I’d say it was for attention, but she’ll do it right in the middle of my singing or playing or something else that’s totally focussed on her and that she’s otherwise hugely enjoying. I can’t be consistent about ignoring it, because I can’t ignore it in public, but a couple of times I’ve just stopped what we’re doing and sat her down with some toys. After a bit she’ll just play quietly for a few minutes, and then grizzle for attention for real. So I might continue trying that for a while.

I’m guessing it also doesn’t help that she hasn’t yet figured out how to pull herself upright using just the furniture (if you hold out a hand, she can). She also struggles with pulling herself into a sitting position and hates being on all fours – that’s why she won’t crawl, though we do try to get her to play on her tummy when she’s cheerful so that she can develop the necessary arm / neck strength to move herself around more.

In the meantime, I admit I’m struggling. I’m relying on Mum’s help more than before, and passing Ramona to Ashley when he gets home so that I can have half an hour to myself. I haven’t had time to run properly for a week or so (or rather  I haven’t had the energy), which is why I want to get a good, brisk walk in today. I might have to start going first thing, before Ash leaves for work, as I think the exercise will keep me sane and God knows I could do with being fitter to keep up with her.

I’ve had a couple of moments in the last few days where I have just broken down and cried. Poor Ramona got quite upset seeing me lose my smile, which happens so rarely in front of her. But despite being surrounded by mums I simply don’t know any others at the moment who have had a child that did this. It’s only thanks to the wonders of the Internet that I know I’m not alone. I can’t meet up with other mums and get Ramona distracted playing with another child because if she screams (and she will) they’re bound to worry about their children getting distressed – I guess I would. I also can’t help thinking they’ll judge me and assume it’s something about my parenting that’s caused it.

After all, I wonder myself, at my lowest moments.

So altogether my confidence as a parent isn’t exactly soaring at the minute. As if to balance it out, I’m doing other things like finally going back to my long-neglected Monster Book, and flicking through Twitter to keep up with work news and friendly gossip.

Right now, though, I think I’m going to put this aside and take my cue from Ramona; it’s nap time.

The Shrieking Shack: Baby phases again…

Poor Ramona. Life at nine months old just isn’t as easy as we think it is. We look at her being carried everywhere, having a lovely buggy, having people fall over themselves to talk to her, cuddle her, play with her and forget how it seems from her perspective.

Being carried everywhere? Only because I can’t move myself and I want to. (She doesn’t crawl, and refuses to try but can stand unaided for up to a minute and do some holding-on shuffling)

Making new friends? Having strange people talking at me and invading my personal space.

Being cuddled and played with? Mostly good, until I need to communicate what I want and NO ONE SPEAKS MY LANGUAGE.

She has learned one sign – ‘milk’ – and occasionally uses it, and the babbling is picking up pace, which is great because it means that some time in the not-too-distant future we might hear the beginnings of speech. She even tried to moo back at me over the book about the cow. We take the ability to speak and communicate so much for granted, and here she is talking away and not being understood. It’s frustrating for me, so it must be doubly so for her because she knows what she means and I don’t!

So, with every milestone – the standing and shuffling have been coming along really well this week – comes a bout of frustration and that means her shrieking phase is back. I know not every baby does this, but she can’t be the only one. It’s alarming; she’ll be sitting playing quietly and suddenly take a deep breath and ululate painfully and repeatedly. And I will wince. And wince again.

I had to step out and count to ten yesterday, and let Daddy deal with it for a while, which he did with patience and calm. I wouldn’t have shouted or lost my rag at her of course, because she’s a baby and she can’t help it, but I could feel my sanity slipping away and took the opportunity to regroup. After all, you simply can’t find the energy to sing songs, create distractions, read, play, sign and soothe if you can’t think straight.

It didn’t help that we made a Major Parenting Mistake yesterday (note to new parents and parents-to-be: you will make one of these most days. Learn from it). We went to a lovely family lunch day out charity thingummyjig. And it was one error after another. Her morning nap was cut short. Her lunch was late. There was too much noise. There were strange people pookey-pookey-pooing right in her face. I will never forget Ramona’s look of horror as my dad was holding her and this very kindly lady stroked her cheek and ba-ba-baaed at her. Separation Anxiety Stranger Fear Fail Alert!

We both felt like terrible parents for putting her through it, although she did sleep through some of it. I hope she doesn’t hold it against us for too long; at least we have learned our lesson about what she can and can’t tolerate right now.

Meanwhile plans are full speed ahead for a summer holiday road trip. Some of the family think I’m nuts for wanting to put her in a car for a few days (no more than about five hours driving per day, broken up) but she’s fine in a car and a wriggly little excitement monster on my lap, so I am not putting this kid on a ‘plane. I find flying stressful enough, thanks! I’ll take each issue as it comes, allow for lots of breaks, and learn from each day’s inevitable mistakes. Like every other parent, I’m flailing in the dark and making things up as I go along anyway.

Sometimes I take heart from the fact that all the descriptions of really successful, intelligent people include a bunch of kids who drove everyone crazy with their incessant energy and curiosity. Maybe Ramona’s ants in her pants and screaming are just signs that she’s too bright for this recalcitrant baby body; maybe she just wants to grow up already, thank you very much. Maybe I’m one of Amy Chua’s Western parents making excuses.

Or maybe I just love my daughter so damn much that even when she’s driving me stark raving bonkers I will find the good in every situation and go after it hell for leather.

Yeah, maybe.