Welcome

Without meaning to, the main crux of this blog seems to focus around sleep and my desperate quest to find it after having a baby. Please use the menu above to find something that might be of interest as the old blogs get lost as new ones are published and let's face it; no-one likes to have to scroll down on websites. If you are a fairly new parent, I hope you find something here you can relate to - failing that you can always laugh at my expense in the process! Thanks for reading... Follow @milkinitmusings

I'm a neurotic mother, get me outta here

Weighing in at under two stone, you’d think the littlest member of the family would be the easiest to transport. Yet the smallest person in the household comes with the most paraphernalia you can squish into a car boot.

Being a keen traveller, and aspiring travel writer, I figured that until I can do the latter, I need to go somewhere before I can actually write about it. Now that we have an addition to our family, it makes travelling around much more strategic; instead of the usual last-minute passport check, it’s now a planned military operation: ‘Have we got bubba’s change of clothes (for all seasons)/milk/nappies/ highchair/ toys/ etc.?’ and I swear that’s just for one night.

The thought of a holiday – seven full-days, getting on a plane, brings me out in a heat rash already.

I’ve been very lucky in that I’ve dipped my toe in most foreign shores: from your 18-30s girlie gallivants – sunrise to sunset European party package deals to your slumming it in Shanty towns. I’ve done the Brits-abroad backpacking, swum in shark-infested waters and got all romantic in Rome. I’ve stayed in most types of accommodation from mouse-infested hostels in New York to palatial hotels and private lodges in the South African mountains and floated to a swim-up bar in a tropical Thailand storm.

I’ve skied, safari’d, shopped, strolled, sailed, sunbathed and sight-seen. I even got married on a Balearic island. I think I’ve ventured pretty far, so why is it now difficult to travel ten miles down the road with a little person?

My initial reaction to planning a holiday or small trip should be one of excitement, but in reality, my first thoughts now are ‘Will there be a chemist nearby where we can buy Caplol?’ just in case, naturally.

A relative once nicknamed me ‘Nueromum’ - an amalgamation of neurotic and mother - we joked about it at the time, but actually, I think she may be onto something…Because I’ve now turned into a What If? Parent (WIP) e.g. ‘What if he gets poorly when we’re away? What if we haven’t packed enough nappies?’ etc.

And speaking of packing – our son’s day bag is always spilling out at the seams with stuff. There are even sections in there for different scenarios – teething, mealtimes out, rainy days, you know, just for what ifs.

The furthest we ventured with the wee one was a road trip in the UK to visit some rellies when he was three months old. We drove for about four hours – on a straight motorway with a couple of pit stops en route and bubba slept peacefully the whole journey. It’s not exactly anything to write home about but it was a sense of achievement at the time.

Help! Have I lost my sense of adventure now I’m a parent? I really hope not, I hope that our son can be well-travelled and cultured and see much more of the world that I have so far.

So with my travel quandary on whether to and where to holiday this year, I turned to my mummy friends who gave some great advice about travelling abroad with a baby:

• Most airlines allow you to take more than 100ml of baby food/liquid as long as you prove it’s safe to airport security by drinking or tasting it – expressed breast milk anyone? 
• Buy baby food airside at a branch of Boots
• Bottle, breastfeed, dummy or generally feed for take-off and landings to help little one’s ears with the air pressure
• Entertain with a toy that has a suction cup that can fix onto the food tray
• For long-haul flights, reserve a sky cot if the airline provides one (do they have them for adults, please?)
• Use a light-weight, fold up pushchair preferably with only one part 
• Usually airline policies have extra luggage allowance for babies, so check first
• Wrap baby up in layers that you can easily take off/put on if it gets hot/cold on the plane
• Pre-order formula and collect it airside
• Throw money at the situation if you can – buy the extra baggage/legroom etc., happy parents = happy baby
• Most of all relax – don’t contemplate or stress about routines and ignore the clock; most of the time baby will be relaxed abroad and will be content in the buggy

OK it sounds more doable now in my head. I now have visions of my husband and I sipping cocktails on a roof terrace while the boy is next to us snoozing happily in the pram. I’m imagining walking along the beach with baby on hip... actually scrap that, with him soon to be weighing two stone that may not be likely – perhaps more toddling and dipping his toes into the warm sea and making his first sandcastle with Daddy.

And anyway, I have to remind myself that we are very privileged to be living in a world where we can travel around, have access to almost everything we need in shops and where we can use our plastic abroad. Some people aren’t lucky enough to go away at all. Maybe it’s not so stressful after all? 

Hmm, perhaps this year we’ll just caravan it, one of those trailer-types would do. That way, I could simply fill it all up with the baby bits we need for all those (un?)necessary occasions, you know,  just in case...maybe my inner WIP will still need some working on.

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Walking, talking, living...

I've entered baby world: fully-fledged in parenthood, immersed with infant interaction and now nifty in nappy changing. I first started a baby blog just to jot down the hilarious experiences I found myself having. Unbeknown to me at the time; every parent was blogging about the humdrum of their daily lives. Not only that, but there were awards for these blogs, and some parents were even making a lucrative living out them – well, OK getting by, by reviewing products and events.

Over a glass of red one evening, a friend and I swore we would never be one of those mothers - you know the ones that only talk about the contents of their baby's nappy (especially to friends who don’t have children). Then one day I found myself explaining to a friend's boyfriend – over lunch no less – about a 'poop' disaster that had happened that morning. After realising what I was doing, I cut myself short and apologised profusely. 

I've got to keep reminding myself of ‘that promise’ because I was indeed that very person; I would get agitated when my friends with children would disclose information about their child’s nocturnal nuisances. Switching off, I would be thinking to myself: ‘Yes, I had a lovely holiday, thanks for asking how I am.'

Now I’m mingling (OK, conversing on twitter) with the yummy mummies and I kind of feel like I've been pigeonholed into a new social group that I’m not sure I’m quite comfortable with. Have I turned into a walking, talking, living, blogging mummy cliché? I don't make jam, I don't sew and I certainly don't do domestic bliss. I still want to jet around the world, get sloshed on spritzers, own a villa in Ibiza – and on top of that I have high ambitions with my career. The difference now is my child has given me even more of a drive to be successful; to give him a better life.

If I’m honest, I cringe at the regular gushing baby updates through social media. Even I’m not interested that ‘Phoebe has not eaten her porridge for breakfast’ that morning, or ‘Archie has just been potty trained’ with added photo for effect. Aren’t we already living in world over-saturated with online sharing; one where we have all become a bit narcissistic, without our children’s lives also being documented in a timeline? And don’t get me started on all the parental acronyms that only those-in-the-know, know.

I once went to visit my sister in Los Angeles where we took my new niece to a baby group of some description. It was one of those groups where you have to join in and sing and perform animatedly – very LA. I was absolutely bewildered and felt like an awkward teenager (I was in my early 20s) and that day, I made a mental note to myself to never turn into a happy-clappy parent.

Yet here I am singing 'Head, shoulders, knees and toes' at 6am and I absolutely love it. I’m joined to every gurgling group around and coffee with friends comes with a slice of cake and is a necessary part of the week to discuss our darling’s developments. Without realising, I’m now part of the buggy-brigade and words like ‘Babyccino’ will no doubt become a normal part of my vocab. 

I am so grateful and feel incredibly lucky and blessed to have our beautiful, healthy baby boy. I’ve never felt love like it – I want to kamikaze anyone who may potentially put him in danger. Have I changed? Of course I blimin' have; my whole outlook has changed and I have a new empathy and respect for every parent on the planet. Our son comes first in our little family and I’m usually last. At the very least, I’m so busy being a new mum I microwave my forgotten cold cup of tea about seven times a day. 

Yet despite all this, I still don’t want to be part of the baby blogging world that has become so trendy (passé?). Not that I think there is anything wrong with it. In fact, I think for parents out there who need it; having an online support network, especially for people who may not have one in the ‘real-world’ – and who are experiencing difficulties from the mild ‘Argh! I’m having a moment’ to the more serious post-natal depression – it is essential. 

I have learnt that having a baby is all consuming, and I’m sure I’ve been guilty of only talking about our bundle of joy at times. I'll find a balance, I'm still determined to be successful and make a difference in this world. At the moment I’m a bit in the middle (I’ve always been known to sit on the fence): I’m not quite ready for an all-nighter sans baby but after nine months I’m just about ready to discuss non-related baby babble. Besides, I wouldn’t want to inflict all-night babysitting on anyone right now as our son enjoys his habitual nightly awakenings and cuddles too much.

My next challenge is going back to work next week, part-time mind; the best of both? We'll see I hope so. As for this new yummy mummy social group – maybe it's inevitable – just please, please don't talk to me about recipes, or knitting, or cupcakes…

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Mrs Muscle

I now come with baggage. Not the emotional kind, but literally; I am the bag lady - except I don't ever get to carry my own handbag, oh no; I lug around a compulsory changing bag.

Whilst I've never been into 'It' bags as such, (my husband did buy me a beautiful Balenciaga handbag once) it would be nice to carry something a little less cumbersome; more feminine shall we say.

For some reason, I can't seem to downsize and end up packing for all occasions and even then, I usually forget something necessary. How did I turn into an everything-but-the-kitchen-sink kinda girl?
I mean really, does our little one need three toys, a couple of just-in-case-snacks and a book if we're popping into town?
Do I really need seven nappies if I'm just out for an hour?
Should I bother bringing the bouncer/play-mat/walker/donut/ etc. if I’m popping to a friend’s house for a quick cuppa?
Then there's the time I brought sun cream - amongst other useless items - when he was merely seven weeks old and hidden in the pram under at least 47 muslins so even the tiniest speck of sun couldn't permeate its rays (neurotic new mother syndrome).

On the odd occasion, if he does require a change of clothes, I proudly tell myself 'See, it was worth it' and feel a sense of justification, but my back and shoulders think otherwise. In fact, I am so laden with stuff, the kitchen sink might as well come with us; it makes no odds.
So toned am I, Mr Muscle would be quaking in his vest: for I am now rock 'ard and have Madonna-esque arms. There's no need for post-pregnancy work-outs; along with the monster pram and lead-filled car seat (what do they put in them?) I can carry a tonne, and that's sans baby (and he's a growing lad).

Is it a feminine trait to pack up the whole house I wonder? I've been out with friends and a sheepish Dad has approached us asking if someone has a spare baby wipe. My husband once took the wee one out and left the sacred Sac Magique behind and had to go back for it, he joked, 'At least I didn't forget the most important thing...'
I'm in charge of 'packing the bag' and this is done in methodical fashion: a section for what-if-he-is-a-bit-poorly, a teething-pocket, then there's all the food and more than usual; the zip won't fasten and it's all spilling out.

So how do I streamline? As he gets older he will only acquire more things; next it will be a car, a house... ah, so that's how parenting works... Follow @milkinitmusings

Trying it out...

OK, so we've had to do it. And my heart is breaking. We are assured by the 'professionals' that it won't harm your baby. But it still doesn't make it any easier (if you read this when you're older, little one, mummy and daddy had to do this for you). Only as I pace up and down the hall, climb the walls, weep in the car and gait around the garden; his cries are still resonating around me.

Nearly 6 months of sleepless nights, long days and arms as a solid as steel, the decision has been made: the tough love brigade are in town.

No longer do we have the daddy reps (200 per rock), jigging swings, Auntie arm ache or beneficial bouncer to get him to the land of zeds (at this rate we could have made some decent wonga as personal baby gym trainers) - here come the plucky parents; well, not quite...
'What if he loses his trust in us?' we ask the health visitor, 'his cries are his only way to communicate with us' we meekly protest. Get a grip I tell myself, people have been doing this for centuries.
At home we brace ourselves for the wails; and it's hard. On the second occasion he goes to sleep within one minute, ‘Hurrah!’ we think, ‘we've cracked it’. But alas, it was a one-off.

Day two, however, is hard-core; the leaflet tells us to up the time by almost double. By 9am my husband says 'Look, if this is too much we won't do it - we can't have two people crying in the house' as I sit there with tears streaming down my face. We decide to try a 'milder version' and it starts to work.

Then on one occasion I find him lying there staring into space - 'Oh god, has he already given up on us? Is he thinking they're not going to bother?' I think pathetically. My husband keeps talking about those adverts where orphans don't even bother to cry as no-one comes to them...pull yourself together Mrs W, surely this is exactly what we are trying to achieve: him being able to settle himself.
When he's up, he gets extra cuddles; I overhear my husband explaining why we had to do this and that 'daddy loves him more than anything'. He's all smiles and gives us a what-are-you-on-about look and we breathe a sigh of relief.

Day four arrives and I swear his voice has gone a little hoarse - don't get me started I'm going to well up again.

My desire for wine and chocolate has gone up a notch.

We tell each other we are a team, we are in this together - we keep giving each other pep talks when the other one cracks. I honestly don't know how single parents do it; I have admiration for them - along with a new found respect for my parents.

So, we mostly have our evenings back and what's the first thing we do? Err play scrabble of course, because that's high on the agenda in any marriage, naturally...

The conclusion? I hate to admit it as I've put it off for so long, but it's made the world of difference and it's kinda getting easier. I know there will be better days than some. Most parents go through this at some stage and no-one can tell you to try it until you decide you're ready. And I'm convinced our bubba is thinking; 'Hallelujah! I'm finally allowed to learn to sleep by myself.'

Still, if you have a nocturnal or non-napper nipper, I know a brilliant rocking method that will tone those arms right up, I charge by the hour...
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The Da Vinci Cot

Dear Dan Brown, if you could write a bestseller in finding this Holy Grail, you would make squillions; I'm talking sleep.

My quest to find a slumber solution continues: this Indiana Jones crusade isn't just for me (and my sanity) but for our little one - he needs it more than I do, he's got growing and developing and stuff to do. Before you ask if I’ve tried the latest baby method, I've probably read 'em all, seriously. Even the ones that claim they have the answer - all for 47 dollars of course...

So far, my sleep seeking has included the following: routine, routine, routine, background noise, no noise, white noise, whispering, sshhing, swaddling, swaying, singing, bed-time stories, bed-time bath, soft toy, no toy, catching the tiredness, catching when he's full up, dummy, darkness, dimming night lights, temperature checks, teething checks, dream feeds, adding a bottle feed, spacing feeds (even graphing feeds), musical mobiles, music on the mobile, chilling down after playing, tiring him out, door bouncer, chair bouncer, daddy bouncer, did I mention a routine? The list goes on...

The latest one is a comfort muslin; my husband wants to call it 'a name' so we can tell the story to our son when he's older. Hmm, I'm now imagining a 10 year old (or worse, a 30 year old) attached to a 'blankey' and unable to snooze without said blankety blank.

Of course I haven't yet mentioned good 'ol fashioned crying it out or 'CIO' as it's referred to in the parent forums - one of the many acronyms you need to learn as a twenty first century parent.
We have tried CIO but not to the extent of absolute hysteria; he's too young in our opinion, you may read that as being soft maybe but that's just what our belief is. It's not like he hasn't slept on his own before anyway - it happens sporadically and he just drifts off, happily all by himself, so why put ourselves and him through the torture of CIO?

We just need to find the clue as to what made him let go into the land of zeds, I'd happily let Sherlock Holmes take on the case and crack the code. Even friends are helping out, offering new suggestions, I'm sure they've got a whip, I hear the prize is of value ...

The next thing on the list is food as we have a hungry night milk feeder on our hands. I wonder if when he's older he'll be a middle-of-the-night fridge raider, midnight feaster and secret lemonade drinker?
And so the sleep association continues. What I've learnt on the way is that our boy loves cuddles, that he's a fast learner and knows his bedroom; 'Oh yeah' I can see him thinking, 'I know your game mummy' as he looks around the room and clocks all the things that mean bed-time. Even at Shirley’s house he knew what we were up to. He scanned the room in 360 degrees like a lighthouse and as his eyes nearly met us we both instinctively dropped to the floor, supressing our giggles as we lay there - hold on, I thought we were the parents?

I know we'll get there in the end, even if his mummy used to never sleep as a child. Every baby is unique anyway right? But if you find the grail, please share it - I'll even let you shrug it off as 'Elementary my dear Watson'.

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The Three Bears

Oh help! I've turned into one of those people. You know the ones that talk in third person? I blame Facebook circa 2007: it made us all slightly narcissistic with the 'is' on status updates - remember the 'is'? As in: 'Mrs W is having eggs for breakfast' or something just as mundane.
Now it's all 'Mummy and daddy this,' which happens daily and I find myself not only talking in third person, but worse, using the Royal We: 'We did a poo today and it went everywhere.' - Can you actually imagine having that conversation out of context...?! Somehow it becomes socially acceptable to say it with a baby.

Instead of the usual greetings, it's 'Hello daddy how are you?' when I pick up the phone, or 'Grandma wants a cuddle'. The thing is; it’s quite sweet to use it in our family but I use it with friends, even strangers and I can't stop. I'm at the Doctors' and I say 'We have got a cold', the shops and I'm all 'Mummy needs to buy some milk'.
If baby bear could speak I'm sure he'd be telling us to 'Grow up, use your words properly'.

It's even got the point where one of us has made up a song and the other sings it. For example, I took our bubba to swimming the other day and daddy comes in (I'm at it again) and starts singing 'splishy splashy' - actually at me! I just looked at him as if to say what are you doing?

Now sometimes all this has its advantages such as 'Daddy didn't do the washing up did he?' while I happily play with our son, then my husband will joyously sing back 'Mummy is so sarcastic and moany isn't she?' and so it carries on while the other one gets agitated (even though we'd agreed we'd never talk through him).

It's also great for rude people. Like the obnoxious librarian I came across the other day who also insisted (but resentfully so) that she stand outside the disabled toilets while I changed a nappy. So within ear shot I said to my son 'When you're a big boy sometimes, unfortunately, you may come across some not very nice people in life and the best thing to do is be nice to them and walk away. Mummy is pretending to be nice now when really she's thinking piss right off .' I then walked out of the toilets and smiled sweetly at her...
Other examples include telling other people what you think while talking to your child. What me, passive aggressive?

At least we're not the only ones that refer to our son's parentage in third person, lots of friends have said they do the same or maybe they're just trying to humour me? Either way, it’s just our way of life now - mummy and daddy simply can't help it.
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