The strange duality of time. It seems like Max has always been a part of our lives and yet the last year has flown. He is one! We had three parties, three cakes and three shots at blowing out the candles. He received many presents. A trike, many beautiful clothes, a clock, an inflatable cow space hopper, helium balloons, bubbles, boots, some jigsaws, two puppets and some cash to feed his SMA habit. He was well looked after. His birthday week was a forewarning of how it is possible to spoil a child.
The creche is putting manners on him though as there were three birthdays in his room in one week. This is not remarkable at all as the probability of such a thing is really high, given the timing of maternity leave and the availability of places in the creche and so on. Regardless of the odds, he was made to feel special but he had to share that feeling, as well as the birthday cake. This is also his last week in creche for a full month and a half. Some of it is holidays but the rest is going to be sole day-time paternal care. I will be the care-giver from 8am until 5pm daily. The planning has already commenced. There is a window of activity in the morning pre-nap and in the afternoon, post nap and lunch. There is not one baby friendly venue in Dublin I will leave unexplored and I promise to report it all here.
So how is he as he passes his first birthday? He is older more mature. He is much more interactive. He is smiling more, he is babbling more, he is stacking bricks, he is standing on his own two feet for a few seconds. He is developing a personality and it is quite fun.
One of the most consistent human interactions that he engages in is flirting. He responds and smiles at women far quicker and in a totally different way than he does to men. One of his standard reactions to a smile from a woman is to nod his head sideways. It looks like a wink. We cannot think of anything else it might be. He will pass a group of men without any comment but if there is a woman at a busstop, in a queue, in a restaurant he will nod, smile and laugh as if she is the most entertaining person in the world. So far this has not prompted any reaction from jealous husbands or children but it is only a matter of time.
So far Max has been pretty average. Very advanced, but very average at the same time. He has followed the patterns and trends suggested by the books and experts. But now, now that he is one, the books seem to enter a fantasy land. They suggest that he should be capable of feats of development that appear years off yet. I think the ones we bought must be missing a chapter or two where the babies just keep eating everything that they see and mauling everything that they can't eat. I am reminded of the scene in Parenthood where the ultra intelligent child is counting dots on a page and the slightly dim child is peeling them off and eating them. It will all come out in the end and we are very realistic. Though the goal of particle physicist may be off the table we can at least expect something in the engineering line. If he keeps winking at the ladies, he could well end up as a car salesman and there is nothing at all wrong with that!
Standing unaided is a big deal. It is obviously the precursor to walking but Max is a careful soul and has a bit of a way to go before he is ready to take any weight off a foot long enough for it to go anywhere. You have to remember that walking is effectively standing on one leg for a while. He pulls himself up, lets go and pauses. A glance at his feet will see them twitching. They flex and he wobbles a bit and they flex in the other direction and he wobbles a bit. At this point he has had enough and he sits back down. He hasn't fallen from this position yet and is showing no signs of letting himself fall. He will leave that up to unobservant or careless parents.
He is far more at home in the water and all of this swimming has paid off. He jumps in from sitting on the side and kicks and pumps his arms with great energy. It is still misdirected however as he sinks like a stone if he is not supported. We did put this to the test as he is comfortable under water, just not for very long. He still has a ridiculous reliance on Oxygen that we are trying to discourage. He is not as comfortable in the Atlantic Ocean. We tried this as well and if he could walk he would have run out of the water. Even with his wetsuit it was just too cold. He was far happier splashing in a rock pool.
He hasn't teethed in a while. This is very good for his parents sleep patterns but it leaves him with only 6 teeth. 6 sharp teeth. He thinks nothing of biting chunks off anything that doesn't taste of vegetable. So much so that there have been a few unusual appearances in the nappies. The blue foam was a surprise and the perfectly intact piece of cardboard with the print still legible was a complete mystery.
So there he is at one. All thanks to his, friends, family, grandparents and most importantly his wonderful mother who at this time last year was already and continues to be an excellent mum!
Sunday, July 8, 2012
Monday, April 30, 2012
This baby thing is tiring work...
There is, as is my mantra, great comfort in the routine. Max is cruising, all the way to the 10 month mark that he will hit in a couple of days. His and his parents' routines are working their magic and all that remains are the normal ups and downs of growth spurts, teething, colds, rashes, tummy upsets and general crankiness at not being allowed to eat the iphone. Apple have got it so right. Before the child can use an app or play a tune he reaches for the iphone more than any other item. The remote controls are a close second. Some very strange programmes turned up on the UPC recorder and the blame lies squarely at the door of Mr. Max.
Major news items include the hard fought for fifth and sixth teeth. Teething is an all 'round irritation. I know because, you won't believe this, my 31st tooth is just coming down too. I have never been happier to have bonjella on tap. But back to Max. A dose of bonjella and a strategically timed neurofen syringe have helped immeasurably and have meant many more sleepy nights that might have been possible otherwise. The trick seems to be this. Give the bonjella just as the zip of the gro-bag is closing but give the neurofen about a half an hour before so that its effects are at a maximum just as the wave of tiredness hits. It has not been a perfect solution and several nights have been torn asunder by dental invaders. But from what I hear from other parents, we have gotten away quite lightly.
For amusement, noises are a new hit. The noise of the rattles falling into their receptacle; a model London Bus is a real treat that keep Max giggling at each fall and holding his breath with anticipation before each fall. The ululating noise of a simulated sheep bah is another of his favourites. Inexplicably it will keep him amused for several minutes. Cow, dog or duck noises do not have the same effect. Blowing raspberries has long been popular but now he is amusing himself with protracted horn concertos in the key of R. Max will also now copy a noise. He doesn't get it clear if it is a complicated sound but he does get it. This is the first sign that I need to moderate my language as we cant have his third word causing expulsion from the creche.
Another major milestone, the proper crawl. As reported he has been sliding along on his belly for some weeks now. Well he is up and going on all fours now. He still lack some strength in the curves and the right hand doesn't always know what the left hand is doing but he is crawling. We don't care what he does now until he walks because we caught the crawl on camera so its worth has been exhausted.
Max can no longer hold the title of very advanced though. He may reclaim it, but we had a bit of a run in with the Public Health Nurse. Well in the first instance he failed his hearing test. Now we all know he can hear. But according to the HSE he is as deaf as a post. The only noise he responded to was the crashing of the bin lid. The real truth of course is that Max just wasn't challenged enough by the test. He ignored all of the sounds because they were ones he was used to. He ignored them because he knew what they were and he wasn't doing anything boring at the time. If Max is being changed, fed or just about to be put to bed, he has the ears of a bat. A small piece of paper gently floating to the ground is enough to cause him to swing his head and knock, milk, nappy or sleep right out of his parents' hands. Oh he can hear, selectively.
The Nurse also told us to phase out the 11 O'Clock (PM) feed. That's fine, but we're scared. He sleeps really well at the moment. The feed gets him through the night. That feed is both tiring and saving his parents. Tiring because we have to stay up to feed him and saving because he doesn't wake until 6. If we drop it, will he wake. The mecca of a sleeping baby is real currency and I'm not sure if weighing it up against his future development, whether we wouldn't just accept the fact he'll never master a foreign language and let the little man eat at 11. Well we did weigh it up and we are weaning him off the 11 O'Clock feed, slowly. Very slowly.
With extra movement comes baby-proofing the apartment. Not a problem I thought. The plugs are sealed in. There is a plan for moving the electronics. Some of the door locks are in place and the rest are going in next week. Easy. Then I tried to use the kitchen. I had peeled many potatoes, I had peeled many carrots. I had chopped many vegetables. I was a commis chef par excellence. My hands were soaking wet and full of peelings as I tried my usual trick of flicking open the bin cupboard door with my free little finger. Clunk, nothing. I tried again, clunck, nothing. My Jamie Oliver entranced mind could not see beyond the next looming deadline in the recipe. I had only seconds left to throw in some herbs. I tried my knee, I nearly forced my whole leg through the narrow gap before I remembered the baby-proof lock. This innocuous strip of plastic that renders any useful cupboard door, completely useless. I had two choices, I could drop the peelings in the sink and start again or I could try to push my little finger through the gap to the lock and use my knee to push the door open. Guess which one I tried. Picture the drops of dirty vegetable skin water dripping to the floor, picture the little finger just not quite reaching the recessed lock, picture my knee jammed against the handle. Picture my brow, curled up on itself in frustration. The lock won. I dumped the peels in the sink and opened the lock with my fully functioning and long enough index finger. The oven and freezer locks are quite another matter and require a special knack, or phalanges that I don't posses, to open.
So we are flapping around arranging things and fixing things and all the meanwhile Max is sitting watching us. He is happiest watching us move around and sing and dance for him. All the while he is growing and planning, growing and planning and pulling himself up on furniture...
Major news items include the hard fought for fifth and sixth teeth. Teething is an all 'round irritation. I know because, you won't believe this, my 31st tooth is just coming down too. I have never been happier to have bonjella on tap. But back to Max. A dose of bonjella and a strategically timed neurofen syringe have helped immeasurably and have meant many more sleepy nights that might have been possible otherwise. The trick seems to be this. Give the bonjella just as the zip of the gro-bag is closing but give the neurofen about a half an hour before so that its effects are at a maximum just as the wave of tiredness hits. It has not been a perfect solution and several nights have been torn asunder by dental invaders. But from what I hear from other parents, we have gotten away quite lightly.
For amusement, noises are a new hit. The noise of the rattles falling into their receptacle; a model London Bus is a real treat that keep Max giggling at each fall and holding his breath with anticipation before each fall. The ululating noise of a simulated sheep bah is another of his favourites. Inexplicably it will keep him amused for several minutes. Cow, dog or duck noises do not have the same effect. Blowing raspberries has long been popular but now he is amusing himself with protracted horn concertos in the key of R. Max will also now copy a noise. He doesn't get it clear if it is a complicated sound but he does get it. This is the first sign that I need to moderate my language as we cant have his third word causing expulsion from the creche.
Another major milestone, the proper crawl. As reported he has been sliding along on his belly for some weeks now. Well he is up and going on all fours now. He still lack some strength in the curves and the right hand doesn't always know what the left hand is doing but he is crawling. We don't care what he does now until he walks because we caught the crawl on camera so its worth has been exhausted.
Max can no longer hold the title of very advanced though. He may reclaim it, but we had a bit of a run in with the Public Health Nurse. Well in the first instance he failed his hearing test. Now we all know he can hear. But according to the HSE he is as deaf as a post. The only noise he responded to was the crashing of the bin lid. The real truth of course is that Max just wasn't challenged enough by the test. He ignored all of the sounds because they were ones he was used to. He ignored them because he knew what they were and he wasn't doing anything boring at the time. If Max is being changed, fed or just about to be put to bed, he has the ears of a bat. A small piece of paper gently floating to the ground is enough to cause him to swing his head and knock, milk, nappy or sleep right out of his parents' hands. Oh he can hear, selectively.
The Nurse also told us to phase out the 11 O'Clock (PM) feed. That's fine, but we're scared. He sleeps really well at the moment. The feed gets him through the night. That feed is both tiring and saving his parents. Tiring because we have to stay up to feed him and saving because he doesn't wake until 6. If we drop it, will he wake. The mecca of a sleeping baby is real currency and I'm not sure if weighing it up against his future development, whether we wouldn't just accept the fact he'll never master a foreign language and let the little man eat at 11. Well we did weigh it up and we are weaning him off the 11 O'Clock feed, slowly. Very slowly.
With extra movement comes baby-proofing the apartment. Not a problem I thought. The plugs are sealed in. There is a plan for moving the electronics. Some of the door locks are in place and the rest are going in next week. Easy. Then I tried to use the kitchen. I had peeled many potatoes, I had peeled many carrots. I had chopped many vegetables. I was a commis chef par excellence. My hands were soaking wet and full of peelings as I tried my usual trick of flicking open the bin cupboard door with my free little finger. Clunk, nothing. I tried again, clunck, nothing. My Jamie Oliver entranced mind could not see beyond the next looming deadline in the recipe. I had only seconds left to throw in some herbs. I tried my knee, I nearly forced my whole leg through the narrow gap before I remembered the baby-proof lock. This innocuous strip of plastic that renders any useful cupboard door, completely useless. I had two choices, I could drop the peelings in the sink and start again or I could try to push my little finger through the gap to the lock and use my knee to push the door open. Guess which one I tried. Picture the drops of dirty vegetable skin water dripping to the floor, picture the little finger just not quite reaching the recessed lock, picture my knee jammed against the handle. Picture my brow, curled up on itself in frustration. The lock won. I dumped the peels in the sink and opened the lock with my fully functioning and long enough index finger. The oven and freezer locks are quite another matter and require a special knack, or phalanges that I don't posses, to open.
So we are flapping around arranging things and fixing things and all the meanwhile Max is sitting watching us. He is happiest watching us move around and sing and dance for him. All the while he is growing and planning, growing and planning and pulling himself up on furniture...
Friday, April 6, 2012
No longer an infant
There is a lot of loose talk about grades of babies, there is a lot of confusion over the sub genera of the young. Let me shed some light on this somewhat befuddling topic. A baby is a baby is a baby, there is no difficulty with that. One is a baby until one can call others a baby. The first stage of babyhood is just being a baby. The creche refer to the next stage as wobblers and the following stage as toddlers. I'm not sure about infants, some backwards educationalists refer to senior and junior infants as the first two years of national school. But for me the word infant means helpless, floundering, lying upside down on ones back arms and legs flailing like a flipped turtle in the hot hot sun.
Under that definition Max is no longer an infant. He is flipping, rolling, sleeping on his front and wait for it, nearly crawling. He can move, he can do a fine wounded soldier crawl. That's like one of those sections of a war movie when they are all in basic training and they are crawling under nets. He is exactly like that. He is moving forward, ever mindful of the enemy guns. As a result of this change in definition our world has also changed. We are now worried about cupboards, plug sockets, nails and glass that we used to leave around. Soon we will have to move any unsafe objects 'up-high' and tie everything else down.
He is in great form. He is following the good days and bad days map like a true adventurer. He is currently in a good phase. We are nervously awaiting the 4 week cloudy period. If you don't believe me check out http://theboatrightlife.blogspot.com/2012/02/wonder-weeks.html
In this perfect scenario Max is sleeping for two sessions of two hours a day and spending the rest of the time eating and crapping and learning to crawl. He is also smiling a lot more. Talking a lot more and flirting a great deal more. Let me explain. I put him into the sling and had a walk around town. It was sunny so I bought him a sun hat. He refused to try on any hats but when the cute shop assistant came along it was all he could do to try on every hat in the shop. He very nearly winked. Then, in his hat walking down Grafton St. he started to flap his arms and shout in a very loud voice. There were two types of people on Grafton St. that day. One type thought that I was holding him against his will and the other type thought he was adorable. He was protected from the sun but his father may not have been protected from the crowd if it turned ugly.
In this otherwise perfect world, Max has decided that he does not like semolina. This is a blanket dislike. He will not have it. He occasionally refuses other foods but he hates semolina. Otherwise, all good.
Max has also moved into his own room. He does not seem to mind at all. The room is darkened in these enlightened times and so far he is sleeping very well. We are still using a monitor so his every squawk is still audible. The slightly worrying thing is the nappy dilemma. If we change him at 11pm to ensure a dry morning then he can be difficult to get back to sleep. If we don't change him he can wake early and slightly damp. I am torn on the issue. I like the peaceful nights but dislike the early mornings. The other option is just not to let him drink all day and feed him the milk formula in a powdered form. So you're up to date.....
Under that definition Max is no longer an infant. He is flipping, rolling, sleeping on his front and wait for it, nearly crawling. He can move, he can do a fine wounded soldier crawl. That's like one of those sections of a war movie when they are all in basic training and they are crawling under nets. He is exactly like that. He is moving forward, ever mindful of the enemy guns. As a result of this change in definition our world has also changed. We are now worried about cupboards, plug sockets, nails and glass that we used to leave around. Soon we will have to move any unsafe objects 'up-high' and tie everything else down.
He is in great form. He is following the good days and bad days map like a true adventurer. He is currently in a good phase. We are nervously awaiting the 4 week cloudy period. If you don't believe me check out http://theboatrightlife.blogspot.com/2012/02/wonder-weeks.html
In this perfect scenario Max is sleeping for two sessions of two hours a day and spending the rest of the time eating and crapping and learning to crawl. He is also smiling a lot more. Talking a lot more and flirting a great deal more. Let me explain. I put him into the sling and had a walk around town. It was sunny so I bought him a sun hat. He refused to try on any hats but when the cute shop assistant came along it was all he could do to try on every hat in the shop. He very nearly winked. Then, in his hat walking down Grafton St. he started to flap his arms and shout in a very loud voice. There were two types of people on Grafton St. that day. One type thought that I was holding him against his will and the other type thought he was adorable. He was protected from the sun but his father may not have been protected from the crowd if it turned ugly.
In this otherwise perfect world, Max has decided that he does not like semolina. This is a blanket dislike. He will not have it. He occasionally refuses other foods but he hates semolina. Otherwise, all good.
Max has also moved into his own room. He does not seem to mind at all. The room is darkened in these enlightened times and so far he is sleeping very well. We are still using a monitor so his every squawk is still audible. The slightly worrying thing is the nappy dilemma. If we change him at 11pm to ensure a dry morning then he can be difficult to get back to sleep. If we don't change him he can wake early and slightly damp. I am torn on the issue. I like the peaceful nights but dislike the early mornings. The other option is just not to let him drink all day and feed him the milk formula in a powdered form. So you're up to date.....
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Out of sorts, sick and really sick
I was planning to write about several different things in this post but Max and his tonsils beat me to it! It all began on Wednesday. He just wasn't right after crèche on Wednesday. When Ciara got home after work she took his temperature and listened to his chest. A phone call to the doctor later and we were on our way to the last appointment of the day. The Doctor was the same one who examined him the last time and told us to go away and not be so silly. She said it very nicely though. This time she looked at us a bit strangely as we said there was nothing specific wrong with him. I could see thoughts of Munchausen by proxy going through her mind and I was sure that her left hand reached for the counsellor's leaflet. Then she had the obligatory look at him. 30 seconds later she assured us he was sick with tonsillitis and that she had a letter for Temple Street Children's hospital in case his temperature didn't go down or his breath rate increased.
We left the surgery with mixed emotions, we were happy we new what was wrong. We were very unhappy that our son was sick. Penicillin was the drug of choice and it smells of caramel, burnt caramel. So not only was our son sick, but we were about to find out whether or not he is allergic to penicillin. He's not. I'll not leave you in suspense on this one.
At this stage Max has figured out what's going on and is getting in on the 'I'm sick' act. There is lots of hugging and rubbing of the eyes. He was cranky and unhappy and not like himself at all. With lots of calpol and nurofen we managed to calm the triple effects of tiredness, teething and tonsillitis. We were hoping that the antibiotics were working in the background. The main concern once his health was on the mend was how we were going to get to work the following day. Thank the lord for Grandparents! They are wonderful. Max's paternal set got to work on baby minding on Thursday morning. His maternal set are taking their turn at wonderful on Wednesday next!
So let's get to the bottom of all of this sickness thing. Young Max is incapable of speech. He can only cry to make himself heard. So when he is sick, he cries a great deal more. He normally has several grades of cry to match his several grades of disgruntlement. From a whimper, through several stages of whine, up to a wail and then finally at a violent scream with tear accompaniment. When he is sick, it's straight through the stages and right to the screaming. Do not pass go, do not collect €200.
He doesn't really sleep well. When he wakes, guess what he screams. He can't really eat or drink properly with his inflamed tonsils, so he gets hungry and when he is hungry he screams. He doesn't like the taste of the antibiotics, so... He doesn't like his nose being wiped so...
We hug him and we sing to him and we make sure he is warm and give him as much love as we can pour out. It works and he was better by Saturday afternoon. He is still not 100% but he's getting there. He is asleep as I type and fingers crossed he will be until about 6am.
The real issue though is the type of illness, Max's was trivial. What if it was something more serious. I can't imagine and my heart goes out to anyone who has a sick baby. They are so fragile when they are sick, like fine porcelain in the middle of a football field during a pitch invasion. If Max does ever get sicker than a bit of tonsillitis, he will be wrapped in cotton wool and we will sell our kidneys and our parents' kidneys and houses to bring the finest doctors in the world to treat him. That is all.
We left the surgery with mixed emotions, we were happy we new what was wrong. We were very unhappy that our son was sick. Penicillin was the drug of choice and it smells of caramel, burnt caramel. So not only was our son sick, but we were about to find out whether or not he is allergic to penicillin. He's not. I'll not leave you in suspense on this one.
At this stage Max has figured out what's going on and is getting in on the 'I'm sick' act. There is lots of hugging and rubbing of the eyes. He was cranky and unhappy and not like himself at all. With lots of calpol and nurofen we managed to calm the triple effects of tiredness, teething and tonsillitis. We were hoping that the antibiotics were working in the background. The main concern once his health was on the mend was how we were going to get to work the following day. Thank the lord for Grandparents! They are wonderful. Max's paternal set got to work on baby minding on Thursday morning. His maternal set are taking their turn at wonderful on Wednesday next!
So let's get to the bottom of all of this sickness thing. Young Max is incapable of speech. He can only cry to make himself heard. So when he is sick, he cries a great deal more. He normally has several grades of cry to match his several grades of disgruntlement. From a whimper, through several stages of whine, up to a wail and then finally at a violent scream with tear accompaniment. When he is sick, it's straight through the stages and right to the screaming. Do not pass go, do not collect €200.
He doesn't really sleep well. When he wakes, guess what he screams. He can't really eat or drink properly with his inflamed tonsils, so he gets hungry and when he is hungry he screams. He doesn't like the taste of the antibiotics, so... He doesn't like his nose being wiped so...
We hug him and we sing to him and we make sure he is warm and give him as much love as we can pour out. It works and he was better by Saturday afternoon. He is still not 100% but he's getting there. He is asleep as I type and fingers crossed he will be until about 6am.
The real issue though is the type of illness, Max's was trivial. What if it was something more serious. I can't imagine and my heart goes out to anyone who has a sick baby. They are so fragile when they are sick, like fine porcelain in the middle of a football field during a pitch invasion. If Max does ever get sicker than a bit of tonsillitis, he will be wrapped in cotton wool and we will sell our kidneys and our parents' kidneys and houses to bring the finest doctors in the world to treat him. That is all.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Two things I should tell you...
So Max's nappy rash has cleared up! It was teeth related but there are no new teeth to be seen yet. He has had quite a week. He went to the zoo and he drank his own pee.
Let me tell you about the Zoo first. Max is at the stage that he doesn't really distinguish between the animals and the other people. He looked at goats, he saw penguins and giraffes. The humbolt penguins were the only real hit. They were walking around near to the glass and Max was nose to beak with one of them for a couple of seconds. He flaps his hands exactly like a penguin, he swims a bit like a penguin but there the similarity ends. The two looked at each other for those few seconds and turned away with their dignity and interspecies relations intact. He also looked at Meerkats. His parents enjoyed this much more than he did.
Now for the pee story. It was Friday morning and things were going very well. We were ahead of ourselves. Max was dressed and just ready to get into his car seat. His bottles were prepared and packed away with his and hers lunches. Ciara ran for a bus and I lifted Max up to put him into his suit for the bike. It was then that I caught a whiff of his full nappy. I am used to the noxious fumes that emanate from his nappies so I didn't react, I camly took him into the changing table and took off his clothes. I've got to give you a bit of background - whenever the nappy is taken off, Max grabs his penis. It's not of any concern, most boys do this for their whole lives. He reaches down and squeezes for all he's worth. I keep telling him that it's not a toy and that it won't make a squeaky noise. But he just keeps on squeezing until the nappy goes back on.
Interestingly when he is sitting on a towel bare bummed to defeat the spectre of nappy rash he doesn't go near mini-Max. It's only for the quick nappy change. So Friday morning, the nappy comes off and while I am dealing with the faeces I'm holding his hands. When he is clean he reaches down and I turn my back to reach for a new nappy. Nature takes its course and he pees. He pees while he is holding his penis straight up. The pee goes straight up and miraculously misses his clothes and lands on his mouth and cheeks. This doesn't phase him one little bit. In fact he sticks out his tongue and licks up some more. I am simply horrified. I clean him up, I put on his clothes and I put him in his car seat. I am full of horror and concern that he has done himself great damage. I storm out of the apartment muttering and cursing under my breath. Not only has Max now got some dreadfully virulent pee borne disease but we are late for the morning cycle.
It is only when we are cycling down the hill that I burst out laughing. He drank his own pee. He drank his own pee. As long as that virulent disease doesn't strike this is going to keep me smiling for weeks.
Let me tell you about the Zoo first. Max is at the stage that he doesn't really distinguish between the animals and the other people. He looked at goats, he saw penguins and giraffes. The humbolt penguins were the only real hit. They were walking around near to the glass and Max was nose to beak with one of them for a couple of seconds. He flaps his hands exactly like a penguin, he swims a bit like a penguin but there the similarity ends. The two looked at each other for those few seconds and turned away with their dignity and interspecies relations intact. He also looked at Meerkats. His parents enjoyed this much more than he did.
Now for the pee story. It was Friday morning and things were going very well. We were ahead of ourselves. Max was dressed and just ready to get into his car seat. His bottles were prepared and packed away with his and hers lunches. Ciara ran for a bus and I lifted Max up to put him into his suit for the bike. It was then that I caught a whiff of his full nappy. I am used to the noxious fumes that emanate from his nappies so I didn't react, I camly took him into the changing table and took off his clothes. I've got to give you a bit of background - whenever the nappy is taken off, Max grabs his penis. It's not of any concern, most boys do this for their whole lives. He reaches down and squeezes for all he's worth. I keep telling him that it's not a toy and that it won't make a squeaky noise. But he just keeps on squeezing until the nappy goes back on.
Interestingly when he is sitting on a towel bare bummed to defeat the spectre of nappy rash he doesn't go near mini-Max. It's only for the quick nappy change. So Friday morning, the nappy comes off and while I am dealing with the faeces I'm holding his hands. When he is clean he reaches down and I turn my back to reach for a new nappy. Nature takes its course and he pees. He pees while he is holding his penis straight up. The pee goes straight up and miraculously misses his clothes and lands on his mouth and cheeks. This doesn't phase him one little bit. In fact he sticks out his tongue and licks up some more. I am simply horrified. I clean him up, I put on his clothes and I put him in his car seat. I am full of horror and concern that he has done himself great damage. I storm out of the apartment muttering and cursing under my breath. Not only has Max now got some dreadfully virulent pee borne disease but we are late for the morning cycle.
It is only when we are cycling down the hill that I burst out laughing. He drank his own pee. He drank his own pee. As long as that virulent disease doesn't strike this is going to keep me smiling for weeks.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
The rash that dare not speak it's name...
There is a lot of talk in the parenting community about nappy rash. I say community, it is more like a world. There are websites, forums, comment boards, experts, moderators and gurus. There are more bits of advice out there then there are babies. In fact I swear that there are people on these sites that never had kids and just like the buzz of reading a piece of advice on one site and repeating it on another. This has to be the case. There are just too many of them. So they all agree on nappy rash, they agree its a bad thing.
It is a bad thing. It compounds the ridiculous pain that teething causes in the mouth and mirrors it in the other end. At the risk of putting you off your food for a month it is like some evil doer took a cheese grater to our little prince's behind. There are powders, creams, poultices, remedies and herbs that are suggested and according to obsessive internet chat room parents are all guaranteed to work and not work in equal measure.
So Max has some nappy rash. We have lots of options. We can apply each suggested solution in alphabetical order until some or all of them work. We can ignore the problem and let it go away of its own accord with the associated pain suffering and gnashing of new little teeth. We could cover the house in plastic sheeting and leave his nappy off and let him go for it. Plenty of industrial strength cleaner around for the inevitable - and no more nappy rash.
Perhaps a system like the horses in Killarney with their low hanging bags. It would play havock with his crawling but no more nappy rash. Perhaps stop feeding or watering him, just IV injections of nutrients and carbohydrates - so it would mess up his development - but no more nappy rash.
In the meantime he will have to cope with his cheese grater behind, as we try option one, because that is what dedicated parents do. The rest are likely to get us arrested.
It is a bad thing. It compounds the ridiculous pain that teething causes in the mouth and mirrors it in the other end. At the risk of putting you off your food for a month it is like some evil doer took a cheese grater to our little prince's behind. There are powders, creams, poultices, remedies and herbs that are suggested and according to obsessive internet chat room parents are all guaranteed to work and not work in equal measure.
So Max has some nappy rash. We have lots of options. We can apply each suggested solution in alphabetical order until some or all of them work. We can ignore the problem and let it go away of its own accord with the associated pain suffering and gnashing of new little teeth. We could cover the house in plastic sheeting and leave his nappy off and let him go for it. Plenty of industrial strength cleaner around for the inevitable - and no more nappy rash.
Perhaps a system like the horses in Killarney with their low hanging bags. It would play havock with his crawling but no more nappy rash. Perhaps stop feeding or watering him, just IV injections of nutrients and carbohydrates - so it would mess up his development - but no more nappy rash.
In the meantime he will have to cope with his cheese grater behind, as we try option one, because that is what dedicated parents do. The rest are likely to get us arrested.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Learning to crawl
Babies crawl don't they? That's what they do. They want to move and so they propel themselves with all of the might of their little arms and legs. I guess that Max wants to be a little different. Having mastered the art of rolling and letting us capture it on video as proof, he has never used this skill again.
It has become a talking point in the crèche. They refer to Max as the one who doesn't roll. I didn't understand the significance of this until I was there for a few minutes the other day being updated on the biting incident. That's another story altogether. So there I was listening intently to the apologetic tones of the wonderful educarer, a child, only a little older than Max began to roll. They rolled and rolled and rolled until they had reached their destination. Then they stopped, raised themselves up on their forearms and called for assistance from anyone who was listening. This roll was much better than a crawl as it had drama, periodic pauses to confirm trajectory and a good dose of fun.
I was told that such a roll is a clear precursor to a really dynamic crawl. Now crawling has taken a beating due to the advice from all quarters that babies never be left unattended on their tummies. If the babies are not on their tummies they cannot learn to crawl. So we have tummy time where Max is put on his tummy with full supervision and a safety vest. He can raise himself up, he can raise his neck, he meets all of the developmental goals and then goes back to sitting up and chewing anything within reach. As for rolling or crawling though, that's a no. We are putting items out of reach. We are cheering at the merest twitch of his thigh muscles. We are promising him untold riches if he will take that first lunge. But no. He will move when he is ready. His father, I have to sadly report did not crawl until he was one. This has held him back to this day and is a bit embarrassing. We will not allow a story to be told about max at his 21st birthday party that involves a cake, his five bellies and his first crawl. No disrespect to my own parents who were blameless in this matter, I was just a tubby lazy infant. Max may not have licked it from a stone.
But back to the biting incident that I teased you with earlier. Max was bitten by another toddler. The identity of this toddler has been kept a secret and it is just as well. If I knew which cannibal family he, she or it belonged to I would lie in wait for them at the crèche and slash their tyres. Joking aside, the whole episode was both comical and a testament to the great care that he is getting in the crèche.
When I picked him up on the day in question, which shall now forever be know as biter Tuesday, I was met with the usual routine. Max sees me and beams and then starts to cry as I try to gather his things to make the journey home, so I pause and pick him up. This makes gathering the rest of his things five times as hard. The educarers talk me through his day, the ups, the downs, the soiled nappies and the vomits, the sensory bottles and a list of the songs they sang. All went as normal up to this point when an A4 piece of paper was unfolded from the book and the nervous educarer told me that there had been an incident.
My first reaction was that Max had done something awful, like tried to drink the hand sanitizer or eye-gouged on of his crèche-mates. But no, he was the Mahatma Ghandi of this piece. He turned the other cheek, in this case forehead as the evil one sank all four of his/her razor sharp teeth stumps into his precious and delicate skull. I exaggerate. There was a tiny mark on his head. He cared not a jot and shrugged the whole thing off when we discussed it later. The educarers were a little more concerned and had filled out an incident report form with an exact report of the incident and how they had all responded. I was actually amazed. They had really gone to great trouble to detail everything and while I know that this kind of thing is driven by insurance and the spectre of Health&Safety it was very reassuring.
I know that Max could have lashed out and dealt a return blow to the biter. I know he can defend himself, he is capable of beating his mother and me away very quickly. But he chose not to do so under the watchful eyes of the educarers. He is biding his time, one day when their backs are turned and the time is right, that biter will regret ever getting their first tooth and the little tooth fairy will be paying a premature visit to that household. His kicks are coming along very nicely thank you. It's just such a pity about the crawling.
It has become a talking point in the crèche. They refer to Max as the one who doesn't roll. I didn't understand the significance of this until I was there for a few minutes the other day being updated on the biting incident. That's another story altogether. So there I was listening intently to the apologetic tones of the wonderful educarer, a child, only a little older than Max began to roll. They rolled and rolled and rolled until they had reached their destination. Then they stopped, raised themselves up on their forearms and called for assistance from anyone who was listening. This roll was much better than a crawl as it had drama, periodic pauses to confirm trajectory and a good dose of fun.
I was told that such a roll is a clear precursor to a really dynamic crawl. Now crawling has taken a beating due to the advice from all quarters that babies never be left unattended on their tummies. If the babies are not on their tummies they cannot learn to crawl. So we have tummy time where Max is put on his tummy with full supervision and a safety vest. He can raise himself up, he can raise his neck, he meets all of the developmental goals and then goes back to sitting up and chewing anything within reach. As for rolling or crawling though, that's a no. We are putting items out of reach. We are cheering at the merest twitch of his thigh muscles. We are promising him untold riches if he will take that first lunge. But no. He will move when he is ready. His father, I have to sadly report did not crawl until he was one. This has held him back to this day and is a bit embarrassing. We will not allow a story to be told about max at his 21st birthday party that involves a cake, his five bellies and his first crawl. No disrespect to my own parents who were blameless in this matter, I was just a tubby lazy infant. Max may not have licked it from a stone.
But back to the biting incident that I teased you with earlier. Max was bitten by another toddler. The identity of this toddler has been kept a secret and it is just as well. If I knew which cannibal family he, she or it belonged to I would lie in wait for them at the crèche and slash their tyres. Joking aside, the whole episode was both comical and a testament to the great care that he is getting in the crèche.
When I picked him up on the day in question, which shall now forever be know as biter Tuesday, I was met with the usual routine. Max sees me and beams and then starts to cry as I try to gather his things to make the journey home, so I pause and pick him up. This makes gathering the rest of his things five times as hard. The educarers talk me through his day, the ups, the downs, the soiled nappies and the vomits, the sensory bottles and a list of the songs they sang. All went as normal up to this point when an A4 piece of paper was unfolded from the book and the nervous educarer told me that there had been an incident.
My first reaction was that Max had done something awful, like tried to drink the hand sanitizer or eye-gouged on of his crèche-mates. But no, he was the Mahatma Ghandi of this piece. He turned the other cheek, in this case forehead as the evil one sank all four of his/her razor sharp teeth stumps into his precious and delicate skull. I exaggerate. There was a tiny mark on his head. He cared not a jot and shrugged the whole thing off when we discussed it later. The educarers were a little more concerned and had filled out an incident report form with an exact report of the incident and how they had all responded. I was actually amazed. They had really gone to great trouble to detail everything and while I know that this kind of thing is driven by insurance and the spectre of Health&Safety it was very reassuring.
I know that Max could have lashed out and dealt a return blow to the biter. I know he can defend himself, he is capable of beating his mother and me away very quickly. But he chose not to do so under the watchful eyes of the educarers. He is biding his time, one day when their backs are turned and the time is right, that biter will regret ever getting their first tooth and the little tooth fairy will be paying a premature visit to that household. His kicks are coming along very nicely thank you. It's just such a pity about the crawling.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)