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.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
The eradication of smallpox
They all said it. They all said what creche would bring. They warned us. They said to stock up on Calpol, Neurofen, anti-biotics and anti-virals. They said that creche is a petri dish, a breeding ground for diseases, a veritable pot-puree of poxes and pustule causing nasties.
We laughed behind our hands. We sniggered, not our Max we said. He is a strong robust fighting Irish sort of a baby. He has white blood cells like Ice Hockey enforcers, he has skin of iron and the constitution of an ox. He won't succumb to the little bacteria or the viruses, he is immune.
Look it turned out he wasn't. Now it's not as though he has been wiped out, it's not as though he has lain in bed for the last two weeks. He has however had a sort of running sickness. The best medical advice is that this could last until he is 10 and it becomes uncool to be the guy in class with the runny nose.
The runny nose is a baseline. The runny nose is like the flour in baking, a constant. There are many different additives. The first is a dry cough. A dry hacking 20 Benson's a day cough. Thankfully he coughs very little. The second is a spot of reasonable conjunctivitis. Aparently everyone gets this. It's pus in the eyes, that seems to be all. It didn't seem to bother him too much but the gunk in his eyes when he woke up glued his eyelids shut for a few seconds. This distressed him, but then he got them open and he smiled. Then of course he coughed and got distressed again. These three things, the nose, the cough, the eyes, they are in a little revolving circle of low level illness.
What's next I wonder? Could he get a bit of a stomach bug? I have the wall cleaning liquid at hand. I have the industrial strength nappies in stock. There is enough talcum powder and baby-wipes around to plaster-cast the GPO. If its not a bug then we have the major pharmaceutical companies on speed-dial.
My question is this, why in the hell can we not eradicate this stuff. Think of the loss of earnings, productivity and sanity that is caused by low level sickness. There must be money in it. Are the big multi-nationals not throwing millions at this. Parents of rich and poor alike could surely get behind a campaign. I will certainly throw in a fiver which is all I have left after the creche fees that caused all of this in the first place.
Little Max is bearing it all like a trooper. He was off his food for a bit but is back on it in a big way. Shepard's pie was today's big hit. He is sleeping very well and he is seriously on the mend. The funniest thing is when he sneezes. A long tube of light green splurg shoots out and rests like a dead caterpillar on his upper lip for a few seconds. Just until his hand comes up and spreads the splurg across his face. The trick is getting the tissue to his nose before he gets his hand there. Believe me I have considered strapping his hands down but in the meantime I have become very adept at grabbing tissues and leaping over furniture.
I plan to set up a small virus and bacteria reference lab and let Max be patient zero in an aggressive Edward Jenner style elimination of all baby diseases. Are you with me?
We laughed behind our hands. We sniggered, not our Max we said. He is a strong robust fighting Irish sort of a baby. He has white blood cells like Ice Hockey enforcers, he has skin of iron and the constitution of an ox. He won't succumb to the little bacteria or the viruses, he is immune.
Look it turned out he wasn't. Now it's not as though he has been wiped out, it's not as though he has lain in bed for the last two weeks. He has however had a sort of running sickness. The best medical advice is that this could last until he is 10 and it becomes uncool to be the guy in class with the runny nose.
The runny nose is a baseline. The runny nose is like the flour in baking, a constant. There are many different additives. The first is a dry cough. A dry hacking 20 Benson's a day cough. Thankfully he coughs very little. The second is a spot of reasonable conjunctivitis. Aparently everyone gets this. It's pus in the eyes, that seems to be all. It didn't seem to bother him too much but the gunk in his eyes when he woke up glued his eyelids shut for a few seconds. This distressed him, but then he got them open and he smiled. Then of course he coughed and got distressed again. These three things, the nose, the cough, the eyes, they are in a little revolving circle of low level illness.
What's next I wonder? Could he get a bit of a stomach bug? I have the wall cleaning liquid at hand. I have the industrial strength nappies in stock. There is enough talcum powder and baby-wipes around to plaster-cast the GPO. If its not a bug then we have the major pharmaceutical companies on speed-dial.
My question is this, why in the hell can we not eradicate this stuff. Think of the loss of earnings, productivity and sanity that is caused by low level sickness. There must be money in it. Are the big multi-nationals not throwing millions at this. Parents of rich and poor alike could surely get behind a campaign. I will certainly throw in a fiver which is all I have left after the creche fees that caused all of this in the first place.
Little Max is bearing it all like a trooper. He was off his food for a bit but is back on it in a big way. Shepard's pie was today's big hit. He is sleeping very well and he is seriously on the mend. The funniest thing is when he sneezes. A long tube of light green splurg shoots out and rests like a dead caterpillar on his upper lip for a few seconds. Just until his hand comes up and spreads the splurg across his face. The trick is getting the tissue to his nose before he gets his hand there. Believe me I have considered strapping his hands down but in the meantime I have become very adept at grabbing tissues and leaping over furniture.
I plan to set up a small virus and bacteria reference lab and let Max be patient zero in an aggressive Edward Jenner style elimination of all baby diseases. Are you with me?
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Getting my teeth into it
Yes that's right loyal readers, Max has his first tooth, teeth to be exact for the second one came a day after the first. They are two little sharp things like flint edges sticking out of his gums. He did exactly the right amount of crying and not sleeping to herald their arrival. He had red cheeks and runny stools. I know that this blog does verge on the coprophilic at times but a good teething nappy is an assault on the senses. The sights, the sounds, the smells and best of all, if your technique is not right, the feel. This will continue in fits and starts for a long time. The first set of teeth should number 24 and they take a couple of years to all come down or up. Shortly followed by a rapid falling out. It strikes me as a really stupid system. I would be delighted if a clever geneticist could splice out the milk teeth gene and trigger the regular teeth gene earlier. Or maybe we could just eliminate the milk teeth and have little baby dentures until the adult teeth started to grow. We also need to seriously consider some form of less intact gum. Even for adults, forcing a blunt piece of ceramic through a perfectly lovely piece of flesh is a bit of a pain. I still have two wisdom teeth to come down and they cause great pain when they decide to make a small advance. At least I am not still wearing nappies, otherwise my caregiver would be in for an awful time.
Max has also had a lovely two weeks in crèche. It is a perfectly splendid place full of bright colours, happy babies and caring staff. So caring infant that their titles are actually edu-carers. I do understand that this is a butchering of the English language to a criminal extent but it is reasonably descriptive. They are part nurses and part teachers. 'Nurchers' might be a better term. They look after Max from about 8:10 until 16:10, that's eight hours a day. That's a lot. Thank all that is good, he loves it. At the weekends we adopt a policy of accelerated learning so that we can balance out the amount of input the crèche edu-carers have. Everyone told us that once he went to crèche he would get loads of infections, colds, coughs and awful diseases. He has. His immune system is working like a fire crew on bonfire night. He is producing mucous and pus and doing it all with a brave face. He is equal to this task and the thing that keeps myself and Ciara going through the day's work is the thought of seeing him at the end of it and seeing his beautiful big smile!
But all of that is not all, he is sitting up properly now, he is reaching for things and he can shake a rattle like the best of us. He is singing to himself, he is talking to himself, he is simply growing up at a rate that frightens. We have resolved to grip the sides and hold on tight!
Max has also had a lovely two weeks in crèche. It is a perfectly splendid place full of bright colours, happy babies and caring staff. So caring infant that their titles are actually edu-carers. I do understand that this is a butchering of the English language to a criminal extent but it is reasonably descriptive. They are part nurses and part teachers. 'Nurchers' might be a better term. They look after Max from about 8:10 until 16:10, that's eight hours a day. That's a lot. Thank all that is good, he loves it. At the weekends we adopt a policy of accelerated learning so that we can balance out the amount of input the crèche edu-carers have. Everyone told us that once he went to crèche he would get loads of infections, colds, coughs and awful diseases. He has. His immune system is working like a fire crew on bonfire night. He is producing mucous and pus and doing it all with a brave face. He is equal to this task and the thing that keeps myself and Ciara going through the day's work is the thought of seeing him at the end of it and seeing his beautiful big smile!
But all of that is not all, he is sitting up properly now, he is reaching for things and he can shake a rattle like the best of us. He is singing to himself, he is talking to himself, he is simply growing up at a rate that frightens. We have resolved to grip the sides and hold on tight!
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Long Overdue Updates Pt. 2
So where are we? How is he doing? What exactly is going on in Max's world. He is simply turning from an infant into a baby. To explain this will take some doing and I am quite clear that this may be entirely inexplicable to anyone who is not a parent of Max but sure let me have a go.
Little Max used to have only himself to worry about. He used to enjoy a world of one where his every need was catered for like a high-roller in the most exclusive of Vegas Casinos. His routine was inviolate. His sleeping and waking carefully monitored, recorded and studied in forensic detail.
Things have changed for two very good reasons. The first is that he is now attending crèche and the second is that we discovered a lady named Hogg. Now sadly she is not with us any more but her whispering ways with children are. It turned out that we were falling into some of the accidental parenting traps. These are her words now but on reading one of her conversations about getting children to sleep, it seemed as if she had been spying on us.
Her approach was gentle, she didn't say we were bad parents for rocking our child to sleep, she didn't say we were neglectful of his intellectual needs if we played a bit of music to him. She just pointed out that there was an easier way for both him and us. Now Max is a great sleeper but he does disturb easily. He can start at the test noise and a couple of weeks ago began to give a bit of trouble going down and waking at 4am. So we had a go as Ms. Hogg's pick up put down technique. Bearing in mind that she had said that everything we were doing so far was just a little bit wrong, in the nicest possible way.
The pick up put down technique is sort of baby slight of hand. The idea is just to get him to sooth himself to sleep. That's fine. Put him down and he moans a bit and drifts off, but what if he doesn't. Rocking him to sleep is a prop. Feeding him to sleep is a prop, singing, noises, counting sheep, and certainly sleeping tablets are all props. The trouble with props is that the encourage dependence and reliance and next thing you know, your son is 25 and asks his girlfriend to rock him gently to sleep. So no props.
What one does is to pick up the crying child (any thing less than a cry should be ignored) and rub his back while shushing loudly. Shssh shssh until your lungs empty and you struggle for breath. When he has stopped crying you gently put him back into the cot. Then continue to shssh until he is restful. Pick him up if he cries again and repeat. If he doesn't make a sound when he is put down, the chances are he will be asleep in minutes. The only other trick seems to be that if he moves too much in your arms, you have to put him down. Pushing or kicking is not allowed in this system and is disencouraged through the put down. There would seem at first glance to be so many holes in this system to render it at best confusing and at worst useless, but it does work. How does little Max know he is being put down because he is quiet or because he is pushing and kicking. Well he does know - Ms. Hogg told me so. Why such praise, because it works. Max now puts himself to sleep and is doing better at sleeping in the crèche. Myself and Ciara get an easier time of it in the evenings and there is just a lot more happiness in the family unit!
It is certainly an advance on most of the baby book advice that is so vague as to be relevant to no one and every one. "Your baby is six months old, he should be able to clap his hands. This can happen any time from 3 mts until 24mts and may not happen at all don't worry. Your child will start to appreciate the difference between right and wrong - unless they are unless they are destined for a career in law or politics". You see? Useless.
This is because every child is so different as to need a baby book of their own. What a parent needs is a tool kit or a bag of tricks. We need list of techniques that are proven to work with at least 5% of the population, all listed and explained and cross referenced. We will try them all. Maybe they should be sorted on their popularity. That way the chances are success will be achieved by the law of averages. We don't want to know why something is happening or working. We just want to know how to fix it. Like the pick up put down technique. Let's survey a thousand parent s and see did they use a particular technique, and score the techniques by popularity. We just want to know that they work, not why. It's like raising one head end of the cot to help sleep during a cold. It works and helps the little fello breath easier because it keeps all the mucous where it sould be and not up in his nose and throat. We don't want to know the background, the studies, the medical references and explanations. At 4am with a screaming and snorting and sniffling child, we want to know to try it and if it doesn't work we will try what's on the next page. There is moneye in this! I think the title should be - "Did you try ...."
Well, that's the millions made!
Little Max used to have only himself to worry about. He used to enjoy a world of one where his every need was catered for like a high-roller in the most exclusive of Vegas Casinos. His routine was inviolate. His sleeping and waking carefully monitored, recorded and studied in forensic detail.
Things have changed for two very good reasons. The first is that he is now attending crèche and the second is that we discovered a lady named Hogg. Now sadly she is not with us any more but her whispering ways with children are. It turned out that we were falling into some of the accidental parenting traps. These are her words now but on reading one of her conversations about getting children to sleep, it seemed as if she had been spying on us.
Her approach was gentle, she didn't say we were bad parents for rocking our child to sleep, she didn't say we were neglectful of his intellectual needs if we played a bit of music to him. She just pointed out that there was an easier way for both him and us. Now Max is a great sleeper but he does disturb easily. He can start at the test noise and a couple of weeks ago began to give a bit of trouble going down and waking at 4am. So we had a go as Ms. Hogg's pick up put down technique. Bearing in mind that she had said that everything we were doing so far was just a little bit wrong, in the nicest possible way.
The pick up put down technique is sort of baby slight of hand. The idea is just to get him to sooth himself to sleep. That's fine. Put him down and he moans a bit and drifts off, but what if he doesn't. Rocking him to sleep is a prop. Feeding him to sleep is a prop, singing, noises, counting sheep, and certainly sleeping tablets are all props. The trouble with props is that the encourage dependence and reliance and next thing you know, your son is 25 and asks his girlfriend to rock him gently to sleep. So no props.
What one does is to pick up the crying child (any thing less than a cry should be ignored) and rub his back while shushing loudly. Shssh shssh until your lungs empty and you struggle for breath. When he has stopped crying you gently put him back into the cot. Then continue to shssh until he is restful. Pick him up if he cries again and repeat. If he doesn't make a sound when he is put down, the chances are he will be asleep in minutes. The only other trick seems to be that if he moves too much in your arms, you have to put him down. Pushing or kicking is not allowed in this system and is disencouraged through the put down. There would seem at first glance to be so many holes in this system to render it at best confusing and at worst useless, but it does work. How does little Max know he is being put down because he is quiet or because he is pushing and kicking. Well he does know - Ms. Hogg told me so. Why such praise, because it works. Max now puts himself to sleep and is doing better at sleeping in the crèche. Myself and Ciara get an easier time of it in the evenings and there is just a lot more happiness in the family unit!
It is certainly an advance on most of the baby book advice that is so vague as to be relevant to no one and every one. "Your baby is six months old, he should be able to clap his hands. This can happen any time from 3 mts until 24mts and may not happen at all don't worry. Your child will start to appreciate the difference between right and wrong - unless they are unless they are destined for a career in law or politics". You see? Useless.
This is because every child is so different as to need a baby book of their own. What a parent needs is a tool kit or a bag of tricks. We need list of techniques that are proven to work with at least 5% of the population, all listed and explained and cross referenced. We will try them all. Maybe they should be sorted on their popularity. That way the chances are success will be achieved by the law of averages. We don't want to know why something is happening or working. We just want to know how to fix it. Like the pick up put down technique. Let's survey a thousand parent s and see did they use a particular technique, and score the techniques by popularity. We just want to know that they work, not why. It's like raising one head end of the cot to help sleep during a cold. It works and helps the little fello breath easier because it keeps all the mucous where it sould be and not up in his nose and throat. We don't want to know the background, the studies, the medical references and explanations. At 4am with a screaming and snorting and sniffling child, we want to know to try it and if it doesn't work we will try what's on the next page. There is moneye in this! I think the title should be - "Did you try ...."
Well, that's the millions made!
Friday, January 6, 2012
Long overdue updates Pt. 1
Max is 6 months old. They have gone quite slowly from my vantage point. It is getting harder and harder to remember life without him. My memories are more full of happy times with him, and his mother too obviously. It is not sweetness and light every minute of every day, he can be tricky and the amount of work that has to be done to look after him is huge. But it is mostly sweetness and light.
He is a very happy baby. He smiles with very little provocation and gurgles and cheeps in the most delightful fashion. We have loads of games that we play with him, songs we sing and he's healthy and well. He can entertain himself and is progressing along all of the baby scales, graphs and charts that we can find, and we really have looked!
This weekend marks a big milestone in the family life. Ciara returns to work and Max goes to the creche full-time. He has had three sessions there already. The first was for one hour and he was the very model of a care-free baby. The second was for two hours and he was wonderful for the first hour and a half. Then the lovely edu-carers in the creche tried to feed him a bottle. He seemed hungry but in reality as it turned out he was just tired. Bringing him to the creche had knocked out his morning nap and he was not ready for this. He went nuts. The poor staff were doing their very best, but they just didn't know him yet and he didn't know them. We arrived and he was upset so we were upset and the aforementioned poor staff desperately explained how this can happen and how its ok (they had noo need for desperation, we are very impressed with them). He slept for three hours that afternoon and all was well. Of course this happened, sure it was bound to and thank God it happened on one of the short days rather than in the middle of a long day. Then on the third day all went according to plan with a bit of upsetting and a lot of happy play and crucially a long bottle feed and spoon feed from the staff. Mother and Father very pleased.
The other trial this week was of the bike. It was a windy and a bit wet of a morning but the bike made it in 28 minutes, door to door. There is still some tweaking to do on the set up of the bike in the morning, this should only take a few minutes but can take up to ten. I am reminded of the Full Metal Jacket training for assembling a rifle, I will have to practice hard and get it down to two minutes. The difficult part is the rain cover. There are two long poles that have to be disentangled and assembled and then the cover stretched over them and then zipped up. All the while Max has to be smiled at and reassured that the floor of the garage is not his new home.
Solid feeding is going very well but he has not put on much weight in the last month. This may be due to his very zealous approach to the jumperoo (bouncing toy - that he loves) or it may be due to several million other factors but if he ever hopes to play for any of the Munster, Clare, Leinster or Dublin teams he will need a bit more flesh on his bones. So we are carefully and steadily increasing his food intake. He is rising to the occasion and certainly the breakfast quantity has doubled in the last two weeks.
As I write it is Sunday morning and we all go to work tomorrow! Preparation is key and I expect that we will all sleep in our day clothes with our shoes on with our packed lunches clutched in our hands.
He is a very happy baby. He smiles with very little provocation and gurgles and cheeps in the most delightful fashion. We have loads of games that we play with him, songs we sing and he's healthy and well. He can entertain himself and is progressing along all of the baby scales, graphs and charts that we can find, and we really have looked!
This weekend marks a big milestone in the family life. Ciara returns to work and Max goes to the creche full-time. He has had three sessions there already. The first was for one hour and he was the very model of a care-free baby. The second was for two hours and he was wonderful for the first hour and a half. Then the lovely edu-carers in the creche tried to feed him a bottle. He seemed hungry but in reality as it turned out he was just tired. Bringing him to the creche had knocked out his morning nap and he was not ready for this. He went nuts. The poor staff were doing their very best, but they just didn't know him yet and he didn't know them. We arrived and he was upset so we were upset and the aforementioned poor staff desperately explained how this can happen and how its ok (they had noo need for desperation, we are very impressed with them). He slept for three hours that afternoon and all was well. Of course this happened, sure it was bound to and thank God it happened on one of the short days rather than in the middle of a long day. Then on the third day all went according to plan with a bit of upsetting and a lot of happy play and crucially a long bottle feed and spoon feed from the staff. Mother and Father very pleased.
The other trial this week was of the bike. It was a windy and a bit wet of a morning but the bike made it in 28 minutes, door to door. There is still some tweaking to do on the set up of the bike in the morning, this should only take a few minutes but can take up to ten. I am reminded of the Full Metal Jacket training for assembling a rifle, I will have to practice hard and get it down to two minutes. The difficult part is the rain cover. There are two long poles that have to be disentangled and assembled and then the cover stretched over them and then zipped up. All the while Max has to be smiled at and reassured that the floor of the garage is not his new home.
Solid feeding is going very well but he has not put on much weight in the last month. This may be due to his very zealous approach to the jumperoo (bouncing toy - that he loves) or it may be due to several million other factors but if he ever hopes to play for any of the Munster, Clare, Leinster or Dublin teams he will need a bit more flesh on his bones. So we are carefully and steadily increasing his food intake. He is rising to the occasion and certainly the breakfast quantity has doubled in the last two weeks.
As I write it is Sunday morning and we all go to work tomorrow! Preparation is key and I expect that we will all sleep in our day clothes with our shoes on with our packed lunches clutched in our hands.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Feeding frenzy - are you sure you don't have worms
I am glad that myself and Ciara are fans of Prof. Brian Cox. It is not that he has taught us about keyboard stylings or the music of the 90s. Rather he has explained to us, by-the-by how it is that Max can eat so much. He clearly has a fully functional Black Hole somewhere in his digestive system. The Litres of breast and formula milk, the spoons of carrot, butternut squash, melon and sweet potato are trapped in the inescapable gravity well that is little Max - the output does not match the input so a Black Hole is the only explanation.
He has always chugged down the milk. He takes to both the nipple and teat with a fervor that does little to damage the teat but has a rather dramatic effect on Ciara. He took a little while to get the hang of solid foods.
Well they are called solid food but they are don't follow any of the normal features of a solid. They are a mush, a big mushy mush. As I say, he took a little while to get the hang of them. For the first couple of weeks he was a cat, he lapped at the spoon and it was more luck than planning that some morsels got in. Those few morsels tasted good though and the banana especially. Once the taste stuck, he approached the problem and in true Max fashion and came to a startling realisation. If he opens his mouth and then chomps down, it works much better.
There is a cliche that babies get their food all over themselves when they eat. This is true, to an extent, but I think it is more to do with the feeder than the feedee. Max is willing to suck in all food that comes within reach. He is also however a twitchy writher when being fed. The hand of the feeder must match the movement of the face, the timing of the spoon insertion must be as accurate as Luke Sywalker's attack on the Death Star or the food will explode harmlessly on the surface. Eyebrows, nostrils, cheeks, chins and foreheads have all ended up encrusted.
As the feeders get better the radius of encrustation gets smaller and more and more of the food gets into the aforementioned black hole. The more that goes in, the more that young Max would wish went in and so it goes.
As for preferences, Max loves Banana and sweet Potato the best. The sweet potato washes out beautifully. The banana is a different matter entirely. It stains black. It stains the floor, the bibs, the muslin cloths. It should be used as the basis for dyes and inks. I think that the famous ink squirting squids of the world must attack banana boats and consume their contents to restock.
The mystery is where the food goes. What alternate universe gets the ever-so staining banana, squash, carrot cocktail dumped on it, and do they mind?
He has always chugged down the milk. He takes to both the nipple and teat with a fervor that does little to damage the teat but has a rather dramatic effect on Ciara. He took a little while to get the hang of solid foods.
Well they are called solid food but they are don't follow any of the normal features of a solid. They are a mush, a big mushy mush. As I say, he took a little while to get the hang of them. For the first couple of weeks he was a cat, he lapped at the spoon and it was more luck than planning that some morsels got in. Those few morsels tasted good though and the banana especially. Once the taste stuck, he approached the problem and in true Max fashion and came to a startling realisation. If he opens his mouth and then chomps down, it works much better.
There is a cliche that babies get their food all over themselves when they eat. This is true, to an extent, but I think it is more to do with the feeder than the feedee. Max is willing to suck in all food that comes within reach. He is also however a twitchy writher when being fed. The hand of the feeder must match the movement of the face, the timing of the spoon insertion must be as accurate as Luke Sywalker's attack on the Death Star or the food will explode harmlessly on the surface. Eyebrows, nostrils, cheeks, chins and foreheads have all ended up encrusted.
As the feeders get better the radius of encrustation gets smaller and more and more of the food gets into the aforementioned black hole. The more that goes in, the more that young Max would wish went in and so it goes.
As for preferences, Max loves Banana and sweet Potato the best. The sweet potato washes out beautifully. The banana is a different matter entirely. It stains black. It stains the floor, the bibs, the muslin cloths. It should be used as the basis for dyes and inks. I think that the famous ink squirting squids of the world must attack banana boats and consume their contents to restock.
The mystery is where the food goes. What alternate universe gets the ever-so staining banana, squash, carrot cocktail dumped on it, and do they mind?
How to tire out a child
Max continues to change on a weekly basis. He must therefor change on a daily basis but I can't spot it. It's only when I have a bit of time with him at the weekend that I really notice. He now has many hundreds of reactions, facial expressions, noises that make for an hilarious symphony. I shall try and chronicle a few of them. To do this I shall put them in a context and that is the daily goal - to tire out a child.
The premise is this. Sane parents make good parents. Sane parents remain sane by sleeping through the night. In order for the sane parents to sleep though the night, young Max must also sleep through the night. This is achieved by a routine and a programme of activities that would scare even the most dedicated multi-tasker. Do not misunderstand me, we are not slaves to the routine but if it is stepped away from, chaos ensues. Young Max does not sleep and his parents become a jot less sane. This is fine. A jot we can handle, two jots even. Three or four jots and some of the wheels come off. Five jots and Daddy is buttering his tie and peeing in the closet. So the routine and the tiring out.
All of this action to ensure parental sanity and a stimulated Max. To be clear we never over-stimulate the child. Never. That can almost be as bad as under stiumlation and will lead to unfortunate incidents with sniper rifles and clock towers later in life. Max responds with the reactions, facial expressions, noises and so on. They change as the day goes on.
Lets begin with the 4am squawk. Around this time every morning he wakes, squawks and goes back to sleep, unless some of his conditions are unsuitable. If, for example it is too cold, he is too hungry (the 11pm feed stops this), if he is sniffly or if the night light is not on then he wakes up properly and demands, food, cuddles and a song or two. I can't think of a better word to describe the noise. Its a squawk - that's all there is to it.
7am rolls around and he has a softer sort of mewing noise. Its not a whine, its not a cry, its a mew. He mews and we pick him up. We all know just how awful it is when someone turns on the light in a dark room. Our eyes pain us, the reality of day time is difficult to face. Our dreams dash away like hit and run drivers. Max has a similar reaction when he is brought into the changing table. He clamps his eyes shut, he clenches his fists and mews all the harder.
He then smiles once the changing process has begun. Two things can disrupt this happy mood. The first is if Max does not feel he is a part of proceedings, he must be talked to and jollied along or he will cry. The second is if the cold air stimulates the sphincter to relax. If this happens he will hold his breath for the duration of flow and make a very low nnnnnnnnnnnnnnggg noise. Peeing is not a trivial thing and has all of his attention for those few seconds. Since we learned the trick of the pee-pee-tee-pee we have no problems with this (The PPTP is a piece of discarded clothing placed over the groin during the changing process that catches all micturations).
He will then get fed and this is when the crying makes its first real appearance. Babies have an internal dial that moves like the second hand on a clock - fast. It has all their emotions on it and because they cannot talk, all of their communication must be done through radical mood change. It can run like this. I'm happy, I'm content, I am enraged, I am happy, I am a screaming ball of rage, I am happy, I am tired, I am happy, I am content..... This could be 10 seconds worth. Its like watching a flock of starlings change direction twenty times a minute. For a baby a cry is just a way to demand things. There is no polite requesting. There is not gentle hint - I'm terribly sorry could you pass the bottle - no, its wwwwwaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh and hope someone is listening. It works of course so its being used more. We shall have to work on that.
When the feeding and burping are over its onto the entertainment. Teddies, rhymes, funny faces and rolling over practice are all brought to bear and the smiles between the occasional cry would make proud parents feel like they are on top of the world. It must be an evolutionary thing. That smile is like opium. I will do whatever it takes to get more. I am often found dancing and singing like a deranged budgie on the streets of this and other fine cities seeking an elusive smile. Just one more hit, just one more....
So its crying and smiling and an occasional laugh until the evening - with one exception because he gets tired and needs a nap. That action/reaction interplay is very like the evenig-bed-time one, so we'll do that later.
At about 5pm the raspberries start. He looks off into space and blows raspberries at everyone. I find I can't easily manage them anymore, I suppose the older mouth just can't handle a noise as complex and multifaceted as a raspberries. These are long wet bbblllluuuurrrrrps sounds that ensure another developmental goal and keep passersby amused. When I try to blow one back, my tongue goes numb and I get a tickling sensation in my lips - see what I mean.
Then comes the delighted squealing. This happens during or just after the bath. If is often prompted by a song. He currently likes "I like the way you work it - no gigity" - Blackstreet or "Loser" - Beck. I'm sure his tastes will change. The lower these songs are sung, the more he squeals. He's a drum and base boy for sure.
The last noise I shall talk about in this blog is the sleep whine. Its not really a whine, more of a moan. Could we call it a whoan? He places them a fixed distance apart. Whoan, whoan, whoan, - It conveys so much. Max is saying. I'm tired, put me in my sleeping bag and put me to bed, but please keep the noise to a minimum, turn on the light so I don't wake at four and carry me around for a half an hour now so that I can fall asleep where you stand, where its warm and cozy. The whoan ends with fast asleepness.
All of these interactions must be kept at a high energy level, they must be repeated and they must be interspersed with food, play, kicking time and bath time. If the high energy level is kept up and each day there is a walk or a singing class or a yoga session then the routine will do its job and the whoan session will be short and sweet. He will rest and his parents will stay sane.
The premise is this. Sane parents make good parents. Sane parents remain sane by sleeping through the night. In order for the sane parents to sleep though the night, young Max must also sleep through the night. This is achieved by a routine and a programme of activities that would scare even the most dedicated multi-tasker. Do not misunderstand me, we are not slaves to the routine but if it is stepped away from, chaos ensues. Young Max does not sleep and his parents become a jot less sane. This is fine. A jot we can handle, two jots even. Three or four jots and some of the wheels come off. Five jots and Daddy is buttering his tie and peeing in the closet. So the routine and the tiring out.
All of this action to ensure parental sanity and a stimulated Max. To be clear we never over-stimulate the child. Never. That can almost be as bad as under stiumlation and will lead to unfortunate incidents with sniper rifles and clock towers later in life. Max responds with the reactions, facial expressions, noises and so on. They change as the day goes on.
Lets begin with the 4am squawk. Around this time every morning he wakes, squawks and goes back to sleep, unless some of his conditions are unsuitable. If, for example it is too cold, he is too hungry (the 11pm feed stops this), if he is sniffly or if the night light is not on then he wakes up properly and demands, food, cuddles and a song or two. I can't think of a better word to describe the noise. Its a squawk - that's all there is to it.
7am rolls around and he has a softer sort of mewing noise. Its not a whine, its not a cry, its a mew. He mews and we pick him up. We all know just how awful it is when someone turns on the light in a dark room. Our eyes pain us, the reality of day time is difficult to face. Our dreams dash away like hit and run drivers. Max has a similar reaction when he is brought into the changing table. He clamps his eyes shut, he clenches his fists and mews all the harder.
He then smiles once the changing process has begun. Two things can disrupt this happy mood. The first is if Max does not feel he is a part of proceedings, he must be talked to and jollied along or he will cry. The second is if the cold air stimulates the sphincter to relax. If this happens he will hold his breath for the duration of flow and make a very low nnnnnnnnnnnnnnggg noise. Peeing is not a trivial thing and has all of his attention for those few seconds. Since we learned the trick of the pee-pee-tee-pee we have no problems with this (The PPTP is a piece of discarded clothing placed over the groin during the changing process that catches all micturations).
He will then get fed and this is when the crying makes its first real appearance. Babies have an internal dial that moves like the second hand on a clock - fast. It has all their emotions on it and because they cannot talk, all of their communication must be done through radical mood change. It can run like this. I'm happy, I'm content, I am enraged, I am happy, I am a screaming ball of rage, I am happy, I am tired, I am happy, I am content..... This could be 10 seconds worth. Its like watching a flock of starlings change direction twenty times a minute. For a baby a cry is just a way to demand things. There is no polite requesting. There is not gentle hint - I'm terribly sorry could you pass the bottle - no, its wwwwwaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh and hope someone is listening. It works of course so its being used more. We shall have to work on that.
When the feeding and burping are over its onto the entertainment. Teddies, rhymes, funny faces and rolling over practice are all brought to bear and the smiles between the occasional cry would make proud parents feel like they are on top of the world. It must be an evolutionary thing. That smile is like opium. I will do whatever it takes to get more. I am often found dancing and singing like a deranged budgie on the streets of this and other fine cities seeking an elusive smile. Just one more hit, just one more....
So its crying and smiling and an occasional laugh until the evening - with one exception because he gets tired and needs a nap. That action/reaction interplay is very like the evenig-bed-time one, so we'll do that later.
At about 5pm the raspberries start. He looks off into space and blows raspberries at everyone. I find I can't easily manage them anymore, I suppose the older mouth just can't handle a noise as complex and multifaceted as a raspberries. These are long wet bbblllluuuurrrrrps sounds that ensure another developmental goal and keep passersby amused. When I try to blow one back, my tongue goes numb and I get a tickling sensation in my lips - see what I mean.
Then comes the delighted squealing. This happens during or just after the bath. If is often prompted by a song. He currently likes "I like the way you work it - no gigity" - Blackstreet or "Loser" - Beck. I'm sure his tastes will change. The lower these songs are sung, the more he squeals. He's a drum and base boy for sure.
The last noise I shall talk about in this blog is the sleep whine. Its not really a whine, more of a moan. Could we call it a whoan? He places them a fixed distance apart. Whoan, whoan, whoan, - It conveys so much. Max is saying. I'm tired, put me in my sleeping bag and put me to bed, but please keep the noise to a minimum, turn on the light so I don't wake at four and carry me around for a half an hour now so that I can fall asleep where you stand, where its warm and cozy. The whoan ends with fast asleepness.
All of these interactions must be kept at a high energy level, they must be repeated and they must be interspersed with food, play, kicking time and bath time. If the high energy level is kept up and each day there is a walk or a singing class or a yoga session then the routine will do its job and the whoan session will be short and sweet. He will rest and his parents will stay sane.
Monday, November 7, 2011
Further uses for arms
I have written before about how Max appears to develop before our
very eyes and the pace shows no signs of abating. At the moment he is
working on his fine motor skills. Frankly these have been embarrassing
up until very recently.
At Mini-Music he has steadfastly refused to open his fists for clapping. While others have been clapping and smiling he has been drooling and sitting with fists clenched on his knees. He has not been able to grasp any of his toys without a lot of help and has kicked rather than grasped with his hands. As I said, really embarrassing. His parents have been hiding their faces in shame and the moniker 'very advanced' has been slipping away from him.
All of that has changed in the last week or so. He has leapt forward with manual dexterity and it is worth reporting on. Over the last few weeks he has started to clench, grasp and grab with his left hand and slap and push with his right. He can even flick images on an iphone, though he quickly looses interest and we expect that he is holding out for the iphone 5. His left hand can hold rattles, rings, toys, fingers, and put all of them into his mouth. He can shake his play gym and he can even, when in a good mood grasp his bottle.
His right hand used to just flap up and down uselessly but now he lashes out with unerring accuracy. He can push his bottle away when he has had enough. He can hit all of the rattles on his play chair, he can smack his knees with delight, at the right times and at the same time as smiling and laughing. So the icing on the cake came when he opened his fists at mini-music and while he didn't quite clap, he didn't actively resist. Well he is only four months old. He has also developed an affinity for one of the songs that they sing in Mini-Music. It's called 'Forwards and Backwards' and it calms him instantly. He can be crying and screaming and he will stop when he hears this song. It use to take a lot more work, now its just one song, making the Mini-Music worth every penny and a lot more! He can also shake the rattle properly now, not in beat, or even when there is music playing but progress is progress.
Two other items of note swimming and babysitting. While on holiday in a hotel it was the turn of a local Primary school teacher who we contacted through an agency. The role of a Babysitter is long established and both Ciara and I have babysat in our day. But how would it work in a single room? There was no downstairs to move to or kitchen to raid. The lady was a pro. She breezed in, took one look at Max, they smiled at each other and she turned to us, so much as to say 'off you go'. The only question she had was 'where is the internet connection?' We came back three hours later to a happy sleeping baby.
Another non-typical set up was last Saturday. Grandad flew solo and looked after Max for the whole evening. He walked up and down with him on his shoulder, he peered in at the cot and listened very closely for the proof of life. His dedication was admirable and his unflappableness remarkable. Max enjoyed the whole experience and slept very well. He has been consistently good for babysitters. Though in fairness they have been very good for him. From Ennis, Dublin and Cork they have all been professionals. They have not brought their boyfriends around, they have not smoked drugs, they have not eaten all the food in the fridge and they have looked after our little man wonderfully!
On holiday I also got a chance to swim with Max. It was amazing. He has no fear of water and will swim (supported) on his back and front. He even goes under water and his face is delightful. He scrunches his mouth into a pout and closes his eyes so tight that it looks like he is bowing a massive bassoon or contemplating a particularly difficult bowel motion. Ciara has done fantastic work with Max and he knows his floating from his swimming and his gripping the side of the pool from his diving in. Key lessons. He was very popular in the pool, one small girl with a pair of floating arm-bands bigger than her head came up to me and asked very sweetly could she play with Max. She explained that she like babies and that she liked swimming and saw no reason why she couldn't marry the two likes. When I explained that Max was a bit tired and had to go, I could see her look of skepticism and disbelief. Here was another adult telling her things she couldn't do. Max then solved the problem of breaking a small girl's trust by rubbing his eyes and yawning. I had plausible deniability and he did sleep long and hard that afternoon - almost all the way through his visit to Fota Wildlife Park.
At Mini-Music he has steadfastly refused to open his fists for clapping. While others have been clapping and smiling he has been drooling and sitting with fists clenched on his knees. He has not been able to grasp any of his toys without a lot of help and has kicked rather than grasped with his hands. As I said, really embarrassing. His parents have been hiding their faces in shame and the moniker 'very advanced' has been slipping away from him.
All of that has changed in the last week or so. He has leapt forward with manual dexterity and it is worth reporting on. Over the last few weeks he has started to clench, grasp and grab with his left hand and slap and push with his right. He can even flick images on an iphone, though he quickly looses interest and we expect that he is holding out for the iphone 5. His left hand can hold rattles, rings, toys, fingers, and put all of them into his mouth. He can shake his play gym and he can even, when in a good mood grasp his bottle.
His right hand used to just flap up and down uselessly but now he lashes out with unerring accuracy. He can push his bottle away when he has had enough. He can hit all of the rattles on his play chair, he can smack his knees with delight, at the right times and at the same time as smiling and laughing. So the icing on the cake came when he opened his fists at mini-music and while he didn't quite clap, he didn't actively resist. Well he is only four months old. He has also developed an affinity for one of the songs that they sing in Mini-Music. It's called 'Forwards and Backwards' and it calms him instantly. He can be crying and screaming and he will stop when he hears this song. It use to take a lot more work, now its just one song, making the Mini-Music worth every penny and a lot more! He can also shake the rattle properly now, not in beat, or even when there is music playing but progress is progress.
Two other items of note swimming and babysitting. While on holiday in a hotel it was the turn of a local Primary school teacher who we contacted through an agency. The role of a Babysitter is long established and both Ciara and I have babysat in our day. But how would it work in a single room? There was no downstairs to move to or kitchen to raid. The lady was a pro. She breezed in, took one look at Max, they smiled at each other and she turned to us, so much as to say 'off you go'. The only question she had was 'where is the internet connection?' We came back three hours later to a happy sleeping baby.
Another non-typical set up was last Saturday. Grandad flew solo and looked after Max for the whole evening. He walked up and down with him on his shoulder, he peered in at the cot and listened very closely for the proof of life. His dedication was admirable and his unflappableness remarkable. Max enjoyed the whole experience and slept very well. He has been consistently good for babysitters. Though in fairness they have been very good for him. From Ennis, Dublin and Cork they have all been professionals. They have not brought their boyfriends around, they have not smoked drugs, they have not eaten all the food in the fridge and they have looked after our little man wonderfully!
On holiday I also got a chance to swim with Max. It was amazing. He has no fear of water and will swim (supported) on his back and front. He even goes under water and his face is delightful. He scrunches his mouth into a pout and closes his eyes so tight that it looks like he is bowing a massive bassoon or contemplating a particularly difficult bowel motion. Ciara has done fantastic work with Max and he knows his floating from his swimming and his gripping the side of the pool from his diving in. Key lessons. He was very popular in the pool, one small girl with a pair of floating arm-bands bigger than her head came up to me and asked very sweetly could she play with Max. She explained that she like babies and that she liked swimming and saw no reason why she couldn't marry the two likes. When I explained that Max was a bit tired and had to go, I could see her look of skepticism and disbelief. Here was another adult telling her things she couldn't do. Max then solved the problem of breaking a small girl's trust by rubbing his eyes and yawning. I had plausible deniability and he did sleep long and hard that afternoon - almost all the way through his visit to Fota Wildlife Park.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
finding my feet
Finding ones feet is quite the achievement! Max has managed to fold in half and Grab hold of his toes. If he has socks on at the time, they don't stay on for long. If he is in his gro-bag then the whole bag is grabbed. It's fun to watch. He can really only use his left arm properly. His right arm doesn't seem to reach as far. This could mean that a future of left arm dominance lies ahead for our Max and that a future of smudged writing is also his lot.
The added benefit of the feet finding is the potential for rolling. It is the next natural step. He folds up and rolls over. Now all his has to do is learn how to control this movement and reverse it and we are in real trouble. No longer can he be left for a moment on the changing table, no longer for a second on the bed. I'm going to have to up my organisational game to ensure there is no going back for things. Another developmental step is Max no longer bouncing as well as he used to when he falls.
Teething has begun. There are no red cheeks and dodgy nappies but there is loads of drool and a huge amount of gnawing. Our fingers are kept very clean attempt moment as they are his favourite chew sticks. We have Sofi the Giraffe, a teething ring and several other toys that have plastic bits for exactly this purpose, but no, Max prefers the finger. We tried Bonjella for the first time today and that seemed to work. We are waiting for a repeat to prove its effectiveness, it could have been a fluke.
I have also noticed a similarity between iPhones and babies. They know instinctively which way up they are. Max can be fast asleep on my shoulder and when I put him down it takes two seconds for the internal gyroscope to kick in and he curls his bottom lip and wails. This could be gastric reflux, coldness or just a reluctance to be separated from his parents or grand parents. Whatever the case, it's both amazing and infuriating!
We also invested the little guy into the Roman Catholic church. It was a lovely ceremony with the usual components and some readings that Ciara selected. There are some obvious questions about baptism and whether it's the right thing to do and whether we should support the church with all that went on etc. here is my take on all of that. The church has a very good central message. Be nice to one another and try and do the right thing. This is something that I can sing up to and would like my son to too. There are also many many more fantastic men and women in the church than there are bad ones. Fair enough, the institution handled things really badly but that's no reason to desert it utterly. We shall try and fix from within. well when I say within, I mean near the door, sort of in the porch. I'm not beating a path to the church door every Sunday morning, but then I do manage a prayer or two from Christmas to Christmas.
Max is nearly four months old. As far as I can figure the only important milestone this month is being able to take Bonjella and not a moment too soon!
The added benefit of the feet finding is the potential for rolling. It is the next natural step. He folds up and rolls over. Now all his has to do is learn how to control this movement and reverse it and we are in real trouble. No longer can he be left for a moment on the changing table, no longer for a second on the bed. I'm going to have to up my organisational game to ensure there is no going back for things. Another developmental step is Max no longer bouncing as well as he used to when he falls.
Teething has begun. There are no red cheeks and dodgy nappies but there is loads of drool and a huge amount of gnawing. Our fingers are kept very clean attempt moment as they are his favourite chew sticks. We have Sofi the Giraffe, a teething ring and several other toys that have plastic bits for exactly this purpose, but no, Max prefers the finger. We tried Bonjella for the first time today and that seemed to work. We are waiting for a repeat to prove its effectiveness, it could have been a fluke.
I have also noticed a similarity between iPhones and babies. They know instinctively which way up they are. Max can be fast asleep on my shoulder and when I put him down it takes two seconds for the internal gyroscope to kick in and he curls his bottom lip and wails. This could be gastric reflux, coldness or just a reluctance to be separated from his parents or grand parents. Whatever the case, it's both amazing and infuriating!
We also invested the little guy into the Roman Catholic church. It was a lovely ceremony with the usual components and some readings that Ciara selected. There are some obvious questions about baptism and whether it's the right thing to do and whether we should support the church with all that went on etc. here is my take on all of that. The church has a very good central message. Be nice to one another and try and do the right thing. This is something that I can sing up to and would like my son to too. There are also many many more fantastic men and women in the church than there are bad ones. Fair enough, the institution handled things really badly but that's no reason to desert it utterly. We shall try and fix from within. well when I say within, I mean near the door, sort of in the porch. I'm not beating a path to the church door every Sunday morning, but then I do manage a prayer or two from Christmas to Christmas.
Max is nearly four months old. As far as I can figure the only important milestone this month is being able to take Bonjella and not a moment too soon!
Sunday, October 16, 2011
A big day out
Max's Mum is wonderful, lets be clear about this. Though I blog
about my interactions with Max she looks after his upbringing,
education, nutrition and emotional security on a height that I can only
view from the metaphorical foothills. For those reasons (and because I
went to a big party on Friday night) I took Max yesterday. It went a
bit like this.
We dropped Ciara off at the massage parlour (it is actually a massage parlour, not anything else) at about 9am. Then we drove to the school and I took some photos of the tiny students playing rugby against Willow Park. I planned a cunning walk down the drive and circled around past Spar where I picked up the best coffee in Dublin. I know that there are other pretenders to this throne, but the little coffee machine in the Spar in Rathmines is a blessed fountain of sweet ambrosia.
Then back to the car and off to Mini Music. Mini Music is held in one of the many rooms above the main hall in the National Concert Hall. A wonderful and long suffering lady named Rebecca leads a bunch of 4-12 month olds through a bunch of sweet little songs, while their parents look on. At the beginning I was very skeptical about this class. What could Max possibly get from a bunch of songs, he can't sing, he can't dance, all he does when he hears music is drool and twitch. But I was wrong - he loves it. He doesn't take his eyes off Rebecca from the beginning of the class to the end. He follows her every move. He smiles when he is supposed to smile, he rocks backwards and forwards when he is supposed to and he comes out full of smiles and excitement. When we sing the songs to him during the week, his face lights up! So kids love Mini Music, even 15 week old kids.
We dashed from Mini Music much to the disappointment of the other parents who love to make a whole social event of the the affair. The students were in Rathmines right on time and they started to collect for the Irish Autism Society. They were selling bands for €1 and roses for €2. They were wearing their full uniforms and the little old ladies of Rathmines bought roses, left, right and center. I helped by marshaling the troops and by alternating feeding and walking Max. Max took to this strange change in his schedule with ease. He smiled at all the collectors, he grinned at the old ladies and he took the bottle first time, both times. First it was breast milk and the second was formula. The staff and customers in the Kylemore Cafe were simply lovely. They took pity on an overwhelmed father and they carried my tray and got me milk and warmed a bottle. I had a coffee and a sugary bun, that had enough glucose to kill a weaker man.
Max drank, ate, burped and smiled away the afternoon. He talked and he gurgled at everything that went on and made his father's life very easy. The students came and went on the hour and at 3pm we finished up. Max even waited while his dad had a sandwich and a can of coke, though he seemed quite concerned that I didn't need to burp afterwards.
I thought that my working day was hard. I thought that looking after students was tiring. Dear Lord, I was wrong. The energy of watching each twitch and move of Max, the nervous observation of his every breath is exhausting. So the evening went by with my new admiration for Ciara and all of her day to day care for Max. We had a big day out and I look forward to many more. But here is a quick personal memo. Never have a big day out after a big night out. I need another two or three weekends to recover.
We dropped Ciara off at the massage parlour (it is actually a massage parlour, not anything else) at about 9am. Then we drove to the school and I took some photos of the tiny students playing rugby against Willow Park. I planned a cunning walk down the drive and circled around past Spar where I picked up the best coffee in Dublin. I know that there are other pretenders to this throne, but the little coffee machine in the Spar in Rathmines is a blessed fountain of sweet ambrosia.
Then back to the car and off to Mini Music. Mini Music is held in one of the many rooms above the main hall in the National Concert Hall. A wonderful and long suffering lady named Rebecca leads a bunch of 4-12 month olds through a bunch of sweet little songs, while their parents look on. At the beginning I was very skeptical about this class. What could Max possibly get from a bunch of songs, he can't sing, he can't dance, all he does when he hears music is drool and twitch. But I was wrong - he loves it. He doesn't take his eyes off Rebecca from the beginning of the class to the end. He follows her every move. He smiles when he is supposed to smile, he rocks backwards and forwards when he is supposed to and he comes out full of smiles and excitement. When we sing the songs to him during the week, his face lights up! So kids love Mini Music, even 15 week old kids.
We dashed from Mini Music much to the disappointment of the other parents who love to make a whole social event of the the affair. The students were in Rathmines right on time and they started to collect for the Irish Autism Society. They were selling bands for €1 and roses for €2. They were wearing their full uniforms and the little old ladies of Rathmines bought roses, left, right and center. I helped by marshaling the troops and by alternating feeding and walking Max. Max took to this strange change in his schedule with ease. He smiled at all the collectors, he grinned at the old ladies and he took the bottle first time, both times. First it was breast milk and the second was formula. The staff and customers in the Kylemore Cafe were simply lovely. They took pity on an overwhelmed father and they carried my tray and got me milk and warmed a bottle. I had a coffee and a sugary bun, that had enough glucose to kill a weaker man.
Max drank, ate, burped and smiled away the afternoon. He talked and he gurgled at everything that went on and made his father's life very easy. The students came and went on the hour and at 3pm we finished up. Max even waited while his dad had a sandwich and a can of coke, though he seemed quite concerned that I didn't need to burp afterwards.
I thought that my working day was hard. I thought that looking after students was tiring. Dear Lord, I was wrong. The energy of watching each twitch and move of Max, the nervous observation of his every breath is exhausting. So the evening went by with my new admiration for Ciara and all of her day to day care for Max. We had a big day out and I look forward to many more. But here is a quick personal memo. Never have a big day out after a big night out. I need another two or three weekends to recover.
Saturday, October 8, 2011
Three things that I find remarkable
Max is developing at a rate of fifty new things a second. He is gaining new skills and moves and noises and facial expressions. It is all going at about 400 kph.
I choose these three to titillate you with. Titillate literally as the first concerns the breast. This will require a little background for the non lactating reader. The milk, once the latch has all been sorted out comes naturally. But to make things more difficult, there are two types of milk. The fore milk and the hind milk. The fore milk is kind of an amuse bouche, a taste of things to come, a small sample of what the chef is capable of given the right restaurant and a bucket of cash. The fore milk is tasty and nice, but that is about it. The hind milk is your bowl of spuds with a load of butter on top. It is yorkshire puddings and lashings of gravy. The hind milk develops as the baby sucks and he loves the hind milk. The hind milk release can be stimulated and encouraged by pressing the breast. Max is wise to this game. While breastfeeding he now bashes the breast to make the hind milk come faster. The comedy of this is his lack of coordination and the less than delicate slaps that he gives the breast. When he settles down he just places his little fist high up on the breast and clenches and unclenches his fist. The true hilarity and rolling around on the floor laughing, as it goes, is when he does it to me when he is bottle feeding. I know I am a little overweight but moobs, really?
The second thing to talk about is his words. He can now squeal with delight (major developmental goal - tick) he can say g, o, a, w, h, and now n. He is about a quarter the way through the alphabet. He is very good at turn taking during conversation and he really tries to copy what you say. His Nana and Nanny (either sides of the family, very different to avoid confusion) have great success with getting Max to talk. They click, coo and warble and screech like mad women and he warbles, screeches and coos right back at them. He cant click yet, but it is only a matter of time. He will talk when there are no other pressures on him. When the nappy is empty, the belly full and the mind rested he will be a little chatty man but once the delicate three way balance is upset, it is only whining and then wailing. That's ok though because getting him talking again is a perfect way of stopping the crying. I still try and talk to him in adult language, the EU's English as it were, but the odd wooo and brpppp and woogie woo gets a much bigger and better response.
The final aspect of this evenings blog is "1 - 2 - 3 upsie doodles". This is a perfect example of Pavlovian science. Ciara worked hard at getting Max to hold his head up while being picked up. Each time she would hold his hands and lift him and cry "1 - 2 - 3 upsie doodles". He would be told he was a good boy if his head was held straight. Now the child gets twitchy if he hears the number 1. He is tense as a board if he hears the number 2 next and if you get to 3 his back arches and if you are holding his hands he will bear weight on his legs and with your support stand straight up. Try it. It works.
I'm thinking that if he can be trained to do this so quickly, if he can understand this system of complex noises so quickly what else should we teach him. Well the first thing is going to be his name. Oh yes he responds to "1 - 2 - 3 upsie doodles" but does he turn his head when you call his name. No way. He continues doing what he is doing happily oblivious. Maybe we should have called him "1 - 2 - 3 upsie doodles" and that would have made life much easier. I hope that he shakes this training off because if his first teacher says 1-2-3 he is going to stand bolt upright and be the laughing stock of the class! I'm sure he'll know what to do, he is very advanced after all.
I choose these three to titillate you with. Titillate literally as the first concerns the breast. This will require a little background for the non lactating reader. The milk, once the latch has all been sorted out comes naturally. But to make things more difficult, there are two types of milk. The fore milk and the hind milk. The fore milk is kind of an amuse bouche, a taste of things to come, a small sample of what the chef is capable of given the right restaurant and a bucket of cash. The fore milk is tasty and nice, but that is about it. The hind milk is your bowl of spuds with a load of butter on top. It is yorkshire puddings and lashings of gravy. The hind milk develops as the baby sucks and he loves the hind milk. The hind milk release can be stimulated and encouraged by pressing the breast. Max is wise to this game. While breastfeeding he now bashes the breast to make the hind milk come faster. The comedy of this is his lack of coordination and the less than delicate slaps that he gives the breast. When he settles down he just places his little fist high up on the breast and clenches and unclenches his fist. The true hilarity and rolling around on the floor laughing, as it goes, is when he does it to me when he is bottle feeding. I know I am a little overweight but moobs, really?
The second thing to talk about is his words. He can now squeal with delight (major developmental goal - tick) he can say g, o, a, w, h, and now n. He is about a quarter the way through the alphabet. He is very good at turn taking during conversation and he really tries to copy what you say. His Nana and Nanny (either sides of the family, very different to avoid confusion) have great success with getting Max to talk. They click, coo and warble and screech like mad women and he warbles, screeches and coos right back at them. He cant click yet, but it is only a matter of time. He will talk when there are no other pressures on him. When the nappy is empty, the belly full and the mind rested he will be a little chatty man but once the delicate three way balance is upset, it is only whining and then wailing. That's ok though because getting him talking again is a perfect way of stopping the crying. I still try and talk to him in adult language, the EU's English as it were, but the odd wooo and brpppp and woogie woo gets a much bigger and better response.
The final aspect of this evenings blog is "1 - 2 - 3 upsie doodles". This is a perfect example of Pavlovian science. Ciara worked hard at getting Max to hold his head up while being picked up. Each time she would hold his hands and lift him and cry "1 - 2 - 3 upsie doodles". He would be told he was a good boy if his head was held straight. Now the child gets twitchy if he hears the number 1. He is tense as a board if he hears the number 2 next and if you get to 3 his back arches and if you are holding his hands he will bear weight on his legs and with your support stand straight up. Try it. It works.
I'm thinking that if he can be trained to do this so quickly, if he can understand this system of complex noises so quickly what else should we teach him. Well the first thing is going to be his name. Oh yes he responds to "1 - 2 - 3 upsie doodles" but does he turn his head when you call his name. No way. He continues doing what he is doing happily oblivious. Maybe we should have called him "1 - 2 - 3 upsie doodles" and that would have made life much easier. I hope that he shakes this training off because if his first teacher says 1-2-3 he is going to stand bolt upright and be the laughing stock of the class! I'm sure he'll know what to do, he is very advanced after all.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
A personality emergent
So it turns out that as a baby grows, gets older and all of his relatives tell us that he is getting bigger by the minute, he is also growing a personality.
His behaviour before has had an edge to it, a pattern, a focus so we thought that was it. But now he is really working that smile, really frowning and really talking. So the sounds are gibberish but the delight that he has at being listened to is infectious! He will say something, we will respond and he will say something longer and louder. We respond again that bit louder and the crescendo builds up until he is squealing with delight!
I think it is the success of the character Stewie in Family Guy that his words are heard and responded to but clearly not understood. That's what it must be like for Max. Maybe he is saying things like. I love you guys and I like it here but that teddy bear is giving me nightmares, if you could get rid of that I'd be thrilled. Or perhaps it's as simple as when you put on my nappy you are making it just a shade tight. If you could loosen it a bit I'd be much happier.
We are trained by this experience that nothing will ever be done by people about the hundreds of minor irritations that plague us as adults. Oh yes, they will smile, nod and even respond but they will do nothing.
Max the chatty man. I just hope he is saying nice happy things. I think that he is probably just saying feelings. I'm comfortable, I like that face, that noise, no not that one, the last one, do that again. I am warm and happy. I am getting hungry, I am wet, why?
But it's the cheeky grin that gives the personality away. That grin could win over even the most cold hearted stone of a man. His parents are soppy sentimentalists so unless we play it carefully he will run rings around us!
On a more practical note: the routine is going well but it needs a tweak with an eleven o'clock feed. He is nearly into the 3-6 month old clothes right on schedule and all goes well in the outgoing department!
A quiet week of watching a little man come out from the body of a baby.
His behaviour before has had an edge to it, a pattern, a focus so we thought that was it. But now he is really working that smile, really frowning and really talking. So the sounds are gibberish but the delight that he has at being listened to is infectious! He will say something, we will respond and he will say something longer and louder. We respond again that bit louder and the crescendo builds up until he is squealing with delight!
I think it is the success of the character Stewie in Family Guy that his words are heard and responded to but clearly not understood. That's what it must be like for Max. Maybe he is saying things like. I love you guys and I like it here but that teddy bear is giving me nightmares, if you could get rid of that I'd be thrilled. Or perhaps it's as simple as when you put on my nappy you are making it just a shade tight. If you could loosen it a bit I'd be much happier.
We are trained by this experience that nothing will ever be done by people about the hundreds of minor irritations that plague us as adults. Oh yes, they will smile, nod and even respond but they will do nothing.
Max the chatty man. I just hope he is saying nice happy things. I think that he is probably just saying feelings. I'm comfortable, I like that face, that noise, no not that one, the last one, do that again. I am warm and happy. I am getting hungry, I am wet, why?
But it's the cheeky grin that gives the personality away. That grin could win over even the most cold hearted stone of a man. His parents are soppy sentimentalists so unless we play it carefully he will run rings around us!
On a more practical note: the routine is going well but it needs a tweak with an eleven o'clock feed. He is nearly into the 3-6 month old clothes right on schedule and all goes well in the outgoing department!
A quiet week of watching a little man come out from the body of a baby.
Monday, September 26, 2011
My liquid son
In Star Trek - The Next generation a Klingon refers to humans as 'ugly bags of mostly water'. Now anyone who describes Max as ugly will be on the harsh end of a Klingon pain stick but the bag of mostly water bit. That bit I get.
I didn't really understand it until I accidentally shook him. Now I'm not talking about a violent shake, I was just going a little fast in the feeding chair and it was like a slow shake. I heard a gloop, a very distinct gloop. The same type of gloop that you would get if you tilted a half-full bottle backwards and forwards on its side; gloop, gloop.
This was added to the other Sci-Fi reference which is equally alien. In fact it is exactly Alien. A newly born Alien in the Sigourney Weaver series pours water from its mouth almost constantly. This is often the harbinger of the vicious large critters and it puts me in mind of Max's constant stream of drool.
When these two fantastical references are put together with his constant peeing (my shorts are the most recent casualty) and his splish splasing aroung in the local pool, the real meets the fantasy and I am sure that my son is a big slooshy gloopy bag of mostly water. That does not in any way take from his wonderfulness and beauty!
What it does do is make fast movers out of his mother and father. We run for the nappy, we run for the muslin to soak up the drool, we run for the muslin to soak up the vomit and we run to replace everything that he pees over. Water is key and without it we would all be prunes. I have tried to imagine us all as prunes and its not pretty.
Along with this dependence on water comes the sounds. Not just the gloop, the cornucopia of other liquid noises. For the want of a Taxonomy I will start at the head.
When he feeds he makes a very vampiric sucking noise, accompanied by a sort of liquid snort that sounds like a sucked straw at the end of a Macdonald's soft drink. His throat then makes the funniest sound when there is stuff going in or coming out. It's like a little gargle. It's like a little gargle except that that it goes on for quite some time.
Further down into his chest there are the swallowing noises that are a bit like a central heating system with loads of air in it. There is a rattle here and a drip drip there and then the whole system explodes in a fit of hic-coughs.
Even further down are the farts. They are very funny indeed and the stuff of many a low budget English sit-com. They are even funnier when caused by a sneeze or a cough. They have a distinctly watery side to them but I cannot describe them any further as readers are fed up of me talking about Max's rear end!
The only part of Max that has nothing to do with water are his legs. They are solid as a rock. He can't stand on them yet but he can bear his own weight and he kicks like a mule. He has also taken to smacking them down, sometimes to his own surprise.
On the news front, he has some new noises, 'nga nga' and the arrival of the 'g' is good as soon behind it will follow the 'd' and then it's a short hop to da-da! He also grasped a rattle. He shook it, it made a noise and he reacted and then he smacked himself in the head with it. He's a very advanced bag of mostly water.
I didn't really understand it until I accidentally shook him. Now I'm not talking about a violent shake, I was just going a little fast in the feeding chair and it was like a slow shake. I heard a gloop, a very distinct gloop. The same type of gloop that you would get if you tilted a half-full bottle backwards and forwards on its side; gloop, gloop.
This was added to the other Sci-Fi reference which is equally alien. In fact it is exactly Alien. A newly born Alien in the Sigourney Weaver series pours water from its mouth almost constantly. This is often the harbinger of the vicious large critters and it puts me in mind of Max's constant stream of drool.
When these two fantastical references are put together with his constant peeing (my shorts are the most recent casualty) and his splish splasing aroung in the local pool, the real meets the fantasy and I am sure that my son is a big slooshy gloopy bag of mostly water. That does not in any way take from his wonderfulness and beauty!
What it does do is make fast movers out of his mother and father. We run for the nappy, we run for the muslin to soak up the drool, we run for the muslin to soak up the vomit and we run to replace everything that he pees over. Water is key and without it we would all be prunes. I have tried to imagine us all as prunes and its not pretty.
Along with this dependence on water comes the sounds. Not just the gloop, the cornucopia of other liquid noises. For the want of a Taxonomy I will start at the head.
When he feeds he makes a very vampiric sucking noise, accompanied by a sort of liquid snort that sounds like a sucked straw at the end of a Macdonald's soft drink. His throat then makes the funniest sound when there is stuff going in or coming out. It's like a little gargle. It's like a little gargle except that that it goes on for quite some time.
Further down into his chest there are the swallowing noises that are a bit like a central heating system with loads of air in it. There is a rattle here and a drip drip there and then the whole system explodes in a fit of hic-coughs.
Even further down are the farts. They are very funny indeed and the stuff of many a low budget English sit-com. They are even funnier when caused by a sneeze or a cough. They have a distinctly watery side to them but I cannot describe them any further as readers are fed up of me talking about Max's rear end!
The only part of Max that has nothing to do with water are his legs. They are solid as a rock. He can't stand on them yet but he can bear his own weight and he kicks like a mule. He has also taken to smacking them down, sometimes to his own surprise.
On the news front, he has some new noises, 'nga nga' and the arrival of the 'g' is good as soon behind it will follow the 'd' and then it's a short hop to da-da! He also grasped a rattle. He shook it, it made a noise and he reacted and then he smacked himself in the head with it. He's a very advanced bag of mostly water.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
The Routine!
Max has a routine, this has taken some great work on the part of his wonderful Mum to organise. Meanwhile I have been busy with the odd bit of teaching here and there. I play a part in the routine but its genesis and keystone is the morning.
At about 7am the little fellow wakes. He doesn't enjoy this. He wakes up hungry. He wakes up angry. Do we sort out his hunger, do we heck. We change his nappy first. This is my job. I have previously blogged about nappies. They are boring boring boring now (except for when they are not - about once every two or three days). So his boring nappy changed he goes back for his first feed of the day. This is Ciara's job, she does it really well.
Having prepared everything for my day I return at about 7:30 just in time to burp him and say good bye. This is very hard.
He then plays for a bit (maybe has a mid-morning snack) and goes back to sleep. An hour and a bit later he is ready for food and action and there is plenty of action. He gets dressed up into his day gear. On one day he is swimming, another at baby yoga. Suffice it to say that his future development is safeguarded by a schedule of activities that stimulates body and mind. After these activities and another snack it is lunch time.
He then has some more play and mat time (that's play on his mat with the bee and the mirror). He does have an afternoon nap but its time is a bit variable. In fact the middle of the day is a big variable. This suits me fine. I am at work, no worries. For Ciara it can be a bit of a roller coaster. Most days work out fine but some days when I get home, young Max is thrust into my hands and - tag I'm it!
So as the afternoon drifts away like one of Max's particularly virulent farts, the routine begins to reestablish itself. At around 7pm, it's bath time! This is a wonderland of emotion and wriggling and splashing and suds. Sometimes both of us are involved and sometimes just one of us. A clean Max is brought to the bed, redressed into night gear and read a lovely story. There will be many posts about childrens' literature in the future but for now lets assume that the story is lovely and that Max is very relaxed and ready for a feed and bed. He then gets his bottle, up to 220mls and theoretically falls into a stupor until 7am again. Meanwhile we fit in the evening dinner and small amount of relaxation time around this. Like water pouring into a bucket of stones. In fact that's how we work with the routine, we dance around it like particles flung around in Brownian motion.
It's an imperfect system because it is so variable in the middle. You can't set your watch by him but you can at least have a good crack at figuring out day from night. He is much happier with the routine. When we don't follow it, he is upset. He is much more difficult to settle and our lives are full of misery. So we follow the routine, and woe betide anyone who gets in the way. They have to get him asleep while his parents rest - be warned!
At about 7am the little fellow wakes. He doesn't enjoy this. He wakes up hungry. He wakes up angry. Do we sort out his hunger, do we heck. We change his nappy first. This is my job. I have previously blogged about nappies. They are boring boring boring now (except for when they are not - about once every two or three days). So his boring nappy changed he goes back for his first feed of the day. This is Ciara's job, she does it really well.
Having prepared everything for my day I return at about 7:30 just in time to burp him and say good bye. This is very hard.
He then plays for a bit (maybe has a mid-morning snack) and goes back to sleep. An hour and a bit later he is ready for food and action and there is plenty of action. He gets dressed up into his day gear. On one day he is swimming, another at baby yoga. Suffice it to say that his future development is safeguarded by a schedule of activities that stimulates body and mind. After these activities and another snack it is lunch time.
He then has some more play and mat time (that's play on his mat with the bee and the mirror). He does have an afternoon nap but its time is a bit variable. In fact the middle of the day is a big variable. This suits me fine. I am at work, no worries. For Ciara it can be a bit of a roller coaster. Most days work out fine but some days when I get home, young Max is thrust into my hands and - tag I'm it!
So as the afternoon drifts away like one of Max's particularly virulent farts, the routine begins to reestablish itself. At around 7pm, it's bath time! This is a wonderland of emotion and wriggling and splashing and suds. Sometimes both of us are involved and sometimes just one of us. A clean Max is brought to the bed, redressed into night gear and read a lovely story. There will be many posts about childrens' literature in the future but for now lets assume that the story is lovely and that Max is very relaxed and ready for a feed and bed. He then gets his bottle, up to 220mls and theoretically falls into a stupor until 7am again. Meanwhile we fit in the evening dinner and small amount of relaxation time around this. Like water pouring into a bucket of stones. In fact that's how we work with the routine, we dance around it like particles flung around in Brownian motion.
It's an imperfect system because it is so variable in the middle. You can't set your watch by him but you can at least have a good crack at figuring out day from night. He is much happier with the routine. When we don't follow it, he is upset. He is much more difficult to settle and our lives are full of misery. So we follow the routine, and woe betide anyone who gets in the way. They have to get him asleep while his parents rest - be warned!
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