Take it all off baby...

The snot queen has hit yet another developmental milestone. She can now take her nappy off ALL BY HERSELF. After much experimentation involving pulling of the velcro tabs and picking at the nappy itself, she has finally mastered the art of its full removal and like with every other new skill she develops, she is insisting on doing it again and again and again...

As she has long since had a deep fascination with foraging in this area, you can imagine how thrilled she is to finally be able to get a visual of the contents. Almost as thrilled as I was to find her examining said contents on the sitting room floor this morning.

I'll give you a moment to let that visual sink in.

Toilet training just got a whole lot closer...

Naps and Neighbors and Noise, OH MY!

So there I was. The small one had just gone down for a nap which, if you believe what all the books say, meant a good 3 - 4 hours of slumber on her part. However, if you actually have children, you will know this to be a BIG FAT LIE which none the less will torment you until well after your kids are grown and gone.

By some strange cosmic twist, the snot queen then curled up and dozed off in my lap. Could it be? Could it really be? Could BOTH of my little angels be sleeping AT THE SAME TIME?

Not wanting to tempt fate further, I carefully stood up and made my way upstairs. Miraculously, the snot queen remained comatose. We made our way to the bedroom. Still, she slept.

As I gently lay her down on the bed, she stirred slightly, which would have been grand had it not been for three other simultaneous occurences.

1. Someone's house alarm started going off. Loudly.

2. The neighbor's children escaped outside into the rain for 5 minutes of shrieking and screaming. Loudly.

3. The neighbor's on the OTHER side started up some sort of insane DIY project which apparently involved mindlessly hammering on every single adjoining wall we share.

Like a shot, little miss was up and running, all thoughts of sleep firmly vanquished. Downstairs, the small one woke from her twenty minute doze and the tiny string that was oh so slightly holding onto my sanity snapped.

Why does the Universe dislike me so?

Sleep: Part Two

The results are in. Okay, so technically they were in almost three months ago, but as I'm currently growing a human being from scratch, you'll have to excuse my tardiness and forgive the dust that's built up on this late breaking piece of news.

Parents Lie. Yup! It's official. Mamas and papas beware, your dirty little secret is out, you've been rumbled. In what has to be the greatest discovery since those shower heads that increase your water pressure from zero to "blast off a layer of skin while you clean," I have uncovered the truth about how well our babies really are sleeping.

I don't know about you, but it took me all of five minutes to get sick of people asking about my baby's sleep habits. It took me five seconds to get sick of the advice they would then inevitably offer and it took even less for me to start feeling completely inadequate and totally paranoid about the fact that my baby was not falling into a twelve hour coma every night at 7pm from which only heavy medication or an earthquake would rouse her.

Far from gentle dreams and sweet slumber, 7pm was more like kick off time in our house. Daddy would arrive home from work, we'd play a little, eat a little, play some more and then, sometime between the nine o'clock news and whatever dodgy fare RTE was dishing up that night, the Snot Queen would rub her eyes and it would be off to bed where for the first year of her existence she would wake once or twice, root for the breast or just check and see that we were still there and then poof! Off to sleep again until it was time to get up at around 9 or so.

Personally, I had no complaints about this routine. Not having been born a bird, I see no reason to rouse myself anywhere near the vicinity of sunrise and the few times the Snot Queen has gone to sleep before nine found me bleary eyed and confused, wandering the house like a zombie in the pre dawn hours. By the time daddy dearest woke for work, his little family was heading back to bed for a good morning's sleep. If I were to put her in bed at 7 like her little cohorts, he'd never see her at all and would have to rely on photos and stories in order to keep up with her daily life.

Surely I couldn't be the only one though. Surely there were other babies out there that went to bed after the sun set and didn't need to be awake to witness it's return. Surely the Snot Queen wasn't the only child who regularly woke up for brief periods in the night and didn't sleep as though heavily sedated for 12 hour stretches.

In fact, she wasn't, and there were. All around us it seemed, were mothers who were also tearing out their hair as their precious small ones either refused to board the sleepy time express or else insisted on regular stop off points through out the night. There was an entire community of us obsessed with not only getting our babies to sleep at a "reasonable hour" but also getting them to "Sleep through the night" which apparently NONE of them were doing.

This confused me greatly as these mothers had obviously heard the stories and met these so called "Perfect Parents of Perfect Babies" and had been informed that this was the norm and that to deviate from this perfect pattern was to admit total and absolute failure as a parent and to invite scorn and derision from the mommy police (of whom I am just a little bit terrified.)

I decided to go in hunt of these mythical sleeping babies and so, using the cloak of anonymity provided by the world wide web, put forth the following question; How does your baby REALLY sleep?

Of those who replied, 98% admitted to having children who (Shock! Horror!) Did NOT sleep through the night!

But how could this be? What about all those people tutting away at my inadequacies and obvious failures as a mother?

What about all the books and tv shows, the so called "experts" who tell us that our children should not be conscious from sun down till sun up and that to allow otherwise makes us "bad parents" and means a lifetime of woe for and from our little angels?

What about the sleep trainers and the exorbitant fees they charge to "teach" us their methods and "train" our babies to sleep the night from birth onwards?

What about "controlled crying" (a cruel but unfortunately not unusual punishment) and all the other questionable methods, some pharmeceutical and some just plain ridiculous that parents are willing to employ in the hopes of achieving their ever elusive goal?

Could it all be just a giant lie? A ridiculous illusion like having the "perfect body" or any of the other unrealistic expectations we regularly place on ourselves and which are only ever achieved by a very tiny, yet very well publicized minority?

Could it be that babies aren't SUPPOSED to spend half their lives in a coma? That waking occasionally is perfectly normal and more a piece of basic biological programming then a well planned attack on their parent's sanity?

Could it be that maybe, just maybe, it's the 98% of us with babies that don't fit the mold who are normal and that the remaining 2% are the sleep equivalents of naturally having a body like Pamela Anderson? Who, by the way doesn't even naturally have a body like Pamela Anderson...

Could it possibly be that just like diet pills and penis enlargers, someone, somewhere copped on that there were a lot of sleep deprived parents out there who would give an arm, a leg and a whole lot of money, for eight, uninterrupted hours of zzz's?

I don't know about you, but I for one don't intend to lose anymore sleep over it.

I'm off to bed now.

Good Night:)

Foolproof Parenting

I don't have much time. The small one is halfway through tearing all of the wipes out of the package and only has another forty or so to go before she hits bottom.

This is part of my fabulous new parenting strategy. I call it the "Do what you want so long as it's not too dangerous, doesn't permanently damage the apartment, you do it quietly and let mommy get her work done" plan.

So far it's going rather well. In the last twenty four hours I've managed to finish editing another four chapters of "The Book" (which you can read a few excerpts from by clicking here) and all I've had to do is allow my 14 month old daughter free reign of the kingdom.

So what if the sitting room looks like a bomb hit it and there are no longer any clothes on the drying rack below the three foot mark? Who cares if a few rolls of toilet paper got shredded or ended up stuffed down the toilet? Or for that matter eaten! It's fibre.

And speaking of eating, I'm pretty sure that a few raw potatoes and kiwis with the skins still on never did anyone any harm! Sure, she's broadening her culinary horizons is all!

My plan after all is nothing if not healthy! She gets plenty of exercise and fresh air crawling in and out onto the (glassed in) balcony, the door of which is left open for easy access, and her foraging skills are growing by the day!

All in all, I'd recommend this plan to anyone with things to get done and no time to accomplish them. All you need is an open minded view of just what constitutes "neglect" and of course, a steady supply of baby wipes.

Learn as I go...

I am sooooo tired. I don't know if it's the lack of sleep from all the teething this week (still going strong! B@stard molars!) or if it's just the third trimester hormones kicking into gear, but I'm finding myself increasingly emotional these days and feeling everything just a little bit deeper...

Take my friends for instance. Just the other morning, I was doing my usual routine of procrastination before setting down to work (in the middle of that now actually...) when I came across a new friend's photos on Facebook. Nothing out of the ordinary mind you, just a typical album of family photos. No starving children or abandoned animals just loads of shots documenting the first year of her older son's life.

As her little boy is 3 now and I've only known her since the birth of her second baby, these pics were new to me. They showed me a side of this woman I've never seen before.

Of the mothers I know, she is the capable one. The one who's done this mothering lark before and who seems to have it all together. She is the one who's eyes say "I've been here before" and who's hands know what they're doing. She is the one whose lap was made for curling up in and whose arms are filled with strength and comfort. She has the husband, the kids, the house, the dog... Her life, from my perspective at least, seems solid.

When I looked at her pictures though, I saw another side.

I saw a woman, heavily pregnant on her first baby, her dark eyes filled with hope. Looking out at the camera with the smallest of smiles, as if to say, "Is this really happening?"

I saw a new mother, her baby clinging to her chest for warmth and security, her eyes still tired from the birth but her entire person suddenly alert and filled with a new life's purpose.

I saw the mama bear, who would die for her cub before letting any harm befall him.

I saw her oldest boy brand new again, looking so much like his younger brother and yet different enough that you knew it wasn't.

I saw a family in progress and a mother in the making.

I saw the past that had shaped the present I know.

But most of all, I saw a side of my friend that I'd never seen before. One that had the tears filling my eyes and rolling down my cheeks. It was a softer more uncertain side that looked out and grabbed at your heart and made me want to pull her into my lap and wrap my arms around her, offering her what strength and comfort I have. And when she was wrapped up safe and snug I would stroke her hair and tell her stories of the future.

About the most capable mother I know.

Teething: Night Two

Well, it's night two of the teething fairy's visit to our humble abode. She arrived last night with a bang (and a bucketload of drool!) We tried to explain that we really don't have the room for visitors at the moment (come back next month when we're living in our DREAM HOME!!!) butshe wouldn't take no for an answer and set about unpacking her belongings and making herself at home.

Lil was in bits. You see, her and the teething fairy have a rocky relationship, their history is marked with pain and suffering (and yes, even more bucketloads of drool) and the second she realized who our house guest was, she raised the roof and wailed the house down. All. Night. Long.

I pleaded with the fairy to find alternate accomodation, I even pointed her in the direction of friends of ours, but no, she was adamant. She wanted to stay with us.

This morning found me bleary eyed and tired having spent the night comforting my inconsolable daughter. She was showing signs of wear as well, her eyes were bright and her little body was burning up with fever. Her red cheeks could be seen from space and her chin had developd a lovely rash from yes, the bucketloads of drool.

After a day spent cuddling on the couch, an emergency run to the pharmacy was in order to pick up a packet of teething granules. The princess is in bed now, as is her daddy. I'm off to join them but first must find the fairy and have a little chat. I'd like to know exactly how long she intends on staying for...

5 down, 15 to go...

Right. The Snot Queen is throwing a tantrum. It seems that either she's ridiculously over tired and desperately needs a nap or else she's been possessed by demons whilst my back was turned. Either way, according to her at least, her little world is ending and it's all my fault. Even just looking at me can bring on a bout of head and body thrashing rage which can only end in tears as she invariably accidentally whacks herself on some random surface.

Whatever happened to my lovely, placid child with the ever present smile who loved her mammy and spent her days doling out kisses and napping for Ireland? Who is this squalling, crusty nosed imposter with the red face and angry eyes who fights sleep like a seasoned warrior, her battle cry ringing out loud and clear as her willful eyelids attempt to drift closed?

We are now well into day three of the napping strike. My nerves are shot and my patience is wearing desperately thin. I'm developing a small twitch and just yesterday discovered a grey hair in my thick, dark mane that had not previously been there. My work is falling by the wayside as my poor brain is even mushier then normal. Just yesterday, I caught myself about to put the Orange Juice into the cups and mugs cupboard instead of back into the fridge where it belongs.

The nights are just as bad. Tired beyond the point of reason, the enfant terrible cannot settle down and so wakes reglarly to rage against the universe that has so forsaken her. Myself and my partner take turns trying to soothe the infant overlord who in turn rejects our overtures with a mix of scorn and derision.

Of course, this sudden hatred of all things sleep related is not without reason. I see the flushed cheeks and the drool soaked pajamas. I can't help but notice the frequent nappies and red, rashed chin and it is this which helps me to keep my last shred of sanity intact.

My baby is teething. She's not being deliberately horrible, she's in pain and has no other way to show it.

As a friend of mine frequently says, and indeed, this phrase has gotten me though more sleepless nights then I can count...

"This too shall pass"

And in my limited experience, it always does.

Tots and snots

The Snot monster has once again invaded our home. For what seems like the 8 millionth time this winter, my lovely little girl is covered in a thick layer of wet, gelatinous, snot. She isn't upset by it, why would she be? It's become her default setting. The slimy darling would probably be lost without the slippery trail she leaves behind her. How else would she find her way from one room to the next? How else would she know EXACTLY which of her blocks she'd already played with if the used ones weren't coated in crusty, dried on, mucous?

I swear to god, this has been the most infectious, disgusting winter on record. Everywhere we go, there are children coughing, sneezing, oozing, vomiting... basically just excreting vile and infectious fluids from any and all orifices and I for one am sick of it. (Yes. For your information, that pun was completely intentional.)

I am sick of family, friends and strangers alike giving her "concerned eyes" every time she so much as sniffles whilst looking at me as though I have "negligent parent" stamped on my forehead. No, I do not neglect my daughter. Yes, I dress her warmly when we go out. No, I do not fed her junk and yes, I know that cleanliness is next to godliness.

She is a baby. Babies get sick. It is a fact of life. Their immune systems don't mature until they are somewhere in the vicinity of two years old and getting sick is how they strengthen and build it. Rationally, I understand this. But being pregnant and the mother of a child who in her thirteen months of life has spent more time in quarantine then out of it and who regularly covers my breasts as well as my favourite wardrobe items in snot before spreading her disease to the rest of the household does not lend itself to rationality. Especially when I am the one left holding the disinfectant whilst "baby plague" morphs into "man flu" in the blink of an eye.

She has had sniffles and coughs and colds and flus. When she was about 6 months old she got the "baby measles" and at 10 months caught the real thing. She's had more fevers then you can shake a stick at (though what good shaking a stick would do I've no idea!) and regularly causes shares in Kleenex to fly through the roof. The vomiting bug spent it's Christmas holidays with us and just recently recommended us to it's good friend the rota virus.

I thought that with the coming of the good weather, we might get a bit of respite and indeed, for a week or two there, things were looking good... And then, on Saturday morning, she sneezed.

Oh well, at least it's not green.