Thanks to a cruel cocktail of teething, separation anxiety, practising new skills in the middle of the night and the universe just being a bit of a knobhead, this week we’ve been woken more often than someone sleeping on a bed of nails whilst a fox orgy sets off the alarm of every car in the street outside the bedroom window.
After putting the cot in a different corner, adding then removing cot bumpers, adding then removing cot inserts, removing and returning the night light, all night white noise, all night lullabies, banishing all noise, putting a comforter in the cot, shedding our comforting scent onto a piece of cloth and then putting it in his cot I have come to the conclusion that anything you do to improve baby sleep has bugger all effect. Out of the blue on Friday night he started sleeping okay again but how do we tell which of the 800 variables made the crucial difference?
It seems like only yesterday that Captain Poo Pants was a helpless scrap with less maneuverability than your mum at step aerobics. Well those days are well and truly over. As I put him on his mat on Tuesday for his usual afternoon session of flailing about and dribbling on everything he did his first ever crawl. It was perfect in almost every respect with the exception that he went backwards. I turned round for a second and there he was scooting across the floor like a tiny Michael Jackson nearly having a coming together with the ornamental pussy willow. So those last 8 months were the easy bit were they? Great.
The ‘science’ of parenting is great because when everything is going wrong you can just describe it as a method. Baby won’t stop crying? That’s the ‘cry it out’ method. Explosive pooing? The ‘poo it out’ method. This is how I found myself testing attachment parenting this week brought about by our first experience of separation anxiety. This arises when your baby first realises that it is a separate being from its parents (dur, obviously). As well as refusing to nap anywhere but in my armpit, I have also had to carry CPP around for long periods. Nothing says expert parenting like holding a baby on your hip whilst having a stand up wee; particularly when your baby is fascinated by new sights and sounds and keeps lurching forward to try and get the wee.
Must touch all the things
I’m not sure what evolutionary purpose this week’s development has served but Captain Poo Pants has had to feel every fabric and texture he’s seen this week even if it means risking his own safety to get to it. That’s fine if we’re on the sofa. Not so fine if we’re next to a house plant, a mirror or, indeed, some wee.
I stumbled across another great bit of parenting this week when I realised that CPP would flip from crying to laughing if I sing the la la la la la laaaaa bit of Crocodile Rock in a high pitched voice. I particularly enjoyed employing this technique whilst walking past some builders a couple of days ago. I’ve never felt manlier.
Every parent knows that it’s impossible to concentrate on anything when you have a baby which is why daytime TV is just footage of, for example, someone plastering a wall or putting a pie in the oven. This week we’ve had a real treat though with the snooker being on. Snooker is the perfect TV for new parents;
1) Babies are entertained by the clickety clack of colourful balls.
2) Green is calming and with HD and sports mode on it’s there is A LOT of green.
3) Each match is about 7 hours long so you don’t even have to concentrate.
4) There is less gratuitous sex and fewer mutilations than the stuff I normally like to watch so will arguably do him less long term harm. NB does contain scenes of mild John Parrott so parental discretion is advised.
There should be a 24 hour snooker channel for new parents. Possible names: Potty Black, Bib Break.