Motherhood lesson #2

How to pee in a public toilet while wearing your baby in a backpack.

So you've just got the damn pack on your back and suddenly you need to pee.

Step 1: Wedge yourself and your baby into a toilet cubicle, taking care to lock the door behind you.  No one needs to see you do this.

Step 2: Attempt to sit on the throne in the normal fashion.  You can't can you?  Because the baby-filled backpack is jammed up against the wall behind you, and your tush is not sitting where it should be.

Step 3: Think for a minute.  Employ your once amazing problem solving skills (they were amazing until you went for about 256 nights without decent sleep).

Step 4: Turn around and sit on the throne backwards.  Straddle it, in other words.  Hey, it actually makes no difference.  Though in case you're wondering, there are actually wrong ways to use a toilet:

"Flowchart" in Massey University bathrooms

Step 5: Congratulate yourself on having conquered another perennial motherhood dilemma, without having taken the wretched backpack or baby off your back.

Step 6: Give a smug smile to the people giving you strange looks as you come out of the bathroom.  Bet they couldn't work it out!

Baby fashion crime #1

While having a recent sort out, I came across this:

Total baby fashion crime.  

Made from scratchy wool, bunchy in all the wrong places, and with a neckhole small enough to ensure that you'll feel a bit strangly while wearing it.

It's also the same colour as our carpet (minus the puke stains):

Don't stare for too long or those contrasting orange stripes will make your eyes bleed.

And don't even get me started on the matching hat with oversized pompom.  Wear only in cases of dire baby facial emergency.  Like the worst case of cradle cap ever.  Or a snotty nose so bad you want to distract everyone from looking at it.

All you need

Our spare room is filled with a few small mountains of baby clothes.  And other baby stuff.  Swaddling cloths, a moses basket, a playgym, a year's worth of clothing, and knitwear that, unfortunately, was never modelled.  Having promised to lend "all you'll need for the first year" to a friend, I spent a good part of the weekend sorting through it, ditching never-worn or worn-out clothing, trying to find missing pairs to about 30 pairs of booties, and feeling nostalgic (only a little) for those early newborn days when, provided there were no poo explosions, Milkbaby could stay in the same onesie for a good 24 hours.  Hey, it was winter - why change his clothes for no good reason?

It got me thinking though - what does a baby really need?  The answer?  Not much.  Not much at all.  Though consult any baby store and they'll have you believing otherwise.  In no time you'll have spent a small fortune on clothing and other "necessities", a pram that was more expensive than your first car (but it fits so well in the impractically sporty car you currently drive!), and a carseat so big you need to get rid of your impractically small vehicle.  I just think how lucky we are to have escaped with purchasing just the pram and the carseat - the mountains of beautiful clothes were hand-me-downs from my talented quilting cousin (who, incidentally, is giving away some beautiful fabric on her blog at the mo).

Then there are the toys.  Upon announcing your pregnancy, you'll find you start accumulating soft toys.  I could probably pull together an audience of at least 20 softies in our household, of various shapes and sizes.  Despite diligently scattering these around, Milkbaby ignores them unless they are animated by an adult speaking in a silly voice and shoving them in his face.

I recently came across this list of ridiculous parenting products.  These top the list of things that a baby really doesn't need.  My favourites:

• the bathroom baby harness: need to pee in that public toilet but don't want to put your baby down on the dirty floor? Whip out your bathroom baby harness and hang baby over the door - right next to your handbag.  Just don't forget to collect him on the way out.
• The Snozzie: a handkerchief that's also a bracelet.  So handy for collecting those wayward boogers when you don't have a tissue.  Not a good idea to put it back on your wrist once you've used it though.
• And when you just can't get those baby boogers, you could try a Battery Operated Nasal Aspirator - as if having a giant tissue shoved in your face wasn't scary enough.

Rock that skull print: www.bebabean.com

And on my list?:

• the Pee-pee Teepee: for the sprinkling wee wee (in 24 exciting prints!).  Sorry but if nappy changes are so slow you've got time to faff about in your nappy bag finding a little hat for your baby boy's privates, no wonder you're getting peed on.
• a pair of safer sleeper triangle pillows, so that you can prop baby on their side to sleep.  Probably a SIDS risk - and what's wrong with a rolled hand towel anyway? 
• breast shells - "to collect excess milk" - not only do they make your boobs look weird, but once they're full (and in my case this took about 15 minutes) the milk starts leaking out the top, meaning you have a lake-sized puddle of milk down your front to contend with.

What's on your list of useless parenting products?

Telemarketers - the scourge of those who are home during the day...

This little rant isn't exactly about motherhood.  It's about those people who conspire to keep you from your FULL-TIME OCCUPATION of being a mother.  Yes, that's right folks, I'm talking about telemarketers.  For those who don't believe they exist, come and spend the week at my place, and answer my phone for a few days.  I think someone's marked our number with "suckers live here".

Or at least used to.

You see, I used to be one of those polite people who would wait for the long-distance "hello? hello?" and then listen, again very politely, to the person on the other end, before saying, "no thank you, we just don't really need discounted holiday accommodation in Australia for $125 right now."

Then my politeness factor decreased, and I started cutting them off before they got into the schpiel: "Look, I'll save your time, I'm not interested." Click.

Then [interrupted while trying to get an overtired Milkbaby into a bath]: "I'm really busy right now [screams from Milkbaby], I'm not interested." Click.

And now, I barely wait for the long distance pause, the telltale click on the line and the "hello?" before I hang up, WITHOUT SAYING A WORD.

At the moment I save the expletives for after I've hung up.  Usually I've run from the other end of the house to answer the phone - the exertion of that alone (usually with babe on hip) deserves a swear word or two.

I'm sure it's only a few more phone calls (and a few more sleepless nights) before I let loose on the hapless sod on the other end of the line.  Either that or start trying telemarketer pranks.  Here's a few of my favourites:

In perfect English say: "I don't speak English, sorry". Click.

or

Telemarketer: Is Mr. (someone) home?
You: No he's in the back yard digging a hole, he's been out there for 6 days.
Telemarketer: Is there a Mrs in the house?
You: No, I haven't seen her for 6 days I don't know where she is, sorry!

or

If they are selling windows, tell them that you live in an underground sod house.  Or even if they're not selling windows, tell them that anyway.  You might as well be.

Motherhood lesson #1

Never, I repeat NEVER, undo a nappy without wipes handy, unless you know exactly what's inside...

I was getting Milkbaby ready for his bath.  He was standing, almost naked, at the bath, excitedly leaning over and watching it pour.  I blithely whipped off his nappy, only to be greeted by... yes you guessed it... a GIANT poo.

Obviously my sense of smell had failed me.

I looked around the bathroom for the wipes, knowing that they were handily tucked in my handbag.  Beginner's mistake.

Before I had finished yelling "Darling I need some help in here!!!", Milkbaby had somehow gotten himself covered, from head to toe, in poo.  I'm not joking.  He'd reached down and spread the poo over his cheek and into his hair.  I immobilised his poo-covered fingers, but then he decided to use his feet to spread it.

And then somehow, there was poo on the bathroom floor, poo on Milkbaby's fresh bath towel and poo on me.  It took two of us to clean him up enough to be able to put him into the bath.  Somehow he knew not to drink the bathwater.

And so I repeat: never NEVER de-nappy a child without wipes handy, unless you know what's inside (or not inside) that nappy.

Square carrots: adventures in solids

As his nickname might suggest, Milkbaby's a tits man.  He continues to show very little interest in food.  Mealtimes for him range from being a boring distraction to a form of unusual torture.   During which time he practises smushing the finger food I've given him, dropping things from his high chair, blowing water and food raspberries, and garroting himself with his bib (he hates bibs with a passion, and I don't really blame him).

Thinking, somewhat simplistically, that better eating = better sleeping, I called the Well Child nurse in desperation.

"He's not really eating that well." I said, fighting back tears.

"I'd better come for a visit, and watch you feed him.  Then we can make sure his mouth is working."

"Right.  Okay."

"Do you have baked beans?  We can give him some baked beans for lunch."

"Ahm, no, I haven't given him baked beans yet.  I thought they were a bit sugary and salty."

"Well maybe scrambled eggs then.  What kind of baby food are you giving him?  Does it have carrots in it?"

"Um, err, (fumbling with a jar and searching for the "correct" answer), well I mostly give him homemade stuff and yes I do sometimes give him steamed carrots."

"Okay, good.  It's just there's a brand of baby food that has square carrots.  Babies don't like square carrots."

"Umm, right. No I don't think I've been giving him square carrots."

At this point I was thinking "SQUARE CARROTS?!  I think the problem is bigger than [insert inappropriate swearwords here] square carrots!!"

www.squarecarrots.com

And so she visited.  And we watched Milkbaby:

• smush finger food
• drop things from his high chair
• blow water and food raspberries
• garrotte himself with his bib.

Then she said "have you heard of baby lead weaning?"

Given all the finger food at Milkbaby's fingertips, I just about said "yes I have, have you?"  Instead, I just said "uh huh" (extreme fatigue was setting in by this point).

Finally she said "well his mouth is working fine, and he seems to know what to do - you might just try giving him three meals in the afternoon.  Lunch, afternoon tea and dinner."

I smiled and nodded.  It's the best response in these types of situations.

More on sleep (or the lack thereof)

We all want what we can't have.  It makes life truly unfair sometimes.

My DH asked what I wanted for my birthday.  I said one full night's sleep.  Just one. He smiled and said, "anything else?"

I settled for asking for a new hoodie.

Despite boldly proclaiming that "when Milkbaby is ready to sleep through the night, he will", I have to confess to continuing my search for the holy grail of motherhood.  From cry-it-out to co-sleeping, I feel like I've read just about every expert perspective or opinion.

Sleep (chiefly the lack of it) is still the most talked-about topic at my coffee/play groups.  We swap tips on what might have worked (but who really knows), groan in sympathy at someone's story of an extremely bad night (or succession of bad nights), brag (just a little) and celebrate when someone's baby is regularly "sleeping through", and discuss the latest guidebooks we're reading.

In desperation a few weeks ago, I borrowed The No-Cry Sleep Solution from the library.  The premise is nice, but some nights, preventing tears at bedtime in either mama or baby is very very difficult.  And it has some nice ideas in it too, nice in the way you might use the phrase "nice for some".  I'm not going to claim to have truly followed "The Solution" to the letter ... it's more that I have incorporated some of the techniques into my evening/nightly routines.

Mostly to no avail.  And even if we have a "good" night, I am left wondering what I did that worked, when in reality I probably had nothing to do with it.  So the same routine is repeated the following night, with (of course) wildly different results.

As Einstein said, the definition of insanity is "doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results".

That makes sense.  Parenthood is a special type of madness.

Best advice so far?