Food Glorious Food

I’m participating in the Best Of 2009 Blog Challenge.  Every day this month, I write something different about what’s happened this year.  Here’s a belated post about my insight of 2009: it should have been written two days ago, but we are staying at the in-laws’ and I’m forced to be sociable and away from the computer.

David is a fussy eater.

Let me clarify that.  David eats four things: garlic bread, sausages, chocolate buttons, and Ella’s Kitchen fruit pouches.  David will not touch fresh fruit or vegetables, never mind put them in his mouth: they might bite back!  Rice?  Pasta?  Anything that might be served with a sauce or have a sauce touch it?  No way.  (Yep, he’s his mother’s son!)

Until last week, Joe and I could reassure ourselves that “food is for fun until one”.  We kept offering fresh fruit and vegetables, pasta, rice, different kinds of meat…  He would poke at them, look disgusted, and throw them on the floor, mostly before they’d been anywhere near his mouth.  We tried bribery: “Put this piece of banana in your mouth and you can have a chocolate button!”.  We tried letting him get on with it: more food ended up on the floor and none was eaten.  We tried all-out war: “You WILL eat this risotto.  Here’s a lovely spoonful…”.  It was spat out.  As a result, he “topped up” on milk, to the point where most of his diet was milk, with a few snacks thrown in.  He wasn’t sleeping as well as he should, he was waking up screaming hungry in the morning, and he was refusing to eat anything solid.

Two days ago, I did something mean, nasty and awful.  I took his milk away.

Not completely away, you understand.  I know that he still needs it for growth and development and vitamins.  We just drastically reduced the amount he drinks overnight.  We don’t offer it an hour before a meal or half an hour after: if he’s thirsty, he can drink water or juice.  We offer it in the newborn-sized Avent bottles, and when he finishes it he can have water, unless he’s desparate.  We’ve set ourselves the target of 5-600ml/day, and we’ve got there straight away.  David, as you can imagine, is unimpressed with this state of affairs, but still doing really rather well.

This morning, he got up with Joe, and for breakfast he ate a whole croissant and a serving of plain yoghurt with pureed blueberries and blackberries.  Half-way through this morning, he decided he was hungry, so ate a fruit pouch, two breadsticks, and a biscuit, and drank half a cup of juice.  At lunch he tried quiche and baked potato, which he wouldn’t previously have touched, and ate four slices of garlic bread.  At dinner, he spied the leftover profiteroles from Joe’s relatives’ Boxing Day family lunch, and was bribed into eating a fruit pouch.  That was followed by both profiteroles, a large piece of Stollen, and a whole cup of juice.  His total formula intake today?  500ml.

We’re not there yet.  He still doesn’t like the texture of anything runny, he won’t touch sauce, and vegetables are apparently the work of the Devil.  I was surprised that he ate the profiterole after the inital touching and poking, and still asked for more.  I don’t think it’s a taste issue, but to do with texture: it certainly explains why he’ll eat purees but nothing lumpy or slimy.

So, there we are.  My insight of the year: to do with taking away milk (and therefore being the meanest mother in the whole, world, ever, or so David will tell you) and making David eat Real Food.  It works.  I shouldn’t be scared to make parenting decisions and worry about what other people will think, because we need to do what works for us.  I needn’t worry about David’s reaction, because he’ll survive.  I am starting 2010 more confident as a parent than I ever was, and it’s fantastic.

Christmas 2009

I’m participating in the Best Of 2009 Blog Challenge.  Every day this month, I write something different about what’s happened this year.  Today, a special Christmas post about the best gift of 2009.  Also, there is another photo from today over at the Daily Photo.

This time last year, we left hospital in the winter sunshine, wondering what on earth we’d created and how we’d survive.  It’s been a wonderful year in many, many ways, but it’s been hard.  And we’re not doing it again.

Christmas this year has been all about David.

Paper was ripped and parcels were unwrapped.

Boxes were played in.

New garages were played with.

Footballs were hugged and headed.

And Wilfred had a great time with his sock monkey:

David’s favourite present (and our favourite of his!) is by far and away the simple, no-batteries-required, quiet football.  Mine is the morning of advanced driver training from Joe, and his was the wooden bricks that my parents bought for David!  The best thing ever, though, was spending Christmas as a family.  Here’s to many more to come.

One

Dearest David

At 3.14pm today you turned one year old.  My word.

This has been an awesome month.  You’re still sleeping well, and having two or three solid hours’ sleep in the morning, and an hour or two in the afternoon.  This makes you happy and bouncy and full of energy when you’re awake, until you crash and fall asleep again: you’re hardly ever grumpy and tired.  You also like people other than Daddy and I.  This is a relief, I can tell you.

You’re still a fussy eater.  You won’t eat ANY fruit unless it’s pureed: if it’s not, you poke it and look disgusted, and refuse to put it anywhere near your mouth.  Vegetables are similar, but you do at least eat potato, peas, and carrots mashed together, and vegetable soup.  However, bread, biscuits, breadsticks, and ESPECIALLY garlic bread go down very well, as do Swedish meatballs from IKEA.  Oh, and chocolate birthday cake.

You’re getting better at walking: you can do it when you forget to be scared!  I don’t think your current growth spurt is helping, because it makes you fall over all the time.  You’re also too lazy to try sometimes: why bother when you can speed-crawl?

Daddy has been working a lot this month, and we haven’t seen him as much as we’d like.  You miss him dearly when he’s away, and you’ve figured out how to press the redial button on the phone so that you can talk to him.  (This means we need to keep his number as the last-dialled, so that you don’t confuse anyone else.)  When you’re together I no longer understand what you’re both on about, you’re so much on the same wavelength.  It seems to centre around fart jokes.

You play like a toddler now.  You sort things into groups, put things in places, try to fit one thing inside another or stick things together.  You are starting to use language and sounds to describe what you’re doing and what is happening around you, too.  New words this month include “Stop!” “Go!” “ERIC!!!” and too many others to count.  Eric prefers to hide (currently under the Christmas tree, which has the added bonus of things to BAT!) than to play with you.

You now travel in the front of my car.  I was getting fed up with the back of the passenger seat being kicked!  You have much more room in the front and you stay still while I strap you into your seat.  We then have a conversation until you fall asleep without a fuss, and I find myself talking to myself without realising.  When a traffic light turns green, you shout “GO GO GO!!!”.  (You have also done this when we followed an old lady in her Nissan Micra.  I’m teaching you patience, honest!)  The view in the front is much better than the view in the back!

You’ve had two birthday parties so far, and a constant stream of presents over the last few days.  That’s what happens when your birthday is so close to Christmas!  On Sunday we went to Grandma and Grandpa’s house and had cake and presents there, and today Kathryn and Harry and Benjamin and Naomi came to visit at Nana and Grandad’s house.  When you wake up from this nap you can open some more presents!  (And tomorrow, and the day after, and probably the day after that.  That’s why we’ve brought Daddy’s car down to Kent and not Mummy’s!)

A year ago today, I held you for the first time, and you were perfect.  You still are.  I love you.  We both do.

Love,

Mummy and Daddy

Complete

Over the last few days and weeks and months, I’ve been thinking an awful lot about the number one.  Specifically, the number of children we have and are planning to have.  My mother is constantly asking if we’re planning another.  (Having one, apparently, will lead to David becoming spoiled, selfish and antisocial.)  My Nana said that we should have a girl next.  People assume that, because we’re young and because David is nearly one, we’re ready to start trying for another baby.  “When you have another…”, “Just wait until you have two…” and various phrases along those lines are used regularly.

Here’s the thing.  We aren’t going to have another baby.  I can say now, without hesitation, that our family is complete.

The road that led to having David was a long, hard one.  I had an abortion at fifteen: it was the “right thing to do”.  After all, I was clever.  I had sixth form, university, a career to look forward to.  My previously supportive boyfriend got scared and ran away, and I would’ve been a single teenage mother.  I was nine or ten weeks pregnant when my parents discovered it, and had little time to think about the decision: I went along with what they thought was right, because I didn’t know.  I couldn’t think, I just couldn’t make the decision.  I knew that I wanted qualifications and a career, but I never considered the alternative.  I never thought that I could have the baby.  I would’ve been about twelve weeks along when I finally had it done, and it hit me harder than I ever imagined it would.  I will forever regret that decision.

I hadn’t known until then that I wanted a child.  When I’d thought about it hypothetically, I’d reasoned that I’d want to concentrate on having a career, and anyway, noone would commit to me, would they?

Fast-forward a few years.  I had put all thoughts of having a baby out of my mind.  Joe and I had been together for a few months, and although we were serious, we weren’t quite serious enough to think about babies in anything other than abstract terms.

Well, whoops.  One broken condom later…

During my pregnancy, we struggled to adapt to life as a couple, soon to be a family.  Friends and family were shocked that we “hadn’t been more careful”.  They questioned our decision to continue the pregnancy.  (We had discussed it, but it wasn’t an option for either of us after the initial shock had worn off.)  A couple we knew had been trying to conceive for a long time, and we both felt guilty about how it would affect them.

I loved David the moment he was born.  Everybody did.  It didn’t make things any easier.  I’ve written about postnatal depression before, and all that needs saying now is that I, we have come through it, mostly, but it was hard.  There are times when The Crazy still comes back and slaps me round the face, just to remind me that it’s still here.  I don’t want to choose to go back and feel like that again.  It’s not fair on Joe or on David.

All the history and the drama aside, there is one overriding reason why I feel we are complete.  This.

David is enough, more than enough for me.  I don’t have the words to express how much I love him.  He learns something new every day, he’s starting to listen and respond to instructions.  He’s affectionate and caring and kind.  He travels next to me in the car, and we have conversations about traffic lights and slow old ladies in Micras driving in our way.  He gets ridiculously excited when he sees the other yellow Seicento that belongs to somebody who lives near us, and when a traffic light turns green he shouts “Go, go, go!”  He wouldn’t have this attention with a sibling.  He deserves my time, my attention, and all of my love.  I cannot offer him anything more.

New

I’m participating in the Best Of 2009 Blog Challenge.  Every day this month, I write something different about what’s happened this year.  I’ll write a proper post about this on David’s actual birthday in three days’ time, but for now, here are PICTURES!

David didn’t strictly arrive in 2009.

He arrived on the 23rd December 2008, eight days early.

Fast-forward a year, and we have this.

Bloody hell.

I’ll write more about David on his *actual* birthday, the 23rd.  We’re off to enjoy some cake for his first first birthday party!  (He’s having two.)

Big Fat Eric Cat

I’m participating in the Best Of 2009 Blog Challenge.  Every day this month, I write something different about what’s happened this year.  Apologies for lack of posting yesterday, we spent the day in London and the weekend at my parents’ place; I’ve come back slightly more insane than before.  The answer to yesterday’s question?  Falafel.  Could NOT live without the stuff now.  Anyway, today’s post is about the best change we made to the place we live.

Eric.  Introducing him into our home and our family has been the most wonderful thing.  He and David are growing up together.  They sleep next to each other, play together, and annoy the crap out of each other.  They cause me equal amounts of worry, and have roughly equal numbers of hugs!  (Eric is a very snuggly, clingy cat and I’ve worn him in a sling so I can work before now.)  They are both in this lovely in-between stage: David is neither a baby nor a toddler, and Eric is no longer a kitten, but not quite a cat.

The older cats have mostly accepted him.  Snowball still dislikes him, but then Snowball doesn’t like anyone or anything apart from Joe.  Wily puts up with his adoring attentions with great patience and grace.  “Oy boss, have you been outside, where’ve you been, did you catch any mice, will you teach me how to catch mice when I’m big, oh please, please, PLEASE…”  He will catch mice when he’s allowed outside: Snowball has brought the occasional live one inside, which he’s finished off, but I still don’t want my little baby boy going out.

So again, I’ll let the pictures do the talking:

Heaven

I’m participating in the Best Of 2009 Blog Challenge.  Every day this month, I write something different about what’s happened this year.

See this little boy here?  He doesn’t sit still, like, ever.

This is often a problem.  We still live in a small flat; it’s winter, so we can’t use the garden; David’s bedroom is David-safe, but everywhere else he has to be either strapped down or closely supervised.  The weather is horrible at this time of year, and he’s only just walking, so trips to the park happen once in a blue moon.  This is why we spend most afternoons in the best place in the world, ever: a soft-play centre a half-hour drive down the road.

I know I come across as slightly obsessed, but most of the pictures of David at the Daily Photo are taken there.  They have the biggest baby and toddler area in the country, with lots of lovely sensory things for babies.  It’s incredibly well thought-out, and David adores it.  His absolute favourite are the fish in the bubble tube.

I love it too, of course.  It’s very reasonable to get in.  The food is good: standard soft play centre fare, but just really, really nice.  (There’s a nice balance of healthy and unhealthy: David has started asking for chocolate buttons when we go there.).  The most wonderful thing is that he can run, well, high-speed crawl around in complete safety, and tire himself out nicely.

I’m going to let the pictures do the talking.

Peace

I’m participating in the Best Of 2009 Blog Challenge.  Every day this month, I write something different about what’s happened this year.

After a difficult day, I am finding it hard to remember a peaceful moment this year.  Things are so busy, so rushed, so stressed: I rarely sit down for longer than five minutes, unless it’s to work.  I know that I have letters and emails to write, photos to edit, clients to recruit; however, I am getting as close to peace as I can by writing, writing and thinking about the good things that I have, and staying positive.  I’ll find peace and calmness through it, even though it will last for at most five minutes before it is shattered.

When David had just turned eight months old, we paid a visit to the National Marine Aquarium in Plymouth, Devon.  He relaxed completely and took it all in, then he stayed chilled out for the rest of the day.  Nothing else had ever had that effect on him before, and until recently, nothing since.

A few months on, I decided to fork out £25 for annual membership of the Sea Life Centre in Birmingham.  We’ve been twice since, and each time David has completely relaxed.  He’s quiet and calm, but talkative: fish seem to turn my little whirlwind boy into a breeze.  They focus his attention in a way that nothing else can.  There is one tank right at the beginning that he loves: we have to walk up the slope to find somewhere to park the pushchair, but as soon as he sees it he gets excited and wants to get out.  It’s on his level, and he sits still in front of it and takes everything in, and points to bits that interest him.  When asked, he pointed out spotty fish, thin fish, fish with whiskers, rays, and yellow fish.

We spent nearly four hours there today.  He’s sleeping so, so well tonight, and I’m finally at peace for five minutes at a time.

Best Restaurant Experience of 2009

I’m participating in the Best Of 2009 Blog Challenge.  Every day this month, I write something different about what’s happened this year.

My best restaurant experience of 2009 is going to occur in about an hour, when David has woken up from his nap.  We’re going to get in the car, drive to McDonalds, and eat the dirtiest cheeseburger ever.  And then I’ll feel better about tidying up all day and my ENTIRE living space still looking like a bomb has hit it.

Also?  David will have chips, not a fruit bag or carrot sticks.  Who even likes carrot sticks, anyway?

Cat Naps

Before David was born, nearly everyone warned us that we’d treat the cats differently when we had a real baby.  We were warned to make sure we put a cat-net on the cot, that we shouldn’t allow them to sleep in the same room as him, that we’d have to be extra-cautious about sterilizing everything.  Our midwife was horrified that we weren’t “getting rid” of them.

Well, we’ve never really been bothered about germs.  The cat-net on the cot lasted for the five minutes before Snowball worked out how to remove it, we let the cats back into the bedroom after ten minutes on the first night home from hospital, and the ten-second rule applies to everything that touches the floor in this house.  Joe goes by the mantra “if it hasn’t got cat hair on it, it’s probably OK.”  Snowball is fed on the side in the kitchen, otherwise the boys jump on her, and we keep a litter tray in the kitchen, too.  We clean the side and the floor pretty regularly, and make sure we disinfect the side before preparing food (which, to be honest, I’d do anyway.)  There is a frequent exchange of toys, especially balls, between cats and baby: we just make sure that none of the cat toys are a choking hazard, as they’re pretty much guaranteed to end up in someone’s mouth.

Now, I know that there’s a school of thought that says you should keep pets, especially cats, away from children whilst they sleep.  We never had a problem with Snowball or Wily sleeping in the Moses basket or the cot when David was tiny, although there were occasions where Snowball would sleep next to David on the sofa.  They still don’t really go near him, especially now that he’s big enough to chase them and pull their tails.  Until this morning, Eric hadn’t shown any interest in sleeping in the cot, either.

I caught him there when I went to collect David from his nap.  Well, he’s certainly showing interest now.  It’s in a nice, warm spot, and the duvet is soft and comfortable.  There are snuggly soft toys, including Mini-Eric.  It’s not easily David-accessible unless we put him there, and Snowball and Wily have never slept there or marked it.

You know what?  I’m not going to bow down to pressure or paranoia on this one.  The stories about cats smothering babies are clearly an old wives’ tale: no cat would ever go near those grabby hands.  (Eric, certainly, would not sleep within reach of David.).  David, meanwhile, is clearly benefitting from growing up so close to these three beautiful creatures: he is mostly very gentle, and he can now say “puss!” and “miaow”.  I want him to wake up to a cat sleeping on the end of his bed, like I did with Jenny and Charlie.  One of the reasons that we got Eric when we did was that so he and David could grow up side-by-side, and I’m so very glad they are.