probably quite incapable of drinking the coffee
Sunday, August 26, 2007
The sleeping thing has yet to resolve itself into anything like what I would consider satisfactory. But then I have high expectations: I want nothing less than for both girls to sleep all the way through the night from bedtime at 7 pm until, ooh, say around 6.30–7 would be fine on weekdays, possibly slightly later on weekends. No wakings for night feeds, nightmares, episodes of incontinence or because it's just as dark at that magical hour, 2.30 am, as it is at getting-up time, so hey, it's worth wandering into Mummy and Daddy's bedroom to check. I'm sure if I'd read Gina Ford I'd have them both sleeping through by now, and what's more, getting up to make me breakfast and bring it to me in bed. (Although Jack is teaching Becca to make coffee.) But as I regard reading child-rearing books when you spend your entire day rearing children as the sort of busman's holiday I'm not prepared to embark on, we're stuck with the broken nights until they both grow out of them.
Maggie generally only wakes once in the night to feed so I am obliged to answer queries, generally from the elderly, that yes, she is a good baby, and yes, I am very lucky aren't I, goodness me is the lady at the end of the biscuit aisle giving out free samples of sherry? But the longer she sleeps at night the more wakeful she is by day and at the moment when wakeful wanting to be held, carried around and fussed at all times. Which is all very pleasant but makes it difficult to Get Stuff Done, which is the nub, crux and pith of my very existence on this earth, and thus slightly frustrating. Here the baby-rearing pundits come over all chirpy. Baby won't settle? Just pop her in the frontpack while you get on with your chores! they exhort, neglecting to mention the impossible narrowness of the range of activities it is possible to carry out safely with another human being strapped to your person. The list of activities it is impossible to carry out under these circumstances, on the other hand, is exhaustive, ranging from going to the toilet successfully (risk of dunking little feet in the bowl as you squat) to cleaning the chimney. Anything involving a lot of bending down and picking up is out unless you want the wee one's head flopping dizzily about as though they were in one of those gyraty things they use to make astronauts throw up (why don't they just get them pregnant?). Cleaning the bathroom's out: too many chemicals and impossible to bend over the toilet without giving your hapless infant another dunking. Cooking – well, proximity to heat and and pointy implements rules that one out. Hanging out washing: wet clothing flapping against the little face tends to piss them off and make them yell. Washing up is just about possible without drenching them in suds if you stand sideways on to the sink. In fact any of these activities would only really be feasible if you had far longer arms. About the only thing you can do is push things around the floor with your foot. Toys, piles of laundry, discarded food. My advice? Well, other than that if you leave discarded instant noodles on the floor for a couple of days they dry out and are therefore easier to push around without them sticking to your shoe, actually I dn't have any. Because if I did I'd doubtless be raking it in writing chirpy parenting books. Which, if I ever do, will have an entire chapter, possibly the first, devoted to the crucial importance of learning to avert one's eyes. So useful in all sorts of situations. Especially ones involving instant noodles.
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