About Me

To paraphrase a blogger who is far more glamorous than me, like London needs another working mum blogging about her life. But hey, sometimes when you have a laptop on your knees in between serving oven chips and leftovers and starting bedtime you wonder how you became that woman, why you did and how you feel about it. Sometimes I even probe further - who is THAT woman, and did I ever aspire to be her? Do I like her? Could I learn to? Which is why I've started this blog...
Showing posts with label weaning. Show all posts
Showing posts with label weaning. Show all posts

Sunday, 8 May 2011

Strawberry Sunday: Bite me!

Newborn goes gaga for his first taste of fruit as we celebrate Mr Thatwoman's 34th birthday with friends, Eton Mess and 34 (count 'em) kisses a piece from Spider-boy.

Birthdays bring out the best in Spider-boy. He spends the day asking what it was like when Mr Thatwoman was 'only 33' and getting frustrated that his own Birthday is not for two more months. He's sated, at least, by the chocolate raisins and book of facts about animals, especially predators like sharks, he 'gave' his dad. He's mainly interested in what they eat, of course and crucially whether they eat each other. Eating your own kind is something of a preoccupation, hence his shark love as he's heard when they get excited they start nipping each other.

He'd better watch out though, with his talk of biting. The plan to wait to wean his brother until we returned from our travels (and Newborn was a full 26 weeks, rather than 24) went awry as he launched himself at all our plates this week. Go him, ignoring protocol and seeking his own true baby-led weaning path, thrusting anything vaguely the right size in his mouth by the fistful whenever he could grab it. And look out Italy, here he comes. He's much improved and rolling, shuffling and sitting and is prepared to just lower his face into a plate of food if no-one gives him anything to hold.

And beware, too, of his gnashers. Current tooth count is two (going by how many you can clearly see) and three if you take into account how it feels when he bites you.

Thursday, 27 January 2011

What Goes Around, Comes Around...

Advice for weaning has changed since I had my first lad. Back then, in 2007, weaning before six months was, if not a cardinal sin, certainly not something easily discussed or admitted amongst the chattering NCT classes (of which I am, predictably, a member). The advice was half way through the first year. I waited, till six months, and he was vaguely interested in some baby led weaning with breastmilk, occasional babyrice, sweet potatoes and bananas.

Now? Things have shifted. Weaning can now be between four and six months. My son's GP told me it was akin to walking - you wouldn't sit a child down if he/she was trying to walk, so why intervene if a child is trying to eat. I understand the reasoning, and have usually followed advice, so why did I feel a faint stirring in my loins? A desire to say, back to a medical professional, but, but, but...

Advice to parents is a fascinating area. It is the root of many conflicts between interfering 'elders' who suggest things which would now be frowned upon from sleeping on tummies through feeding water, to relatively recent friends and neighbours who are vociferous proponents or detractors regarding other trends such as co-sleeping.

It is true that there is nothing more aggravating (and intimidating) than being a new parent, bleary eyed and only just used to be in charge, and being told you should be doing something another way. Especially when cleaving to official advice from doctors, midwives, health visitors and a couple of books you read when 18 weeks pregnant is all you really have. It is an intense time when many of us feel unsure of ourselves. So why do people do it? My Mum was great about the current advice but I know many Mums less lucky. I used to be flummoxed at the advice thrown at them. Less so now though.

If I feel weird and want to both defend holding back on the 'nanas and yams with Spider-boy imagine how I'd feel if I was suddenly told the way I'd tucked my baby up at night (on his/her front in the '80s, say) was wrong and furthermore dangerous. I too might feel torn. On the one hand cross or embarrassed or retrospectively nervous about my past choices, on the other feeling somehow compelled to tell others what I had been told was safe.

But things change. I keep wondering how parenting will change if my boys have kids. What will be the faux pas then? The devil in me predicts break out book 'Happy Slappy' challenging current ideas about not using physical violence when punishing kids. I can only hope that then I'll have the courage to speak up, and my lads' voices echo in their NCT classes saying 'I was never hit as a child and it never did me any harm'.