New Mum Month 2: The Conspiracy Theory

I have uncovered a conspiracy - a big baby conspiracy. I have to be careful as I write this - and I would urge you to be very careful where you read it. Your baby might be in a "peaceful slumber" nearby or happily writhing around on his playmat, or perched placidly in his baby chair - but just be aware, check over your shoulder, re-strengthen your computer passwords, check there isn't one eye open as he/she sleeps. You see, they want you to think they're not fully developed yet, that they are not aware, that they are sweet and innocent - that they don't know what is going on and that you are in control - but this is just not true.

It's taken me two months to cotton on to this - but slowly my suspicions have grown stronger and stronger - and now I can plainly see - this baby knows much more than he would have me believe. I would go so far as to say he possesses a 'radar' system - the sort an evil genius keeps at his evil headquarters.

His radar is used to inform him of what I am doing throughout my day. I assume it is located internally and gives off a wave of sound that only babies can hear. That's how they get away with it! Us adults sit there blissfully unaware - and behind the scenes armies of infants are listening to an internal baby siren that alerts them to the following:

• Mummy has sat down with a hot beverage. 
• Mummy has lifted up a fork, piled with food, and it is moving towards her mouth.
• Mummy is flippin exhausted and really needs to sleep tonight as she has a big day tomorrow 
• Mummy is in the supermarket
• Mummy is at the doctors 
• Mummy has an audience 
• Mummy desperately needs to go to the toilet and in a second is going to leave the room 
• Mummy has run out of batteries for my light up smiley face toy
• Mummy has a good idea for a blog
• Mummy has visitors coming and needs to tidy the house for the first time in weeks 
• Mummy is at the end of her wick and just needs one hour of rest 
• Mummy is really enjoying the last 5 minutes of peace
• Mummy can't believe it is so quiet 
• Mummy is just thinking how lucky she is that I have fallen asleep so easily
• Mummy smugly believes she has achieved a 'routine' 

The siren goes off and the baby does his best to show me who is boss in the only way he knows how. It's a conspiracy I tell thee! 

My theory was set in stone this week as I wrote a blog stating that after seven weeks of being a Mum, I had finally got to grips with it all.  Seven Weeks  I wrote about how I finally had a routine, knew him so well, was great at being a Mother, could settle him, could get him to sleep etc. THE NEXT DAY .... he changed the game plan and everything I thought I knew - I didn't. He awoke a different baby. 

It was almost as if in the night he has woken up, sneaked over to my laptop, hacked my blogger account and read the previous blog! It was almost as if he had said: 

'HA! So she thinks she understands me does she? Well I'll show her..." Almost as if.... 

Parents - be aware - THEY are aware. It's a conspiracy! 

Infamy, infamy - I'm sure he's got it in for me!  

New Mum Week 7: Teddy Bears - If you go down to the woods today...

I have always been partial to a cuddly toy and I have always been a girl who gets what she wants (cough cough... spoilt... cough...only child...cough cough). My internal box of childhood memories contains several cuddly toy related incidents.

There was the time I was on a British Airways flight and my mother made the mistake of leafing through the in-flight duty free magazine in which I spotted, perhaps the best bear ever, brown and wholesome looking, complete with navy blue pilot hat and jacket. I instantly (calmly) explained I wanted the bear. I was told no - I imagine it was frightfully expensive. So I did what any other small child in my position could do and proceeded to scream blue murder, on the plane, until my request was granted.

The bear was lovely. It is highly probable the other passengers on the plane banded together to afford him.

Once at a Sea Life Centre with my parents I had a couple of tries on an arcade machine to try and win a cuddly sea based toy. The type with the large metal mechanical hand that moves down, grabs a toy, and drops it in front of you. I, of course failed, and we walked off. Moments later a young couple approached the machine, popped in a pound, had a go and a very cute, very small, grey Seal was dropped before them. This was unsatisfactory to me - exceedingly unfair in my eyes - and so I did what any other child in my position would do - and screamed blue murder and cried and wailed. My Mother must have been absolutely mortified.

In sympathy, the young couple came over and handed the little grey Seal to me. The kindness of strangers! And I have never forgotten them.

I learnt from an early age if I cried long enough with my mum the answer could always be changed to a yes (this still applies). My Father was quite the opposite - and thank goodness he was because a child needs balance.

One day he took me to the supermarket, politely warning me, as he always did, "Look but don't touch" all the way around the aisles. When we got to the checkout I saw that the sales team had cleverly placed a gang of big fluffy white bears right at the pay point. I knew if I had been with my mum they would all be mine. But I was with my dad - who came from a place of 'No'.

For some reason, that I am still completely unaware of he said yes! And I got my white fluffy bear. I couldn't believe it - and I treasured that bear more than any of my others because my Father, who left all toy purchases up to my Mother - had bought it for me.

One day my Primary School had a 'Teddy Bear's Picnic' where we were encouraged to bring in our cuddly toys and we could win a prize if we entered our bears into their competition categories. A brilliant idea! They had biggest bear, smallest bear, cutest bear, strangest bear and other superlatives. I had a plethora of bears but I was pretty sure I wasn't going to win anything. My dad suggested I take in his cuddly toy and enter it into the 'Oldest Bear' category.

Imagine if you drew a dog, side on, two dimensionally, very badly - that was what his toy looked like. It was made out of sand bag material, very hard, and had a slightly disconnected marble eyeball staring out of one side. It was obviously very old - and very special to him. And I won - we won - 'Oldest Bear'... One of the best days of my life!

Now I have a son and he has a few cuddly toys already. I wonder what bears will become important to him in his childhood. I wonder, when I buy a cuddly toy for him, what memories I am making for his later life; What toys he will one day scream for - and whether my partner and I will give him what he wants or stick to our guns. I wonder as a parent if I will come from a place of no or yes. I wonder if one day he will play with my Father's oldest bear - and what my son will one day hand down to his children. My British Airways bear, my white fluffy bear and my little grey Seal are long gone - but the memories are still here and I wonder what memories will we create together, with our little soft stuffed souled friends - as a family.

New Mum Week 7: Seven Weeks

It has taken me seven weeks to get this parenting thing down. Seven long weeks - that feel like seven hours.

There have been times where I have despaired. Times when I thought I would never be able to breastfeed, times when I thought he would never go to sleep! Times when I stayed up for entire nights too afraid to take my eyes off him or his breathing patterns. There have been times when I thought I would never be able to leave the house unaided again. I resigned myself to living in our room in our little dark cocoon, warm in safe timeless solitude. There have been times when I thought I would never be able to get dressed, wash or look semi decent again. There have been times I have nearly murdered my partner - for no reason other than him being there. There have been times I thought I just wasn't cut out for it all - that I was unqualified, incompetent and unworthy. In the words of Mr Dickens - there have been hard times.

There was a moment this week as the baby I brought home seven weeks ago lounged in his new vibrating chair dozing in a peaceful slumber, the corners of his tiny mouth searching for a smile, that I sat up, in my slightly larger un-vibrating chair, and looked at him and realised ... he was mine.

I think up until this point I had been doing my best to look after this baby correctly. I had been living my life as though I was on some sort of baby Big Brother series where my actions were under constant scrutiny and surveillance - by a team of midwives, health visitors, relatives, and strangers on the street. I had been living like I was training for some sort of 'mother' exam (Theory and Practical). I had been taking care of him as though someone had trusted me with this unbelievably precious object - like some antique vase - and I had been spending every second - anxious, concentrating on doing everything in my power to prevent it from falling through my hands and shattering.

It has taken me seven weeks to realise he is my baby.
It has taken me seven weeks to realise, the likelihood is, I won't break him.
It has taken me seven weeks to understand when he wants to eat before he knows it.
It has taken me seven weeks to know the little ways to get him to sleep.
It has taken me seven weeks to know the little ways how to settle him.
It has taken me seven weeks to know the little things that can distract him.
It has taken me seven weeks to know that sometimes, all these things will not work.
It has taken me seven weeks to work out how to transport him around the house.
It has taken me seven weeks to know his little routine.
It has taken me seven weeks to seize the little opportunities he gives me, the little windows - to make a cuppa, have a pee, put on some make up and do the washing up - sometimes, all at the same time.

And with the seven week mark came the smiling milestone. Not just smiling due to some relieving bowel movement - smiling in response to me.

This morning I lifted him on to his changing mat and, half asleep he started his usual thrashing around, like a shark stuck in shallow water - he commenced his perturbed grumblings, squeaks and yelps slowly building to the loud Rock/ Heavy Metal chorus and, for a change, instead of staying silent, without thinking, I said in a chirpy voice

"Oh, what is the matter with you then?"

and instantly he stopped. All movements ceased. His tiny arms fell to his sides. Someone had pressed the mute button on the angry baby soundtrack I had come to know by heart each morning. He lay there and opened his eyes wide, for the first time properly that morning. He stared right at me and I stared back a little shocked myself. The baby - my baby - my son - smiled a huge broad smile back at me... and let out a loud giggle.

"Bloody Hell - He knows who I am!" I thought. And I smiled back and giggled back in response. He had heard my voice and just known that, although he was on the torture device he has come to loathe, the changing mat, he was safe - because I was there. His mum was there.

Yes - it has taken me seven weeks. As the sun slowly shows his face over the UK, the darkness is lifting over me - and I emerge from my cocoon - a Mother.