Happy New Year to all lovely readers of Rise. Big changes coming up in the UborkaHaza, with my return to work on Thursday and Bernard starting with his childminder next Monday [yes, there is a discrepancy there]. Pete will be taking Thursday, and Friday morning will see Bernard helping me in my home office.
In response to my request for part-time hours, my employer has changed my role completely, so I am now working for a different department, but have a job that says it is designed for telecommuting. I’ll be doing more tele and less commute: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday afternoons at home, Thursday all day in the office, Friday mornings at home. Bernard has a lovely childminder who has informed us that she is retiring in April. Apologies if I have written all this before; the sleep quota is lower than usual.
Yesterday it felt like we had really hit a brick wall with the solid food thing. Bernard refused his breakfast and howled for hours because he was tired and hungry. I tried to offer him some formula, but it was refused as well. He doesn’t seem to know how to work a bottle anymore, and when he does get the milk in his mouth, he spits it out. So I got the boob out. After much discussion on several iVillage message boards, I have concluded that I can get away with demand feeding when we’re together, and express to relieve any engorgement while I’m at work. When I’m not around, apparently, it’s quite likely that he will eat or drink a bit more. I don’t imagine Pete is looking forward much to next Thursday, though.
After his nap, we all went round to Alice’s house for some lunch, feeling desperately sorry for ourselves. Bernard perked up when offered some of Alice’s pea & sweetcorn mush, made from fresh peas and fresh sweetcorn [impressive, since she claims she hates to cook]. She went on to further astound by handing over a large batch of chicken and vegetable mush, which Bernard ate with many contented grunts for his tea. I have concluded that, now that the pressure is off and we have all relaxed a bit, he is more inclined to enjoy his food.
As with everything else, I know things will resolve themselves eventually; it’s just horrible being in the middle of it when it isn’t working, and the baby’s unhappy, and I feel like the world’s worst mother.
Happy new year. And whatever you may feel you’re not the worlds worst mother.
At least not till you ground him for something when he is 16 and he has a girl he likes and wants to go on a date. Then you’ll be told just how bad a mom you are. Or maybe that was me.
Happy New Year to the all in UborkaHaza
I’m obviously some kind of consumerist. I’m embarrassed to admit it, but when I first saw the word “childminder,” I figured it was some kind of product to put in the crib (do you call it a “cot”?) to help the baby sleep through the night. As I read further, it became clear what a childminder was — comparable to a “day care provider” or “babysitter.”
When it comes right down to it, whenever there’s a difference between a word used in the U.S. and elsewhere, the better or more fun word is used elsewhere. Diaper? No, it’s a nappy! Day care lady? Nope, childminder. Pacifier? It’s a dummy, silly.
Yeah, I realised last week that my american colleagues didn’t know what a childminder was. I use “cot” for the big cot in the nursery (which at this rate will never be used), and “crib” for the small travel-cot that B occasionally sleeps in next to my bed.