Behavioural changes

The boy was a little better today after a bad night (of waking every half hour to hour), but seems to not want to go to sleep at all this evening. He climbed off his bed and opened his door. As he clearly wasn't sleeping, I brought him downstairs again.

Wanted me to put on the signing DVD. Wanted to learn more, I think. He was very excited about learning 'horse' today. I said no, too late. He pottered around a bit and ate some food (biscuit and cheesy breadstick), but refused milk. Didn't want it at bedtime and has refused it since. Last night he sometimes asked for it and then cried other times when he wanted it. I'm assuming it's teeth again as he's been biting hard on my fingers. I keep telling him everything will be better once those teeth are all through...that the pain is temporary and won't be forever.

Anyway, then he kept telling me he could hear an aeroplane (through signing) and then about half a minute later, I could hear too. Such acute hearing! He just wanted to sit on my lap and stare into my eyes - rather unnerving - then he'd give the odd smile, half sided smile, just on the left, which he's started doing in the last few days. Sometimes he'd giggle. Sometimes he'd start chatting and telling me stuff, and I'd apologise and say I couldn't understand him. He'd stare intently and smile a gentle little smile, giving me a hug as if to say "Never mind, maybe one day you will." Then he was pointing at the door at saying brrm brrm. Two minutes later the man arrived home (10 minutes early). Quite incredible.

Anyway, he's been very affectionate this evening and given us both lots of cuddles with arms flung around our necks. We are hungry and tired and the man is now trying to rock the boy to sleep. Fingers crossed...

Job description

During one of my many evenings of lying in the dark cuddling my son until he falls asleep, my mind wandered and I wondered how much of my time I spend doing this. Mostly, this is a fairly enjoyable activity, that I use to think about things, meditate or just enjoy being with him. Sometimes I talk to him about the beauty of the world and what there is to appreciate. Sometimes I sing to him. Sometimes he chatters to me. Sometimes we just lie in silence.

Anyway, I was curious, both about the tasks I do during my working day and how much time I devote to them. Having made my first attempt at putting it onto paper (figuratively speaking), no wonder I think it is harder than any (paid) job I ever did. The hours are ridiculous! I definitely wouldn't take a paid job like this, but I also do enjoy most of it as much as (and on occasion more than) any paid job I have done - the reward, as all mothers that have gone before have ever told me, is worth it. Though, being slightly cynical, the idea of psychological consonance (versus dissonance) comes to mind...that is, the idea that our brains are built to make the most of whatever choices we have made so that we believe our current choice to be the best choice we could have made - a clever little trick designed to make us happier.*

So, see below for my working day! How my mother did this with five children, I have no idea.

 * To acknowledge that this 'trick' appears to have gone wrong with some people, but that is an entirely different blog post and so I shan't dwell on that here.

12 January

So it's turns out that 12 January wasn't the date my library books needed renewing, but the date the yoghurt went out of date. I knew it was important somehow!

Breastfeeding

Okay, so firstly I resisted the urge to have the title of this as 'extended breastfeeding'. This is the common term in this country for feeding beyond, what, six months or a year? I'm not sure when it begins to apply, but I realise I have a problem with the term. It implies that feeding a child is not natural or normal beyond a certain (very young) age. It implies that feeding a child up to the age that the NHS and the Department of Health recommend is beyond what should be expected. It's two years for the DoH, in case you didn't know. To end my gripe, I think the current terms of 'breastfeeding' and 'extended breastfeeding' should be changed to 'breastfeeding'.

Anyway, I have just read an interesting article about breastfeeding which triggered this post. I shall share it at the end, but it is about breastfeeding older children. I will preface it by saying that I never thought about breastfeeding before we did it - I just assumed that that was how things would go down. It has been my best parenting tool - to soothe anxiety, fears and pains and crankiness...to provide nutrition when solid food hurts...to help the little one with sleep when insomnia threatens...and simply as a place of security and bonding to make my child feel safe and confident. I never thought about when we'd end or wean, but assumed it would happen by a year. It didn't and so far he's showing no sign of quitting. As it stands, I'm not yet at the place where I have any idea how or when we'll stop. He's so far from being ready to quit!

Anyway, so, about this very interesting article I read. If you're going to read this, try reading with an open mind. I found I struggled a little with some of the ideas, and then I felt sad that something natural and normal should feel odd to me because of my societal hangups. Feeding until six years old is definitely not something I plan for (but there's a lot I didn't plan for that we're doing as parents) and I agree with the author that if there is one thing I have learned as a parent, it's "never say never."

Breastfeeding at six? What's so weird about that?

Tumbling tot

On our way up to his peaceful evening bath and story time before bed, our tot tumbled quite dramatically from the top step down to the bottom last night - smacking his poor little head on the stair gate at the bottom. My heart literally stopped as I saw my precious creature falling away from my grasp, fear in his big brown eyes.

Our evening of him being asleep by 7pm and me on my way to yoga was replaced by an evening in A&E with a little girl who had been vomitting all day (and who the boy unfortunately decided was his new best friend), a teenage lad with a broken nose (whose mother told me that this tumbling down the stairs business will be just the first of many moments where my heart stops beating) and a boy wrapped up in a blanket who looked so awful that we sat nowhere near him.

Thankfully the sunshine of my heart was unharmed and I've been carefully watching out for any behavioural changes all day. I have spotted two - one related to the fall, the other, presumably, not.

(1) He has developed a fashion sense and insisted on wearing a specific t-shirt he has not yet worn; and also refused to wear his normal shoes, instead going for a pair of white and blue Nike trainers that are slightly too large for him. Not related.

(2) He is just as happy and confident to clamber upstairs on his own (while I watch on, pretending to be unconcerned), but he now holds the bannister while going upstairs. Sensible boy. Related and rather clever of him, I thought.

I am tired from an evening where I held tight all the muscles of my body, and now feel as though I too tumbled down. I cannot nap with him while he naps, possibly due to the consumption of dark chocolate nibbling as a treat for my stressful evening, possibly due to the remnants of the adrenaline burst from last night. Instead I shall now enjoy some noodles and veggies while sitting in the sunshine on my own, letting my body relax and trying to let go of what could have been, but thankfully was not. I am relieved.

Major milestones

So today we hit a major milestone that began yesterday, quite out of the blue.

The little one (for his tea) ate an entire bowl of pasta with cheese and chicken, followed by a whole bowl of cereal, followed by a bowl of yoghurt. He then proceeded to eat various other fruits, avocado and cucumber. So, not only did he eat more than he's ever eaten before, he also ate it all himself with a spoon or fork. He decided yesterday that he won't be fed anymore, wants to do it all himself. No idea if this is permanent or not, but it was great. I was so impressed. And the best bit of all - there was no food on him and (even more amazing) NO FOOD ON THE FLOOR. Hurrah, I say!

It's been a great day of friendship and fun for both the boy and me, with some sunshine, a good nap and a trip to the supermarket at 8am, which we both enjoyed and which is always good fun with a little person in the trolley, curious about everything he sees. I hope he likes his new mittens and boots once we try them out outside.

This is how life should always be - enjoyment of people and appreciation of the small things and of small achievements.

All I need now, is for bedtime to occur smoothly and easily and it will have been a perfect day.

White privilege

I have just read an excellent article that much more eloquently explains something I have been trying to put into words for many years. It is about white privilege. I have, on numerous occasions, been told I have to acknowledge my white privilege and I have and do (seeing quite clearly the validity of this), however I sometimes (and this was by no means the majority of my experiences) experienced a sense that acknowledging (for the requesting party) wasn't enough - I was required to feel shame or guilt for my colour. This angered me when I felt (or heard) this expectation, because I don't feel shame or guilt and don't see why I should. Setting everything else aside, how can I be married to someone of a different race if I constantly feel shame or guilt about my colour?

There was also something more, that I failed to convey when I tried to express it myself. It was about acknowledging that I have many privileges, only one of them being my skin colour. I acknowledge all of them and have done so for many years. I have felt very lucky for these 'gifts' and have tried to make the most of what I have been given.

There have been other elements of my life that would definitely not be classed as privilege. Occasionally I have wished they did not exist, but I try not to focus on the downsides and I try to focus on any benefits, because there are so many things I am so grateful for and, overall, I really am very fortunate.

A key point in the article, for me, that I would like to share with you, is this:

"...white people and people of color experience the world in very different ways. But listen: This is not said to make white people feel guilty about their privilege. It's not your fault that you were born with white skin and experience these privileges. But whether you realize it or not, you do benefit from it, and it is your fault if you don't maintain awareness of that fact."

Anyway, here we are. The article I referred to. I hope it enlightens you as it enlightened me. Explaining white privilege.

6.15pm

At 6.15pm, post teatime, post bath time, all bedtime books having been read and milk having been consumed, my son decided he couldn't sleep and he climbed onto my chest, dropped his head and put his little arms around my body, sighed deeply and began to relax.

It took around 20 minutes for him to fall asleep and every time I tried to decant him into his 3-sided cot next to me, he whimpered a little and clung more tightly to me.

I lay in the darkness enjoying the feeling of his cool forehead on my skin, his soft fluffy hair tickling my nose and lips, the sound of his gentle breathing and the occasional shudder or whimper as he began to dream.

My mind wandered back to when I lived in Reading. At 6.15pm I would probably have been in the highly efficient mode of finishing everything for the day in the next 15 minutes or, if my day had gone well, I might be finishing my tea and turning off my computer. I loved my work. I loved the buzz of freelance. Sometimes I would be at my other job and I would have just settled down with my first client of the evening, cosy in our therapy room, my mind intently focused on another person and his or her life. I loved that work too.

Then my mind wandered further back to when I lived in London and 6.15pm was when I would think about turning off my computer and heading out to meet a friend or heading home, walking, cycling, taking the bus or taking the tube (depending on my location, the location of home and my mood), sometimes reading, sometimes listening to music, mostly watching other people, thinking about what I might eat for my dinner or feeling excited about my evening's plans. I loved London. I loved my life in London. I loved the buzz of my busy and varied weeks.

There are times I struggle, with my life as it is now, it is true, but there have always been times that I have struggled. I've never been one for a life of the mundane or for straight lines. It has always been a life of ups and downs and tangents. It has also always been a life of deep appreciation of what I have.

I felt very lucky, lying in the dark with my child, that I have had so much already in my life that I have loved, and now, with my son, I have found true love. Nothing before could have prepared me for this. Nothing before could have compared to this.

A wonderful day in the world of motherhood

While I was running the bath, someone climbed/escaped all the way downstairs again and locked both stair gates (top and bottom) behind him, thus preventing him being able to climb back up again. Result: extreme whimpering.

To be fair though, there has been a lot of whimpering today. Reasons: I put him on the floor so I could turn a light on; I tried to put the 'wrong' bib on him (he wanted the orange one); I tried putting him in his highchair while the wrong bib was in front of him (instead of the orange one); I tried offering him potato when he wanted an olive; I put him on the floor (next to me) so I could go to the toilet; he couldn't put my belt on him; he couldn't undo my belt; he couldn't do his zip up; he couldn't undo his buttons; he couldn't put his socks back on after he took them off; he sprayed himself in the face with cold hose water; he ate too much soil.

There was also a lot of giggling: I put wellies on him; he found the hose; there was water coming out of the hose; rough play (me chucking him around); singing; dancing; playing the tambourine; a new monster glove puppet book I found in a charity shop; me pretending to sleep then waking suddenly to roar at him.

He's also been practicing all his words: banana, clock, mama (lots, especially when he sprayed himself in the face with cold water), dada and pop. He's also been practicing his signs for 'aeroplane' and 'things that go round' (fan, helicopter, cassette tape), waving for hello and goodbye...and, I think, 'more'.

It has been a lovely day.

Mental versus physical

Not sure I'd agree Freud was the greatest (and I'm being polite here), but I absolutely do agree with his suggestion that mental health problems will be explainable by physical causes one day - though some already are. There should not be segregation in treatment of physical and mental health problems. It does not make sense. Most ill health diagnoses have both physical and mental/psychological symptoms and (I am also predicting and have always said) all will have some form of physical/physiological/neurological cause - why arbitrarily assign some to the label of 'physical' and therefore 'normal' and others to the 'mental' category and therefore to be treated with stigma, shame and fear - and less support...??

"The NHS can no longer act as if minds don't matter"