Adventures with Oscar

Old Before His Time

2008-02-27T07:04:00.006Z

Oscar's talking is coming on in leaps and bounds, and he now uses full sentences which often sound like they should be coming from the lips of a 1940's public schoolboy (I have absolutely no idea how this happened). At his birthday party he was in full swing, telling everyone 'how lovely' it was to see them, and praising them on their choice of attire, which to me seems a bit quirky for a two-year old (but very sweet nevertheless). He hangs on every word that the grown ups around him are saying and repeats it back to them at a later date. He stood up after having his nappy changed last night, rubbed his back gingerly and said 'oooooh I'm sooooo stiff today'. It's probably a good thing that we have lots of visits from his little mates and he sees other children at playgroup, or we would be caring for someone with the body of a toddler and the brain of a slightly confused pensioner.

Play Away

2008-02-27T06:31:00.005Z

Oscar now attends the village playgroup and is really enjoying it. We're getting some lovely artwork for our fridge, and I get to spend three whole hours up a ladder with a paintbrush in my hand twice weekly. I feel incredibly fortunate that we have such a good facility in our little village. I love walking Oscar up to playgroup in the mornings along the wobbly church path (he likes to have a horsey ride on my shoulders), hang his little coat on his peg and see him dash off and have fun with the other children. He runs up to me after the sessions with a big grin on his face, invariably covered in mud, paint, playdoh and flour, and tells me all about his adventures. For the first time he is doing things without me in tow, which I guess is the first small step on the wobbly path to independence.

And for my next trick...

2007-10-20T21:53:00.000+01:00

I think someone has slipped Oscar a Haynes Manual on How to Be a Two-Year-Old at some point when I wasn't looking. I suppose it shouldn't really come as much of a surprise to me that Oscar, being a toddler, is going to display pretty standard toddler behaviour. He is developing a repertoire of mind-blowingly frustrating, yet at times hilarious, quirks which require full-on attention, patience and physical strength to deal with, to name but a few:
1) He pushes things up his nose. Peas, raisins, bits of crayon, and if his own nasal cavities are full up, he tries to put things up mine instead. Oscar tells me very enthusiastically that he has a pea up his nose, as if I'll be pleased that he's found some handy extra storage space. Sometimes he tells me he has something up his nose when he hasn't, or that he hasn't when he has, which results in me having to peer up his nostrils with a torch looking for a vague hint of bright green.
2) He has tantrums. I think the fact that I've given birth to a child that is prone to epic tantrums is something that shouldn't have come as much of a shock. When I asked my mum to tell me what age I was when I stopped having tantrums, she said that she's still waiting patiently. Oscar has perfected the art of becoming almost impossible to pick up, get near to, or reason with during one of his little episodes. Carrying a screaming mini-McEnroe under my arm through Tesco's like a roll of carpet is having a rather negative impact on the state of my spine, as my osteopath will verify.
3) He doesn't like getting dressed. Oscar is currently of the opinion that it is perfectly sensible to go the park in November dressed in nothing but a nappy, one sock and a sunhat. Why is it that he can be so keen on one sock and hate the other one so much? Of course when it's time to get him undressed again then he's inseperable from all the clothes that he objected to hours earlier. He loves his new slippers though, because they have lights in them that flash when he stomps his feet. Is this the only way forward? Will I have to buy him singing trousers next?
4) He likes toddler food. Fishfingers, ketchup, and for special treats fishfingers and ketchup stuffed down the back of the sofa, scooped out, licked clean of fluff and stuffed up his nose.
5) He has more energy than a pack of cheetahs who have eaten a whole box of Chupa Chups. More experienced mums have advised me to enroll him in some classes to burn off some of his excess adrenaline. Does anyone offer baby base jumping in West Sussex?
6) He loves making a mess. If Oscar's clothes stay clean and dry for more than an hour we're having a very good day. When we've finished a crafts session on the kitchen table, it looks like Attilla The Hun has popped round for a spot of paintballing, and when his toddler chums come round, they detonate a massive toy bomb in our living room.
7) He says funny things. Oscar's talking really warrants a blog entry of its own, which I will probably get round to writing in about 2012. Needless to say he does an awful lot of it.
8) He has absolutely no grasp of the concept of having a nice quiet sit down.

Yet despite of (and probably partly because of) the above, I feel privileged and delighted to be able to spend each day with such an animated, smart, funny and loving little boy. I may be fit to drop by the end of each day, but I'm so very very lucky to be able to join in all the fun and games.

Moving swiftly on

2007-08-21T22:09:00.000+01:00

As readers of Neil's blog will know, we've been pretty busy moving house and acclimatising to life away from the noise and bustle of London. I won't go into all the details here, but we feel we've definitely made the right move and it's very exciting to think we're now living in the house that, all being well, Oscar will spend the rest of his childhood in. And when he's sixteen and starts resenting us for making him live somewhere this quiet, we'll just pack him off to Brighton, which is twenty or so minutes down the road, to top up his urban grittiness. I'm living proof that parents are hard-wired to worry needlessly, as I'm now fretting that living somewhere this nice won't prepare him for the real world.

Oscar is, like every other toddler, completely self-obsessed and absorbed into his own little world of discovery. It's strange that a little person with so little ability to empathise with my feelings can make me feel so happy and make me laugh so much.

In a moment of sentimentality earlier today, I gave Oscar a big hug and whispered in his ear that mummy and daddy loved him so very much and would always love him, no matter what. He looked me straight in the eyes, slapped me on the cheeks in the style of Eric Morecambe, and said "more biscuits".

Brutal Honesty

2007-05-30T13:29:00.000+01:00

Now that Oscar has begun to talk, I guess I should brace myself for a few embarrassing situations as he innocently points out observations that are usually tactfully avoided in adult conversation. He's showing early signs already but thankfully only at the expense of close family members. Oscar was fascinated by an ebony statue of a rather curvaceous naked tribeswoman at a friend's house last week. He toddled up to her, poked her in the belly and shouted 'DADDY!' very enthusiastically. My mum, according to Oscar, has a famous celebrity doppelganger. Oscar found a picture of the person concerned in the Radio Times and was most insistent that it must be her, jumping up and down and shouting 'Nana Nana Nana!'. I'm sure mum would have been very chuffed to be likened to Helen Mirren or Joanna Lumley. What a shame it was a photo of Bill Oddie.

Bad Hair Day

2007-04-18T20:40:00.000+01:00

It must be great to be a toddler because almost every day you can get stupidly excited about a new 'first' (first ride on a tricycle, first time patting a horse, first drawing, first picnic, first trip to A&E department, etc.). I took Oscar for his first hair cut yesterday, and quite frankly after that experience, Neil can take him next time.
It was a spur of the moment decision; I was passing our local barber's shop and Oscar was beginning to show early signs of a mullet, so I took the plunge. The poor woman who carried out the cutting was having to resort to 'extreme hairdressing' - Oscar was thrashing about and screaming like I'd taken him to see Sweeney Todd. I have no idea how she managed to fashion his unruly mop into a neat style while he performed more head banging than the front row of an Iron Maiden concert, but miraculously she managed it, and Oscar left with the same number of ears as he had when he arrived.

A Different Beast

2007-02-26T22:50:00.000Z

Oscar has just started to get interested in watching children's TV, and we switch the Idiot's Lantern on for 20 minutes or so first thing in the morning while he has his beaker of milk (which means N and I get a bit of time to remember which planet we live on before the day kicks in).
Whichever wonderful person at the BBC dreamt up CeeBeebies should be awarded the Nobel Prize - in my current position its usefulness ranks right up there with the wheel and the light bulb. I'm not suggesting kids should be left in front of the box all day long, but the odd fix of Teletubbies or Tweenies is pretty harmless as far as I'm concerned. It all seems so safe and cuddly, with its wholesome presenters and carefully planned out educational messages, and no chance of some unscrupulous advertiser slipping in a product placement for Turkey Twizzlers. Oscar sits on my knee at the crack of dawn each morning and bounces along to the theme tune of Balamory, and I must admit I've started to look forward to finding out 'what's the story' each day. I think N has developed quite a crush on Josie Jump. We really must get out more.
Watching new children's TV has made me realise just how far things have moved on since I was a nipper. When were insects replaced with 'mini beasts'? Did they go through some kind of Saatchi-style rebranding exercise when I wasn't looking? 'Take Hart' appears to have metamorphosed (excuse the pun) into a show that tells you how to take photos on your mobile phone, download them onto your laptop using Bluetooth and edit them in Photoshop. Poor Tony only had a gallery, and even that was really just his wall. The best bit of Kid's TV progress as far as I'm concerned has got to be that no child has ever got to sit through Metal Mickey ever again.

Oh Crumbs...

2007-02-23T09:47:00.000Z

Oscar REALLY likes biscuits. Despite our efforts to get him to eat little bits of chopped up fruit and vegetables for snacks, he would far rather gorge himself on the little animal shaped biccies that live in our bread bin. These delicacies are made by the organic baby food manufacturers, and contain concentrated grape juice instead of sugar (which I suspect in nutritional terms doesn't make a blind bit of difference, but makes us parents feel less guilty). They're only teeny, just big enough for a toddler's fist funnily enough, yet they seem to have 'spreading ability' which Dulux could only aspire too. When mauled by Oscar for a minute or so, they transform into a sticky vomit-like gloop which gets stuck on everything. My entire life is currently covered in biscuit (which I believe is Parenting Stage 3, following Stage 1 - baby sick and Stage 2 - baby drool). I have found biscuit gloop stuck to my face, in nappies, underneath the car seat, in picture books, on the TV screen and in the lining of my coat. Oscar's face is permanently encrusted with the stuff, and nothing short of an industrial sand blaster will remove it (now there's an idea...). I was pushing Oscar round the high street this week and I could see childless people looking down their noses at 'crusty child in buggy'. I imagined them making mental notes to ensure their future offspring would always be kept immaculately clean. I wish them good luck with the brocolli florets, because quite frankly they'll need it.
Yeah, I know. I should just bin the biscuits and only offer 100% healthy snacks. I just need to decide whether I prefer my life to be covered in carrot or mange tout next.

Toddling along

2007-02-10T22:14:00.000Z

I appear to be the mother of a fully fledged toddler. Oscar is walking! It began between Christmas and New Year with him taking the odd 'buzz lightyear' step (more like falling with style), and he has now moved on to staggering around the house like a drunken sailor, looking very pleased with himself indeed. Neil and I took him to be fitted for his first pair of shoes yesterday, which was a big event in the W-D calendar (he is size three-and-a-half 'F', for anyone interested - presumably the 'F' stands for 'Flipping expensive'...?)
It is not just the walking that earmarks the beginning of Oscar's toddler era. There are signs and clues everywhere. We appear to have a living room full of plastic beeping things (last year's blog entries that state that Oscar is content with playing with simple toys now seem cringeingly naieve). More food goes onto our kitchen floor than into Oscar's mouth, and he now scrapes his once eagerly devoured vegetables off his tongue as if they were sulphuric acid. He is permanently covered in a crusty layer of food, snot and household detritus (and screams blue murder if I try to get anywhere near him with a damp flannel). Despite abundance of beeping things, his best games ever are trying to empty the kitchen bin onto the floor, taking the tops off milk cartons, making the cereal dust in the bottom of the Shreddies box 'snow' over his head, squashing grapes into the sofa and sticking his fingers up his nose and offering the contents to Mummy. I have the world's worst 'poker face' and my poorly concealed sniggers just egg him on, but oh it's all so much fun! Although I could live with less baby snot.

One Year On and Counting...

2006-12-24T13:42:00.000Z

Christmas is here again, and Oscar has just celebrated his first birthday with the obligatory presents, cards, balloons and a large slab of chocolate cake. My little boy is growing up fast, which leaves me feeling excited for the fun we will have next year, but just a little bit sad that my baby isn't going to be a baby much longer. We're slowly weaning him from breastmilk to cow's milk from a beaker, which I also have mixed feelings about. Cuddling up with Oscar while he has his milk before bed is my favourite time of day - we have a cosy bolthole in the corner of his room where we listen to music and escape from the world for half an hour - and both often end up drifting in and out of sleep. But Oscar's second year should see a change in the routine: bedtime stories, milk in a cup and letting Daddy share the bolthole now and then.
Instead of sleeping through Christmas dinner under a napkin as he did last year, I expect Oscar will share our festive food and hold court over the table from his highchair. Let's hope the crackers aren't too scary.

Midnight Stroll

2006-12-03T22:06:00.000Z

Oscar and I went for an afternoon stroll today in a very cold, sunny and windswept Osterley Park. Well, I did all the strolling, and Oscar jiggled along behind me in the baby backpack wrapped up in his snowsuit, mittens and fleecy hat. The backpack we have has a very nifty device: a little mirror on a string that you can use to check that your baby is still there and is having a nice time. This mirror got used several times today as Oscar's hat has a tendency to slip over his eyes, particularly when I'm walking at a brisk clip. Several people stopped to comment on the fact that I was taking a baby on a scenic walk with his eyes covered (I wondered why I was getting very little reaction to my 'look at the leaves, look at the ducks Oscar' commentary). By the time we'd negotiated the long driveway back to where my car was parked, it was getting quite late and the nice hat-realigning volunteers had all gone home for sunday tea and crumpets by the fire. I couldn't really see what Oscar was up to in the mirror anymore as it was getting pretty dark. I figured that he was alright though, as I could hear him chattering and singing away to himself. It wasn't until I got back to the car that I realised that not only had he been chatting to himself through his hat (which had worked his way down over his entire face by then), but he didn't even have a fighting chance of being able to push it up himself, as he had lost the use of both hands too. There was a strip of velcro on the top of the backpack which had cruelly snared both wool mittens. He seemed ever so pleased to be back in the car for some reason...

Nappy Nightmares

2006-12-02T14:18:00.000Z

If anyone knows an easy way to get a nappy onto a baby that doesn't want to sit still for a second, please let me know. Cash waiting.

Feeling the Heat

2006-12-02T13:49:00.000Z

Oscar has been very lucky as he's managed to escape childhood illnesses for his first eleven and a half months, apart from the odd sniffle here and there. But this week he succumbed to a random virus that left him with a temperature climbing close to 40 degrees. The poor wee lad was knocking out more heat than a pensioner's gas heater, and his rookie parents were very worried. All he wanted to do was to crawl onto my lap and go to sleep, which is most unlike our hyperactive baby. I spent a few sleepless nights with my ear plastered to the baby monitor, listening to him toss and turn fretfully. Calpol and cuddles did the trick though, and the doctor gave him a clean bill of health two days later, and he's back to pulling out the contents of the kitchen cupboards and eating anything he can get his hands on.
He's really started to understand language now, and responds to the phrase "Where's the light?" by pointing upwards, and makes a roaring noise when he sees his toy lion. He has also learned to shake his head if he doesn't want to do something, the little monkey. The ability to point has given Oscar the means to find out what things are called, so I'm busy verbally labelling the contents of our house for our curious boy. I sense that we're on the brink of toddlerhood (he stood up without holding on to anything for the first time this morning) so I'm bracing myself for some delightful fun and games.

Helping Out Around the House

2006-11-18T21:19:00.000Z

I'm almost too scared to write this down in case it somehow jinxes things, but Oscar has now been sleeping through the night for almost two months. He's cut teeth and suffered colds in the meantime, but has managed to get through these hiccups with no more than the odd whimper and wriggle in his cot. That sinking "I'll-be-up-again-in-two-hours" feeling I got every bedtime for so many months has vanished, and I think that there's a chance I won't look like a 70-year-old by the time he goes to school after all.
All that extra shut-eye has given him even more daytime energy than before, and he has been busy dismantling every object found no higher than three feet off the floor in our house. Even though I firmly believed I'd 'child-proofed' the house, I've found Oscar hanging off radiators with both feet off the floor, rifling through drawers that have been flung open regardless of the fact that they had child locks on them, attempting to swallow completely undigestable objects, and climbing into the washing machine. My new role in Oscar's life is Killjoy, as I trot dutifully behind him saying "No" to the more unsafe tinkering projects. He was particularly enamoured with Nana Rosie's house, which we paid a visit to earlier this week. Now, Nana Rosie (my mum) is a born hoarder of things, and her house is an Aladdin's cave of trinkets that a crawling baby likes to investigate. Being the kind-hearted soul she is, Nana gave Oscar free-reign to explore the cave, and her cat Chorley has now a little less fur than he did this time last week, and her piles of newspaper cuttings have been re-filed using a method that bears no resemblance whatsoever to the Dewey Decimal system.

Unconventional Milestones

2006-10-01T12:50:00.000+01:00

Oscar is growing and learning and break-neck speed at the moment, and seems to be hitting all the traditional milestones for babies of his age: babbling away, crawling furiously, cutting teeth, pulling himself up on dangerous things, etc, etc, all of which can be recorded proudly in his baby book for prosperity. But in celebration of all of those delightful yet unconventional little 'firsts' that don't have a special space in the book, here's an alternative list:
- Sneezing toast
- Learning how to switch toys back on (which have been switched off when the tune is about to melt your brain)
- Dancing (to aforementioned tune)
- Removing socks and chewing them
- Making random phone calls on my phone
- Belly laughing
- Unzipping things
- Undoing nappies
- Tearing up the Radio Times and trying to eat it
- Scrabbling up the side of the bath like a trapped spider
- Drinking swimming pool water
- Chewing dirty buggy wheels
- Taking one leg out of trousers while parent attempts to put other leg in
- Laughing at bees
- Stealing bites from my sandwiches
- Riding in the 'big boy's seat' in the supermarket trolley
- Blowing raspberries at nice little old ladies
- Nominating random things as the toy of the moment (door stops, flip flops, walnuts, etc)
- Snoring
- Licking own snot
- Eating cold scrambled egg and still saying "mmmmm...."

Manic Minor

2006-09-30T11:25:00.000+01:00

Long time no blog. The reason for this, quite frankly, is that I've been too knackered to write.
We've been drifting through the past couple of months in a bit of a stupor as Oscar's sleep deteriorated into the odd couple of hours here and there each night, interspersed with sobbing. The only thing that placated him was being breastfed (which we're pretty certain is providing comfort rather than nourishment now - he's well into his tenth month and surely beyond the stage of not being able to go through the night without sustenance?)
Now, Neil and I embarked on the weird and wonderful journey which is parenthood with open eyes and were fully prepared to put in the nocturnal hours, rocking, comforting and feeding our baby for six months or so. But nine months in and we're really creaking under the strain. The symptoms are getting progressively more alarming. I've driven the car down the wrong side of the road (I was tempted to wind down the car window and shout, "Je suis desolée" to cover my embarrassment) and almost burnt the house down (by leaving a pan of pasta to boil dry on the hob while I strolled round the park, completely oblivious). Groceries have been left, paid for, on cash desks, and close friend's names have escaped me. Having battled with our instincts, morals and text books, we decided to take a big brave breath last night and try some controlled crying.
Now, Neil and I have, up to now, been of the opinion that any method that involves leaving your child to cry unattended is verging on extreme cruelty. If Oscar let out so much as a whimper, I would drop everything and bound up the stairs like a rabbit, frightened that a tear shed alone in his cot would inevitably result in some damaging insecurities later in life. But something I read by Dr Christopher Green really made me begin to change my mind. He writes that a sleepless child fires a bullet which ricochets back to harm him aswell (as a tired, stressed parent cannot give adequate care during the day). Perhaps it is kinder to 'sleep train' a child for a few nights than to let problems fester for months or even years, and end up with a toddler who is up and down the stairs all night and weaving in and out of foul moods all day?
Before you think I've taken leave of my hormones, I would never condone the old-school approach which I understand involves dumping the child in a cot and shutting the door, not returning until the crying stops (which can be hours later). We opted for the softer, and I believe kinder, option of returning every few minutes to comfort Oscar and reassure him he hadn't been abandoned. I know it's very early days (we're only on day two) but initial results have been startlingly promising. He did cry on and off for almost an hour on the first night, but he sounded cross and slightly confused rather than distressed or frightened, and certainly didn't go as far as hysterical as I was led to believe would be the result by some of the 'attachment parenting' advocates. For the first time in his life he got through a night without milk, and woke up in the morning looking refreshed and relaxed with a big smile on his face. No signs of permanent mental damage yet, then, and I'm feeling quite hopeful that I will start remembering my friend's names again.

Sitting Comfortably

2006-08-07T08:29:00.000+01:00

DSC_0138
Originally uploaded by Claire WD.

This picture of Oscar makes me realise how quickly he is growing up....he looks like he should be holding a big cigar...

The Little Cheese

2006-06-30T12:56:00.000+01:00

I distinctly remember telling myself when I was pregnant that I was going to try to make sure that my child didn't think he was the Centre of The Universe. I see so many children that have this air about them that says, "I'm the most important person that ever lived, and quite frankly my parents are a big pushover".
I'm getting concerned that Oscar is heading for the same fate (he has his own blog, for goodness sake!) But to tell you the truth I like spending all day playing with him (his toys are cool), and there's no way I could ever leave him to 'cry it out' alone in his cot. And he seems so happy and smiley most of the time, Neil and I must be doing something right.

I went to a party a few weeks back and a group of women yet to have children were chatting about how they would try to train their offspring to sleep until 8.30 every morning, not wake up crying at night, not have tantrums and eat everything that's placed in front of them. Very easy to say when the child you're referring to is theoretical and not a real live baby which melts your heart with a single gummy grin.

I guess it's pretty hard to spoil such a young baby anyhow. I like to think that when Oscar is older I won't let him run riot and Neil and I will be able to instill a level of discipline in him without taking the fun out of his childhood, but for now I guess I should enjoy indulging him in any way I can - which includes pushing the buggy on the shady side of the street (he doesn't like the sun in his eyes) and letting him chew my magazines. There's plenty of time later on for enforcing rules, but for now Oscar, I'm all yours.

Oscar the Headmaster

2006-06-30T12:25:00.000+01:00

We are currently having our loft converted and our house is crawling with builders, and some days the noise is deafening. Could somebody please explain to me how Oscar can manage to sleep through someone using an angle grinder to cut through a large steel girder about 12 feet from his cot, but always seems to wake up if I creep into his room at night to check on him? Or how when the plumber set off the fire alarm that he didn't even stir, but gets very upset if I sneeze, or open a packet of sandwiches too close to him?
Come to think of it, Oscar gets very indignant at the moment if I eat anything in front of him. He gives me his 'headmaster's look' - as if to say, "What are you chewing? Spit it out immediately or I'll put you in detention after school." He thoroughly enjoys his little pots of baby gloop, but I suspect my chocolate bar or roast dinner looks a lot more interesting. All in good time, little bean!

Not Exactly Rocket Science

2006-06-30T08:12:00.000+01:00

You know that old chestnut about never being more than six feet away from a rat if you live in London? Well, if you're a new parent, the same can be said for muslin squares.
On being advised to buy loads of them in preparation for Oscar's arrival, I was a bit confused by the obsession that mums and dads seem to have with these simple bits of cloth. I now, however, have discovered the true benefits of them: they're essential for mopping up baby sick (which suddenly switches to technicolour when you start on solids). I have been known to get a couple of miles from home before realising I still have one casually draped over my shoulder. But they have a multitude of other uses: when rolled up they make a great head support for use when transporting a buggy over rough ground, as a sunscreen, a comfort blanket or a teething toy for a ratty infant, and even as an emergency nappy.
In fact, simplicity seems to be the key as far as baby things are concerned. Despite the deluge of bleeping flashing plastic toys on the market, Oscar seems to appreciate the most pared-down of objects the most. Some of his favourites include a fleecey blanket with ribbon tags around it, a soft book and some building blocks, although he seems just as happy to play with a scrunched-up piece of paper or a spoon. Actually, his absolute favourite toy at the moment is a freshly-pulled clump of my hair (which is why I'm having it cut off this afternoon).
Now we have found some re-usable nappies that fit Oscar well (Bambino Mio's for those who are interested), we haven't had a single leak from them, whereas the Huggies we've been using at night end up soaking him right through. Yes, that's right, a simple cotton square is doing the job far better than a highly over-engineered, environmentally unfriendly disposable. Hurray for simplicity.

Happy Half-Birthday Oscar!

2006-06-16T12:10:00.000+01:00

My lovely little boy is six months old today! It seems hard to believe that half a year has passed by so quickly. Oscar has cut his first tooth this week, which solves the mystery of why he's been waking up so much at night lately (I've been so preoccupied trying to keep him cool in the hot weather that I failed to notice the rough top of a tiny pearly white peeking through his gums!)
He's a gorgeous, wriggly, laughing bundle of joy and fun at the moment, and has two totally besotted parents. Happy half-birthday darling boy.

To Buy Or Not To Buy

2006-05-24T21:12:00.000+01:00

As Oscar approaches six months of age, we appear to be entering a new phase of 'stuff to buy'. I've been weighing up the pros and cons of various highchairs, stairgates and fireguards and trying not to get too distracted by the mind-boggling array of gadgets and gizmos described in the catalogues and baby magazines as 'must-haves' (now try telling a mother who lives in a mud hut with five kids that a baby wipe warmer is a 'must-have').
I seem to have developed a bit of a compulsion for teething toys. I see one that looks particularly interesting and soothing (sometimes I even fancy chewing them myself) then manage to destroy them promptly after purchase (I've discovered that boiling toys to clean them results in clowns with scary melted faces) or lose them (don't expect a baby to keep hold of anything whilst out in a buggy). By contrast, Oscar is quite happy putting absolutely anything in his mouth (my fingers, other baby's fingers, slightly-unwashed-looking-strangers-on-the-bus' fingers, in fact anything that carries large amounts of bacteria per square inch).
Then there's the vast bib collection. When Oscar started out on solid food, I put him in a neat little cotton bib, but his eating style is so messy that I rapidly progressed onto a larger vinyl-backed towelling affair, then one with wider shoulders, then one with sleeves, and currently we're road testing a contraption that goes down way past his knees and is best described as a waterproof cassock.
All this excessive consumerism coincides devastatingly with the end of my maternity pay, which makes me feel very guilty indeed. Time to put the baby monitor with infrared camera back on the shelf in Mothercare and back away very slowly...
My one guilt-free purchase has been a new set of cloth nappies which are working out very well so far, although Oscar's rear-end has doubled in size overnight. He's the J-Lo of Isleworth, minus the bling.

Dreaming of More Sleep

2006-05-20T19:34:00.000+01:00

I must admit that five months into this parenting lark I imagined that I would be getting the odd night of unbroken sleep. So far this hasn't happened once (I haven't slept through the night since the start of my third trimester last September), and I'm beginning to fantasize about drifting off into an eight-hour slumber in a quiet, childless bedroom containing a large bed and fluffy pillows. Oscar is still having one long feed in the middle of the night, which is probably no bad thing as he's only just staying on his expected growth curve and almost certainly needs the extra calories. I don't have a problem with sitting up in bed for 45 minutes a night to feed him, but my patience is wearing a little thin regarding the four or five other 'sessions' of coaxing him back to sleep that Neil and I have to do each night. Oscar continues to be so blooming wriggly. He startles himself with is own thrashing about, which wakes him up (and the swaddling trick just doesn't work on a five-month old). If we put him in a baby sleeping bag he kicks around so furiously he makes himself sick. If you tuck him in with a blanket he catapults himself upwards until he's clear of it. Maybe parcel tape and a baby straitjacket is the way forward (before the NSPCC call round, I'd like to point out that was a joke). Heaven help us when he starts to crawl (which isn't that far off by the look of things) - he'll be off like a robber's dog if I so much as blink. Maybe a baby tracking device should be on my shopping list alongside high chairs and plug socket covers (and straitjackets).
Sitting up in bed in semi-darkness feeding my son at night makes my brain wander all over the place. I've started fretting about how I'll feel when Oscar becomes an astronaut (will I pack him sandwiches for his journey to Mars?), and I've been drawing up a list of modern day equivalents to nursery rhymes (Humpty Dumpty is suing The King's men for inadequate execution of first aid following an incident with a wall, Little Miss Muffet suspects her extreme phobia of arachnids is due to panic attacks brought on by lactose intolerance, etc). I also mentally draft ridiculous blog entries.

Little Dipper

2006-05-20T19:27:00.000+01:00

A few weeks back I found myself standing sheepishly in a school corridor wearing nothing but a swimsuit, carrying a rather surprised neoprene-clad baby. This wasn't a bizarre dream induced by late night cheese snacking but the result of Oscar's enrolment onto a swimming course.
Five sessions later and he's quite the water baby, having swum underwater several times, learnt to float without support, started to hold on to the side of the pool and grab a plastic shark in the water (I think this is giving him mixed messages about sharks - grabbing real (non-pink) ones may not be such a great idea).
As a keen recreational swimmer (I spent a large part of my pregnancy submerged in chlorinated water), I'm delighted to see Oscar splash about fearlessly in the pool and develop skills that will keep him fit and safe around water in the future. So relaxed was he at the session last week that, rather astoundingly, he managed to fall asleep whilst floating on his back. Maybe I should trade in his cot for a flotation tank...?

Mealtime Fun

2006-05-20T19:14:00.000+01:00

Oscar has recently started to show some signs of being ready for his first taste of solid nosh (waking up many times at night, doubling the length of his feeds, etc.) So about ten days ago we took the plunge and cracked open the box of baby rice. The phrase "like a duck to water" springs to mind - I think the little mite was a bit hungry - and polished off a large amount. Now my baby weaning book informs me not to expect my child to eat more than a couple of teaspoons at first, but fails to mention what to do when he gobbles down atleast 20 times that amount. Oscar has been enthusiastically demolishing large portions of pumpkin, sweet potato, banana, blueberry and apple, and he's now having two meals a day. Today's delights are carrot at lunchtime and pears for tea. Our kitchen has been transformed into a steaming baby food factory with a hob full of bubbling pans containing organic fruit and veggies, which are carefully divided up into ice cube tray portions and deep frozen for later use (Neil and I currently exist on decidedly non-organic, extra-GM takeaways).
Mealtimes come with predictably hilarious moments, involving spoons jammed up noses, blueberry in the hair, and sweet potato-coloured spit ups on the upholstery. Oscar's wardrobe becomes more colourful every day. I turned my head for a few seconds when feeding him one lunchtime and when I looked back he was dabbing the pumpkin off his face with one of his socks. He obviously objected to the fact that I had not supplied him with a monogrammed napkin.

Dinner and Dance

2006-04-18T19:46:00.000+01:00

Feeding Oscar at the moment is, I suspect, rather like having a ferret down your trousers.
His new-found alertness to his surroundings has turned the baby I once knew with immaculate table manners into a wriggling, fidgety little thing that would give a Debretts editor palpitations. Feeding time is a bizarre mix of amusing and infuriating behaviour - he bicycles his legs around, grabs great handfuls of my clothes (he's fascinated by the prints and texture of the fabric), and swings his head wildly round every few seconds to give me a heart-melting gummy grin (which is 50% delightful and 50% excrutiatingly painful - he really needs to learn to let go of me first before he gets teeth!)

Slightly Rattled

2006-04-05T21:25:00.000+01:00

Oscar has spent the last couple of weeks learning to hold things, which has had its ups and its downs. I watched him excitedly shake a plastic rattle in front of his face, then promptly clonk himself square on the forehead with it. Two or three seconds of shocked silence was predictably followed by lots of crying, and days later he still has a little green bruise, poor pumpkin. So I've been sourcing lots of soft things for him to play with until he's recovered from the incident.

His toy of the moment is definitely Ollie the Octopus. Now it may have said 'octopus' on the box, but Ollie is a confusing specimen with only five legs (one of which is much longer than the other as Oscar has been pulling on it), multi-coloured cloth 'feet', a green pear-shaped body, enormous eyes and an inane grin. Despite Ollie's dubious appearance, our son gazes at him lovingly as he attempts to get most of his feet in his mouth at once. I suspect Oscar currently prefers Ollie to his doting parents, a fact that I'm trying not to take too personally.

He's The Daddy

2006-03-20T10:04:00.000Z

Now I know this is supposed to be a blog about Oscar, but allow me to write a few words about his Daddy and my husband, Neil.
Now, Neil has always been an all-round top bloke, but during the last roller-coaster year he's excelled himself. Oscar and his mum are very lucky indeed to have him around, to name but a few reasons:

He buried his nose in pregnancy books so he could 'fight my corner' during the birth and be as much help as possible
He finds the funny side when Oscar poos/wees/throws up on him
A nice home-cooked dinner invariably finds its way to me after I've finished the last feed before bedtime
He doesn't shy away from changing really atrocious nappies
He told me I was looking great even when I was the size of a house in late pregnancy, when I had bags under my eyes that had to be seen to be believed, and when I had baby sick all down my T-shirt
He sings funny little songs to Oscar to make him smile
He took time out of a very busy day at work to take him for his first injections
He asks me if he can get me anything on each and every night feed, and stays up and keeps me company on particularly tough nights
He's there for almost every bathtime
He disproves the theory that men can't multi-task

Given the above, I don't think anyone could dispute the fact that Neil deserves an almighty big thank you from the bottom of my heart. I'm sure his kindness and hard work will be rewarded in a year or so when Oscar grants him hero status.

Magical Three Months

2006-03-12T21:12:00.000Z

Oscar is now just a few days away from turning three months old. Experienced mothers seem to refer to this particular milestone as something completely wonderful, when the endurance marathon of early parenting gives way to a period of easier living in which your offspring transforms from a scarily fragile newborn to a smiling, gurgling, playful little person. Oscar can now amuse himself with his toys for fifteen minutes or so, giving me the chance to perform some of the everyday tasks that I took for granted prior to childbirth (such as brushing my hair, or making a sandwich with two hands).
It's very easy to get into the habit of wishing this special time away in the name of developmental progress ("Won't it be nice when he starts eating/says his first words/wins the Nobel Peace Prize", etc). But I know that when he's too big to snuggle under my chin after he's had his milk, all warm and gorgeous and snuffly with hair as soft as silk and his lovely baby smell wafting up to my nostrils, I will miss those moments so very much.

Bundle of Joy

2006-03-12T20:28:00.000Z

I strongly suspect that we have what some textbooks refer to as an 'active baby'. He runs horizontal marathons on his changing mat, attempts to mosh whenever there's music playing and does his own special brand of cot aerobics. After one particularly sleepless night (Oscar decided to put himself through an extended exercise programme from midnight until 6am - ouch), as a last-ditch attempt to get him to sleep Neil decided to swaddle him (which is something we haven't done since he was about two weeks old) and it did the trick spectacularly well, the sandman arriving less than 60 seconds later. Since then our little boy has been swaddled up tight every night (he looks like a spring roll with a head) and has been sleeping like a baby at last, and consequently has been far more chilled in the daytime. Hurrah!
Some experts believe that babies shouldn't be swaddled after the first six weeks as it arrests their development - I say pish tosh - he's merely swapping the cot aerobics for a Dynaband workout. I expect him to have muscles like Popeye by the end of the month.

A Little Treasure

2006-03-05T18:33:00.000Z

Oscar has made amazing progress in the last couple of weeks. He's growing like a weed and his eyes are like saucers for most of the day as he takes in all the new things around him. His current favourite activities include tongue poking competitions with his daddy, doing impressions of Animal from The Muppets on his play mat (batting the toys hanging down as if they were a drum kit), and babbling away in his own baby language to anyone willing to converse with him. Neil and I continue to be completely enchanted by the little scrap.

It's Hard To Be Green at 3am

2006-03-05T18:18:00.000Z

We've fallen off the eco-wagon with a bump. The lure of a convenient, throwaway, disposable lifestyle is pretty irresistible when the baby catalogues are full of environmentally unfriendly products that give you a few more minutes to yourself in the day and a few more hours of kip at night.
For the first weeks of his life, Oscar wore cute little cloth nappies. At first we were feeling very pleased with ourselves - the nappies looked very comfortable, were easy to wash and dry, didn't leak and didn't end up in a huge pile in a landfill site - what more could a new parent want? But as Oscar started to take in more liquid, the nappies (that I'd bought second hand) gave up the ghost (probably due to the fact that they hadn't been looked after properly by the previous owner) and started leaking within a few minutes of us changing them. Now I like to think of myself as an environmentally conscious parent, but when it's the middle of the night and you've spent two hours trying to get your offspring to visit the land of nod, the last thing you want to deal with is numerous nappy changes when you could ensconce your baby in a super-absorbent (albeit hideously chemical-packed) disposable nappy. So we switched from cloth to 'eco-friendlier' disposables which contain a much larger percentage of biodegradable materials than standard nappies. This temporarily salved our consciences, until I attended the West London 'Real Nappy Night' last week, where I discovered that sadly these still play havoc in landfill sites due to the large amount of organic matter contained within. So we're taking a big deep breath and jumping back on the wagon by ordering some nice new cloth ones. Oscar is growing at a rate of knots, and we've broken into 3-6 month old size clothes, which he will be filling even more efficiently soon as cloth nappies tend to be a lot bulkier than disposables. However we're counting our blessings: when he's learning to walk he will have something nice and soft on his behind to land on when he falls over... and we won't be adding to the EIGHT MILLION nappies that end up in landfill each and every day in the UK. A sobering thought - if an 80-year-old man digs up the nappies he wore as a baby, the chances are they will still be in pretty good nick. Enough said.

A Tough Week All Round

2006-02-18T05:17:00.000Z

Oscar, Neil and I have had a challenging few days. We ventured out for a celebratory birthday meal for Neil last Sunday lunchtime, and were feeling pretty elated that we managed to eat three courses (with a knife and fork and everything), have a grown up conversation and get home in time to feed Oscar. Our elation was shortlived, however, when I started to feel ill that evening. I've been suffering with the usual symptoms of food poisoning ever since and have been able to keep down only the plainest of food.
As I'm sure most breastfeeding mums will confirm, whenever something interferes with the food you're able to get through your body it sends you into fits of anxiety about how much nutrition is reaching the baby. I have been particularly on edge this week as Oscar was weighed at my GP's on Monday at his eight-week check (another story) and he has fallen quite a long way off his expected growth curve. So this week I've begun a new odyssey - researching the effects that illness and nutrition has on breastfeeding, and trying to work out which of the predicatably contradicting information I trust and believe. Do I listen to health visitor A, who tells me I need to be gorging myself on cream, butter and eggs in order to satisfy my baby's needs, or breastfeeding counsellor B, who points out that women still manage to breastfeed in famine conditions, and a good supply of complex carbohydrates will suffice? I tend to come down on the side of the latter, which is lucky given the fact that anything with butter and cream in it at the moment will stay around about as long as a hoodie that's just spotted the guy from the Child Support Agency.
As an insurance policy when I was ill we gave Oscar a 'top up' of formula milk after his usual breastfeeds. I was upset at the thought of my little baby drinking anything that wasn't coming from me (the formula is made from cows milk, and last time I looked, Oscar was not in the least bit bovine). But needs must, and as Neil sensibly pointed out, in the real World you have to sometimes make compromises (as I discovered when my 'home birth under the Christmas tree' turned into a 'hospital birth attached to beeping things'). Judging by the fact that Oscar seems to have developed a double chin this week, he's not suffered too much from the effects of this week's less-than-ideal events.

Buddies with Buggies

2006-02-10T11:29:00.000Z

I feel a bit ashamed to admit that I used to poke fun at the groups of women who congregate in coffee bars all over Southwest London with their babies and buggies. Maybe it's down to karma, but I am now one of those women myself, and I'm very happy to be one too. I met my particular group through the NCT when we did ante-natal classes together, and we have been meeting up atleast once a week ever since. The group is a bit of a lifeline for me - all the babies were born within a few weeks of each other - which means us mums can compare notes on just about everything that is happening to our little bundles of joy as they grow and change. The comparisons are not competitive but comforting - through them I've discovered that Oscar is not the only one who performs strange baby antics - so I would like to say a big thank you to Joanne, Deana, Sarah, Tara, Clare and Lindsey for their kindness, friendship and support.

Angels and Pixies

2006-02-02T10:01:00.000Z

When we put our son to bed each night, he looks like a little angel – all warm and cosy in a clean sleep suit, smelling like a delicious chocolate bar (we give him a bath and massage him with vanilla scented oil afterwards) and a blissful expression on his face suggesting that he could sleep for at least 8 hours. What seems like a moment later, we’re scooping a cross, sticky, screaming pixie out of his cot and mopping baby sick out of his now very crusty hair with a mountain of muslin squares. By this time he smells like something that Neal’s Yard Dairy may leave out for the bin men. I’m assured by the health visitor that it’s perfectly normal for a baby to spend the night throwing up/squirming/grunting/being very cross indeed, but it still sends me into fits of anxiety every day. Could he choke? Will he get too cold if he makes his baby sleeping bag wet and I don’t notice? Reading baby books seems to make things worse. You would have thought that given that the human race has been successfully raising children for centuries, the so-called ‘baby experts’ (some of which don’t even have their own children) could agree on the basics. But no, each one seems to contradict the others spectacularly. I have read a selection of the full spectrum from the ‘leave them to cry it out – love just harms them’ to the ‘carry them around in a sling until they leave for University, and shove a breast in their mouths 50 times daily, even if you’re in the middle of arranging a mortgage with your bank manager’. My lovely and very wise ante-natal teacher told me to ‘read what you want to believe, and ignore the rest’. But when it’s three in the morning, your baby is screaming like he’s being murdered and you’ve changed his clothes for the fifth time, you don’t really know what you believe in anymore. One of the books on my shelf tells you how to read the cries of your baby. There is a lengthy description of ‘hungry’, ‘cold’, ‘bored’, ‘sick’ and ‘tired’ cries, all of which Percy Thrower would have a hard time mimicking. Oscars cries all sound like this: ‘waaahhhh waaaahhhh waahhhhh’. Oh what an unobservant, bad parent I am! Neil has suggested we make a big baby book bonfire and go back to instinctive parenting. A little more sleep and who knows, I may even start to trust those instincts.
On a brighter note, Oscar is growing well (his newborn clothes are now packed up in the loft) and he’s DEFINITELY smiling – a fact that has been independently verified by the health visitor (as she weighed him yesterday he had a wee on the scales and had a good laugh about it). He may be a little crusty around the edges at times, but I love him so much I think I might pop.

Time flies

2006-01-21T15:11:00.000Z

The weeks are whizzing by and Oscar is growing and changing every single day. He is far more alert than last time I wrote - and spends more hours awake - hence the lack of time for blogging recently.
As for his parents, Neil and I are learning to read the little scrap's moods and cries with varying degrees of success. Like the age-old cliché goes, babies really should come with a manual and an instrument panel with 'hungry', 'windy' and 'bored' indicator lights. We're adapting to new sleep patterns well (4-6 hours of broken kip is sufficient now), although we do have some spectacularly grouchy moments.
Oscar and I have been on lots of long walks, negotiated public transport in rush hour, and visited the osteopath (who has got Neil and I hanging the baby upside down from his ankles on a daily basis - which apparently helps to stretch his spine and muscles out following his journey down the birth canal. He seems remarkably composed in that position, and looks like a funny little long-necked alien.)
His now nine-pound body belies the volume he's capable of producing both in terms of filling his nappy and filling the room with blood-curdling screaming when he's got wind. Our neighbours claim they haven't heard him, but I suspect they're being polite. We've started to put him to bed at around seven or eight each day (in the vain hope of eating a meal with two hands) but this has resulted in spending all our evenings trying to console an inconsolable baby and dreaming up new schemes to get him to sleep (the lastest favourite is putting the hairdryer on next to the cot - the white noise sometimes seems to calm him down). I am slowly developing a new skill - patience! I fully expect to be drifting serenely through life with the selfless air of a nun on Prozac by the time he's school age.
Oscar continues to be the most photographed baby on the planet, with his mother sticking a zoom lens up his nostrils at every opportunity, and he's even been snapped by our friend Stephen Swain, a professional photographer, who came to visit him last weekend.
We have been rewarded for our almost-24-hour baby caring efforts this week with some faint glimmers of acknowledgement from Oscar - and I'm absolutely convinced the charming little smiles we get some mornings are nothing to do with wind!

Small Faces

2006-01-02T13:07:00.000Z

Oscar has been displaying the most mind-boggling array of facial expressions (most of which, I suspect, are caused by trapped wind). He also seems to be very good at impressions of famous people. So far Neil and I have spotted Chairman Mao, Yoda, Paul Daniels, Charles Clarke and of course the obligatory Winston Churchill (all newborns look like Winston). I must point though out that inbetween gurning sessions he is absolutely beautiful.

A Very Hungry Caterpillar

2005-12-31T22:07:00.000Z

The title of this entry refers to the fact that Oscar has developed an Houdini-like ability to wiggle all the way to the very top of his vast cot whilst wearing a baby sleeping bag - a feat which seems spectacularly difficult to me - until his face is wedged firmly up against the cot bars. This causes him to wake up and demand what seems like atleast 15 gallons of milk. I am slowly becoming accustomed to being a 24-hour human milking machine, finding optimal winding positions, and untangling Baby O from his own complex manoeuvers.

It's amazing how quickly your perceptions on what constitutes a good night's sleep changes when you are looking after a newborn. Before our little scrap came along, five hours or less shut-eye would have counted as an appalling night, whereas at the moment if we manage to get that much I'm practically giddy with euphoria (or could I just be delirious through lack of sleep?)

But I should count my blessings. Give or take the odd bad night (trapped wind is Oscar's current nemesis - thank goodness for Infacol) we are gliding through these early weeks relatively quietly - he really is a happy little boy most of the time. He is growing and changing every day, and I'm determined to appreciate every moment of this special time.

Oscar's First Christmas

2005-12-27T17:34:00.000Z

As Oscar decided to enter the world eight days early on 16th December, we were able to have the family Christmas together that we had not dared to plan before. It could have so easily been a completely different scenario: I feel so sorry for the women who spent the 25th huffing and puffing in labour wards around the country and those that were so heavily pregnant that they felt like they were more stuffed than the Christmas turkey.
But as it happened, it turned out to be very civilised day. Neil cooked a fantastic roast lamb dinner with all the trimmings. Little O even joined us at the table (I fed him while we ate, and he lay on my lap, with my napkin wrapped around him like a blanket - he's so little!)
Despite his tender age, Santa still remembered Oscar and he received a cot mobile, rattle and a lovely book. I'm sure that this is the last Christmas for a long time that he'll sleep right through the present opening session.

Meeting Great Granny

2005-12-24T17:48:00.000Z

We took Oscar down to Portsmouth yesterday to meet a VIP: his Great Grandmother Evelyn. Evelyn is 93 years old and often puts my level of mental clarity to shame (she regularly does crossword puzzles and works out the anagrams on Countdown), although her old bones aren't what they used to be so she spends her days in bed now.
I told Oscar the night before that he needed to listen to what she told him and that what she says goes; she's very much the head of the family and Oscar is her 20th descendant.
If Oscar has half the sense of adventure that his great-granny has then he's in for a good life. Evelyn served in the Forestry Commission in Scotland during the War, travelled extensively in her youth (she would walk to work every day so she could save up her bus fares to go on cruises) and was the first woman in her office to wear trousers!
She loved little Oscar, and judging from the way he lay blissed out in her arms, I think he loved her too.

All the World's a Baby

2005-12-24T17:31:00.000Z

Either my hormones are playing tricks with me or I'm going insane. Since I gave birth last week, most fully grown adults I see look like little babies. Their limbs seem shorter and chubbier, their cheeks more puffy, and their noses are tiny. I really started to worry when I switched on Newsnight and even that nasty old George Bush looked like he could do with a nappy change and a bounce on someone's knee (although strangely enough, Jeremy Paxman didn't look in the least bit infantile - maybe his nose is just that little bit too big).
Maybe it's the fact that I've spent about 90% of the last week staring intently at Oscar's little features which has caused this odd phenomenon (a bit like when you get off a ferry and still feel like you're floating up and down). I know your eye sight changes during pregnancy - so maybe my lenses have somehow changed back into more widescreen mode again - causing temporary chubbiness in adults. But that seems pretty unlikely I admit.
I rolled over in bed a few days ago and was convinced that Neil had put the baby in bed with me - in actual fact it was the man himself - complete with full five o'clock shadow and chest hair. Not an easy mistake to make you might think, so I'll just put it down to the power of hormones.

A Blog about Oscar

2005-12-24T06:18:00.000Z

My little son Oscar was born a week ago on December 16th 2005. He was due to enter the world today, which happens to be Christmas Eve, so he was obviously keen to have enough time to get his Christmas shopping done and write to Santa.
He's a gorgeous little chap who looks remarkably like his daddy Neil (and nothing at all like me). He seems pretty content with life, inbetween negotiating explosive nappies and trapped wind. I'm hoping he's inherited his daddy's laid-back attitude to life, innate kindness and very silly sense of humour. If he turns out to have more of my personality traits then he may be more of a handful! He has managed to totally enchant me already, and I'm deliriously happy to be his mum.
My labour is best described as fast and furious - after a day of timing twitches and playing scrabble (appalling scores and lots of three-letter words) I had a pretty intense 7.5-hour labour which culminated in a natural delivery without epidurals, opiates, forceps or other beasties (gas and air rocks!). Oscar's shoulder got stuck just as he was coming out so there was one scary moment when the hospital alarm went off and I looked up and saw about 15 people looking down at me. But he managed to find his way out without any harm done.
I was supposed to be giving birth at home in a lovely big birthing pool with a thermostat and filter, but was transferred in with high blood pressure in the early stages. So we drained the National Grid for a fortnight and spent our days being pool attendants for nothing! The midwives and doctors at West Middlesex Hospital were absolutely brilliant and went out of their way to help us have the natural birth we wanted, so three cheers to them (and thanks for the tea and toast afterwards).