Piglet is having a nap *KLAXON*
The flip side of this is that I am now scared to move. I am backed into a corner of my own bed, based on the advice that “babies should nap in the place where they usually go to sleep” which, for Piglet, would be my bed. This also means that I cannot leave the bed, since babies should “never be placed alone in an adult bed to sleep.” ARGH.
Still, the very fact that he is napping at all is a cause for celebration. I had decided that instead of muddling along in a haphazard fashion, perhaps if I got him into a bit of a routine things might be easier, and so today I have been Gina Fording it up with the naps. The results were as follows.
Piglet starts crying. Argh. This is not how it was supposed to happen. The routine doesn’t start until 7. Must go back to sleep immediately. Fortunately, after a quick feed, Piglet returns to his slumbers.
Crying again. Nooooo, go back to sleep. I open one eye and implore Piglet to let Mummy sleep a bit longer. He ignores me, and continues crying. I feed him again, but he stays awake. How do other people get their babies up and fed by 7am? This is just unacceptable. At 8.30am I finally drag myself out of bed, and start making breakfast. As for breakfast itself, I understand that most babies have porridge. Not Piglet. Piglet does not know how to eat porridge; nor does he allow you to feed him with a spoon, instead preferring to block your arm as the spoon hovers ever closer to his face, and turn away in disgust. In lieu of porridge, I make a mushroom omelette and give some to Piglet. He waves it around a bit and drops it on the floor, before pouring water all over it and himself when I offer him a cup to drink. I am reminded of my mother’s reaction to baby led weaning; “I still think it’s a bit strange.” She had previously reserved this opinion for when I showed her pictures of Piglet’s dozen or so half siblings on Facebook, and it basically means “O new-fangled folly. Things were better in my day when everyone ate rusks.”
Ah, Heir Hunters is on. Love a bit of Heir Hunters. I always feel a bit sorry for the people in it; the dead ones. Not because they are dead, but because they usually lived on their own and never married and their neighbours are on there talking about how they were a bit weird. Then I start to think that I might be a bit weird because I’m not married either. Then Piglet starts yelling and rubbing his eyes and I realise it’s time for his nap.
I put Piglet in his sleeping bag and feed him again. Miraculously, he falls asleep on the boob. This routine thing is like MAGIC. By 10.25, he’s in his cot, sleeping peacefully.
ARGH NO THE PHONE’S RINGING. It better not be one of those electronic voices going on about mis-sold PPI. Ah, it’s my auntie asking if I’d like her to knit Piglet a jumper. As soon as I start speaking, Piglet opens his eyes and blinks at me, wide awake, from the cot. I feed him again, but to no avail. He’s not going back to sleep.
Right, let’s go out and hope he sleeps in the pram. Oh hang on, just need to do the washing first. And clear up from breakfast. And get dressed.
Finally leave house. Catch glimpse of self in the mirror and realise I look haggard.
We walk to Wembley High Road and go to Wilkinson’s, then to Primark. This is exciting, as despite having lived in Wembley for three years, I have never set foot in the Primark before, but merely viewed it from afar with disdain. However, I have now realised that I need some pyjamas, and the only thing I can find online is a set of Topshop loungewear for £47, which I’m not sure that I can justify. I hold my head high, enter Primark, and purchase two sets of pyjamas for about 20p. Piglet starts yelling while we are in the checkout queue (note to self, why are the queues in Primark always so massive? It was a Monday morning, for Christ’s sake!) and I implore him to sleep. On the way home, he finally falls asleep. It’s now 12.45 and I pop into Wenzel’s for a congratulatory Danish pastry.
Pour myself a cup of tea and sit down to enjoy the Danish pastry. Maybe Gina was right about this routine thing after all. It really is easy. I have, like, totes got my life back.
Piglet is screaming. But he’s only been asleep for half an hour! HOW CAN THIS BE? I run to the pram, pick him up and feed him again while he kicks the Danish pastry off the side of the sofa. He does not return to sleep. Instead, I decide to start cooking lunch, and put him in the baby gym while I spend what turns out to be hours cooking lentils. I can’t even give Piglet any lentils, as the recipe contains vegetable stock, which is too salty. Instead, he has pieces of cheese, avocado and red pepper, all of which end up on the floor.
Finally lunch is over and Piglet has also had a breastfeed and has fallen asleep on me, just in time for Escape to the Country, which I cannot watch as I can’t move from the bed because Piglet is asleep in it. He sleeps for 50 minutes, which is a marked improvement on yesterday, when I walked him round Wembley for an hour and his eyes remained resolutely open the whole time.
So, total amount of time spent napping today=one hour. Not quite the three hours recommended for Piglet’s age group, but I’ll take what I can get.