Piglet, Seven Weeks, Shows Obscene Lack of Interest in Becoming Serious Intellectual

Piglet is asleep and I am seizing a moment to write.

He is asleep in his baby bouncer.  I am not convinced that this is the best place for me to implement my new bedtime routine, but I am frankly too scared to put him in his cot in the bedroom in case Something Terrible happens.

Something Terrible is bound to happen because
a) there is an actual WALL between the bedroom and the living room.  This means that I may not hear whatever terrible atrocity befalls him if I am not right there, in the bedroom with him.  Preferably standing over him, peering into the co-sleeper.
b) There is a warning on the co-sleeper which states that “children must not be left unattended when the side is down.”  The side is down.  And I do not know how to put it up so that there is a barrier between the relative safety of the co-sleeper and the Pit of Danger that is my bed.

Therefore Piglet is in the baby bouncer, where I can keep a close eye on him whilst writing this blog and watching Hotel India (look at me, uber-mother, multi-tasking!)

As well as trying to get him into the routine of sleeping from 8.30pm until as late as possible in the morning, albeit in the baby bouncer, I have been trying to get Piglet interested in books.  This is obviously so that when he grows up he will be regarded as one of the world’s foremost intellectuals.  The book I have chosen is called “Baby Sees Just Spots.”  It goes without saying that I sincerely hope that Piglet sees more than just spots, but apparently babies are interested in somewhat spotty-and preferably black and white-patterns.  With that in mind, I have thrust the book in his face at every available opportunity today, proffering it like a tasty morsel of mother’s milk whilst exclaiming enthusiastically “Look Piglet!  PATTERNS!  You LIKE patterns, don’t you?  All babies like patterns!”
Piglet has proven to be completely uninterested in this book.  Hopefully this is not a foretaste of a future rejection of all things academic.

In order to introduce Piglet to the range of experiences that all seven week old babies should have, I also took him to the residents’ social event for the block of flats where I live.  This was not in any way a ruse for Mummy to get out of the flat and see some actual adults, and at no point did the (infinitely small) possibility that any of the other residents might be attractive young men cross Mummy’s mind.  In the event, my prediction that any attractive young men present would show absolutely zero interest in a thirty-four year old single mother with a baby strapped to her front proved to be correct anyway, so this is essentially a moot point.  Anyway, Piglet behaved impeccably in his sling, dropping off to sleep almost instantaneously.  He is, however, making up for it now.  It is 11.32pm (yes, some time has passed since I started writing this.  See previous entry for what may have been happening during this time).

So much for my 8.30pm sleep routine.

He’s Wailing, He’s Wailing Again…

Well, he is here.  And you know who I mean by “He.”

The promised messiah.

In fact, it’s not far off.  I have started singing Away in a Manger to him at night and switching the name “Jesus” for His name.  To all extents and purposes, he will henceforth be known as Piglet, the moniker I chose for him in the hospital when I discovered that when he wants feeding he snaffles like a pig.

Piglet is currently in his bouncy chair, in the early stages of crying.  I am guessing that he feels abandoned as his mother has forsaken him in favour of the Internet.  He is, however, starting to look at the shapes on his bouncy chair with interest, which at least suggests that he is not, as I had feared, blind.  One worries about such things, especially when people (my brother) are all too keen to point out how cross-eyed he is, and the midwife encourages me to take him to the doctor to check out his “sticky eyes” (the doctor didn’t seem too concerned, although he did hand me a printout from the internet explaining how sticky eyes could be caused by chlamydia caught from me.  Let’s hope that’s not the case).

Anyway, much as I would love to write a long post explaining the birth and everything that has happened since in excruciating detail, Piglet has now decided to go to sleep and his every sleeping moment is what I call a Mummy Sleep Emergency, meaning that I have to go to sleep as quickly as possible so that I can be alert when he is, which is usually at 3am.  Just so that you can get a feel for an average night, the following is a rough synopsis of how the events of last night unfolded.

10pm Mummy thinks it might be time for bed, and gives Piglet to Granny to bounce about and try to soothe following three hours of solid breastfeeding.  Meanwhile, Mummy starts moving all the things she needs for the night ahead upstairs.  This takes about half an hour, as the list of necessaries is enormous, and includes two tupperware bowls of water (one to bathe his sticky eyes and one to wash his bum), a bag of cotton wool, lanolin ointment for sore nipples (mine, not his), Sudocrem for nappy rash (his, not mine), changing mat, nappies, Infacol (medicine for the mysterious ailment known as “colic” or, in the colloqiual, “windy-pops”), mobile phone, ipad (for keeping myself sane during night feeds), glass of water.

10.30pm Piglet and I settle into bed.  Granny fusses around for ten minutes wondering if Piglet is intermittently “too cold” (closes windows, proffers extra blankets), or “too hot” (opens windows again, unbuttons babygro).  I argue that he is neither and tell her to stop fussing.  Granny eventually leaves.

10.41pm The wailing starts.  I pick Piglet up and feed him.  This takes about an hour.

11.42pm Piglet is back in the cot, following a half-hearted attempt to “wind” him by throwing him over my shoulder into a fireman’s lift and patting his back enthusiastically for five seconds until I start worrying I’m going to damage him and put him down, praying that sleep will follow.  I take the opportunity to send a few emails whilst observing Piglet to check he is still breathing and not about to start wailing.

12.00  Sleep!

12.57am Woken by Piglet starting to stir.  Upon peering into the Moses basket, I see that he is violently shoving his fists into his mouth.  This means he wants feeding.  Again.

12.58-2.25am Constant feeding, interspersed with five minute intervals where Piglet lies in my arms studying my face carefully, probably wondering exactly who and what I am.

2.26am Back in the Moses basket, light off, lie down.  Bliss….

2.27am Wailing again.  Pacing up and down the bedroom bouncing Piglet around, singing every nursery rhyme I can remember, along with a few Christmas carols and some of the songs from Grease 2.  Nothing works.

2.35am Granny re-enters the fray, snatches Piglet and does the exact same thing.  I lie in bed with the duvet over my head.  Am officially Useless Mother.

3.37am Granny finally leaves, having failed to settle Piglet.  I feed him again.

4.20am Put Piglet in Moses basket and start praying.  We both finally fall asleep.

6am Wailing again.

See what I mean.  He is already starting to stir again from his brief nap, which commenced 15 minutes ago.  I may never sleep again.