Mr. Bump.

It is not unusual for DS to fall over and display some sort of mark from an accident, however Sunday was different. There was actual blood dripping from his face. Perhaps I am being overdramatic and a bit precious over my baby, but it was pretty shocking from where I was standing.

So the story goes, Daddy and DS were setting off to Tescos for some cream cheese to accompany our smoked salmon lunch, which I was very much looking forward to. But within a minute of closing the door behind them, there was a loud frantic knock on the door followed by the sound of DS’ cry. Upon opening the door and seeing DS’ face, I froze and became motionless. I am not sure Daddy knew exactly what to do either, as this had never really happened before.

We decided to clean up the cut with a wet towel, much to DS’ dismay. We dabbed some Savlon on his lip and proceeded to cure him with love and kisses. He most probably ate the Savlon, as he was very keen to prod his lip and investigate after he was over the initial shock.

He seems absolutely fine now, a few days on, though I am still getting over it. It is awful watching your child bleed and feeling helpless, but knowing full well what happens next is up to you. I guess it was one of those milestone moments that follows all the childbirth/nappy changing/weening ones, when it suddenly hits that you are Mummy (or Daddy) and in charge now. No one else can fix that boy.

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Do Mums Know Best?

A maternal bond is heavily focused on amongst new mothers and midwives, how it is crucial to get that motherly connection going in case it might never happen and your baby will grow up resenting you. As you can probably tell by my sarcastic tone, I completely disagree.

Scare mongering new mothers in thinking they must breast feed, co-sleep and wear their baby like a fashion accessory is completely absurd. Of course breast-feeding is considered the ‘better’ option, however mothers should not be made to feel bad if they are unable to (as explained in a previous post). Also, articles which encourage co-sleeping are just creating a recipe for disaster.

It is almost tragic that there is not equal respect for paternal instinct. This is not just sharing responsibility and baby duties begrudgingly whilst the mother takes a rest, but to actively seek to care for your child and equally be Mummy. DH and I are both Mummies and Daddies; we both know how to put DS to sleep, feed him, his likes and dislikes, whilst simultaneously slaving away to earn the bucks.

On leaflets, websites and magazines we all advocate fathers taking an interest in their child, some choosing to take the lead in parenting. However, when it boils down to reality, attitudes and public opinion have not changed. In any circumstance when I mention the hardship we endured during the birth of DS in the midst of our degrees, I receive positive responses varying from amazement to shock. Yet when DH broaches the subject, it almost ends in an anticlimax as the listener stares expectantly for the next part to the story; as if he had the time to juggle anything more than being a full-time dad whilst achieving a First in his degree.

I believe fathers have equal capability when caring for their children and it should not be a mother’s prerogative. You learn from your child through practice, it is not instinctual. Your baby is born a blank canvas and it is both parents’ responsibility to shape who she will eventually become. Traditionally a mother knew best because she would always be looking after the baby, however in our modern society I believe team work produces the greatest results.

Sometimes we need to ask, why is it that a man gets a job over a woman because he is least likely to take time off for the children? Why is a man looked down upon for stepping up to the game? Society shuns fathers who abandon their babies and leave behind a single mother, yet it is no more inviting to fathers who love their children and actively seek to be part of their lives.

Two months - I'll help you study Daddy!

Back to School.

As term two commences at University for DH, DS is also returning to nursery. I have been dreading this side of Christmas for some time now, as DS will pick up Friday all day, on top of his two half-day sessions. It has taken a while for him to settle in and I blame it on their incompetence. Harsh? Not really.

The nursery workers are not the Mary Poppins cliche I had wished for. When he first started nursery there was a series of events which lead to me disliking them; I am not just being unreasonable. On numerous occasions they forgot to make him lunch as they assumed he would not need it during his five hour stay; even I need feeding in a five hour period. They are unable to put him to sleep so he remains tired and moany throughout his whole stay, itching away anxiously at his eczema. When one of us picks him up he is sniffing with red eyes, sitting on one of the worker’s laps. The worker explains, ‘he has only been upset for the past five minutes, he has been happily playing by himself all afternoon’. Lies.

DS does not attend nursery as much as he should, because each time he goes he picks up an illness and is too unwell to go the following week. Which is just as well, I hate him going in that place. It does mean that DH has to miss his lectures and we end up paying for nursery fees kind of like tax; it is nonnegotiable, it comes out automatically and you end up feeling bitter for not receiving anything in return.

I rant and rave about the nursery but there is no other solution. I am hoping the situation will improve the more DS attends. The workers will get to know him and he will feel comfortable around them, playing with other babies and not grow up being shy. Apparently in the last session, DS and another baby were chasing each other around the room and playing with a ball. Things can only get better..

Busy Bee.

I apologise for my lack of posts in the past week; since becoming a worker, my free time has dramatically reduced. Student Recruitment Assistant by day, super mum by night.

Having spent seventeen years of my life in education, my first week in full-time work was a shock to the system. My choices of ammunition to kick off the day are fizzy shoelaces and bitter coffee; black, two shots, no sugars, straight to the point. A flask in the morning and a not-so-secret stash of sweets in my drawer, what more do I need?

After a long monotonous day of filing on Thursday, I was pleasantly surprised to find DH holding a bunch of roses outside my building. Then he whisked me away for a quick drink and a game of pool like old times, leaving DS to happily play at home with his auntie and cousins. This spontaneous gesture has got to be the most romantic, unprompted thing he has ever done. Whoever said romance dies when you are married obviously married the wrong man.

The weekend was very welcomed, despite DS crying in the early hours of Saturday morning. He is teething, so it was to be expected. Away from work, I was able to embrace my mummy role once more and reacquainted myself with the ironing. I am ashamed to say, I have hung creased clothes and have not engaged in any form of ironing, unless it is the odd shirt or dress for a formal occasion, since we moved into our previous flat in July 2009. I remember it very well, because I had wanted all items of clothing to be ironed before they were placed neatly in our new wardrobes. I spent six hours solidly ironing with only toilet breaks. Crazy pregnant women, eh.

Reverting back to my mummy role was not my only endeavor for the weekend; on Saturday we made a trip to Bluewater, indulged ourselves in a light lunch at Nandos and lots of shopping to celebrate successfully completing my first working week. We have had numerous causes for celebration and I think we are milking it now, but who cares when there is good chicken.

I am now refueled from the weekend and am raring to go! Hopefully the updates will be more frequent this week, but no promises. If you subscribe on the top left, you instantly receive email updates when I publish a new post.