Little O will be five months old on Sunday and compared to the early months of his life it feels like things have settled down a bit. I mean we still don’t sleep much and he does new things all the time but meeting up with the mum of a newborn at our playgroup last week made me realise that we are in a completely different place from those shell-shocked first days.You know at the beginning where you can’t quite believe the hospital has allowed you to bring home a human being and are actually expected to keep it alive. With that in mind I thought I’d share some things about mummery that I have noticed recently.
I took Little O to be weighed earlier this week. He now weighs 18lbs 7.5oz (8.37kg). The average baby boy of his age weighs 15lbs 6oz (7kg). He is a very large baby. Consequently I now have quite severe backache. He’s a bit of a grumpy bugger at the moment due to what I think is frustration at not being able to move more and teething. Often the only way to stop him whinging is to hold him, while standing and jigging about. My phone recorded that I had walked 2,000 steps the other day and I hadn’t left the house. At least when I am in a wheelchair at the age of fifty he’ll presumably be a huge strapping teenager and he can push me.
Postman Pat is a shite postman
This is probably going to send me to the mum hall of shame but we often put CBeebies on while Little O is playing on his playmat. He likes the sounds and colours and sometimes it distracts him for long enough for me to make myself a cup of tea and actually drink it. Of course when you’re too knackered to really do much other than drink the tea and stare into space you just end up watching whatever is on. Mr O and I have both developed our favourites. He likes The Furchester Hotel and I like Hey Dugee and we both like Rastamouse and RaRa the Noisy Lion. Some of it is bloody unbearable though. Anything involving a chap called Justin AKA Mr Tumble is on the list, along with Baby Jake. But the worst of the lot is Postman Pat. Pat has got to be the shitest postman in the history of the mail service. He constantly loses and damages parcels and requires a helicopter to deliver even the simplest of items. God knows what this is all costing Royal Mail.
I try to get out of the house every day to make sure I don’t go mad plus a moving baby with things to look at is one much less likely to whinge constantly. A lot of the time all I do is go for a coffee and pray he will sleep or be chilled long enough for me to drink it. Experience has now taught me to always ask for my coffee in a takeaway cup. I think the staff at Costa and Starbucks think I want to Instagram the festive cups (partly true). The real reason is that if Little O decides that he wants to go home now, I don’t have to abandon the coffee I have barely sipped or to try to fling it down my throat while it is still hot enough to risk permanent injury. Instead I can drink it while clumsily pushing the buggy with one hand and and cursing under my breath.
I have started gently jogging again to try and improve my cardio fitness with the aim of eventually returning to the gym and getting back to full fighting fitness. Yesterday Mr O was at work so I asked Mrs O Senior if she’d mind keeping Little O company while I went for a run/walk around the park as part of my resolution to take care of myself and ask for help from willing people. I really just felt like I needed a little break. After I’d run I decided to take advantage of the situation and go and have a cup of coffee on my own, with no interruptions or worries of my companion protesting. It was great. Well until someone else’s baby started crying and then I desperately missed my baby and wanted to go home. I feel like I am probably going to experience this dichotomy of wanting alone time and simultaneously wanting to be near him for the rest of my life.
Since I had Little O, I find it hard to watch anything involving babies or children where they might come to harm without turning into a gibbering wreck. This includes anything involving childbirth. I was watching a TV series the other day with a stillbirth story line and it had me sobbing and clutching poor Little O, who had no idea what was going on and was struggling for his freedom. I even get upset watching the new series of Planet Earth if any baby animals are in peril. What struck me the most though was my response to the recent US elections. In the past I would have been disappointed that the American public chose such a heinous creature to be their leader. Now that I am responsible for a little person I am filled with fear at what life might hold for him if this action leads to a war or a massive increase in global warming (or the normalisation of “pussy grabbing”). On the first days after the election I briefly wondered if I was right to have brought a new person into the world at what feels like a bleak time. I guess most parents throughout history have looked at their world and experienced this at some time or another. I guess the only remedy is to do our best to instill the right values into the little chap and hope the next generation does a better job.