The Three Stages of Baby Play Dates

You’ve given birth, got that little cherub in your arms and kind of figured out the sleeping, feeding, changing routine. Almost.

Now you are hankering after a little company. Company which can communicate in ways other than screaming at a variety of decibels. You consider contacting your besties from pre-sprog but dismiss that idea as a night down the pub isn’t really on the cards right now and your single mates probably don’t want to hear about that nappy which was a worrying shade of green.

What to do? Aha- arrange a play date with some other unfortunate individuals in the same poopy screaming, nightmare  situation as you are.

Stage One: 0-3 months.

It took you two hours and a bag which weighs half your body weight but you’ve made it out the house. Chances are you are wearing splotches of bodily expulsions which are not your own and your hair and make-up were neglected when the baby started screaming but nevertheless you’ve escaped the confines of your living room. Congratulations.

At this stage your brain will be so fried with a combination of hormones and sleep deprivation that you will barely be able to make conversation but do try. Especially take advantage of those sacred minutes when your tiny tot falls asleep. Not being distracted by trying to feed/burp/comfort/change a newborn does wonders for your social skills. Use the time to share horror stories, swap concerns and ask advice from your fellow parent in the trenches.

 

Stage Two: 3-7 months.

By this point you’ve mostly pulled yourself together. You’re remembering to arm yourself with breast pads and burp cloths more often so leaks and spit up stains are fewer and less spectacular. You’ve gotten better at leaving the house and although you’re still far from being on time you are edging a bit closer to being fashionably late.

Now play dates are a little more led by routine. It has taken you several months to craft some kind of a nap schedule and the idea of deviating from that sends shivers of fear running through you. Your baby is less likely to pitch an inexplicable screaming fit and will lie contentedly on his back or stomach for periods of time. This plus the fact your raging tempest of hormones has diminished into a gentle squall means you are often able to finish a sentence and, shock horror, may even be able to sustain a conversation which does not revolve solely around your little bundle of poonamis  joy. Enjoy it while you can though as chances are your tot will be quite vocal on the approach to his nap time and it will soon be time to high tail it out of there.

Stage Three: 7-14 months

There’s a chance you might be bagging more than 4 hours sleep in a row and you’ve finally broken down and embraced the electronic babysitter so perhaps you managed to run a brush through your hair and slap on a little mascara before you left the house. A weaning baby means that you’ve gone backwards in the timekeeping stakes. A baby learning to chew, gag, spit out and throw food will not be rushed through meal times.

Play dates are not the relaxing events they used to be as your little one has discovered. (dun dun duuuuun) mobility. You now have to watch them like a hawk as they zero in and make a bee line for the one expensive and breakable item in an otherwise baby-proofed room. Conversations are often abandoned mid sentence as you realize your tot has disappeared from view or has broken into a much treasured board game. At this stage parents with babies of a similar age are the safest bet as they are probably used to and forgiving of these shenanigans. If nothing else think of the work out you’re getting, helping to combat the consumption of goodies which always happens at these events.

At this point you might attend the odd event involving older children and stare, in awe as their parents are mostly left in peace to finish their coffees and chat. Stay strong, my friend. Our time too shall come.

The Baby is ONE!

Happy Birthday, Baby!

 

At 00.30 on this day last year, after almost a week of coaxing you out you were placed on my chest for the first time. Despite what you’d just done to my lady parts and despite the fact that you were very hot, wet and stinky I feel head over heels for you that day.

It’s been amazing how you’ve grown during the last year. It seems like every day you get a bit bigger and a bit more able to get into mischief. That tiny newborn who wailed every two hours for months had turned into a boisterous baby on the cusp of toddlerhood.

When you firmly push the dog away, throw yourself down a slide headfirst or initiate a game I get a little glimpse of the boy you will become. Take your time, little one. Mama is in no rush for that day.

Imagine the fun we’re going to have together this year! It wont be long until you have us chasing you around and you start telling us ‘no!’. Think of all the food you’ll try for the first time, all the places we’ll visit and all the things you’ll learn. I can’t wait, sweetheart.

 

One request though? You’re not a little baby anymore so let’s give this sleeping through the night thing a whirl, m’kay?

 

Love from Mama

 

I think my baby drank some of my IQ points.

When I was pregnant I noticed a rapid decline in my mental function. Sentences would go forever unfinished. Everyday words would fall out of my head and disappear into the ether. The ability to stay on topic eluded me. ‘Ah, pregnancy brain!’ people assured me.

Then the Baby was born and the decline worsened.  I couldn’t focus on anything more demanding than ‘Dance Moms’ . I couldn’t remember if the Baby had eaten in the last 25 minutes. I poured expressed breast milk through a bottle whose base I had forgotten to attach ( cue tears and the end of that particular type of bottle’s presence in our family). ‘Ah, baby brain!’ I was told.

Here we are, 7 months in. The Baby is starting to sleep better (sometimes), I am no longer expressing breast milk and those rollercoaster pregnancy/birth hormones are finally out of my system. And yet my brain is still about as much use as a hedgehog in a condom factory. At what point do I have to stop blaming Baby-brain and admit that basically I am now as dumb as a bag of rocks?

My kid doesn’t poop rainbows or fart glitter.

Many people offered me tidings of doom and gloom when I announced my pregnancy. I had been warned about the expense. I was aware of the sleepless nights. I’d heard about the overwhelming love and incapacitating fear. No one really prepared me for the poop.

Don’t get me wrong, I knew babies pooped. I poop. My dog poops. I believe the Mummy might even poop. But this is a different ball game, my friends, compared to baby poop.

It started almost straight away. There I was post (72 hour) labour, torn and stitched, tired, hooked up to IVs, a catheter and with one litre and a half less blood swimming around my veins. I’d attempted (and failed) to breast feed with a ton of midwife back-up and the Baby had been returned to his cot. Then there was a noise. And a smell.

I looked hazily around and noticed a complete absence of anyone who was going to do anything about that creeping, unpleasant smell. Hmmm.

I was able to grab the various baby changing necessities without too much difficulty but there was a definite heart-stopping moment when I gingerly lifted him out from the crib and onto the bed and he threatened to tip over.

Holy black, tarry nightmare, Batman! The books I had read advised cotton wool and water to wash babies’ sensitive little tushes. I immediately knew that wasn’t going to cut it and began slowly scraping off the gum like slime from his tiny little butt cheeks with a wipe.

And so the days progressed. There was a definite correlation between my recovery and the unpleasantness of the Baby’s pooping. Thank you jaundice. At one point I went through an entire packet of nappies and wipes in a 24 hour period. I desperately wondered where was the lovely baby smell everyone went gaga for? Would people always subtly wrinkle their noses as they held my cherub?

After a few days the he finally crapped the jaundice out of his system and we entered a new phase: lava poop.

I had seen the funny movie scenes where the male baby pees in someone’s eye whilst having their nappy changed. I didn’t realize this would be such a frequent event nor how much havoc could be wreaked via an out-of-control garden hose situation such as this. But the movies didn’t warn me about lava poop.

The Baby was skilled at lava pooping. You’d be so concerned about what that tiny penis was doing you’d forget he had a secondary line of attack. The nappy would come off and the mustard magma would start flowing. Much hilarity was had by those not involved upon listening to the cries of ‘Ew! EW! Ahhhhh! Stop! AHHHH!’  from the next room.

And then there were the color palate comparisons. Delighted sharing of tones with your spouse or worried googling of phrases like ‘is green poo normal?’, examination of texture, amount, frequency and consultation of the ‘baby poop slideshow‘.

And now solids.

It is fair to say my kid definitely doesn’t poop rainbows or fart glitter.

‘What the…..?!’