That's It, I'm Ruined

Poppy did the first flight of her life in style - she flew 1st class.  This was also the first time I had ever flown 1st class, and having now had that experience, I have absolutely no idea how anyone could ever expect me to travel in any other way.  To put it mildly - "1st Class is da bomb".

A couple of flights ago I travelled Premium Economy instead of Economy and declared then it would be a struggle to return to being a pleb in cattle class - (No offence).  The only difference in Premium Economy compared to Pleb Class was you get priority boarding, a glass of champagne when you board, nicer food and wine and it's on proper plates with proper cutlery.  Sounds pretty good doesn't it?  And I would agree.  But now I have travelled Upper Class and that is a game changer.

We arrived at Gatwick, dropped our numerous bags off within minutes and headed to the Virgin Clubhouse - already the experience was far greater and relaxed then any other flight experience I had ever had.  Sitting in the Clubhouse is absolutely nothing like sitting in an airport.  We were given a very nice complimentary breakfast - I had Eggs Benedict with Smoked Salmon, Pineapple Juice and Coffee.  Jon had something - can't remember what, and Poppy had a fruit salad.  After we had decided Poppy was too keenly eyeing up the breakfast of the man sitting at the next table we took her to the other end of the Clubhouse.  At this end there was a room with toys for children to play with, (what else would you do with them?).  Poppy quickly grabbed something plastic and started munching on it - her version of playing with toys.  Nearby there were older kids playing Wii Sports, teenagers on complimentary lap tops and a dark room with bean bags and an X-Box.   Our flight was delayed, but I didn't care, I went and got my complimentary manicure.  The key word here is complimentary - everything is free!!! (especially for me as Jon paid for the tickets).

Our flight was called and off we went to board our plane.  This was the one place I was disappointed.  The good part of this is because we were on Upper Class we could push Poppy all the way onto the plane and take the buggy on board too - even the buggy was allowed to travel in style - no cold noisy cargo hold for the Mother care Urbanite!  The disappointment was - no red carpet!  Doesn't sound much I hear you holler, but let me explain.

I'll set the scene - imagine you have saved up, or even maxed out your credit card to go on holiday.  Money isn't in abundance so you're flying economy.  You've been at the airport 3 hours, you queued at check in for a hour even though you booked in online.  After all, you still have to drop your bags off, so online check in has done nothing for you at all.  You've queued for an hour to get through security.  You watched the men in suits go through fast track security enviously as you've stood there with your belt and shoes in hand waiting to be frisked.  You've overpaid for a rubbish sandwich and bottle of water and ate it sitting on a hard plastic chair as hundreds of people trudged on around you.  You've made it to the gate where you find a vending machine and a bunch of even more uncomfortable chairs.  People have decided to sit in such a way that they have all taken up the middle chairs, thereby only leaving the end chairs, meaning you have to split from your partner for this particular bit of waiting.  The time of boarding comes and goes and then someone announces the flight is delayed - no shit Sherlock, we're supposed to be taking off in 5 mins and we're all still in the airport. You're more bored than you have ever been, or at least since the last time you had to catch a flight.  Boarding finally commences.  Upper Class go first.  Then Premium Economy, people with young children (Apparently they do have to be with you - telling them you have a young child back at home doesn't work), and people with mobility problems are next.  Then you're allowed.  You're at the back of the queue though as everyone stood up and hung around the desk the moment to the Air Stewards arrived.  Whats the difference anyway - wait at the gate or wait on the plane, either way you're waiting.  

It is at this waiting part of the game that I always noticed and pondered over the red carpet.  There are always two stewards (is that what they're called?) letting people onto/into the tunnel of dreams - i.e. the gangway that gets you on the plane.  One checks the boarding passes of the few hundred plebs and one ushers the special people on board - people so special, that apparently they need a short red carpet to walk from the steward to the gangway one metre behind.  What difference does that red carpet really make?  Do the people lucky enough to have a flat bed waiting for them really demand a red carpet.  Is the red carpet the icing on the cake for them?  Is that red carpet the reason they paid stupid money to fly?  I scoffed at the red carpet - the red carpet is stupid - the red carpet does nothing - I WANT THE RED CARPET!!

Anyway, I'll drop the red carpet rant and get on with describing why I can never go back.  We  stepped on the plane, the buggy was stowed for us and we made our way to the nose of the plane.  Our own special little compartment for 16 special people - and I was one of them.  We appeared to be the last on and everyone looked at us with that kind of fake smile that screams "ahhhh a cute baby.  Oh shit a f@*king baby is going to be here.  First of all no red carpet and now a screaming brat".  I returned their smiles and we sat down and started to make ourselves comfortable by getting out the cornucopia of toys we had bought with us to keep The Popster amused.  We were handed a glass of champagne and we sat back and thought about the poor people at the back of the plane, squashed and irritated.  I put my feet up.

Poppy was an absolute dream throughout the flight.  She sat and quietly played for around 7 hours! She had a tactical power nap at around the half way point and slept for the final 30mins, not even stirring when we landed, (She did however, wake up as soon as we disembarked).  She had faced those doubters and converted them - now they were all thinking, and some even came and told us, "what an amazing baby! She's been brilliant".  And apart from the poo incident an hour into the flight she really was, (She was having some chill time lying on my front, I was wondering why she was so warm and then thought to check her bum - after lifting her off me I saw a big brown stain creeping right across her back).  All I can say is baby changing facilities are extremely cramped on a plane.  If I was to improve Upper Class at all I would say, apart from the personal red carpet of course, is baby changing could be better.  I don't mean space wise, I mean someone should do it for you.  Just think how nice that would have been!  "Excuse me, Jenna, (Personalised service after all, she introduced herself to everyone individually at the start), would you mind dealing with this nappy?  I think there may be some poo and a change of clothes required".  Now that would be service.

So the reasons for "Once you've gone Upper, there's no going back" are:

• The amount of luggage allowance you get - we could easily have bought practically everything Poppy owned.  and we almost did.
• The Virgin Clubhouse - now that is the way to wait.
• Priority boarding
• The seats!  And I didn't even convert to flat bed yet - that is for the return journey.
• The food - I had a delicious lemon tart for dessert.
• The fact that you sit at a table and use actual plates and a knife and fork!
• Fast track through passport control at the destination
• Your luggage comes off first - and is bought to you!  No conveyor belt wars - no bruised shins.

The last part wasn't actually much help to us for this trip, but I can imagine somewhere like New York it would be great.  St Lucia airport is so small and there are so few flights going on that all the luggage is out by the time you get there - and that is even if you get there really fast.

We left the house at 7.30am and we arrived at St Lucia airport roughly 12 hours later.  It didn't feel like it.  If I had been travelling economy it would.  If I had been travelling economy with a baby, it would have felt like I had been travelling for days.  I may never be able to afford to go on holiday ever again, but I really don't know if I could ever travel in anything less than Upper Class again.  There is only one thing for it - I'm going to have to dump Jon and find a rich man to keep me in the lifestyle which Jon has made me accustomed to.  Don't pity him - it is his own fault.

When Is Eating Not Eating?

There comes a time in everyones life when 24 hour access to a boob just isn't enough anymore.  Now days WHO, (World Health Organisation), suggests that time to begin weaning is at 6 months old, but previously advice was 4 months old.  At 4 months old a baby hasn't acquired the co-ordination or skills to be able to do that thing we all take for granted - feeding ourselves.  Now obviously when I say feeding ourselves I don't mean the ability to step into the kitchen a rustle up something tasty with the meagre contents of the fridge.  I mean put the food sitting right in front of us into our mouths, chew and swallow.  At 4 months old babies don't even know how to move the food from the front to the back of their mouths.  For this reason a multi-billion pound industry was born - baby food.  Food is pureed and spoon fed to babies.  After time, the food spoon fed to them begins to get lumpier and eventually they move onto finger food - actual whole pieces of food.  The Popster has skipped this, instead taking the route known as Baby Led Weaning (BLW).

As I said, WHO advises we should wait until our babies are 6 months old before weaning them.  At this age, they should have the ability to sit up straight, and have the co-ordination to be able to pick up food and guide towards their mouth.  They then soon learn how to move that food around their mouths and eventually swallow - i.e. 6 month old babies can eat.  I should point out at this stage, WHO don't say you shouldn't use purees - they don't advise on how to wean babies, just that you should wait until 6 months old.

The principles of BLW is there is no need for "baby food".  You eat with your baby, at the same time, at the same table and sharing the same food.  It makes introducing solids easier and more enjoyable for the whole family and encourages your baby to become confident and happy at mealtimes and to enjoy, good, nutritious foods as she grows up.  (Can you tell I copied that last sentence from a book?)

The Popster started her BLW journey around 6 weeks ago.  I know of only one other person taking this approach and they have only started recently, what with her son being about a month younger.  For this reason, and the fact that this approach was unheard of in our parents days, we have become a bit of a mystery to people.  Perhaps even weird.  It seems that most people don't really understand it and think we're a bit strange.  It doesn't seem to help when I tell people, Poppy doesn't actually eat anything - at the moment food is play time.  It is about exploring, not about eating.  The main questions/comments we get are:

But doesn't she need to eat?

Doesn't she choke?

The choking thing is a big thing for people.  They are so meticulous at squeezing every last lump out of their babies food and there I am letting The Popster put dried apricots into her mouth, (quite a sight, I can tell you).  First of all, let me explain, that no, she won't choke.  She will gag.  In babies, the gag reflex is very sensitive, so it is activated more easily than in an adult, with the "trigger point" much farther forward in the mouth.  You have to trust this - they need to experience gagging in order to learn to eat safely.  She will not choke - have faith.  Secondly, no, she doesn't need to eat.  Milk is still enough to help her grow.  Babies are fine on an all milk diet in their first year of life.

I didn't see the point of starting on purees and slowly getting lumpier, so we skipped those stages and went straight for actual food.  The following is my memories of the progress and experiences we have had with BLW over the last 6 weeks.

We were going to wait until The Popster was 6 months old before starting her on food, but that half birthday fell on a Tuesday so Jon would be at work.  I was going to wait until the following weekend but Jon got excited and couldn't wait so we did it the weekend before her half birthday.  We sat her in her brand new, over-priced high chair and pushed her up to the dining table, (she doesn't have a tray, she's a grown up and eats at the table).  I can't remember what we ate, but The Popster had the far less appetising strips of pita bread and carrots.  The results of this first expedition into the culinary world were not amazing and no where near as exciting as we anticipated.  The Popster slumped to the right, poked herself in the eye with her bread and started crying and trying to escape after a few minutes.  Perhaps we had started to early - those few days before her 6 month birthday were too much of a hurdle.

Despite this disappointing start to her food life, we persevered and The Popster sat down to lunch every day following these first tentative steps.  She was definitely not quite ready in those early days, but the only thing to make her ready was to keep going.  It has been fascinating watching her progress and her skills have increased rapidly.  To start with she would easily finish well before I had managed to finish my own lunch, meaning mine often had to be temporarily abandoned whilst "Operation Clean Poppy" would take place.  I would then have to attempt to eat my own lunch with a slightly distressed Popster sat on my lap.

The PopstersBLW it is very important that you don't interfere.  The baby has to decide what they want to pick up and what they want to explore.  However, I did intervene in as much as I would hold my hand against the edge of the table so that when the food was swept aside it hit a barrier and the chances of something ending up in The Popsters hand was increased - this also meant, lunch wasn't over in 3 seconds flat.  I had quickly learnt, that due to the low success rate of keeping things on the table I had to put a lot of food on the table.  Whilst friends talked about their babies moving from half a jar up to two thirds of a jar, I talked of giving The Popster, a pitta bread, some broccoli, a pear  and some cheesy wotsit things that are actually carrot sticks.  I throw out a lot of food these days!

The Popster has since moved on to the "sweeping" method of picking things up and you can now see her actually eyeing something up and going for it directly.  Roughly 95% of the time the food makes it into her mouth first time too - as opposed to her eye or cheek.  Although, sometimes her fist goes in her mouth with the food and she doesn't let go so in actual fact she is attempting to eat her own hand. Sometimes, when we are trying a new food it can be extremely frustrating watching as she skirts around it.  For example, I made some fresh pesto one Saturday as I had a Basil plant that needed using up.  I was very proud of myself for thinking of something to use up the Basil rather than it dying and being dumped before it gets used which is what usually happens.  I cooked some Fuselli, (Spiral pasta is far more exciting to a baby than boring old Penne) and mixed in the pesto.  The Popster largely ignored the pesto pasta and instead concentrated on the other options given to her.  She did pick it up once but it was quickly put down again.  Never mind, I made plenty, she could have it another day.  I offered the pesto pasta to The Popster every day for a whole week.  Every day, she would pick it up, put it near her mouth and then put it back down again!!  I was on the edge of my seat every day as the spirals made it closer and closer to her mouth, but never made it in!!  She was teasing me.  Eventually, after a week, it made it in but she didn't seem to enjoy it that much so it was quickly thrown to the floor.

Similar to the pasta we offered her strawberries, grown lovingly in our own garden.  I placed 3 strawberries on her place mat along with some other options.  She honed in on a strawberry and picked up straight away - great skills!  It went in her mouth, she screwed up her face and it came out her mouth.  She then looked to see what else she could get.  She picked up the 2nd strawberry, it went in her mouth, she screwed up her face and out it came.  Then she picked up the 3rd strawberry and, you guessed it, in mouth and out of mouth.  She hasn't really figured out that things that look the same, are the same.

The progress has been amazing.  In the early days I put her in her high chair and she would instantly protest.  She would briefly have a play with the food and then start crying.  We would do our best to keep her interested and to stay in her chair but it would invariably be all over within 5-10 mins.  Pretty soon though I got to the stage where I would put her in the chair and her arms would shoot out trying to get at the food on the table - which happens to make putting the bib on a little easier as she is holding out her arms!  Nowadays, I finish my lunch and then I have to sit there watching The Popster gnaw and throw hers around.  That's not a bad thing, as it's very entertaining.  She'll pick something up with one hand and shove it in her mouth - meanwhile, her other hand will be snatching at something, and that will come up to her mouth too.  She then has two little fists, clutching two large pieces of food fighting over her tiny little mouth!  To add to the entertainment she occasionally stops eating and drums on the table with her right hand - we haven't yet figured out what that means?  Is she trying to get the waiters attention?  Sometimes the show gets a little boring though - during every single meal there is a moment when she will stop everything she is doing and stare out the window.   In these moments I would LOVE to know what it is she is thinking about.

In know way could you say The Popster is now eating lunch - it is definitely still play time.  However, some food does get digested - I can tell by her poo!  It is so exciting when you see she has small bits of food in her mouth and you don't see it come back out again!  She often gags - sometimes it results in food shooting out her mouth, other times it results in her managing to swallow those bits.   Whilst others are incredibly concerned about their baby choking, I'm ridiculously relaxed about it - so much so that in the first week of the BLW experiment, The Popster starting coughing and going bright red.  I just sat there and watched.  It was only when she actually finished and her colour returned to normal that I realised what had been happening!  Before then I just thought she was coughing - it hadn't occurred to me that she was trying to shift a bit of food from her throat!!  I'm more aware of it now, but I still have to just let her get on with it - she has to learn.  The only time I have thought about stepping in and removing food from her mouth is when she ate a dried apricot.  She sucked that whole thing in to her gob and it filled her entire mouth! She was sucking at that apricot for ages - I thought it was never going to come out.  Obviously she wasn't going to swallow it, it was way to big.  It had to come out - but what if she did manage to swallow?  It would definitely cause her to choke.  Once I realised how difficult it would be to actually swallow it, I relaxed and just watched in awe.  Watching her suck a dried apricot is one of my favourite episodes of "Poppy Eating Lunch"

I'm conscious this post has got a little bit on the long side  -if you've made it this far then thank you.  Pour your self a large glass of wine and congratulate yourself on making it this far.  Basically, I'm stalling as I can't think of a way of ending this.  Poppy ends her meal times by either eating her bib or maybe even the table.  She sometime ends by throwing all the food onto the floor so there is nothing left.  I don't know how to do the equivalent with the written word, so just imagine, right now I'm eating my words............................

The Wedding, The Swimming And The Laughing

Hi All,

Apologies for the lack of new posts in recent times.  Life has been pottering on at a nice steady pace and I haven't been inspired to write anything.  However, luckily for you, (or not), the 5 day weekend we have just had has been very inspirational! 

Although I'm not working anymore, apart from full time baby care, I still look forward to weekends and especially 5 day weekends!  Weekends mean Jon is home and I don't have to carry all the weight.  I get some help, I don't have to change all the nappies and I don't have to do all the shopping or cooking.  There is someone to share the load and it's great.

This weekend was a 5 day weekend instead of the 4 days most of you experienced as my big brother got married on Thursday.  This involved a trip to Chilston Park in Lenham, Kent,  (http://www.handpickedhotels.co.uk/hotels/chilston-park/) for a day with family and an overnight stay.  I love weddings.  However, a wedding is a very different experience when you have a small baby in tow.  Especially, if your husband is the wedding photographer.

I won't give a blow by blow account of the whole day.  I'll just say The Popster met A LOT of family she hadn't seen before and was a bit of a hit.  She was very well behaved, staying quiet at all the important bits, despite me encouraging her to yell at the point in the ceremony where objections are asked for.  Due to me wearing a nice dress I was unable to feed in public and had to take her up to our room for feeding - probably a good thing anyway as she is easily distracted during feeding these days.  On the lead up to her bed time we were still in the dining room having the wedding breakfast and listening to the speeches.  This was the worlds hottest room and The Popster had become very grumpy meaning I spent a good 30mins, if not longer, standing, holding The Popster in what felt like a sauna.  I was glad to get out of there and take her up to bed.  The bathroom in our room was gorgeous and had a huge bath in it so I decided to give The Popster a bath before bed.  A huge bath means a long time to fill and The Popster was in no mood for hanging around so I turned the taps off and put her in to a very shallow bath.  There was a rubber mat in there which meant she could just lie there unsupported with her head above water - a new experience for her.  Given I had spent the last few hours in a sauna I got in with her!  We now have a new mat for home in order to repeat this new style of bathing!

Bed time is very chaotic at the best of times.  Bath Poppy, dry her whilst she is screaming and get her in her PJ's.  Always screaming.  Feed her - this bit stops the screaming and calms her down, or sends her to sleep.  Read her a book and put her in bed.  If there is any deviation from this, it can throw the whole thing off kilter and lead to singing - and no one wants to hear that.  So picture this, and given what I'm about to say I can't believe I'm asking you to picture it!.  Me naked, apart from a necklace and knickers sat in a chair in a darkened hotel room breast feeding The Popster.  She had got to that stage in a feed where she had fallen asleep but still suckling.  There was a knock on the door - I quietly asked who was there as I didn't want to disturb The Popster.  No answer.  I thought maybe the knock was actually at my younger brothers door in the next room and waited.  Then there was a key in the lock, the door opened and a maid walked in and was promptly startled to see a naked woman sat in a chair with a baby attached to her breast!  She apologised, I also apologised, (we're so English!).  She asked if I wanted the bed turned down.  Urrrm, no thank you. And out she went with a story to tell! As soon as the maid shut the door, The Popster started crying, great!  This meant getting The Popster to bed took slightly longer than usual but it wasn't too bad at all and I had rejoined the party by 7pm.

The night was now mine.  The Popster was in bed and I could relax and have a drink or two, or three, or four......  The baby monitor didn't work so we just checked on her every now and then but she was all good, fast asleep.  As it turned out I didn't really fancy drinking that much and we went to bed just after midnight - creeping into the room so as not to wake The Popster sleeping next to us.  Then the most amazing thing happened.  The Popster stayed asleep and didn't wake up until just after 7am.  Yes, that's right, she slept through the night for the first time ever!!!  Woo hoo!!  (Although I did have two exploding boobs as a result). 

Hooray for weddings! And congratulations to Mark and Mandi.  About time!

The last day of the 5 day weekend, i.e. today was a very exciting one for The Popster!  She had her first swimming lesson.  Unfortunately I had been unable to get her swimming nappies as we could not find any small enough.  This meant we had left the nappy shopping to before the lesson at 10.30am.  We parked at Tesco's

I took her in to the changing rooms to get ready for our swim experience.  Easier said than done.  I managed to get her and me changed and I took the money out of my purse so I could carry her, the two bags and our towels out to the lockers and pack it all in.  I managed to do all this one handed whilst holding on to The Popster and put the money in the locker.  It was then that I realised I had got 20p out of my purse and not £1.  Great - my purse was at the bottom of the locker with everything else stacked on top.  One handed unpacking and getting the correct change then followed and then repacking the locker.  Success, locker shut, The Popster and towels in my arms, off we go.  No wait, I still have my glasses on!!  Back to the locker, open it up, dispose of glasses and off we go.  Now though I can't see to read the signs so I don't know where I'm going!  I figure it out though and we finally make it out to the swim class and a waiting Jon.

I'm pretty sure The Popster enjoyed the class.  Basically she is a bit of a closed book.  She doesn't really do laughing and smiling so if she isn't screaming we take it to be that she is happy.  The class was fun and to be fair to The Popster she did occasionally smile.  Just over half way through I felt that familiar vibration on the hand I had supporting her derriere.  Uh-oh, she just pooed.  This wouldn't normally worry me too much, but remember, this time, she was wearing an over sized nappy!  Jon and I quickly glanced at the water and all seemed fine.  We had got away with it.  I'm sure it must happen every now and then, there surely must be swimming in poo and wee, but I didn't want to do it and I certainly didn't want to be implicit in others doing it!  Once the class was over, we exited the pool and wrapped The Popster in her towel to keep warm.  It was at this moment I noticed the yellowy brown stains growing ever bigger on the towel - the poo had escaped!!

The Popster hates getting out the bath, getting dried and having her PJ's put on her.  Just imagine what it is like, to get out a giant bath with spreading poo and wee in your pants, be walked around a changing room, fiddling about with lockers, dried in a damp pooey towel and then left lying there waiting for someone else to get stripped, dried and dressed.  It wasn't easy, there was a lot of crying!  But I think she liked the swimming part so she is now signed up and we are going every Monday!  Hopefully I will get a little better at the changing part!

The final part of my post is a very happy one.  As mentioned earlier, The Popster is a bit of a closed book.  She is full of smiles when she has had a sleep and you go and get her up, but other than that, smiles are few and far between.  If you get one, you should consider yourself lucky.  She is a very serious baby - I've no idea how Jon and I ended up with such a serious baby because there is no way we are like that!  So if smiles are few and far between what can we say about laughing?  I don't want to say she never laughs, as I think she has sort of laughed before - but it is a silent laugh so I don't count it as a real laugh.  I think I got an audible laugh out of her once before, but it was just one single haaaa.  Today, The Popster was on my lap and Jon was making faces and talking gibberish to her.  And, she laughed!!  Lots!!!  For a good 5 mins The Popster was staring at her Dad and laughing.  It was a very happy moment and a great end to a very enjoyable 5 day weekend.

The Poo Explosion!

Hi everyone!  A short little story today about poo!  

Today we took The Popster to London Aquarium.  The plan was a full day out - Aquarium, some lunch, a haircut and home.  If I was on my own it would have been a terrible start to the day but luckily Jon was there!

We were on the train heading for Waterloo East.  The Popster was sat in her pushchair but was starting to get a bit grumpy.  The plan was to find somewhere to feed her once we arrived at Waterloo as she hadn't really had any breakfast.  She had, had almost a full feed at 5am but fell asleep during it.  She got up at 8-ish and I fed her after about half an hour but she was really interested and only had a light snack.  This meant she was definitely going to be wanting a feed shortly after arriving in London, so a feed at Waterloo seemed like the the sensible thing to do.  We had passed London Bridge when she started to get grumpy.  I thought it might be a good idea if I picked her up and held her seeing as we would be getting her out to feed soon anyway.  

I had been holding her in her preferred way - facing outward - for a couple of minutes when all of a sudden Jon exclaimed "she's pooed!" I thought it weird that he would know that seeing as I was the one holding her, but then I looked down and saw a puddle of poo on the floor and understood his reaction.  My immediate response was to distance myself from her!  I had one of my favourite shirts on and brand new jeans after all.  Also, whilst I carry spare clothes for The Popster I don't carry a change of clothes for myself!  Amazingly she had managed to miss me though - phew lucky escape!  But only a lucky escape for the initial attack.  We then had the tactical decision to make of what to do next.  I was holding The Popster at a strange angle and as far away from me as possible.  Jon was on his knees wiping poo from the floor.  The audience/other passengers were trying to hide their snigger's and avoiding eye contact.  We were on a clock - arriving at our destination at any minute and not wanting to still be on the train when it departed for Charing Cross.  

The floor was sufficiently poo free when we got to Waterloo East and we departed the train with me still holding The Popster out as far away from me as I could get.  She had poo all over one leg of her jeans and on her sock.  I was staying as far away as possible!  The tactical decision required was, do we find suitable baby change facilities or do we just put her down on the floor on the platform and deal with her?  I opted for the floor - the platform was quiet and there was  space out of the way we could use.  Jon was having none of that and insisted we went to the proper facilities.  his theory being we can't just put her on the floor even though that is what we do every single day.  OK, fine, I'll keep holding her out and head for the baby facilities.  The only problem with that was we were on a platform at Waterloo East.  It is a long walk to Waterloo station and then a long walk to the changing room - especially when holding a poo monster covered in poo.  Amazingly throughout this massive Poo Trek The Popster didn't grumble at all.  I was carrying her in a very strange way and she just accepted it - perhaps she mistook it for the flying game - one of her favourites.

All went well from then on, apart from the fact I don't carry spare socks with me so The was bare foot for the rest of the day - nothing major.  Luck was on our side in that she didn't poo again so no more accidents and a need to buy more clothes, and most of all, I got home with no poo stains on me.  It could have all been very different though - there is no way at all I would have been able to cope with that alone.  In order to clean up the poo from the floor I would have had to put The Popster back in her pushchair which would have resulted in a poo explosion!! i.e. poo everywhere.  I would have also been a very grumpy Popster who would almost definitely have to have been renamed as The Poopster!

Random Thoughts

This one isn't going to be a long rambling post (I hear you all cheer).  This is supposed to be a series of short random thoughts I've had over the last 5 months.  i.e. things that don't constitute rambling but worth mentioning.  I'll list them but the order is not significant in any way - just how my memory works.

1.  It is weirdly exciting when you hear your babies name mentioned anywhere.  This one is more for my mum.  She is now obsessive about Poppy's. Apparently wherever she goes she hears the name Poppy, reads the name Poppy and sees things with pictures of Poppy's on - she bought me egg cups with Poppies on.  I don't like boiled eggs.  I heard someone call to their Poppy moniker ed toddler the other day and was very jealous.  I want my Poppy to be the only one!!

2.  I talk about poo a lot more than any human should talk about poo.  All the people I talk about poo to also talk about poo more than any human should.  I'm pretty sure I said everything there was to say about poo roughly 4 months ago, yet I persist.  I can't stop.  I did it today.  I also took a sneaky peek at my friends, sons poo to do a comparison with The Popsters.  I can't help it.  Poo has become important in my life.

3.  I have become addicted to Deal Or No Deal.  Beyond the huge smile and excitement I get when I get The Popster up in the morning, it is the highlight of my day.  I know, that's sad.

4.  The Popster attracts adoring glances and comments from old women, but when she is with Jon it is young women.  She gets so many comments I end up disappointed if we go out and no one says anything.  Mostly the old ladies chant some kind of variation on "Aren't you beautiful".  I end up saying thank you - as though I had planned it that way and worked to make sure she was.  She is by the way.

5.  I've lost contact with the world.  I used to be up on all things celebrity - even all the news I had no interest in.  This was mostly due to the work subscription to Heat and Closer, (my job isn't all bad).  I also read the Evening Standard every day for real news.  I have managed to retain some kind of contact with the real world but have completely lost touch with the "celeb" world.  Heat, Closer and Digital Spy used to leave me in the position where I knew exactly how people like Kerry Katona was feeling.  Now I have no clue.  I knew about Victoria Beckham's pregnancy long after everyone else - in fact shouldn't she have had the baby by now?  I'm not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing?  Where it is bad, is I'm not on top of new TV series and what I should be watching.  Must try harder.

6.  We get a lot more cold callers/salesman knocking at our door than I was aware of.  Although to be fair, we haven't had any for a couple of months now, so it is not that bad.

7.  It isn't just poo I talk too much about.  Never have I spoken about my boobs as much as I do now - apart from perhaps that holiday I took after graduation with big breasted friends.  At the time I was very small breasted and for some reason it was a talking point.  The conversations about my breasts are definitely very different now!

8.  My bank statements look extremely different now.  If you compare statements from the last few months with a few years ago you will find considerably fewer bars and restaurants on there and a lot more shops like Mothercare.

9.  Time passes amazingly fast, yet The Popsters first couple of months feels like a lifetime away.  I guess they were though really - her lifetime that is!  I remember creeping into our bedroom at night and avoiding turning the lights on scared in case we woke her!  

10.  I love The Popster but I do spend a ridiculous amount of time wishing she was asleep.  The Popster having a nap is a very happy time.  You spend 9 months waiting to meet this wonderful new person that is a part of you and then you spend all your time trying to get her to sleep.  It's a;l about the sleep!

11.  Giving birth ruins your memory.  I had a huge list of random thoughts but I've forgotten most of them.  For that reason you may well see "Random Thoughts" may well become a regular posting - keep your eyes peeled!

When Is A Routine Not A Routine?

The answer is: as soon as you call it a routine.  

There is only one routine in The Popsters life.  She goes to bed, or I should say the bedtime routine starts at, 6.30pm.  Everything else is variable.  Just when you think a routine is beginning to establish itself she switches - although she doesn't switch until you say out loud that she seems to have started doing something regularly.  Maybe I should stop saying these things out loud?  The Popster has had loads of routines since she was born - all lasted long enough for me to recognise them as a routine.  Once I classify something as The Popsters usual habit, it disappears.  Some have been good, some bad.  She has one at the moment where between 10 and 11pm every night she sort of wakes and I have to give her the dummy and hold her hand.  She doesn't actually open her eyes during these moments so I don't think she is awake, but it does require my intervention.  Now that I have noted this publicly, will it stop?

The last few days The Popster has been all over the place! I haven't had a clue what to expect!  On Friday we drove down to Maidstone to spend the weekend with my Mum.  Jon was on my brother's stag do, along with my Dad, so a nice weekend with my Mum seemed like a great idea.  Friday was pretty usual.  Feeds as expected, grumpiness as expected, but afternoon nap was tricky.  She really wanted to sleep - she makes it obvious when she's tired.  When tired, The Popster yawns and rubs her eyes - the classic, international sign for tiredness.  But she would not go for a nap.  I had to rock and sing her to sleep in the afternoon!  I was determined she would nap as I couldn't stand the grumpiness anymore.  But other that a pretty normal day.

On Saturday we had free tickets for Groombridge Place - basically a place to go and walk around gardens and a forest.  A lovely day out in the fresh air.  She started off fine.  We put her in the Baby Bjorn and enjoyed the formal gardens.  After a while she started to get grumpy and tired so we transferred her to the push chair.  I think basically, it was too difficult for her to drop off in the push chair as it was a very bumpy ride - babies can sleep through a lot, but apparently a bumpy ride across a forest floor is a few bumps too many.  This made her very grumpy and I had to carry her back to the car - a about a mile and a half away.  My arms were KILLING me!!  Jon has to stand up holding The Popster for about 5 mins and he starts complaining he's tired and she's too heavy - I have to carry her every day for maybe half an hour at a time.  There is no way women need to exercise after giving birth.  They just have to actually look after their baby - that will soon get them strong and fit!  Shall I produce a fitness DVD for the massively over crowded fitness DVD market?  I'm sure there is space for one where you just put your baby to bed before they are ready and run up and down stairs constantly to see to them and one where you have to carry a baby that cries as soon as you sit down.  (something to work on maybe?)

Anyway, back to Saturday.  We got back to the car, fed The Popster, changed her nappy and stuck her in the car seat ready for the drive home - that should make her drop off for a nice sleep.  What happened?  Well, she screamed when I put her in the seat.  Not unusual, she'll stop once when we get going.  Or, what she'll actually do is scream and scream and then scream a little louder!!  We had to stop driving and get her out the seat to calm her down.  That bit wasn't so hard, but then what?  I had to put her back in the seat - we couldn't stay on the side of the road, miles from home all day.  As soon as she was back in the seat, she screamed again.  My mum transferred to the back seat and The Popster took a very firm grip on her finger.  It worked, she fell asleep - but my Mum couldn't get her finger back - The Popster had a vice like grip.  The rest of the day was pretty normal, but The Popster stayed quite grumpy.

Sunday was a great day.  The Popster got up at 8.30am and was on good form.  She gave me massive smiles, and kicked her legs in excitement.  Great fun.  Around 9.30am she started to show signs of tiredness.  However, I did not get her to go to sleep until I drove home just after 3pm that afternoon, and even then she woke up as soon as I got home!  She was awake for the longest period of her whole life!!  And what makes it even better was for the majority of the time she wasn't grumpy!  Don't get me wrong, she had her moments, but they passed without her actually going for a nap.  She was rubbing her eyes and showing signs of tiredness all day but then she would start playing again!  She also got plenty of fresh air, watching her cousins help my mum with the gardening.  They seemed to be enjoying themselves and my mum was pretty happy, but to me it looked like slave labour!  Kids eh! So easily fooled!  She napped for about an hour and a half whilst Jon and I ate Roast Lamb, so she did get a nap in eventually.

Tuesday/today, different again.  She went down for a nap a couple of hours after waking.  This is my window to have a shower and get myself dressed and presentable.  I always do this quite quickly as I never know how long I have.  It is also my opportunity to clean up a little bit if possible.  Today, I managed to do all that and then sat down to watch TV, expecting The Popster to wake at any moment - I even had a little nap myself.  But she didn't wake!  We got to 1.5 hours, surely she must be waking soon?  At 2 hours, I realised that if I'd known, I could have cleaned the house.  No point doing anything now though as she is bound to wake up as soon as I start - after all, a 2 hour nap!!  Unheard of.  I started to do a few little chores and she just kept on sleeping.  I even went into her room to check she was still there/alive!?!?!  At 2 hours 40 mins she finally woke up!  Wow!

So, why am I taking you through my last few days?  After all, they're not that interesting.  And you're right.  The reason is I'm trying to demonstrate to you every day is different!  I never know where I stand.  When I put her down for her morning nap tomorrow should I then start cleaning the house, (It really needs doing)?  But if I start cleaning, is she going to wake up after 20 mins?  Is she even going to have a morning nap?  Some people follow Gina Ford methods as they need routine in their lives.  I would like routine, but at the same time I quite enjoy the adventure of the Popster lottery.  Let's hope tomorrow I hit the jackpot!

What's In A Name?

My name is Gillian.  My parents named me Gillian and that is my name - but it wasn't always.  When I was little I liked my name.  No one else had the same name, I was special.  There were loads of Sarah's, Caroline's, Rebecca's etc, but I was the only Gillian and that made me feel good.  Then, one day when I was about 9 a new girl started our school and she was called Gillian Shaw.  All of a sudden I wasn't special anymore - there were two of us.  I wasn't sure if I was going to be able to get on with this "Gillian" - after all she had stolen my thunder.  It turned out, sharing a name was the starting point for a good friendship.  We had something in common and by joining up, somehow we didn't lose that special feeling we both got about feeling unique.  Somehow it made it stronger.  

Now, you may be thinking "what's the big deal, it is just someone else with the same name.  There are loads of Gillian's about".  There may well be lots of Gillian's about now, but back then as far as I knew I was the only one in the world, (until Gillian Shaw came along).  Now, I agree, there are loads.  There's famous actress Gillian Anderson, the Gillian that ran the art gallery next to the Post Office in Peneden Heath, Gillian the P.A. for a year at UKTV.  The one who didn't drink.  Anything.  She didn't like the texture of liquid, (that's a whole other story right there!).  There's "Dr" Gillian McKeith.  There is the Gillian who sits on the 2nd floor of my office and always gets my messages when people get confused by there being two Gillian's in one building.  And finally there is Jon's aunt Gillian.  Loads of them about - but I still get a funny feeling when I hear the name being said out loud and it's not about me.

At the age of 11 Gillian Shaw and I finished that school and moved our separate ways.  I was unique again - at my new school I returned to being the only one.  But then, two years later, having both been selected for Grammar School we were destined to be back together.  Two Gillian's in the same class again.  However, this time, in the intervening years Gillian Shaw had metamorphosed into Gill Shaw.  Brilliant, that makes things easy - she'll be Gill and I'll be Gillian.  No chance of confusion there.  Simples.  However, that proved too complicated for people and somehow  I started to get called Gill.  It was the start of me losing my name.  Most people don't mind when there name is shortened, in fact, some relish it.  I, on the other hand, was not a big fan.  I liked my name as it was.

This "Gill" phenomena was only one that occurred outside the family.  At home, I was still Gillian, and I accepted that I was Gill elsewhere - although not once did I ever introduce myself as Gill.  One day a girl from school phoned me at home.  My mum answered the phone and this girl asked to speak to Gill.  Straight away my mum replied "I'm sorry, no one of that name lives here you must have a wrong number" and she hung up.  The moment she hung up she realised what had happened - the call was for me.  She ran to apologise to me, just as my friend called back, confused.  Even my dad once called me Gill.  As soon as he did there was silence.  It felt so wrong!  I knew and luckily he knew it and it has never happened again.

Once I was at uni, it got worse.  Almost everyone, apart from family, had stopped calling me Gillian and replaced it with Gill.  I had almost completely lost my name and I wasn't happy about it.  Even conversations with my friends explaining this dislike resulted in no change.  They couldn't stop.  However, there is a happy end to this story.  Once I left uni I successfully reclaimed my name.  I only get called Gill once in a blue moon these days.  I'm back! and I've managed to stay back for 14 years now.

Now I know what you're thinking.  (I'm good at this mind reading lark).  You're thinking "why on earth is she rambling on about her name,  This has got really boring now.  What has this got to do with being a new mum or the adventures of Poppy?  That is if you got this far into the blog and didn't stop reading half way through the history of my childhood.  If you're still here, then thank you.  I'll finally get to my point.

On Monday I took The Popster to my office and introduced her to some colleagues/friends.  Something happened that got me to thinking about the importance of names and everything that goes with them.  My baby girls name is Poppy.  You may have noticed, I call her The Popster.  However, I almost exclusively only call her The Popster when writing about her.  It is extremely rare for me to say "The Popster" out loud.  On Monday, in my office, numerous people called her The Popster.  It sounded really weird!! Frankly, it sounded a little ridiculous.  Why does a name look OK written down but sound weird out loud?

I just don't ever say it out loud.  I hardly ever call her Poppy either though.  Both her Dad and I have a variety of monikers for her.  She is known as:

Poppy Poo

Poppity Pop

Poppity Poo Bear

Popsicle

Jon even calls her Popsi Cola.  Now, I'm well aware we can't continue this forever.  Calling a grown woman Poppity Poo Bear will be slightly embarrassing - for everyone involved.  But when do we have to stop?  Age 2, 5, 10, 16, 21?  Who knows?  I have a friend in her mid 30s who is called "Babs"by her parents.  Her name is not Barbara so it isn't a shortening of her name - it's a shortening of baby.  If that is still acceptable at the grand old age of 34 then maybe we can keep calling The Popster, Poppity Poo Bear?  But I know one thing for sure - The Popster will largely remain a written name.

And her mum?  Well you can keep calling her Gillian - she no longer answers to Gill.