Week 11: The wonder of weaning

Die Hard 5.0; Lets Get That Baby Fed

I’m married to a superhero - no really, I am. I knew when I married him that he had his similarities to Bruce Willis, the sex appeal, the thinning hair, but I didn’t realise how far the similarities went. Since starting the weaning process, it has all come to light...

We have only been trying out proper food for a couple of weeks and when I am in charge it is generally a very messy occasion – I just wish Butternut was one of Dulux’s more popular shades for interior design. It isn’t. Apparently it isn’t this season’s new black either as no-one has complemented me on my new speckled orange look. At least I kill two birds with one stone – a free fake tan and baby gets fed.

But when hubby is in charge it is a different matter. Meal times start 30 minutes before baby has to be fed… He goes upstairs and changes into his oldest clothes (if he really was Bruce it would be a sweaty, dirty white vest top and stone washed jeans). He gets her into her feeding outfit (honestly, she has a designated baby gro for this), he puts on her long sleeved, full body bib, he places a muslin over her legs, he locks her into the high chair, he puts the tray table on so that her arms are restrained. And we are almost ready for food.

The 2001:A Space Odyssey theme tune starts to play in my head as he squares up to the challenge in hand. A spoonful of food is proffered and the gaping abyss of her mouth opens. The orange mush is deposited, the spoon is withdrawn before her little hands can grab it, the excess is scraped off the face and replaced in the bowl and not a drop has sploshed, smudged or even dripped. The Magnolia shade of the living room walls has not been sullied. The carpet will live to serve another day.

Thank goodness for my husband, the Bruce Willis of baby feeding, guarding over the carpets and wall coverings of the world.
The Mummatron


Redecorating...

This year, for the first time in my life, I got a new kitchen. I chose the palest Ash wood for the cupboards and a pale sand coloured stone for the worktops. I had the walls painted a pale neutral colour called Linen Wash. I was thrilled with the whole effect and at no time did I consider adding dashes of orange colours in random patterns over the whole room … but now we are weaning!

Who would have thought that pureed sweet potato, pureed carrots and sieved fruit could travel through space so far when flicked from a weaning spoon! Little CK on the other hand is loving it. She is reveling in the tactile squishing, sqidging, and painting. Her granddad and I bought a high chair from e-bay for a fiver and gave it a nuclear scrubbing – why? Looking at it now after a few short days it is hard to see the outline of the chair through the miasma of fuzzy food - Jackson Pollack would have been proud.

Weaning is not a sport for the elderly. I know this is not exactly weaning but last night, as her sleep deprived husband had to leave us to go back to work, I offered to let my daughter have a much needed break from those delightful night calls from the baby’s room. At three o’clock I was summoned to the cotside when I clearly heard a little voice through the monitor say, “Granny, I need you, I love you granny and I want to smile at you”. Of course this may have been my sleep befuddled imagination, she is only 6 months old and obviously not actually talking yet – though as a besotted grand mother I believe it wont be long…..

So at three this morning CK and I had a little cuddle, a few sucks of milk and then a return journey to the cot. Using all my Pilates muscles I managed to heave her gently over the cot rail and ease her sleepy little self down without jolting or, heaven forbid, dropping her. I stood motionless over her and ssshhed and ssshed until I felt light headed. When I felt she was completely settled and, thankful that the floorboards in that room do not creak, I turned to creep away. Immediately the detonations of my knees and ankles ripped through the silent darkness like pistol shots – I ssshed some more – I crept towards the door and then realized that another involuntary bodily emanation of a more windy type was about to be released, I clenched but to no avail and a thunderous peal rang out into the night. This baby rearing is not for the faint hearted or the crumbling of elderly body!

Granny Bloggins