Week 17: Home alone

Time Out

I am in need of a holiday. Not the old kind of holiday I use to take - no snowboarding, no white water rafting, no traipsing round beautiful cities for days on end looking at every vestry in every church. No. I am putting my foot down. The kind of holiday I need is all inclusive, sun, sea, sand and snoozing. And baby free.
I love her, don’t get me wrong but I just need some time off. Unfortunately, while CK is (incredibly) intelligent (and beautiful and kind and considerate), she doesn’t read my blog and so will not get the message that mummy needs a break.

Some of my friends say to me, just go for it, leave her at home and have some time off. And that is all very well. If you are bottle feeding. But being able to take a holiday means taking my boobs with me and that ain’t gonna cut it for CK. It turns out she can’t sleep without them. (I can hear my health visitor in the back of my head tut tutting and muttering something about accidental parenting) For some reason she (CK, not my health visitor) has a fascination at the moment with my skin and is not happy unless she is love biting me, licking me, rubbing her snotty wee nose on some part of me. Who knows what that is about? Answers on a postcard please...

Not only that, but there is this weird emotional ambiguity in my head. On one hand I JUST NEED SOME TIME OFF, but on the other, there is the fact that even when I am away, I can’t seem to switch off. I have to know about every nap, poo and feed in order to be happy. Control freak much? I want to go away from her, but I don’t want to, too. Weirdo. She fills my heart and makes me smile - why would I want to leave that at home?

Ask me again at 4.30 this morning.

So for now, I will content myself with holiday programmes on the TV, dreaming of far flung climes, and the occasional day off (thanks Granny Bloggings!).
Mummatron


Codgers in Charge
The other week my daughter had a birthday and my lovely son in law organized a whole weekend of treats for her. The Saturday involved a whole day in London, taking in a matinee performance of the Lion King. Of course, this was only possible if the CODGERS – Ck’s Old Doting Grandparents Energetic Rescue Service - would be drafted in to look after the baby – would we? WOULD WE! Yes Please.

So on the Saturday morning off they went leaving the baby in her cot for her morning nap and Granny Bloggins and Gramps in charge. Did we rush around doing chores, cleaning, cooking? No, we did not. We made coffee, we did our emails and we read our books – we do remember some things about looking after an eight month old and taking a rest when possible is even more important for us now than it was way back in the mists of our child bearing times.

As you can imagine, all day the texts flew back and forth between Oxford and London – well initially from the road between Oxford and London, then from London then from various roads, cafes, restaurants and theatres around London. Luckily we were able to repeatedly report – ‘all’s well’ – until eventually when a text came saying; ‘everything OK?’ we just texted back – ‘yes’. After all we were a too busy playing with the baby to stop and text – don’t forget it does take us about five minutes per word!

Little CK seemed to enjoy all the attention of her very own Olds. We danced, we sang, we made silly faces, we played peekaboo, we cuddled, we kissed and spent what seemed like hours rolling a ball between us past CK which seemed to amuse her no end. We even had a few moments of fun with a cardboard box!

All went well until bedtime loomed when CK suddenly decided that enough was enough and where were her mummy and daddy? Or perhaps more importantly, where was her mummys’ chest? Her little face crumpled into seldom seen tears and even a spell on the sofa right in front of Strictly Come Dancing didn’t seem to help. Although I must be honest here and say the dancing held her entranced, one adorable cubby little hand on Grannys’ face, and her eyes riveted to the swirling colours. She liked Pamela, She LOVED Matt, but whenever Brucey came on the screen she started to sob – yes, I know he has that effect on most of us.

So, into the snow -suit, into the cosy -toes, into the pram, and off out into the dark of the early evening Gramps and CK went. No sooner had they turned the corner at the end of the road when the cavalry arrived in the form of mummy and daddy and mummys’ chest. You should have seen that baby beam to be back in their arms!

Granny and Gramps managed to stay awake long enough to hear about the day in London. By nine thirty we were tucked snuggly up in bed and by ten we were fast asleep, and we slept for ten hours! As I keep saying, this baby rearing is only for the young! Who are these mad old women who want a baby when they have been drawing their old age pension for years – very rich ones who can afford a nurse, nanny, housekeeper, cook and bottle washer I reckon!

Granny Bloggins